Got milk?

I'm obsessed with boobs.

Before you start drooling.. like most women (and every male on the planet), I've always had a healthy appreciation for their aesthetic properties (my own, as well as others), but lately, I think my brain has gone into some kind of mammary overdrive. It's all I think about.

One of the reasons could be that mine are getting much bigger than I thought they would, and I'm fascinated with the fact that I actually have cleavage (please understand, as a 5'7" 105 lb person, this word has never been in my vocabulary).

The other reason is because since I will soon attempt to use my lovely pair to feed another human being (yeah, that still seems really weird to me..), I've entered a whole new world that uses strange and highly sadomasochistic vocabulary like panelled feeding tops, nursing bras, nursing pads, nipple shields, electric breast pump, and the ever-popular controversial debate: Breast vs Bottle.

I live in a country where the National Health Service (NHS) and pretty much every midwife strongly encourages breastfeeding. And by "strongly encourages", I mean they really go for the hard sell- posters everywhere, advertisements to attend free seminars that encourage you to "persevere through the tough first few weeks". I even asked if someone could advise me on the practice of "mixed feeding" (sometimes breast milk, sometimes formula), and the midwife very gently shook her head with a sigh and tried to steer me back to using my boobs as the only way to go. I mean, at this rate, it would've probably been acceptable for her to scream in my face while shaking me by my shoulders in the hopes that I would not endanger my child by -insert collective gasp of the entire world- FEEDING IT FORMULA FROM A BOTTLE.

Okay, I get it. It's nutritionally beneficial, they're there for a reason... but shouldn't people be given other options so that they can make their own decisions? I think choosing how to feed your child is a rather subjective and personal decision that a mother should be entitled to make on her own, and ideally, she should have as much support and information to help her in that respect.

And because it's such a hot topic here in the UK (if you remember a post from about a year or so ago, I still stand by my assessment that this country is generally obsessed with any size and shape breasts), the choice that a woman makes, whether to breastfeed or not, becomes a minefield of an issue. Just because you're pregnant and about to be a mother, does it really allow your friends/family/general public to comment and make suggestions about your breasts and how you intend to use them?

Them: Will you breastfeed?
Me: Not really sure. The whole idea seems weird to me, but I really won't know until I get there.
Them: Oh... well... you should really try.
Me: Sure. Okay.
Them: It really is the best thing for them, and did you know that if you don't breastfeed you increase your risk of breast cancer by 50 percent?!???
Me: Great.
Them: Yeah, the first few weeks will be hard, but you have to persevere. It's best for the baby. You should do it for at least 6 months.
Me: Umm. Okay.
Them: Poo is much smellier on formula, too.
Me: Great.
Them: How do you feel about feeding in public?
Me: You mean setting up a stand in the park with a "Breast milk for 5 cents a cup- 4 cents if you use the boob" sign? Not too keen on that either.*

*That usually shuts them up.


I once said that I thought breastfeeding in public (i.e how some mothers whip their boobs out naked in all their glory while a child is dangling off of one and fondling the other) made me feel a bit uncomfortable (though to be fair, I don't think I would even do it in front of friends and relatives either.. I don't choose to put that kind of an intimate moment on display, frankly), and lo and behold I might as well have been struck down with a crisp bolt of lightning directly from La Leche League. The amount of anger and nastiness and righteousness that resulted in that one comment (aherrmmm.. my opinion) was extraordinary. Women hurled taunts like "what if someone denied YOU lunch when you were hungry", and "it is the most natural thing in the world and you should be proud that you're able to nourish your child"... it was insane. I never knew that Breast vs Bottle could turn into a WWF mud-wrestling match.

I think when it comes to this, we all need to calm down a bit, eh? No mother or mother-to-be should do something for their child. There's no rulebook. It's their child, and they can choose to feed it however they like, without fearing the judgement of all the earth-mothers or posh bottle-mummies out there.

Breasts should be off the table for discussion. Unless, of course, they're an integral part of winning an argument. To that I say: lay 'em on the countertop. And dress them in something lacy.

I'm slowly joining the Android revolution.

