Pregnancy milestones

 

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment that this happened but I can no longer see my feet. When I stand still and look straight down, all I see is belly. This, of course, has me thinking a lot about Santa Claus. Whenever in the past I have seen pictures of mall Santas or children’s book illustrations of him, it has given me all the warm feelings. Now, I can’t help but wonder whether he lived in those boots of his because leaning over to tie them must have been a pain. Putting on and taking off shoes has become a small obstacle these days and I am convinced that flip-flops were invented by a pregnant woman.

So many people have told us that pregnancy goes “so fast.” I am confused by this because this has seemed the total opposite of fast. I feel like most days I think to myself, “23 weeks, 2 days. 23 weeks 3 days….” Although we have officially reached the point where we more often reference the number of weeks left (10!) rather than the number of weeks along (30). So I guess that’s something.

The necklace I’m wearing was a gift from Adan who says it was a selfish gesture on his part because it enables him to look at his two favorite things at once: airplanes and his wife. He’s such a charmer when he wants to be.

20180419_161025It makes up for those occasions when he is being anything but charming. Case in point, he will often go all serious and quiet and then look me right in the eyes and declare, “I need to tell you something.” And what follows is usually: “we’re out of milk,” or “I ran into our neighbor the other day and she said to say hi.” In short, information that didn’t need such a dramatic preface. I have told him on multiple occasions that he should only use that phrase when it involves a serious medical diagnosis or if he’s leaving me. But he still does it. (now, being out of cheese, that merits the equivalent of breaking in on live CNN feed in the Rosales Kim house and clearly, he should have me sitting down and with Kleenex on hand before telling me.)

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Pre-partum anxieties

We went to a music festival this weekend where the lineup included Alanis Morrisette and The Killers along with a dozen other bands I had never heard of. I like that Adan makes me step outside of my comfort zone in this way. If it were up to me, we would be eating spaghetti on the couch in front of the TV every single weekend.

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I finally caved and bought some summer maternity clothes. It has been 150 million degrees (take your pick: Celcius, Fahrenheit, lightyears) in the shade and on this day, I actually went out wearing a non-maternity dress I already owned and convinced myself that it was on the shorter side now because of the bowling ball strapped to my midsection but should be fine only to find that every time there was a slight breeze I was in danger of indecent exposure. It would have been highly reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe except that I am not blond, it was not the least bit sexy, and had Marilyn swallowed a watermelon whole before stepping on that subway grate. We had to make a stop at the mall before heading to the festival once I realized this and I was much more comfortable for it.

I know a lot of women who were very conscientiously pregnant, for whom this 10 months is a time of research and being cautious. I admire them. Mostly I am too lazy to Marie Kondo every piece of food I put in my mouth, holding it up to the scrutiny of whether it gives me joy, is farm-to-table, organic, and nutrient dense. I don’t eat kale any more often than I did when I wasn’t growing a fetus (which is to say that I never eat it). We initially bought a stack of baby books and a few onesies (and have been gifted a few different items) and more recently a car seat but other than that we have no made baby-related purchases whatsoever. And if nesting is an actual thing, it has either completely passed me by or has yet to hit me. We don’t have a color picked out for the nursery because babies can’t tell colors apart for the first few months of life so who are we even painting for (read: we are lazy)? I wish I could say that I at least legalistically apply sunscreen now but I don’t. One of the pregnancy books I skimmed suggested moving if you live in an area with a lot of air pollution and it made me wonder whether there are actually couples that move to New Zealand for the duration of the pregnancy? Wow. Hats off to them.

For the most part, I feel like we are as prepared as can be in terms of knowledge and stuff, which is to say that we are woefully unprepared and clueless but don’t think we can change that fact by worrying about it.

That’s not to say that I don’t worry at all. Like all expectant first-time parents, we are daunted at the supreme task of being responsible for a human being. Mainly, though, what I am daunted by is the prospect of bringing a newborn home to a house that doesn’t have Netflix. Whenever I visit a new mom, they all seem to have mindless shows in a constant Netflix loop. What will I do without this critical survival tool??? Is it even possible? Why isn’t this issue addressed in any of the pregnancy books instead of all those neverending lectures on the importance of nutrition?

Easter weekend

We spent the Easter weekend in Leon with Adan’s family and took a couple of day trips. One to Guanajuato where we realized that everyone else in the country that wasn’t at the beach was spending the holiday weekend there.

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 I know it’s practically a page out of Where’s Waldo trying to pick me out in a crowd of Mexicans so I will just say that I am the one in the gray shirt with the belly screaming “Almost Third Trimester!”

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We had a BBQ the next day at a place where the kids could and did go horseback riding. I have to say that I have never really understood the appeal of dragging all your food and kitchen paraphernalia to the Great Outdoors to cook and eat it. But I think I am in the minority. