Okay, let me start off on a positive before I start to get all whiny.
It's 85 degrees here in London. And it's sunny. Yes, I'm totally serious. Apparently, we're having some sort of ridiculous heat wave, and even though I'm carrying a bowling ball in front of me and heat makes me feel a bit cankle-icious, I'm telling Mrs. Nature to bring it on. I'm a sucker for sunshine, and everytime I'm out for my lunch, I crane my neck to get as much of it as possible within my allotted 60 minutes.
Now, here's the whiny bit where it seems my 20-year old insecure self has reappeared.
At 6 months in, I feel huge. I feel like I have chipmunk cheeks. I feel like my hair is perpetually hanging at a heavy triangle on my face, daring me to do anything to it that makes it look less like a helmet. I feel like I've started waddling. I feel like a monkey when I sit cross legged and my belly protrudes between my thighs. I find it difficult to shave my legs. I can't walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded. I've almost passed out twice, due to my low blood pressure and not eating as much as I should and still thinking I can run along at my regular pace. Yeah, I put a smile on and put on my flowy tops and just-so torn jeans and put cream on my remarkably pimple-less cheeks and look the part of a supremely serene pregnant lady, but in my head I feel like I should be wearing a neon blinking sign that reads Caution: Wide Load.
This in turn makes me feel unsexy and uncool and tired. And this results in me bursting into tears at very odd moments.
The mister has been amazing through all of this. Luckily, I'm married to someone that not only finds pregnancy fascinating, he finds it quite sexy on me and the way I'm changing. But unfortunately, the only thing I hear through my hormone-static is blahblahblah. I should be flattered by comments from people and strangers that I "look so well" and that "I'm carrying this neat little bump", but I can't seem to get a grip.
I've also taken on trying to understand what the mister is going through. I don't want him to feel like he always has to run home and massage my feet, but I also don't want him to feel like this is his "last summer" and he'll take advantage of the old party crowd and forget about me sitting at home not being able to drink, go out with friends, or do much of anything at all. I know, I feel unfair to him just uttering those words.
Yeah, I sound insecure and paranoid. But this is the stuff that no one tells you about pregnancy. It's not all wine and roses.
I'm the kind of girl that could never/will never be able to keep my mouth shut. I'm an open book with everything, especially in my marriage. The mister would probably rather not always hear my inner monologue, but sometimes I feel that it's appropriate. And so I laid bare how I feel about this summer, changes that should be made, things that have happened in the past.
Unfortunately, this now put him in a position where he feels like I don't trust him to make the right decisions. Him. The writer of my many love letters, the father of our child, my puzzle-piece.
But it's not a case of trust. It's a case of me worrying that things won't change (according to my pace, mind you). Worrying also that things are changing, but too quickly. That there will now not be "the two of us", that it'll be "the three of us". How does this affect me? Him? Us? What is it like, having a 3rd team member? Will I be a good mom/wife/lover/friend?
These are things I haven't said to him. These are things that lie at the root of the "other" things I bring up. I guess I do my best to try and balance the amazing gift of being pregnant with the nervousness and insecurity that go with it, and try to lean more heavily on the former rather than the latter. Oddly enough, I feel that it's a kind of weakness to admit my fragility, so I put on a brave face and overcompensate by being tough and sarcastic. It's a battle that no one can solve except me, and I guess this pregnancy just brings up some old demons that I thought I'd put away.
Yet even as I write this, Junior is deftly kicking me in response to my fears, as if to say... psst. i'm right here. everything will be okay.
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Sunday, 7 June 2009
Doctors, hospitals and charts, oh my..
I will not use the obligatory "we're not in Kansas anymore" quote, but it applies nevertheless. And, as a warning, some of you may not agree with some of the following statements and may think of them as a bit inflammatory, but if you care to read on, go for it (and settle in with some tea and cake, 'cause this is a loooooong one).