Now, I'm the kind of person that's kind of a dork. Okay, a big dork. I don't really like Facebook, I don't have a Twitter account and don't really know how it works, I don't do De.Lic.ious (or however you spell it), I don't Digg, I don't StumbleUpon anything, and I never MySpaced.

Now, I'm not saying that those qualities deserve some kind of award, and I'm not putting down people who are experts at communicating with all of this media. Hell, I'm married to someone that has his own communications company, so I'm well aware how important these things are. I know that I should probably be more connected to the universe considering I'm in the advertising/media business. I can converse with the most senior executives on the power of social networking and the resulting brand exposure that can result from it, but for me personally, I don't use it.

I just don't really like having all my information out in cyberspace where everyone can potentially see it and track me down. I don't really feel the need to tell people what I'm doing all the time and where I am, and I don't really want to know when their next bowel movement is either.

The other day, my parents told me that a really old acquaintance of mine contacted them the other day (long story short: I knew him when I was 16 and he was 20, he totally chased after me, but I wasn't interested)- he's married now, works at a supermarket I believe, and has kids from various relationships. He's a nice guy, but weird that he contacted my folks specifically looking for me.

Well, he asked my parents what my last name was, and, being that they're blissfully unaware of Facebook or anything of the sort, they saw no harm in telling him. And he said "yeah, I thought so, I found her on Facebook. I've sent her loads of messages to 'friend' me, but she's ignored me. Hmm."

Creepy.

Sorry, but this is why I tend to be inactive in groups like this. I like my anonymity. And I really don't need married fathers contacting me to rekindle some long-lost relationship.

However..

What I did realise, is that the one thing that I've been lacking in a technological sense is a decent phone. Whoopdeedoo, you're thinking. Okay, okay, I know, it seems trivial, but it was an exciting thing for me. I've had one of those basic candy-bar phones for about 5 years now, a delicious little black Sony Ericsson that has been indestructible. When I moved to the UK, I kept it and just got a UK number, and managed to do a pay-as-you-go system, avoiding a contract. I've dropped it in the water, on the concrete, stepped on it.. and it's been amazingly intact. I love things like that (not that I have a sadistic personality, I just tend to be a klutz).

Why get a new phone then? Well, it takes about 5 minutes to write one text because the keys are all condensed, the software on it is quite old so the service kept cutting in and out, and all that it was good for is talking and texting. Nothing else. So, after about a month spent debating whether to get a new phone (something with Internet access and diary management), I decided that it would be a good idea to send myself off on the Motherhood trip with a carry-everywhere-access-everything phone.

it took me about 3 weeks to do all the price comparisons, read the independent reviews and software research. I almost got a Blackberry Curve (I LOVE them), but realised that I get one for work, so I'd rather not carry two Blackberrys around if I can help it. I'd rather have a different phone on a different operating system.

And no, the iPhone wasn't in the running. I was determined NOT to get it. Every one's in this iCult at the moment, and I think it's iRidiculous. Yes, they look lovely, but I find joy in having something that most people don't. I decided to be an Android.

So I got this.

And I love it. It does look a tiny bit like an 90s Palm Pilot and it's a bit hard to get used to the touch-screen keys (every time I text, it comes out looking as if I'd gone on an Absinthe bender), but its functionality is pretty immaculate, its applications are very similar to Apple's, and it'll be useful when I'm out with the little one and trying to text with one hand and feed with the other.

Anyway, that was my treat to myself, and I think it's perfect timing, because with one month to go until D-Day, it'll take me that long to figure out how to program my voicemail.

It's nothing personal.

Yeah. What a load of bullshit.

I'm now officially without a job. I assumed that pregnant women in this country had more rights than other people, but I guess I was wrong. I was given my maternity pay (which is pretty dismal) and ushered out the door. No redundancy pay. Not a cent. Synovate, the company I worked for, has a notoriously bad reputation for not only being tightwads, but treating their employees like robots (a statistic that I only just found out from people that have worked there for years).

For you folks across the pond, redundancy is a nice way of saying "getting fired". Although, they tend to do it a bit gentler over here, and give you some time to adjust before you're booted out the door. Plus, if you're made redundant, they can never hire a person that does that same job that you do in that company. So in many ways, you're a bit more protected that you are in the US. Usually.

