Girl or Boy?

So between my boobs growing to the size of melons and my stomach expanding STRAIGHT out in front of me, my lower back was starting to bend under the pressure. There have been mornings I wake up and literally can't stand up straight for several minutes while I whine and bump into walls trying to get to the bathroom.

I'm lucky enough to have a wonderful friend who is a chiropractor and works frequently with pregnant women. I don't know if she has magic hands, but my back is always better after she works on me. She has that perfect combination of technical know-how and spiritual connection to the body that leaves me feeling so relaxed, I sleep on her couch for an hour after every session. During our last session, she asked me if I found out whether or not I was having a boy or a girl. I told her I didn't know yet, so she told me her premonition: girl. This made me giggle. The thought of the shoes and hair accessories alone...OH SO FUN!

Which reminds me, gender prediction tests. Have you seen these? They're ridiculous. You can't possibly think their real. A small cup with "magic crystals" inside that change color when combined with urine to determine the sex of your baby. DUMB.  And certainly not accurate enough to spend $40 on one at CVS. I mean, it's literally a pee-in-a-cup test to determine the genetic make-up of your BABY. PAH-LEASE.

So I bought one. I rolled out of bed and went straight to the bathroom to deposit my urine onto the magical crystals. I got the camera ready and told David to stand-by as I was about to inform him as to whether he was having a son or a daughter. The crystals IMMEDIATELY made the urine change color.  I took a picture. I mean, it was pretty clear:

Girl, right? That's what I thought, too. We danced around and giggled and shouted, "BABY GIRL!" David took about 20 pictures. We went into the kitchen to grab cups of coffee (yes, mine was decaf, relax), and returned to the bathroom a few minutes later to giggle some more. That's when we saw this:

No longer so clear is it? Now it looks a little more green than orange in spots. It was then I decided to read the directions, because that's how I roll. "Wait 10 minutes before you read the results." It had been approximately 10 minutes by this point, and the results were much less clear than when I first peed in the cup. Now it was sort of half boy, half girl. 

HOLY SHIT. HALF BOY/HALF GIRL?! That's like a mother's worst nightmare! Will I have to be one of those women who is forced to CHOOSE the sex of their baby because they came out with both sets and inevitably I'll choose the wrong gender and my child will grow up resenting me AND him/herself and want to be the other sex and will end up in a drag show in San Francisco with a name like Mango Scrumptious? Not that there's anything wrong with that...BUT IT'S CERTAINLY NOT A MOTHER'S DREAM.

Ok, deep breaths. Maybe the test malfunctioned. Maybe I got bad crystals. Or maybe it was right in the first place, girl, and then slowly changed color because of an environmental change like the AC kicking on. 

The moral: Do not buy the gender predictor tests. As if listeria, genetic mutations, and anemia weren't enough, I now fear my child is a hermaphrodite and I'm completely flustered trying to figure out how we'll afford round trip airfare to San Francisco twice a year.

Another Reason Why my Husband is Cute

We went to a beautiful baby shower last weekend and we were one of, I believe, eight visibly pregnant couples there. It was nuts.

David: Do you want a cupcake?

Erin: Let's wait, I think there's a line.

David: Oh yeah, all the preggos are up there.

Erin: I can't believe there are so many pregnant women here! There must by eight of us!

David: Well, what do you expect?

Erin: What do you mean?

David: It's a baby shower.

(I waited for him to laugh, or acknowledge that this was a punch line to a joke.)

Erin: Seriously?

David: What?

Erin: You don't have to be pregnant to come to someone ELSE'S baby shower.

David: Oh. I didn't think of that.

Falling Short

I guess I can't wear my favorite Sister Hazel shirt anymore. At least, not in public.

The Reactions

One thing that amazes me about being pregnant and starting to "show" is how much people want to talk about it. A pregnant woman is either as an anomaly or a fellow club member. Moms love to ask me how far along I am or when I am due. They are the ones who rub my belly without asking, which I'm not saying bothers me.
Men are a little more hesitant about asking or talking about it. What they do instead is open doors or allow me to do things first that really aren't necessary, like choosing my apples from the produce stand or taking a menu at a restaurant. Men are mostly concerned that pregnant women get place to place safely and have constant access to food. I guess it's an instinct?
But there are always the women with an opinion. These are the ones you have to watch out for. This week in line at the grocery store, a girl in front of me chatted with the checker about how she gave up full sugar Mountain Dew for diet because she was breast-feeding. Am I going to judge her? Nope. I judged pregnant women for eating Chef Boyardee until I got pregnant. I no longer judge any of them. But then, the checker had to have an opinion. "Well, I don't think you're supposed to drink caffeine when you're pregnant." The breast-feeding mother laughed it off, obviously having dealt with The Opinion before.
"Yeah, they say a lot of things. My kids are all fine."
"Well," The Opinion went on, "doctors are concerned about growth restriction when it comes to pregnancy and caffeine."
Breast-feeding Mom, again, ignored the obviously wide open door to take The Opinion down and shrugged. I, being a new mom and new member of the club, felt the need to step in. "I'm pregnant and I have some form of caffeine everyday. My baby's doing fine."
Breast-feeding Mom looked back at me and smiled. "I'm pretty sure I had a beer or two, as well!" She laughed and walked off. That's right girl! I thought it, I didn't say it. Now it was just me and The Opinion.
"My friend is pregnant and she told me she can't have any caffeine and absolutely no alcohol," The Opinion announced.
I think I puffed up. "There are a lot of opinions and a lot of data, but fortunately for us, we all get to make the choice for ourselves."
The Opinion shook her head. "I just can't see putting my baby at risk."
Lucky for her, she was bagging my groceries when she said that and the transaction was over. It didn't leave me enough time to shove my Ramen Noodles down her throat. So, I looked The Opinion square in the eyes and said, "You know, like I said, it's up to each of us individually. But I can assure you, somewhere in Italy right now there is a pregnant woman eating a delicious piece of unpasteurized cheese with her glass of wine." And I waddled away.

Pickles and Chocolate

"People think that their cravings are significant, but studies show no link between cravings and nutritional requirements," one doctor says. "If people craved what the body needs, we would all eat more broccoli and less chocolate. There's no scientific explanation for food cravings. There's no data saying that what a woman craves is related to something her body or baby needs, and there's no data to support that typical pregnancy food cravings are harmful, either."

Eat that, haters.