Living in a foreign country gives you a very unique comparative perspective on a lot of things. Currently, I have the pleasure of comparing health care systems, doctors, hospitals, etc. Being a pregnant lady, I have no choice but to be immersed in all of this at a semi-regular frequency. I'll start with my previous experiences.
After living in NYC for almost 10 years, and upstate NY before that, I had a pretty good knowledge and comfort-level with the way the health care system operated. You pay through the nose, or your company does, for health insurance (which I still think is the most ridiculous thing, PAYING to have health coverage), which gives you the opportunity to see a doctor for every sniffle, cough, cold.. anything. And he'll see you very quickly, which I used to think was a blessing. But when I got to his office, he'd manage, every time, to shove a load of medicine and samples into my hand and say- yeah, take some of this, you'll be fine. Uh, okaaay...
Luckily, mama didn't raise no fool, so I'm pretty familiar with medical jargon (yeah, I'm a super-nerd who likes reading biology and science books), and I'm familiar with the way my body works. And to my astonishment, sometimes I'd look in one hand and have one medicine, and in the other hand I would have another medicine that conflicted. As in: "take two of these to expel phlegm" and "take two of these to suppress it". Yeah, thanks doctor. That makes total sense.
I realised that the only reason why doctors do this is because they have close partnerships with certain pharmaceutical companies, so they make a nice profit when they give you lots of samples. Figures. It's also proven that hospitals encourage pregnant women to have a drug that speeds up labour (or have a cesarean), so that the turnover can be higher. More births=more money. It's like a Michael Moore documentary over there. And for a long time, I bought into it, and I loved the attention I would get for every little thing that bothered me. I became a bit of a hypochondriac, and every little ache or cough became oh, shit. I'm gonna die.
Well, shift that to living in the UK. Over here, everyone gets free health coverage. You can see the doctor at the last minute, and if it's something serious, they'll refer you to a specialist. Simple as that. No drugs, no co-pay. Now, if you can afford to pay for private health insurance (which is the monthly equivalent of paying $60 a month) and take yourself out of the line of people who can't afford to do that, then that's a good option as well. Granted, it doesn't cover everything, but it does guarantee cheaper prices for certain treatments.
In the beginning, I was terrified of the NHS. I pictured these grimy clinics, ripped curtains, dim David Fincher-esque lighting. Okay, I'm a bit of a drama queen- but hey, I was so used to the rich, pristine walls of NYU, that I had a very pampered perception.
The doctors here are pretty amazing. I remember my first visit- I came in and asked the doctor "umm.. I have this cough I've had for a few days- should I take something for it? What do you think it is?" The doctor took one look at me, listened to my chest and said "Chicken soup, and rest. Now get out."
And he was right. No one here bullshits you. No one here throws drugs at a problem unless absolutely last-resort necessary. Have I ever used my private health insurance? Nope. Yes, the NHS have issues, just like any over-prescribed under-staffed business, but they've never failed me. I trust them.
Now, as a pregnant lady in a foreign country, I am a tiny bit nervous about things here. I guess it brings a whole new set of issues for me that I've never had to deal with before. Scans, midwife appointments, growth charts, percentages, birth plans. The list goes on. But we've found a great NHS hospital only 20 minutes away from us that so far has been amazing- the facilities are modern and comfortable, the people are really lovely, and the doctors are extremely thorough. But they've been a bit too cautious and thorough recently. I'll explain.
I've had a mild heart murmur since I was 10. So does Mamo. So does Babchya. it's our hallmark, if you will. I've never had a problem with it apart from the occasional flutter. However, as someone that will, in just under 4 months, endure the incredible physical strain of pushing a watermelon-sized human being out of my bits, the doctors recommended me to have an ultrasound and ECG of my heart, to make sure that there won't be any complications. I was against it, since I'm sure I'll be fine, but I agreed to it nonetheless. They spent 40 minutes in there with me, scanning my heart, taking measurements. Did they discuss the results with me after? Nope. They said I'll get a letter with my results in the mail.