In my situation, my boss was relocating to the US, and my job was becoming erased. And instead of having me stay on to do project work, they basically told me to either start my maternity 2 months' early (yeah, so that would mean not having those 2 months with my baby at the end of my maternity leave), or get out. After trying to negotiate with them for a few weeks, I saw that they really didn't give a rat's ass about my situation, so I decided to leave. It was so emotionally draining, I just gave up the fight.

On my last day, my spineless boss didn't even say goodbye, or thank me for working 10-hour days for him for almost a year. Yeah, try to figure that one out. Well, I say that's just bad karma for him, really. More importantly, I left with dignity, and without setting anything on fire or breaking something (though I was tempted). The girls next to my office gave me a bouquet and a card, which was really unexpected and sweet, so it reminds me that there are decent people in the world. When I got home, the mister surprised me with a DVD of "Office Space" (which for any of you who haven't seen it, is the perfect therapy if you ever get really jaded about work).

Anyway, that's the story. I think it's only now sinking in slowly that I'm on the precipice of motherhood, and I think that's another reason why I wanted to work as long as possible. It kind of delays the inevitable. Everyone keeps asking me "why? what are you afraid of? why delay it?" I can't explain it, and can only say that you'd have to be pregnant to understand. You want more time. More time to fit things in. And one of the things I like to do is work. I like the creativity of the industry I work in. I like the challenges. The dramas. I also like contributing to our household income, and that will never change. Even though everything we have is pooled together, I sometimes feel guilty that the mister is the one working his ass off for us. It's totally my own manufactured guilt, but that's just how I am. I want to roll my sleeves up and get in the mud with him, no matter what we do. But I'm having to tell myself that motherhood is just that- a huge job that requires loads of teamwork- so essentially, my job is just around the corner, in a way.

My focus now, other than getting freelance work in the pipeline for the next month, is to organise. Plan. Take some time to relax.

I'm still managing to get into town to do errands, getting last minute things, etc.. but my threshold is significantly lower. Dealing with pushy crowds and hot trains is not fun, but I manage about 4-5 hours before I'm done for the day. Luckily, my legs aren't swollen and I feel fine, but it's my body that starts slowing down and telling me "hey. lady. you don't have a limo driver to pick you up, so I suggest you make a beeline for that bus over there and go home".

Little things are becoming harder, but I'm managing to battle on. I can still shave my legs (thank god), I'm still managing to paint my toenails, I'm still managing to put together cute outfits that don't require a maternity tent-like thing. I even managed to go to that photo shoot.

Yeah, the photo shoot. In my last post, I told you that I was selected for an exhibit for this photographer named Rankin. I showed up in a really plain black top, no jewellery, and my wedding hat (as some added drama for fun). I was put into hair and makeup straight away, which scared me at first. These girls didn't look a day over 20 and when I told them the look I was going for (smudgy black eyes, busted rock-chic), they said "yeah. cool.", and dove in. The next thing I saw in the mirror was unrecognisable. My face looked caked in foundation, my cheekbones looked razor-sharp, my eyes were caked in black/grey/copper glitter. My hair was down and messy under my hat. The poor girls saw my terrified face and said "trust me, it'll look amazing on camera".

And they were right.

The photographers put me in front of a wind machine (no, I'm not kidding), and went to work. They took about 50 frames each of full-length and head-only shots. And as the shoot was going on, the pictures that they were taking were being shown on a huge screen in the public gallery.

Once the shoot was over, I was given a free 8x10 print then and there of the shot of my choice (also the shot that will be displayed on the public gallery wall), and I'll get the rest of the shots from that session on email, if I want any others blown up.

Can I be totally vain and say something really annoying?

That. Was. Amazing.

It was such an incredible experience, and I have never felt more beautiful in my entire life (well, except on my wedding day). But it was a weird and different kind of beauty, though, if I can try and justify it. It was glossy, magazine-print beauty. It was surreal and intense. It made me feel really vain as well, which was dangerous. The experience was also foreign to me in a lot of ways. I saw a look on my face that was new to me. Even the mister saw it and said "Wow. It's stunning, and definitely not a part of you that I recognise, which is really interesting."

