On my end, I couldn’t be having an easier pregnancy. I’m more than six months and still wearing all of my clothes and not attracting attention as “putting on weight” or being pregnant. Unfortunately, my doctor isn’t so psyched. Apparently, I’m on the small side, anemic and borderline gestationally diabetic. Very scary stuff. The orders are to eat better, take iron supplements and get more rest. The small part, Stef said, is to be expected because I have small hips, waist, etc. I know that I should be eating better but that reality check shocked me out of my diet of Oreos and French fries. I’m going to turn green; I’ve never had so many veggies in my life. Tonight Ryan and I sat down to spinach salad, steak and brussel sprouts. The first time ever that I’ve cooked brussel sprouts. But I don’t want a stupid or sick baby so I’ll do what it takes. Yesterday’s ultrasound showed a very healthy kid that’s on the small side. Stef needs to get back to me, though, for confirmation. My baby shower is this Sunday. I’m excited to see everyone but I kind of wish I was bigger to give them something to pat. No one has reached out to try to touch my tummy yet (a good thing since I don’t like strangers touching me). Only Ryan gets to do that. :). Speaking of whom, it looks like he’s 100 percent on board. I didn’t plan for this because I was afraid to be disappointed. But now that he’s actually excited about the baby, I couldn’t be more excited myself. He’s been adorable- making sure I eat right, joining me for my baby sign language class; and we have open conversations about the birth, logistics, raising Sage and what to do if she wants to watch South Park with us. Even his family has been supportive and happy for us. Both his mom and his dad sent me congratulatory cards, ask regularly how I’m doing, and when Ryan called his mom this afternoon, she was out shopping for baby clothes!! I never in a million years dreamed this could happen. Sage is one lucky little girl.
Onto my quick update of the ‘sitch’. Six months this week! I’m still fitting into my size 26 James Jeans cords I got this winter at the Sundance Film Festival. Take a look at the photos shot this morning. Thank the fashion gods for low-rise waistbands! I even wore a Lee Jeans denim mini when Ryan and I dove into the Tavernacle last Saturday night for dueling pianos. At times I’d like to hold a sign saying, “I’m not fat, just pregnant” but Ryan says no one would even think I look fat…yet. Charming ;). I went to TJ Maxx last week and upped my cup size to ‘C’ . Wahoo! Kristen exclaimed that it looks like I had an enhancement. I’ve been extremely lucky so far- no swollen anything, no debilitating pains, no continuous nausea, no skin breakouts (whew!), no stretch marks, no significant mood swings, no loss of ‘desire’. I feel an occasional wiggle down there that reminds me I really am pregnant. I’m sure that will change in a matter of days but I’m counting my blessings so far. My spare room will soon become the nursery but because Ryan is living in SLC and not here (he walks to work), we have to double up on the big items. So far, I’ve collected a Peg Perego high chair, Graco Pack n’Play and a handful of kids books from yard sales and my friend Karen gave me some Avent baby bottles, two carseats and some Pooh posters. My collection is growing steadily. At friends’ requests (because I had no idea people even did this), I registered at Babies ‘R’ Us at Amazon.com but I’m digging the hand-me-downs. Why let perfectly good baby stuff go to waste?? The baby shower is at Kristen’s house at the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon, May 21. Ladies, email me for details if you can make it.
Conservative parents of America, I hereby apologize if you are offended by my reference to Ryan’s fascination with my “improved” breasts. But can you honestly say that your husband or boyfriend didn’t respond the same way? Maleness is universal. I just happen to be the one unafraid to speak frankly.
I love being edgy! My mom wasn’t too pleased by my honesty and I’m sure Ryan’s mother was irked as well. Who can blame them really? This is not a situation either would approve of, let alone understand. But I doubt there’d be anything I could say that would make it all better right now. They are both wonderful women but it’s their loss, really, if they can’t understand or can’t get past the open language because then they miss that smart, funny, caring, logical, constructive person inside. The girl who will stay up all night with you after you find out your boyfriend is in love with another guy, the one who writes your resumes and sets up contacts and interviews for you, the one who will pick you up from the airport at 2 a.m., the one who walks you through sending an email attachment (when you should know this by now) or isn’t afraid to tell you those pants make you look fat- if you ask, of course. I’m not a private person. If I was, then blogging would not be an option. For the most part, I don’t go hogwild anymore at the dinner table but that doesn’t mean I’ll sensor my own blog. Jeez. This is me, Folks. Freedom of speech in all its glory and I’m not embarrassed or ashamed to mention sexuality, motherhood and low income in the same space. Like Howard Stern’s producers once said, “While, the average radio listener listens for an average of 12 minutes, the Howard Stern fan listens for an average of 42 minutes because they want to hear what he’ll say next.” Pig Vomit: Ok…but what about the people who hate him? “Good point,” they responded. “The average Howard Stern hater listens for 52 minutes.” Pig Vomit: But if they hate him why do they listen? “The answer most commonly given, ‘I wanna hear what he’ll say next.'” Ironic that Ryan loooves Stern.
“Most people speak up around 12 weeks,” said Stef. I guess I should have said something months ago but my usual wacky life got in the way. After Sunday, only Snowbird will run full steam so it is time to reflect and fess up; I’ve logged about 70 days around Utah so far, been working on the Sports Guide, writing and entertaining friends and friends of friends throughout the season. Who has the time to stop and consider that I’m PREGNANT? Up until now, it just hasn’t felt real. The amniocentesis from last week, sealed the deal. I’m having a healthy baby girl.