Still, the paranoid New Yorker in me came back with a vengeance. Whaaaaat?!?!?!??? What does that mean? Did they find anything? Ohmygodohmygod.
Yeah, I'd slap me too. I was spinning. I was imagining the worst scenarios possible. I looked at the mister helplessly.
"Just take a breath", he said. He was right.
Throughout this pregnancy, I've realised there are a LOT of scales, percentages and charts that they use to monitor a pregnant woman and her baby. Are doctors always correct? No. Do babies always grow along the lines of a national average? No. Do mothers all have the same issues? Nope. So, I'm taking everything with a large kernel of salt.
To be honest, the more I think about all these charts and tests and figures, the more time I take away from focusing on this little magical wriggling fish inside me. And that's not a very rock and roll attitude to pass down to our baby, now is it?
So just keep hanging, baby. Mama will take care of the rest.
Living in a foreign country gives you a very unique comparative perspective on a lot of things. Currently, I have the pleasure of comparing health care systems, doctors, hospitals, etc. Being a pregnant lady, I have no choice but to be immersed in all of this at a semi-regular frequency. I'll start with my previous experiences.
After living in NYC for almost 10 years, and upstate NY before that, I had a pretty good knowledge and comfort-level with the way the health care system operated. You pay through the nose, or your company does, for health insurance (which I still think is the most ridiculous thing, PAYING to have health coverage), which gives you the opportunity to see a doctor for every sniffle, cough, cold.. anything. And he'll see you very quickly, which I used to think was a blessing. But when I got to his office, he'd manage, every time, to shove a load of medicine and samples into my hand and say- yeah, take some of this, you'll be fine. Uh, okaaay...
Luckily, mama didn't raise no fool, so I'm pretty familiar with medical jargon (yeah, I'm a super-nerd who likes reading biology and science books), and I'm familiar with the way my body works. And to my astonishment, sometimes I'd look in one hand and have one medicine, and in the other hand I would have another medicine that conflicted. As in: "take two of these to expel phlegm" and "take two of these to suppress it". Yeah, thanks doctor. That makes total sense.
I realised that the only reason why doctors do this is because they have close partnerships with certain pharmaceutical companies, so they make a nice profit when they give you lots of samples. Figures. It's also proven that hospitals encourage pregnant women to have a drug that speeds up labour (or have a cesarean), so that the turnover can be higher. More births=more money. It's like a Michael Moore documentary over there. And for a long time, I bought into it, and I loved the attention I would get for every little thing that bothered me. I became a bit of a hypochondriac, and every little ache or cough became oh, shit. I'm gonna die.
Well, shift that to living in the UK. Over here, everyone gets free health coverage. You can see the doctor at the last minute, and if it's something serious, they'll refer you to a specialist. Simple as that. No drugs, no co-pay. Now, if you can afford to pay for private health insurance (which is the monthly equivalent of paying $60 a month) and take yourself out of the line of people who can't afford to do that, then that's a good option as well. Granted, it doesn't cover everything, but it does guarantee cheaper prices for certain treatments.
In the beginning, I was terrified of the NHS. I pictured these grimy clinics, ripped curtains, dim David Fincher-esque lighting. Okay, I'm a bit of a drama queen- but hey, I was so used to the rich, pristine walls of NYU, that I had a very pampered perception.
The doctors here are pretty amazing. I remember my first visit- I came in and asked the doctor "umm.. I have this cough I've had for a few days- should I take something for it? What do you think it is?" The doctor took one look at me, listened to my chest and said "Chicken soup, and rest. Now get out."
And he was right. No one here bullshits you. No one here throws drugs at a problem unless absolutely last-resort necessary. Have I ever used my private health insurance? Nope. Yes, the NHS have issues, just like any over-prescribed under-staffed business, but they've never failed me. I trust them.