I've always wanted to see what all that stuff is like, and I was able to get a small taste, which is really lucky. And I picked a full-length shot, which means our little one gets to see itself in that moment as well.*

And in a very big way, I liked that that moment made me feel good, because it was a few days after I lost my job. I managed to turn a situation that was personal for me in a bad way to a really great personal experience.

Myshka- 1
Synovate- 0

*once I get it emailed to me, I promise to post it.

No way. Someone gave me an award. And yes, I'll take it.

And here I was thinking I never win anything.

The lovely Laura gave me this award the other day, and I must say, I'm flattered. I write this blog to put a pen to my random thoughts, but never thinking that it might connect with people. And if it does, that's the cherry on the cupcake. So, thanks Laura. And here's to you, you, you, yes you there, and of course you. I like you, I like your writing, you deserve an award for being inspiring and cool. Now go here and add your name to the "Super Cool" list of writers (yeah, that's not what it's actually called, but let's humour our egos a bit, eh?).

Speaking of inflated egos, I've been selected to participate in a photography exhibit called Rankin Live. This photographer has been around for a while and has done some amazing portraits and erotic photography, and he's doing an exhibit in London of "real people", whatever that means. Anyway, long story short, I sent in a pic (no, not nude, but I'm tempted), made the cut, and now I'll be standing in front of a big camera with professional lighting, while hair and makeup people slap some greasepaint on my face and make me into RuPaul. It sounds vain, but I don't really care. I've always wanted to try something like that, and hell, if I made the cut, then I'll take it for what it is, even at almost 8 months pregnant. I get to keep a 10x12 copy of the one that's selected for the exhibit, so if I hate it, I can always use it as a dartboard.

Other than that, things are going as well as can be expected when the maniacs at my job are trying to push me out the door and "eliminate" my job. Why? Because they can. Because of the recession. Because I'm pregnant and won't be able to look for other work, so I'm an easy target. Whatever, long story, I won't go into it. But I had to release that little comment into the universe because I've been patient and professional up until now. And now I just hope that karma seriously kicks them in the balls one day.

That would be their award.

Crispy fried bump and love stories

I pretend that I'm olive skinned...I pretend that I'm a supermodel misting my skin with SPF 4 that smells like freshly grated coconut..I pretend that my skin can darken a lovely shade of mahogany when toasting myself in the sun..

Yeah, I'd laugh at me too. Turns out that my genius idea one day at "not using any SPF because my skin will be brown and freckly" was a pretty bad move. Hence parts of my face right now looked like I had an uber-expensive chemical peel. Okay, okay, it's not that bad, but definitely noticeable, and I'm trying to avoid any reflective surface at the moment.

We just spent 10 days hiding in couple bliss. It was a long-overdue treat for ourselves to "get off the grid", so to speak, and reconnect. To giggle. To swim in the sea. To parade around half-naked in 90-degree weather and do nothing but read and eat and sleep.

It was absolute heaven, though if I'm honest, it took me about 3 or 4 days to get into it. I found that my brain is so used to ticking away on a schedule, it's not used to being told "hey. shut the factory for a bit. There's nothing to do right now." The prospect of me not doing anything is sometimes a bit daunting, because I'm someone who really likes doing something all the time and not give myself space to breathe and relax. You know the feeling that you get when you start cleaning a room and then you get on a roll and clean the whole house? No? Okay, just me then... I guess I thought relaxing time means idle time, and idle time is equivalent to boredeom, and hey... can I do that for you? What about that, that looks interesting... I can help...

When I finally did straight-jacket my inner loony, I can't describe how deeply poignant it felt to sit in a disappearing sunset, hair crusty with sea salt, and do absolutely nothing but stare at the sea. Or look over at my other half. My puzzle piece. My bestest friend in the entire world. And I relished it. I relished just staring at his handsome face. And what's more fun is that in those moments he wouldn't say anything, he'd just smile crookedly the way he does only to me, and brush my cheek. You know that feeling when you look at the person you love striding up to you and you get faint butterflies and you feel like you have a hopeless crush? Yeah, I have that. And I love every cheezy second of it.

