Category Archives: Pregnancy

Dear Sweet Autumn Baby

Posted on August 23, 2011 by The Bump Life
Autumn Wedding Day

Our perfect autumn wedding day in November 2008

Dear Sweet Baby,

After a long, hot summer, the weather has finally started to turn cool. It’s beginning to feel like autumn: the season of your birth.

Your father and I were married in this season, on a gorgeous fall day nearly three years ago. There’s something so peaceful about this time of year, so mature and deliberate. Spring, with its wild abundance and infinite possibility, has always been my favorite season. But autumn seems like such a perfect time for you to come into our lives. It’s certainly become a special time in my life, and becomes more so with every passing day as we draw closer to your arrival.

I’m fully in preparation mode now, doing all I can to feel ready. It never seems like enough. I know there’s nothing I can do completely prepare my heart for the day it grows huge with love for you. Nothing in the human body can expand that quickly without some pain involved — without aching at least a little bit. I already feel my heart swelling and being stripped raw at the same time, just by having you inside me.

People talk so much about crazy pregnancy emotions, but rarely about why expectant women get so soft and vulnerable to everything around them. Perhaps it’s a kind of practice run for how fully and helplessly we love these babies when they finally arrive.

This pregnancy — the process of creating you and growing you into something real — has not been brief or fleeting. It feels like I’ve been pregnant for ages and I still have more than a month to go. I can feel my body readying itself to bring you into the world; now it’s just my heart that needs to get itself into shape. I fear it will truly burst when I finally lay eyes on you.

It’s been more than 10 years since your dad and I first met. We were so young — in years, but even more so in spirit. We took our time growing up: moving to new cities; changing jobs and careers; collecting experiences and friends along the way. It took a long time for us to get here, and a lot of people haven’t always understood why.

But we know.

We know it took every one of those years — every week, every month, every season — to bring us here today. We anticipate your arrival with hearts that have grown broader and stronger with every passing year. And still, we know you will turn us upside down and inside out. That our lives will never be the same again.

Ten years. Ten autumns. And now, the autumn of you. Of new feelings, new experiences — a whole new chapter for us. I wait for you with bated breath, knowing this is only the beginning of the rest of our lives.

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118 Months Pregnant

Posted on August 18, 2011 by The Bump Life

BabyAheadAll of a sudden, I’m a hundred months pregnant, and it happened overnight.

A couple weeks ago, I went to bed 32 weeks pregnant. I woke up the next morning with a belly twice the size it was the night before. Did I unknowingly sleep-eat after midnight and turn this baby into a Gremlin?

Ever since this sudden belly expansion, complaining is my drug of choice. I can’t go more than an hour without it. The other day I was whining to my sister over the phone, and she asked pointedly, “Is there anything that is okay to say to a pregnant woman?” After a long pause, I came up with the answer:

“No.”

Not at this stage, anyway.

Part of me is dying for it to be over. Part of me is terrified for it to end. Most people — seeing how slowly I’m waddling around these days — assume I’m more than ready for it to be over. On many levels, they’re right:

I’m ready to be able to climb into bed without lying on my back and panting, struggling to roll over like an overturned cockroach. I’m ready to stop mopping sweat from my face while all my co-workers complain about how cold the A/C is. I’m ready to hold my baby in my arms instead of balanced on top of my bladder.

But am I ready to have a baby? In addition to the fact that this baby still has some cooking to do, I still feel a long way from prepared to be a mom. And yet, the baby’s arrival suddenly seems imminent.

My feelings of unpreparedness were compounded by a recent doctor’s visit. My husband and I saw a different OB-GYN at my usual practice and, while we liked her a lot, she had a lot of questions. We didn’t have too many answers.

“Have you started interviewing pediatricians?”

“Have you considered taking infant CPR classes?” (My husband made a note on our to-do list: “infancy PR class.”)

“Have you toured the hospital?”

I meekly offered, “We’re taking a childbirth class at the end of this month …”

“Great! Have you pre-registered for the delivery yet?”