Now, as a pregnant lady in a foreign country, I am a tiny bit nervous about things here. I guess it brings a whole new set of issues for me that I've never had to deal with before. Scans, midwife appointments, growth charts, percentages, birth plans. The list goes on. But we've found a great NHS hospital only 20 minutes away from us that so far has been amazing- the facilities are modern and comfortable, the people are really lovely, and the doctors are extremely thorough. But they've been a bit too cautious and thorough recently. I'll explain.
I've had a mild heart murmur since I was 10. So does Mamo. So does Babchya. it's our hallmark, if you will. I've never had a problem with it apart from the occasional flutter. However, as someone that will, in just under 4 months, endure the incredible physical strain of pushing a watermelon-sized human being out of my bits, the doctors recommended me to have an ultrasound and ECG of my heart, to make sure that there won't be any complications. I was against it, since I'm sure I'll be fine, but I agreed to it nonetheless. They spent 40 minutes in there with me, scanning my heart, taking measurements. Did they discuss the results with me after? Nope. They said I'll get a letter with my results in the mail.
Still, the paranoid New Yorker in me came back with a vengeance. Whaaaaat?!?!?!??? What does that mean? Did they find anything? Ohmygodohmygod.
Yeah, I'd slap me too. I was spinning. I was imagining the worst scenarios possible. I looked at the mister helplessly.
"Just take a breath", he said. He was right.
Throughout this pregnancy, I've realised there are a LOT of scales, percentages and charts that they use to monitor a pregnant woman and her baby. Are doctors always correct? No. Do babies always grow along the lines of a national average? No. Do mothers all have the same issues? Nope. So, I'm taking everything with a large kernel of salt.
To be honest, the more I think about all these charts and tests and figures, the more time I take away from focusing on this little magical wriggling fish inside me. And that's not a very rock and roll attitude to pass down to our baby, now is it?
So just keep hanging, baby. Mama will take care of the rest.
Friday, 29 May 2009
I shall wipe the chocolate off my chin and give you the survey results...
No, this news isn't exactly earth-shattering, but take it from me, everyone should have a "try a chocolate bar" day. Seriously. And in answer to your confused faces: yes, you are free to move on and read other, more educational posts than this one.
Having subjected myself to the horribly painful task of sampling cheerfully-packaged British chocolaty goodness, my decisions are as follows:
I love:
Drifters: some say they taste "stale", but they're quite amazing. Yummy wafers with a tiny amount of chewiness in the centre, all surrounded by milk chocolate.
Willie's Delectables: these chocolates are the most amazing dark chocolates I've ever had. Ever. Seriously. This guy basically put up his life savings to make "the best chocolate in the world": he went to Venezuela and Peru to research the beans, and has made all of these by hand. You can only find them in a few online UK sites, but holy christmas, they are so worth it.
Yep, that's about it. I thought I'd come back with at least 6 on my list, but to be honest, I don't like anything too sweet, too flaky, too filled with caramel and nuts... and it seems a lot of the chocolate in the UK is exactly that. I thought I'd also like Dairy Milk, but the rich, creamy chocolate is just a bit too heavy for me. And I also discovered that I don't have a raging chocolate obsession like I thought I did. However, don't get me started on strawberry Twizzlers or cherry Nerds, because I could write volumes about how much I love those things.
So, there you have it. And at 5 months in, I'm still managing to only need one item of maternity wear, which means that either I didn't have too much chocolate in my quest.. or I didn't have enough. Mmmm. Maybe I should do a survey of candy... (cue bitch-slap from the dentist).
Having subjected myself to the horribly painful task of sampling cheerfully-packaged British chocolaty goodness, my decisions are as follows:
I love:
Drifters: some say they taste "stale", but they're quite amazing. Yummy wafers with a tiny amount of chewiness in the centre, all surrounded by milk chocolate.
Willie's Delectables: these chocolates are the most amazing dark chocolates I've ever had. Ever. Seriously. This guy basically put up his life savings to make "the best chocolate in the world": he went to Venezuela and Peru to research the beans, and has made all of these by hand. You can only find them in a few online UK sites, but holy christmas, they are so worth it.