It's a quick ride, it feels, to the end of this pregnancy, and sometimes I feel like there's so much to do, and sometimes I feel like I've done as much as I can. Usually, it's the former feeling that takes over. Mostly, I feel like I want more time. More hours in the day. More days doing fun stuff, more days as a couple, more days to stuff like pillow cushions in between the existing days so that time doesn't go by too quickly.

I was pretty sad about coming back home to London. Not sad in a depressed way, but just wishing that it hadn't gone by so quickly for us. I felt like a little kid that wanted to stay up past her bedtime, pleading with her parents just a little bit more.. please? just a little more...

I was also cranky and hormonal because I ended up with a fried face (oh, the vanity that I posses, it's kind of annoying), so you can imagine what a thrill I was to travel with on the way back. The mister has the patience of a saint, which I'm constantly grateful for.

I also realised that in this hormonal soup of feelings that is being stirred up a couple times a week, what comes to the surface a lot is fear.. nervousness.. insecurity..but along with that also comes a good dose of love..joy..gratefulness..excitement. I've never professed to be an eternally happy-go-lucky person, though I am most of the time- and I do have my moments where I disintegrate into that dramatic Eastern European place in my head that makes me into a drama queen. And lately, the highs and the lows seem to be much deeper trenches that are harder to get out of. Harder to pick myself up on my own and grit my teeth. And because I find it harder to do that, I see that as a bit of weakness on my part, and I get angry. And the person next to me feels the brunt of it. It's a bad habit.

Yes, the nervousness and the vague negativity is only temporary, and I've been teaching myself to recognise it coming and to diffuse it appropriately. A lot of things will change in 2 months and I know that we'll handle it like we do anything: as a new adventure.

But right now, in the midst of all this, what makes me feel better is letting myself indulge in the rich moments. The sweet stuff. The little "I love yous" whispered at night with such magic intensity. The hands entwining. The arms around waists that signal equal parts support and possession. The heads tucked in together as if conspiring in secret. The inside jokes. The pats on the bum when we walk next to eachother. I know these things change and evolve and get deeper and more amazing with each passing day, but right now I feel like I want to grasp every nuance that these moments posses- as if I were trying to catch wisps of gossamer. I want to burn these days in my memory and feverishly write them down. I'm realising that there is never again another first, just like there isn't another last. So this pregnancy is like the first kiss, the first crush, the first trip, the first song, the first dance. It's completely precious and unique and memorable.

I know I'm romanticizing it a bit, but that's how it feels for me. Sometimes, I can just get on with it and not be too mushy. But other times, especially when we feel kicks, I become overwhelmed with these kind of feelings. I have to remind myself that holy jesus, we're having a baby. wow. It's mind-blowing to think that out of the billions of people out there, we met, we knew that we were it and we've now created a little mini-us. It's completely crazy in the best sense of the word. In the beginning I thought.. nah. can't be. this handsome thing and klutsy, brash little me? how the hell is this going to work? you're kidding. And I stand astoundingly corrected and happier than I ever have been in my entire life. I've learned things that I never thought I could, and look forward to challenges that we'll never be able to plan. I look at how the both of us learn and grow, and how tender and protective we are of our little story. And now we're stepping into a completely crazy circus that'll be filled with little feet and giggles and stories and immense love. Another stop on this ever lengthening road-trip.

Don't worry, the sun hasn't fried my brain too. I guess vacations have a tendency to make you a bit introspective.

Right. Get a grip.

In the "Convenient Theories for You" monthly newsletter, it says that apparently hormonal outbursts, crying for no reason and feeling negative is due to a hormonal surge. This surge happens around the 28th week of pregnancy because baby is running out of room in its studio apartment in there, so apparently my body decides to add an extension, thereby increasing a certain hormone to make my muscles relax.

Unfortunately, the muscles relaxing do not require a lovely hormone called "muscle relaxant", they require a different kind of hormone, which I prefer to call givemethatcookieoriwillsmotheryouinyoursleep-tocin.

I've been in a bit of a haze for a couple days. The only way I can describe it is by picturing yourself walking through a pea-soup fog, feeling out of breath and lethargic, road signs are only half written out and unclear, you have a vague feeling of marijuana haze (half-buzzed and happy, half paranoid), and the whole time you're in this world, you're trying to protect a fragile little glass figurine.