I still fit into my clothes, no one has asked if I’m getting fat or done something different with my hair, and I haven’t slowed down one bit. In fact, I won the women’s division at the Ski Utah Media Day race last weekend, I’m working out at the gym tomorrow and skiing Alta Sunday.
At 22 weeks (five and a half months for those mathematically challenged), I’m feeling a bit pudgy (but only I can tell :)) and frustrated. I’m not used to the extra pounds (8-9). I can’t believe I – of all people – am going to be a mother. You probably can’t either. But experts say it’s different when it’s your own kid. I can only hope.
Before anyone asks how I’m doing, they wonder about Ryan, my hunky, charming, sweetheart boyfriend of three years. When he’s not playing with my enormous (to me) breasts, he’s freaking out. At 11 years my junior, you can see how this might be a shocker. But he’s also been incredible- showing up to the ultrasounds, the amnio and getting me pink lemonade in the middle of the night. I’ve told my parents and he’s dreading telling his. My mom, by the way, has essentially disowned me and my dad, threw me off by reacting with a cheerful, “I’m not sure how I feel about this but I suppose I will think about it for a few days and see,”
We don’t know where things will stand with us by the time the baby comes (August 22) but that’s ok. Ryan and I went into this knowing that there was a good chance I’d be a single mom. I didn’t expect anything from him. You see, about a year ago I decided I wanted to try for a child because my window of opportunity was rapidly slamming shut on my fingers. We spoke at length and when I asked him where he stood, he replied, “I’m your man!” And he is right. He’s the kind of guy I want somewhere in my life forever even if he’s not my baby’s biodad. Even if he bailed tomorrow, I will always love him. I could never hate him or blame him.
The whole concept of being a parent frightens me. Especially doing it alone. I have no savings, a freelance writing career (i.e. no income) and a selfish lifestyle. But millions of women around the world make it work – with less smarts and money than me – so I’m encouraged. Like my mom said,= when I told her, “You never did anything the traditional way, why should this be any different?” Not to mention that with a late summer due date, I won’t skip a beat when it comes to ski season. And now I can become a “family travel and baby product writer” on top of my other niches.
My close friends, of course, wonder, “Why? You always hated kids.” All I can say in my defense is that in the past few years kids became ‘cute’ rather than annoying in my eyes. I knew that I didn’t want to wait so long that it was too late to have kids and then regret never trying. I want a family of my own. I’m not close with my brother or sister. And when my parents go, I’m alone. I don’t want to be alone.
So there you have it. My big news. The sad news is that my insurance doesn’t kick in until after $5k so I’m forced to beg, borrow and garage sale to even get to birth day. If you have any maternity clothes or baby stuff (or know someone who does) or just want to offer advice, I’d be forever indebted and will gladly return or donate anything that comes way. My address is 8827 Gorgoza Dr., Park City, UT, 84098 but I’m happy to pick up your hand-me-downs if you don’t live too far away.
Thank you all for wishing me the best and not doubting my decision. This is something that I want and there’s no turning back. I promise to blog more regularly now that I’ve got nothing to hide. Hope you tune in for more tales and trials!
Taos Ski Valley, NM, is like the poster child for global warming this season. Poor guys. I’ve been hanging at the Austig House motel/hotel for the past three nights, cruising the mile and a half up to the base of the resort to watch the diehards eek out whatever turns they can make on 30 inches of manmade snow that will now soon melt away. Snowmaking ended recently because the their forest service says so.
Al’s Run looked like vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce all over it- the sauce being dirt. The ski school, fortunately, has chugged right along as many beginners and intermediates continued to show up for those infamous ski weeks and toasts at the martini tree. I was actually surprised at how much of the mountain was open given their snowfall this year. Crews have worked diligently to spread that manmade around and make it stick. ooh boy, were the runs firm- even in 60 degree weather. Easterners, though, probably were psyched. But, truthfully, one day on the hill was enough for me. Without sharp edges, you’re hanging on for life with every muscle gripped in tension. I can wait. I know that back home there will be plenty of freshies from the incoming storm headed our way. Instead, I’ve eaten myself into a coma this weekend. New Mexican cuisine is yummy. Lots of spices, kick, mixed flavors; tonight, for example we ate the Apple Tree in downtown Taos and I had chicken enchiladas in a blue corn tortilla with mango/green chili salsa. Our waiter served everything with a smile as we sat among local art for sale on the walls and the hum of diners from around each corner of the restaurant’s mazelike seating arrangement. I highly recommend the place.
I fly home tomorrow. Maybe I’ll finally be able to kick this cold and nausea doing a number in my tummy ever since I got back from Brazil last week. Ryan’s buddy Chad got married in Campos de Jordao and two days later in Ubatuba he was flattened by the flu. As luck would have it, Ryan and I were the ones sharing the tiny car with him as we drove four hours to Rio for my flight to Utah. I swear I’m like a virus magnet. So long as I’m around healthy people, no worries. One person with a nasty case of something and I’m its next victim.
Speaking of Ryan… we are still going strong!! I bet that freaks him out to consider but at the same time we both agree that it’s just “easy.” Of everyone I’ve ever dated, this one is the healthiest, most normal and least high maintenance. Sure, I worry that one day he’ll simply pack up and move home to Massachusetts without even saying goodbye (thanks, Greg, for giving me that issue) but what can you do? If it happens, I survive and move on like I did before. Each dude has been better than the last. Let this be a lesson to you, Girls. Never think that you’ll never meet anyone better than your last guy. YOU ALWAYS DO.