Sigh. It’s cram time.

As my college roommates can attest, I was never good at planning ahead for tests and assignments. Any impending exam or art project deadline had me up late the night before, working furiously to load my brain with a semester’s worth of knowledge.

Here I am again, clueless in the eleventh hour.

As always, though, I’m ready and willing to learn. If this were college, I’d be brewing a big pot of coffee and laying out my drawing pencils, finally inspired as I can see in my mind’s eye exactly what I’m going to make.

It’s the most important, exciting, life-changing creation I’ve ever brought to life.

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G Is for Gratitude

Posted on July 27, 2011 by The Bump Life
Old Friends

Flanked by a lot of mom power

It’s pretty well established that pregnancy is an emotional time for a woman, and I am no exception.

I can hardly watch TV anymore without evoking a rushing river of emotions. Any onscreen character serves as a stand-in for my baby, and I find myself straining to figure out what made that child grow up to be a hoarder, or smoke crystal meth or leave her bra straps hanging out of a tacky outfit.

It’s no picnic for my husband either. The other night I watched a program where one character had been born with a vestigial tail. This prompted me to cry out, “Oh my god! What if our baby has a tail?! Do you think it would show up on the ultrasound? Should we have it surgically removed or just leave it on there?”

So when my sister and mom planned a baby shower extravaganza for me — with two events in two days — the crazy cocktail of hormones coursing through me was already lining up the perfect storm. Then the A/C quit.

My poor sister, in an effort to satisfy my average temperature of about 135 degrees, had cranked her A/C down so low the night before the first shower that the unit froze up and quit. As we watched the temperature inside climb to 80 degrees, my sister snapped into action. Armed with a hair dryer, she was able to thaw the unit out and get the A/C working, with about 45 minutes to spare.

By this time, the layer of deodorant I had applied to my entire body was about as useless as a vestigial tail. But, all things considered, I was doing a pretty good job of keeping my overflowing emotions in check. That is, until I opened the first gift.

What I thought was a published book called, “Parenthood From A to Z: Everything That Nobody Tells You Before You Get Knocked Up,” turned out to be something so much more special. As I flipped through the pages, I began to notice some familiar photos: me rocking my Bugs Bunny glasses at my first communion; me playing my super-cool flute to some preschoolers. Suddenly, I realized that the book was actually created for me by my college roommates.

In addition to being some of the funniest women I know, these gals have collectively brought 20 children into this world. (That’s a lot of mom power.) They gathered up their best bits of advice and handed them over to be compiled by my dear friend Kennedy, who’s the kind of girl who’s so smart and talented you just know you’ll one day be boasting that you knew her when.

I’ve now read their book countless times. Each time I do, I think how helpful, touching and well written it is, and how many moms I know who could benefit from all its helpful tips. So, with all credit given to Kennedy and the Playground girls, I thought I’d share a little bit of it here.

A is for Advice. Everyone’s an expert … As a parent, you become a magnet for unsolicited advice and criticism. Every once in a while, these “words of wisdom” are actually helpful, but most of the time, they’re either bad or just not right for your family. Here’s our two cents: pinpoint your “core” advisors — those that you trust the most for advice on parenting. They know your family and lifestyle better than the stranger in the grocery store or your nosy neighbor, and can help you make the choices that will work best for your child. As for all that unsolicited advice, decide if there’s anything in it you can use and ignore the rest.

D is for D-cup. Your much-admired D-cup only remains while breastfeeding. Then your breasts D-flate. Also note that breastfeeding may not be as natural as you think it should be. It can take a lot of work, including help from your husband. You are not a bad mom if you cannot do it.

F is for Forgetfulness. You are not losing your mind, and you are not alone. Parenting uses up the majority of your brain, so don’t be surprised when you find yourself forgetting even the simplest things. Go back to the basics: simplify, repeat names, write things down and give yourself extra time. Most importantly, be patient with yourself when you’re making that return trip to the grocery store because you forgot the thing that sent you there in the first place.