Yep, that's about it. I thought I'd come back with at least 6 on my list, but to be honest, I don't like anything too sweet, too flaky, too filled with caramel and nuts... and it seems a lot of the chocolate in the UK is exactly that. I thought I'd also like Dairy Milk, but the rich, creamy chocolate is just a bit too heavy for me. And I also discovered that I don't have a raging chocolate obsession like I thought I did. However, don't get me started on strawberry Twizzlers or cherry Nerds, because I could write volumes about how much I love those things.
So, there you have it. And at 5 months in, I'm still managing to only need one item of maternity wear, which means that either I didn't have too much chocolate in my quest.. or I didn't have enough. Mmmm. Maybe I should do a survey of candy... (cue bitch-slap from the dentist).
Monday, 18 May 2009
In the name of research
I'm doing a fun little experiment on chocolate. Blame the hormones if you will, but I think this'll be a fun little test, as there are so many different types that I've never tried. And come on, can you blame me for making sure that every chocolate bar gets a little attention and love and not taken for granted by the British public? Yeah, I thought so. I rest my case.
Chocolate bars are much different over here in the UK than they are in America.
Firstly, the main difference is the taste. They're far less sweeter over here, and they usually come in normal sizes- not like the King Size bars of Snickers that are as long as your leg.
Secondly, there are SO many different varieties, and they're all extremely different, and not all filled with peanuts and nougat.
Thirdly...
Okay, I can't think of a third one, so I might as well start eating. For those of you who want to indulge vicariously, you can reference this.
I'll report back shortly. Toothless and happy.
Chocolate bars are much different over here in the UK than they are in America.
Firstly, the main difference is the taste. They're far less sweeter over here, and they usually come in normal sizes- not like the King Size bars of Snickers that are as long as your leg.
Secondly, there are SO many different varieties, and they're all extremely different, and not all filled with peanuts and nougat.
Thirdly...
Okay, I can't think of a third one, so I might as well start eating. For those of you who want to indulge vicariously, you can reference this.
I'll report back shortly. Toothless and happy.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
A love letter to amazing things
Well, we got back to London in one piece (well, physically. I was in a million pieces emotionally, but more of that later).
It was, in one word: fucking brilliant. Okay, that's two words. Whatever.
We spent a couple days in New York City for our anniversary, and it was so sweet. I never realised I missed it so much until I stepped foot on the wide, grey pavement in the sunshine. After almost 2 years of having not seen it since I moved, it was really beautiful. Even the ugly bits. We also went to visit the old neighbourhood we lived in, in Long Island City, and we strolled up the street, holding hands and remembering little memories that we had there. It was, after all, the city where we lived right after we got married, so the memories were surprisingly poignant. The mister secretly booked our hotel, and though I was expecting somewhere downtown in SoHo, he booked a boutique hotel where we could see this from our balcony:
It was, in one word: fucking brilliant. Okay, that's two words. Whatever.
We spent a couple days in New York City for our anniversary, and it was so sweet. I never realised I missed it so much until I stepped foot on the wide, grey pavement in the sunshine. After almost 2 years of having not seen it since I moved, it was really beautiful. Even the ugly bits. We also went to visit the old neighbourhood we lived in, in Long Island City, and we strolled up the street, holding hands and remembering little memories that we had there. It was, after all, the city where we lived right after we got married, so the memories were surprisingly poignant. The mister secretly booked our hotel, and though I was expecting somewhere downtown in SoHo, he booked a boutique hotel where we could see this from our balcony:
It was perfect, and I fell in love with him all over again.
We also made a manic dash to a few shops and I managed to fit in a pretty decent and still economical shopping spree (and so did the mister). A few new shirts for him, tops and a pair of maternity jeans for me (yes, I submitted finally- what a nightmare), and then we set off to drive 4 hours to see my family upstate.