How to Bother a Pregnant Woman

My sister-in-law and friends convinced me it was ok to start buying maternity clothes.
Maternity clothes = I can no longer fit into regular clothes = wow I'm getting big.
I finally embraced it. I went to a popular high-end maternity store to look through the sale section. My main objective was to purchase shorts. Summer in Florida won't be pretty with an extra creature inside of me. The least amount of clothing possible without making one of the local news station's top evening stories was the goal.
Just when I found a pair of shorts, the dreaded, "Are you finding everything okay?" popped up behind me. Uggggharrrgrahaaaargh!! LEAVE ME ALONE!
"Yes, I'm all set, thanks." "Are you finding everything okay?" walked away and I was again alone with my sale rack.
I picked out another pair of shorts a few moments later and "Are you finding everything okay?" swooped in again. "Can I get you a fitting room for the clothing you've chosen?"
"Sure." I kept it short and sweet with the hope that she would just walk away. And did she? I'll give you three guesses.
She went on, "You know, the secret belly-suction-magical-flap (I'm paraphrasing what the thing was called because whatever it was sounded equally ridiculous to what I just typed) on some of these shorts are really preferred by most pregnant women. I see you chose a shorter ruin-your-life-and-kill-your-baby belly flap (again, paraphrasing) which can sometimes ride up and make you uncomfortable. Would you like me to get you a pair with a secret belly-suction-magical-flap so you can try them on?"
"Sure." Whatever. Just go away and let me shop.
The entire time I shopped, "Are you finding everything okay?" loomed. She watched every choice I made. It had been a while since someone on commission followed me so closely in a store that I wanted to turn around and shout, "NOBODY DOES THIS ANYMORE LADY. NOT EVEN CAR SALESMAN."
I took an extra long time wandering around the store to see if I could lose her and resume my normal shopping pattern. After about 20 minutes, I gave up. "Um, Tracy was it?"
"Oh yes! Here, right here! I went ahead and chose a few items similar to the ones you chose and added them to the room."
"Oh, ok. Thanks."
I walked into the dressing room after having chosen 3 pairs of shorts and 2 shirts. Guess what was hanging on the rack? NINE pairs of shorts, TWO pairs of jeans, and FOUR shirts. I couldn't even remember what items I'd chosen anymore. I stood there, staring at the clothes I didn't choose, seething with rage. Who the hell does she think she is? I don't need a personal shopper. I don't need someone telling me what to buy. I DON'T NEED TRACY IN MY DRESSING ROOM.
"Everything fitting ok?"
"YES, YES FINE."
I will still standing in my regular clothes staring at all the shorts. Finally, I picked up the first pair. I had no idea whether they were a magical flap or a kill-your-baby flap. I tried them on. They didn't fit. I took them off. I did that a few more times, wondering which ones I chose. Then I figured it out. Price tags. I chose shorts that cost $20. Tracy chose shorts that cost $90!!! NINETY FREAKING DOLLARS. FOR A PAIR OF SHORTS THAT I CAN WEAR FOR 6 MONTHS. I hated Tracy. I hated her shorts, and her jeans, and her tops. I grabbed the pair of shorts I originally chose and headed to the register.
"Oh, you chose these? Well, as long as they were comfortable for you. Can I get you a few more in other colors or..."
"No, no thank you."
"Are you sure, because the Spring line has..."
"NO. Tracy, I can't afford more than one pair."
"Oh. Ok." Tracy rang up my shorts. I looked at the little screen and watched prices twice as much as the tags read whizzing by.
"Um, Tracy? Are these the right price?" Tracy didn't answer me. She didn't even look at me. She just hurriedly put a bunch of numbers into the computer and the right prices came up. What if I wasn't looking? Would she have totally over-charged me?
After pretending that didn't just happen, she asked for my address. "Why do you need my address?"
"So that we can add you to our mailing list."
"I don't want to be on your mailing list. Do you still need my address?"
"No, ma'am. Can I please have your email address?"
"Why do you need my email address?"
"So that we can send you coupons. We send out over $400 worth of coupons and discounts to our customers every year."
"Well, I'm only going to be pregnant until September, so I can't imagine I'll be using maternity store coupons for an entire year."
Tracy finished ringing me up and handed me my bag. I'm pretty sure she was still talking when I walked out. I bought one pair of shorts and a shirt, and promptly went home and ordered an entire maternity wardrobe at Old Navy Online. Not a single virtual employee bothered me.

What Doesn't Suck

Ok, it's not all bad. Here are a few things that rock about being pregnant:

1. I never have to suck my stomach in. I'm one of those people that only gains weight in her midsection. This means boobs and stomach. I'd kill for a bubble butt. And because I'm 5 feet tall, 4 pounds straight onto my stomach looks ridiculous. So I've always had to fight to keep my weight under control and to suck my stomach in. Now? I stick it OUT! I bump into thing occasionally, but who cares? I love, love, love having a big stomach that people call "cute."

2. Pregnancy nails. Did you know about this? I'd heard rumors, but hello! I used to file my nails about once every two weeks. I constantly applied nail hardener and similar things to keep the from chipping off. Now I have to cut them at least once a week to keep the suckers from growing like weeds! Oh, and chip them? Not a chance. My hands look so beautiful.

3. Pregnancy hair. You know how hair comes out in your brush, or if you have long hair a bunch falls out when you let it down? Or the little hunks that float down the shower drain after you shampoo? That doesn't happen when you're pregnant. It all stays in and holds on. If you have thin hair like me, it's the miracle you've always prayed for.

4. People are nice to you. They see the belly, and they open doors. They let you go first in any line. They smile and ask nice questions. It's a "get out of jail free" card in any situation. Oh, and everyone thinks you look beautiful and adorable, no matter how ridiculous you really look.

5. You can eat anything and no one judges you. In fact, they ENCOURAGE you! I snuck into my friend's pantry one night and started eating her salt and vinegar chips. When she walked into the kitchen and saw me I paused mid crackly bite and she said, "You should probably take those home if you like them. Or just finish them." What?! You want me to finish the food in your pantry? No problem!