H is for Hormones. Postpartum hormones are a crazy, crazy beast. You are elated one moment, then drowning in a flood of tears the next. The physical and emotional enormity of giving birth and the realization of being a mother tend to hit home once you leave the hospital, which is when those crazy hormones overload your system, causing anxiety and stress. Don’t despair — it’s completely normal and won’t last.

N is for Negotiation. Never negotiate with terrorists — as in the ones aged 2 and 3. As your child gets older, negotiation can help him or her feel empowered while building trust and strengthening family ties. Pick your battles wisely, and remember that negotiating is not about winning or losing.

P is for Poop. You will become obsessed with your child’s poop. It’s a little gross, but completely normal. Just know that poop comes in many different sizes, shapes and colors, and just because it’s a little green one day doesn’t mean your child is hosting some horrible intestinal parasite. Beware of the poop shooter and turd thrower; they’ll get you when you least expect it.

Q is for Quiet Time. You will dread the day that your toddler no longer takes a nap. “Quiet time” to the rescue! Spending time alone in his or her room every day will help your child develop patience, focus, creativity and imagination. And while your “break” may not be as long as it used to be, you’ll still get some much needed “quiet time” yourself.

U is for Unit. Boys are obsessed with their “units” from the very beginning. Relax. It’s normal.

Z is for Zoo. Your child’s stuffed animal collection will start out innocently enough. Each holiday, birthday, or other occasion that calls for a gift, however, will serve to grow it exponentially. At some point, it may get so bad that the stuffed animals themselves begin procreating. Don’t let your house turn into a zoo. Keep the most special ones, and donate all of the rest.

Playground Girls: I am overcome with gratitude. I love you all and feel incredibly blessed to have you in my life.

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The Fierce, Rabid Giving Tree

Posted on July 14, 2011 by The Bump Life
The Giving Tree

Courtesy of Shel Silverstein

Recently, a friend sent me a note in which she mentioned that “The Giving Tree” is her daughter’s current favorite book. Before reading my friend’s letter, I hadn’t thought of my favorite Shel Silverstein work in a while. Ever since, I’ve been thinking about why I love this story so much.

“Once there was a tree … and she loved a little boy.”

According to Silverstein’s website, this touching story “offers an affecting interpretation of the gift of giving and a serene acceptance of another’s capacity to love in return.” The tree loves the boy without condition, never thinking about what’s in it for her. When it seems there’s nothing left for the tree to offer the boy, still she finds more to give. It is a poignant story, and a beautiful concept.

Some people think the tree represents God. I don’t know how I never noticed it before but, to me, the story chronicles the relationship between a mother and her child.

Until now, I didn’t think too much about how mothers give their flesh and blood in the most literal sense possible. Just as the tree provides her fruit, her branches and even her trunk, women share every bit of themselves; all with the goal of helping their babies grow strong enough leave and forge their own way in the world.

My mother did this for me, and her mother for her and so on. It’s an incredible thing when you stop to think about it.

From my earliest visions for the nursery, there’s been one part of the décor that I’ve consistently imagined: a mural climbing up the wall and arching over the crib. Without really knowing why, I always pictured a tree, with or without birds, leaves or fruit, but always forming a protective canopy over where the baby will sleep.

It’s only just now occurred to me that I’ve been picturing the Giving Tree all along.

I recently came across another thought-provoking perspective on motherhood in a book called “Sister Mine” by Tawni O’Dell. According to the book’s protagonist, a mother’s love “is not warm and cuddly like a soft blanket, as it’s popularly portrayed. It’s a fierce, rabid love, like having a mad dog locked inside you all the time.”

Already, I get it — I don’t want to think of this baby ever feeling sadness or fear, loneliness or pain. And if any person threatens this baby’s safety or well being, I suspect there’s a rabid, frothing dog lurking inside me, just waiting for the moment she’s needed. (Suddenly the term, “bitch” seems so perfectly apropos.)