I can't begin to describe what the feeling was when we got there. We were excited to see them, obviously, but there was something so poignant about all of us being together for a few days. It felt like a moment that was dripping in honey. Really slow, sweet, irresistable in its utter joy. Mamo couldn't help but touch my expanding belly want to buy clothes for little bean, and Tato was both proud of his only girl, and excited at having the mister infuse a little testosterone into the mix. And Babchya... well. Babchya just couldn't stop hugging and kissing us. It was a massive celebration of love and family and eating and relaxing and planning for the unkown future that's about to happen to all of us.
We also managed to grab a cherished few hours with two people that we've known for a while, who have three perfect little people of their own. Before I describe them, I need to say something, though.
Honestly, I don't have many girlfriends. But I've never been the kind of girl that has a gang of girls to hang out with, or that has stayed best friends with her 12-year old classmate. Not that I haven't tried, believe me. I don't know why, but I guess I have a very distinct personality that doesn't seem to fit into a certain mold. I'm a bit brash, I have a dry sense of humour, I tend to be interested in solo sports rather than group sports, I tend to be the oddball, and I don't have regular girlie weekends "away from the boys".
Now, back to those two people. One person I've known since I was 15. His wife, however, I've gotten to know over a handful of years. She and I have seen eachother grow and change from a distance, and the few times that we've all met for a drink or a house visit, has been really lovely. And especially now, when I seem to be on the timeline that she had a couple years earlier (house, new business, baby on the way), there are a lot of elements in her that I recognise in myself, and I not only admire her as a wife and mother, but I I blink in awe of her strength and vulnerability as a woman and the kind of presence that she has. She walks into a room and she just has "it", and I have no idea what "it" is, though I'm sure her husband has a pretty good idea. And so do her little ones.
Anyway, without sounding like an obsessed fan, the dinner was full of great conversation, lots of wine (well, I got to live vicariously, anyway), and most of all, pee-in-my-pants laughter. The mister and I have a very weird sense of humour and I'm kind of blunt as well, and it was deliciously equalled by these two, and we felt a really nice connection. Though I had a pang of longing for the fact that the one woman I meet that shares a similar perspective, is 4,000 miles away. Figures. Either way, I know that even if we lived 20 minutes from eachother we probably wouldn't see eachother regularly, but that's what I find really fascinating about her. It's the ability to share the same space when you're able to, or parallel paths. A connection that isn't fed by anything but pure curiosity and the willingness to tackle a challenge. I miss her, but I relish the sweetness in using a few items that she's passed on to me. It's an honour, sweetheart.
Suffice to say, it was really hard for us to leave our vacation, it all went by at lightspeed. The journey home for me was rough, much more so than ever before. We realised that we wouldn't see my family again until baby makes its debut, and that really hit me hard. I'm not negating the fact that I have my in-laws here and they're really amazing.. but I just have to say, I miss my mom. I'll miss her hugging me tightly, patting my bump and whispering to it in Ukrainian. I'll miss seeing Tato hugging the mister tightly and telling him to take good care of me. I'll miss them around throughout this process this summer. I'll miss them when it's just me and the mister and the bump, before we have a second or third child that will break the "first time" reverie. It broke my heart into bits, but I had to be strong and realise that it's all a part of why life is such an amazing and hard test. The strength that you get from this kind of love is the sweet part of the pain, and that's what I need to focus on.
Until then, Mamo... ya tebe lyublyu.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
If you're reading this, you may have been tagged.
Little Laura and her bun in the belly have tagged me for a game of 8s. I don't get tagged very often, and my brain is hurting working too many graphics on a presentation so I thought I'd try it. And I'll try and not bore you to death.
Actually, I'm quite surprised at this list, because the thing that really struck me is the "8 Things I Wish I Could Do". I had a tough time filling that one out, because everything I have in my life so far is a list of things that I wished for when I was younger... so it's nice to be reminded of how content you can be, eh?