Sounds like a good script for Guillermo del Toro, if you ask me.

Luckily, I have my other half that walks right next to me and tries to help, but when it's foggy, I can barely see my own hand, let alone his. So I snap myself out of it. It's just that lately, it's gotten harder to do that.

My job is undergoing changes that are beyond my control, and it feels pretty defeating. These aren't "economic climate" changes, but shifts above me that directly affect me, and the timing couldn't be worse, considering I have a little one due in about 2 months. I feel like I'm being pulled and tugged in different directions like an overused ragdoll, and I can't seem to find a solution. I know it exists, I just can't see it, and that's frustrating me.

I'm getting more nervous about the birth. Silly, maybe. But still nervous. The mister and I sit there in our antenatal classes and while he's totally fascinated in that "little boy liking all the gross science stuff" kind of way, I sit there and think if she uses the words 'mucus plug' and 'anal winking'* one more time, I'm going to hurl. He's already started encouraging me to pack my hospital bag just to get organised. I've gotten as far as lip gloss and face cream.

I've also gotten into the habit of apologising to the little one for all the negativity that I focus on. I think it knows that I mean well, but I'm also imagining that now that its eyes are fully developed and blinking, it's doing the ohh puhleeze eye-roll maneuver when it hears me stress out. I feed it a homemade brownie (my latest craving) as a guilt present.

So, in light of all of this, we decided to take a break and go away soon. We're disappearing for a bit and shutting off, as this will be our last big "just the two of us" holiday for a good while. I can't wait to feel the sun on my face, the sand under my feet, holding the mister's hand and seeing a completely clear horizon.

At the moment, another brownie will have to do.

*I swear this is a real term/occurrence during labor, but I apologise if I've just put someone off their lunch. Or their own body parts.

Adjustments and bumps

Breathe. Stay calm. Try and understand where he's coming from and why he did this again, for the 37th time. Try to get where he's coming from. Don't throw anything at him.

Living in a different country tests your patience and your courage. Being pregnant and having a business in a different country, away from family and everything that's familiar, turns up the notch on the previous sentence. It also tests your relationship mettle.

I'm a pretty tough bird, and I have to say that I've weathered quite a few bumps along the way here. I've discovered more about myself, more of what I need out of life, and more about my marriage and my partner. It hasn't been easy (cut to pregnant woman sitting at breakfast table crying into cornflakes... for absolutely no reason).

The mister and I have discovered something about the way we work together. Maybe it's his new business. Maybe it's the new house. Maybe it's the pregnancy. I think it's everything all at once (which seems to be the best way we work). We've always been a tight team, unfailingly since the day we met, but this pregnancy has added a really profound dynamic in how we approach things and learn from each other. When I drop the ball, he already stands 10 paces ahead of me ready to catch it. When he can't find a solution, I'm ready with a few options for him, complete with pen and paper. Granted, we're still new at all this and still have a lifetime of learning to do, but we're learning to be patient in figuring things out. We struggle and argue and laugh and play and make mistakes, lots of mistakes (and we repeat those mistakes sometimes without thinking), but there's a delicious undercurrent of strength and love and sweetness and honesty that I'm proud of. And the adjustments that we've made recently in the way we do things and the habits that we're trying to break... these tiny adjustments feel like a compass leading us in a really solid direction.

Little fishy in there is kicking as I write this, and I can't help but think that there's this profound magic that happens when two people create a third. The abundance of selflessness and love (not only in yourself, but as a couple, and as a family) that's needed to cushion this little one is awesome, in the purest sense of the word. And our heads and hearts are slowly expanding to accommodate. To adjust. Of course I can easily dwell on the little things about who's right, and why he did that and what's annoying me.. but truth is, if I step outside of myself when these moments happen, I know exactly what's really important. Don't sweat the small stuff, Tato has always said to me. And I think I have moments now where I really get what that means.

I'm lucky to have a good life, a husband who challenges me and cherishes me, a family who grounds me, and loyal, amazing friends. I remind myself of that every day (especially the dark days).

Roads are bumpy, sure. Roads can get bumpy with a bump, sure. But that's what makes life the all-time greatest challenge, right?