I guess my interpretation of motherhood falls somewhere between Silverstein’s and O’Dell’s versions, but doesn’t align perfectly with either.

I can’t wait to let this baby swing from my branches and nap in my shade, but I don’t plan to end up a felled stump, happy only when I’m serving my child. Similarly, I know I’ll ferociously protect my baby from the pain in the world, but without teaching him or her to turn a blind eye.

I want to be a Giving Tree for this baby and I hope the world will be one too. And yet, I don’t want the world to simply drop apples into his or her outstretched hand. I’d prefer to watch my child climb the world’s highest limbs and learn that the sweetest fruit is sometimes the hardest to reach.

And the tree was happy.

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A Case for Waiting

Posted on June 17, 2011 by The Bump Life
Pee-Pee Teepee

The Pee-Pee Teepee, an apparent necessity for any prepared mom (courtesy of Beba Bean Designs Inc.)

Last weekend, I was introduced as my husband’s “very pregnant wife” (lots of emphasis on “very”). That was a new one. The next comment directed my way, however, was far from unusual: “Are you having a boy or a girl?”

This is, by far, the most common question I’m asked. I couldn’t begin to guess how many times I’ve said, “I don’t know. We’re trying to wait.” I say, “trying” because, for me, waiting is not easy. I feel like I could crack at any moment and call my doctor on the sly to beg for some information.

My husband has no such temptation. While I’m consulting ancient Chinese gender predictors (girl) and trying to figure out if my belly looks like a basketball or a watermelon (boy, maybe?), he seems perfectly content to wait for the big day (but does refer to the baby constantly as, “he”).

I’ve had so many people say to me that they couldn’t possibly wait to find out their baby’s gender. “I could never do that,” these people say to me, “I’m way too much of a planner.” In a way I understand this, but I’m also a little baffled by it. Is there some special equipment I need to have on hand for a boy? Will I be deemed a bad parent if I don’t have a pink onesie ready to slap onto a baby girl?

Naturally, there’s a part of me that’s dying to deck the nursery in bright pink and orange, and hang little white butterflies from every inch of ceiling space. Instead, I’ve had to stretch my creative muscles and force myself to go beyond my initial instincts. Decorating a nursery to suit a boy or a girl is definitely a challenge, but it’s been interesting and fun too.

One frustration I’ve come up against several times is how limited the options are when shopping for gender-neutral items. Apparently, so few people wait for the news anymore that companies don’t bother offering options that aren’t tailored specifically to a boy or a girl. But this too has encouraged me to take the road less traveled, resulting in an eclectic blend of apple green, ocean blue, orange and fuchsia. (If this baby is a boy, I hope the fuchsia is his favorite part.)

Saving the big gender reveal for the delivery room just feels right to me. I find it strangely comforting to relinquish control over an issue I have no control over anyway. There are so many things to do during a pregnancy, and so many things I should be doing better. I should be exercising more; I should be eating less sugar. I should have made more progress on the nursery by now and done some research on how I’m supposed to get this baby out. I should have skipped that milkshake I had at lunchtime. I should know more about how to be a mom.

To have one thing I can just throw my hands in the air over is oddly freeing.

When you’re pregnant, there’s no shortage of things to worry about. I may not have a perfect stockpile of baby gear. I may not have all the answers I need. I may not be able to plan for every little detail. But can anyone?

I’ll make sure I have a couple Pee-pee Teepees™ on hand, just in case.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

One final note: you’ve been wonderful company throughout my journey, but there’s one person who has had to listen to all my complaining, worrying and angst over developing cankles. Happy Father’s Day to my husband, scheduled to be the world’s newest dad in late September.

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Listen to the Oompa-Loompas

Posted on June 8, 2011 by The Bump Life
Blueberry Baby

"I feel funny!"

Apparently, I’ve “popped.” That’s what I’m told, anyway.

When I look in the mirror, suddenly I see Violet Beauregarde staring back, with a horde of Oompa-Loompas dancing around me in a circle.