8 Things I Look Forward To:
1. Getting on a plane to NYC tomorrow
2. Celebrating our 3 year anniversary tomorrow
3. Seeing Blur at Wembley Stadium in July
4. Meeting our October dinner guest
5. Getting a long kiss from my mister at the end of my day, every day
6. The New York pizza that I will devour (there is no better pizza in the entire world)
7. Seeing my family upstate, first time since B.P. (Before Pregnancy)
8. Getting our sailboat back from Holland so we can start sailing in the summer
8 Things I Did Yesterday:
1. Got Indian takeaway for dinner. Mmmmm...
2. Started packing our suitcases
3. Went with the mister for our checkup with the midwife
4. Watched part of a movie
5. Balanced our bank accounts in the US and the UK
6. Caught up on my daily celebrity trash on http://www.dlisted.com/
7. Worked on a presentation at work
8. Made the mister's anniversary card
8 Things I Wish I Could Do:
1. Eat sushi and drink cocktails while pregnant
2. Play the guitar
3. Be consistent with excercising
4. Excel at sports
5. Have my own business
6. Not be in debt
7. Fly like a bird
8. Make time pass more slowly so I can relish moments longer
8 Shows I Watch:
1. BBC news
2. America's Next Top Model
3. Match of the Day
4. Any Tottenham Hotspur game
5. Grand Designs (oh, how I adore this show)
6. Supersize v Superskinny
7. The Dog Whisperer
8. Dragons Den
8 Bloggers Whom I Am Harrassing to Do This:
1. Cat at Zipbag of Bones
2. Janet at Three and Holding
3. Kat at Three Bedroom Bungalow
4. Elle Charlie at Sometimes a Girl Needs a Blog
5. Flutter
6. Michelle at Confessions of a Desperate Housewife
7. Ryan at Low Water Mark
8. Amanda at The Wink
Actually, I'm quite surprised at this list, because the thing that really struck me is the "8 Things I Wish I Could Do". I had a tough time filling that one out, because everything I have in my life so far is a list of things that I wished for when I was younger... so it's nice to be reminded of how content you can be, eh?
8 Things I Look Forward To:
1. Getting on a plane to NYC tomorrow
2. Celebrating our 3 year anniversary tomorrow
3. Seeing Blur at Wembley Stadium in July
4. Meeting our October dinner guest
5. Getting a long kiss from my mister at the end of my day, every day
6. The New York pizza that I will devour (there is no better pizza in the entire world)
7. Seeing my family upstate, first time since B.P. (Before Pregnancy)
8. Getting our sailboat back from Holland so we can start sailing in the summer
8 Things I Did Yesterday:
1. Got Indian takeaway for dinner. Mmmmm...
2. Started packing our suitcases
3. Went with the mister for our checkup with the midwife
4. Watched part of a movie
5. Balanced our bank accounts in the US and the UK
6. Caught up on my daily celebrity trash on http://www.dlisted.com/
7. Worked on a presentation at work
8. Made the mister's anniversary card
8 Things I Wish I Could Do:
1. Eat sushi and drink cocktails while pregnant
2. Play the guitar
3. Be consistent with excercising
4. Excel at sports
5. Have my own business
6. Not be in debt
7. Fly like a bird
8. Make time pass more slowly so I can relish moments longer
8 Shows I Watch:
1. BBC news
2. America's Next Top Model
3. Match of the Day
4. Any Tottenham Hotspur game
5. Grand Designs (oh, how I adore this show)
6. Supersize v Superskinny
7. The Dog Whisperer
8. Dragons Den
8 Bloggers Whom I Am Harrassing to Do This:
1. Cat at Zipbag of Bones
2. Janet at Three and Holding
3. Kat at Three Bedroom Bungalow
4. Elle Charlie at Sometimes a Girl Needs a Blog
5. Flutter
6. Michelle at Confessions of a Desperate Housewife
7. Ryan at Low Water Mark
8. Amanda at The Wink
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
Giving good head
You bunch of perverts. That's for another site.