Recent developments include:

1.     I’ve become unable to perform any activity without making a loud grunting sound, like Monica Seles delivering a game-ending slam. This happens whenever I’m getting in the car, getting out of the car, getting out of bed or trying to lift my foot.

2.     Basic activities cause me to break out in a body-drenching sweat. Like typing. Or breathing.

3.     I’ve started to walk with a distinctive pregnant-lady swagger: a lazy waddle that involves tilting the shoulders back, jutting the belly forward and moving slower than a toddler who’s just learned to walk.

All these things add up to one thing: my pregnancy has become impossible to ignore. People are now comfortable assuming my inflated girth isn’t just from an increased consumption of jelly doughnuts. As a result, I’ve been getting some pretty bizarre comments. Reference the conversation I had with one of the cooks in the cafeteria at work:

Cafeteria Guy: That thing doesn’t even look real!

Me: Huh?

CG: Looks like you got a pillow stuffed up under your shirt!

Me: Oh. Yeah, it’s definitely real.

CG: Gonna be a big baby!

Me: Well, I hope not. For my sake.

CG: I was a big baby. I was so big my mom had to have a hip replacement after giving birth to me!

What is it about pregnancy that brings out so many inappropriate comments? It’s nice when people congratulate me or ask me when I’m due (as long as they don’t assume it’s within the next 24 hours). But there are a lot of weird exchanges too — like when strangers call out, “Hey, mommy!” And can someone please tell my male co-worker to stop referring to me as “Preggers” (this is the same guy who asked me the other day if I “stopped at Denny’s for a big-ass breakfast” on my way into work)?

I’m often reminded of the scene in Juno when, referring to the very public nature of her pregnancy, the knocked up title character tells her baby daddy, “At least you don’t have to wear the evidence under your sweater.” Like Juno, I have days when I wish this big belly were one of those fake pregnancy suits forced upon unsympathetic husbands and promiscuous teenage girls, just so I can take it off for a little bit.

It’s been hard to get used to my new reflection in the mirror. Inside, I still feel like me: a friend, a daughter, a career woman, a wife. Most of the time I feel like a kid, just trying to figure it all out. I can’t get used to the idea that I’m going to be someone’s mom. That word carries a lot of weight.

Being pregnant creates more questions than answers. I feel like the most common phrase out of my mouth these days is, “I don’t know.” I don’t know if this baby is a boy or a girl. I don’t know what direction my career will head after he or she is born. I have absolutely no clue how we’ll ever choose a name. But, thankfully, this little one doesn’t give me any uncertainty about its vitality; there seems to be a party going on inside of me all day, every day (and night).

If only those Oompa-Loompas would sing me a charming little song with a helpful moral at the end.

Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-doo,
What do you do when your belly gets huge?
Oompa Loompa, do-ba-da-dee,
Try to relax and let it all be.

I’ll try, Oompa-Loompas. I’ll try.

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What’s Inside the Diaper?

Posted on June 2, 2011 by The Bump Life
A creative, convention-free kid

The devastating consequences of letting your child make her own choices.

It turns out my husband and I are not brave pioneers.

Apparently, waiting to find out your baby’s gender until the delivery is child’s play. Waiting to find out its gender until the baby tells you what it is: now that’s hard-core.

Can we talk for a minute about the Canadian parents who refuse to reveal their baby’s gender, saying, “If you really want to get to know someone, you don’t ask what’s between their legs”?

Seriously.

To some extent, I get it. They want their child to grow up with his or her own sense of identity, unburdened by society’s judgment and expectations. Frankly, I want the same things for my child.

However, I can’t get over the irony (hypocrisy?) of the situation. In making their child’s gender a big, creepy secret, these people have created an international inquiry into what’s inside the diaper.

The couple says they’ve noticed “parents make so many choices for their children. It’s obnoxious.” These parents don’t seem to realize they’ve already made a very big choice for their children by exposing them to such complex and emotionally charged issues at such young ages.

It seems to me that, in an effort to give their child freedom of choice, this couple is actually foisting a radical viewpoint on a baby who’s blissfully unaware of what he or she “is.”

Do we really need to worry about four-month-old babies being stereotyped? While cooing over a new baby, I don’t think too many people are thinking about his or her sexuality or future choice of magazine subscriptions. When you’ve only been alive for four months, people mostly just worry about whether or not you’re able to pee in their face while your diaper’s getting changed.

When I was young, I was fortunate enough to attend the fantastic Columbus, Ohio pre-school, School For Young Children (SYC). Long before it was hip to do so, this school facilitated an open-minded and accepting environment where kids engage in self-directed, imaginative play. At SYC, if a boy chooses to spend the day in a princess dress from the collection of dress-up clothes, no one blinks an eye. Similarly, no one pulls that boy aside and asks him, “are you sure you want to be a boy? Maybe you want to be a girl instead?” To me, that’s true gender acceptance.

There’s a difference between gender acceptance and gender ignorance. Why not just teach your kids they can be anything they want to be? My mom was great about giving my sister and me the freedom to express ourselves, letting us put together our own outfits and style our hair however we wanted — even when this resulted in years of very, very bad school pictures.

Life is tough enough these days. Being a baby should be easy and fun, and free from serious questions about gender, sexuality and stereotypes. I commend these parents for creating an environment where their kids are accepted for whoever they are. But kids aren’t supposed to make all their own decisions.

Parents should say no when their kids want to play in the street or drink Drano. They’re supposed to encourage a vegetable here and there and teach their child how to respond when someone has a problem with him wearing a princess dress.

I hope this little bean inside me has his or her father’s confidence to disregard societal conventions. For my part, I’ll try to teach this baby that whatever he or she wants to wear, study, play or be is okay. That’s the plan anyway.

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Are You Due Soon?

Posted on May 25, 2011 by The Bump Life
Pregnant in Asheville

Happy and in heels in Asheville, NC

Last weekend, my husband and I traveled to Asheville, NC to attend the wedding of two special friends. The garden ceremony was moving and intimate, the bride was stunning, the guests were a blast and the meal included some of my favorite things: ripe strawberries, chocolate cupcakes and mini-burgers — yum.

It was an escape from real life in more ways than one. In real life, cashiers say to me, “Are you due soon?” Soon? No, I’m only half as big as I’m going to get. But thank you for noticing. And last night, my husband marveled proudly, “I can’t believe how big your belly is!” When I said, “But everyone at work is telling me it’s not that big,” he responded matter-of-factly, “No. They’re lying to you. You’re only five months along and your belly is huge!”

I am not making these things up.

Last weekend I discovered all a pregnant gal has to do is shimmy into a dress and squeeze her swollen feet into something other than flip flops, and guess what? People are so nice! Every time I turned around someone was squealing over my belly, exclaiming over the fact that I was in heels or saying, “You look so great!!!”

It was fabulous.

When all the guests — including several elderly folks — left the garden ceremony via a winding stone staircase, I was the one clinging to the railing, holding up all the traffic behind me and arriving at the top panting and sweating. I stopped to catch my breath and the woman behind me didn’t say, “Good god, could you have taken any longer!?” Nor did she express her sympathy to my husband or ask me if I needed an ambulance. Amazingly enough, she said, “When I’m pregnant, I want to look just like you.”

Hallelujah! I think I actually said, “God bless you” (while mopping the sweat from my face like an overweight Southern preacher).

The star treatment continued all night long. When Vanilla Ice finally moved me to call out, “Make way for big lovin’!” and hit the dance floor, I felt like the belle of the ball. When we made it back to our room at the ungodly hour of 11:30 pm, my feet were so bruised and swollen I could hardly walk, and I fell asleep on the hotel bed as soon as I freed myself from my dress. But if my body could have taken it, I would have been shaking my booty and strutting around in heels until next Tuesday.