I'm in a very strange in-between phase of pregnancy. Yes, it's a magical time and I'm very blessed to have a pretty easy ride so far.... BUT. It's not as glamorous as I thought. Here I was thinking "hey, I'll be a hot thing, skinny as a rail with a tiny bump in front of me, wearing 5 inch heels". Shyeah. Thanks, Us Weekly, for making us think that that's possible. My heels have stayed on, but the rest of me has definitely changed.
Up until about a week ago, I've been able to wear my size 25 jeans (with a hairband connecting the groaning sides of zipper together like Moses trying to keep the Red Sea together). But I gave it up and surrendered to my expanding belly and ass. The changes seem to be happening at a rate where I feel like I have a new layer of fat every morning. On the positive side, some of the fat has deposited itself straight onto my 2-cup sizes larger boobs, which almost gives these English "glamour girls" a run for their money. Niiice.
I also haven't been sleeping well, which is rare for me, since I could normally sleep through a level of noise equivalent to a jet engine. I think the insomnia is a combination of having to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night all the time and a backache like I've been in a boxing match with Tyson.
My hair and face are another story. My hair, even having had it cut a month ago, has grown out already, and has felt heavy, dull and lanky, and my face just looks tired and beaten, and quite round now, sort of like a dinner plate. Great.
I'm wondering where this supposed 2nd trimester "glow" is arriving. I sense a design flaw in this whole pregnancy thing. And it got to the point where I've found myself criticizing my looks and being really negative. But I noticed I was complaining without actually doing something about it. So I made a change. And here's where I get to the title of this piece.
I went to the salon and told him to chop off my hair. 5 inches.
And if I sound vain, I really don't give a shit, because I am languishing in the giddiness of a new hairdo. It makes me feel amazing and pampered and completely brighter. I feel like myself again, and I feel like the insides of my brain got what they were aching for. A chance to feel like "me".
So, in fact, my hairstylist gave me good head, if you will. Both externally and internally.
I'm in a very strange in-between phase of pregnancy. Yes, it's a magical time and I'm very blessed to have a pretty easy ride so far.... BUT. It's not as glamorous as I thought. Here I was thinking "hey, I'll be a hot thing, skinny as a rail with a tiny bump in front of me, wearing 5 inch heels". Shyeah. Thanks, Us Weekly, for making us think that that's possible. My heels have stayed on, but the rest of me has definitely changed.
Up until about a week ago, I've been able to wear my size 25 jeans (with a hairband connecting the groaning sides of zipper together like Moses trying to keep the Red Sea together). But I gave it up and surrendered to my expanding belly and ass. The changes seem to be happening at a rate where I feel like I have a new layer of fat every morning. On the positive side, some of the fat has deposited itself straight onto my 2-cup sizes larger boobs, which almost gives these English "glamour girls" a run for their money. Niiice.
I also haven't been sleeping well, which is rare for me, since I could normally sleep through a level of noise equivalent to a jet engine. I think the insomnia is a combination of having to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night all the time and a backache like I've been in a boxing match with Tyson.
My hair and face are another story. My hair, even having had it cut a month ago, has grown out already, and has felt heavy, dull and lanky, and my face just looks tired and beaten, and quite round now, sort of like a dinner plate. Great.
I'm wondering where this supposed 2nd trimester "glow" is arriving. I sense a design flaw in this whole pregnancy thing. And it got to the point where I've found myself criticizing my looks and being really negative. But I noticed I was complaining without actually doing something about it. So I made a change. And here's where I get to the title of this piece.
I went to the salon and told him to chop off my hair. 5 inches.
And if I sound vain, I really don't give a shit, because I am languishing in the giddiness of a new hairdo. It makes me feel amazing and pampered and completely brighter. I feel like myself again, and I feel like the insides of my brain got what they were aching for. A chance to feel like "me".
So, in fact, my hairstylist gave me good head, if you will. Both externally and internally.
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