I’m already plotting my next opportunity to wear a dress and hang out by a staircase, just to get some more of that “baby just took her first steps” attention (“Yaaaay!! Look at yooooouuuu!!!“). In the meantime, tell your friends: if they’re looking for a pregnant chick who can shake it to “Bust a Move” for a solid 2-3 minutes, give me a call.

Pregnant in Heels

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Dear Sweet … Boy or Girl?

Posted on May 20, 2011 by The Bump Life
Baby boy or baby girl?

See if you can spot my husband's influence ...

Dear Sweet Baby,

There you are! Fluttering around inside me like a little butterfly. Suddenly, you’re ever-present, moving and kicking all day long. It’s amazing to experience you like this, to feel you get restless when I’m hungry or push hard against the wall of my belly like you just can’t wait to come out and greet the world.

You’re officially now a boy or a girl, and I wonder which nearly all the time. It’s so hard to be patient, to withstand the temptation to just allow ourselves to be told, but I am so eager for that moment when your dad and I lay eyes on you for the very first time. Waiting to find out feels like the right thing to do, and it becomes more exciting every day.

If you are a little boy, I hope I can raise you to be kind and love with great abandon. I hope you grow up with a sense of curiosity about the world and the courage to explore all the beauty it holds. I hope your imagination takes you to places far and wide, and that, sometimes, you’ll let me come with you. I hope to teach you to listen with an open heart and look out for those less fortunate than you; to be compassionate to animals and free with your emotions; to respect women and treat people fairly no matter who they are. No matter what, I know you’ll have a strong and independent spirit that will be all your own.

And if you are a little girl — a daughter — I hope to share the unique wonder of being a woman and all that comes with it. I hope I can teach you to stand strong and confident in the midst of everything that will cause you self-doubt. I hope you’ll throw yourself into the world with a passion for learning and a twinkle of mischief in your eye, free to laugh without inhibition and hold your head high. I want to talk to you and braid your hair; I want to watch you run faster than all the boys in the neighborhood and grow up with the wind always in your hair. I want to tell you my secrets and listen to yours as I tuck you in for a long and dream-filled sleep.

Either way, I know your father and I will love you from the instant you come roaring into the world with the spark and vitality I feel in you every day. We’ll always remember the day you join our family and the quiet moment when we choose a name for you. We’ll watch in amazement as you grow bigger and stronger and more fully yourself with each passing day — happy and boundless and secure in our love.

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The Bust Life

Posted on May 5, 2011 by The Bump Life

At 33 years old (can that really be right?), it’s become nearly impossible to remain blissfully ignorant of all the gory and incredible things a woman experiences during pregnancy. Still, I’ve been pretty successful at getting this far without knowing too much about it. The result is that each new development has been surprising and somewhat bewildering.  

Such as, people tell you your boobs will get big. No one tells you they’ll be massive. And heavy. And wildly sore, all the time. I’ve now graduated into the scary bra category which — for a gal who’s long been kidding herself by wearing a too-big B-cup — is pretty bizarre. My new bras don’t come in fun colors or feature little bows at the center. Rather, today’s number features three rows of three clasps at the back and a nice wide band to help minimize back fat. Which it doesn’t.

I always felt it would be kind of cool to be more voluptuous, but now that my body is expanding in every direction, I’m not so sure. Sometimes I find that some brownie crumbs have saved themselves for later by lodging in my cleavage — that’s about the only benefit. Worst of all, I keep hearing the same thing over and over: “And they’ll only keep getting bigger!”

The unexpected result is that, like Jon Krasinski’s character in “Away We Go” (a must-see, by the way), I’ve started to stare inappropriately every time I see a pregnant woman. Right at her boobs.

Hmmm … hers are pretty big. Wonder what they were like before …?

It’s not good. Hopefully I’ll grow out this phase soon. In the meantime, if you catch me staring at your boobs, please forgive me.

Not sure which is bigger: bump or bust!

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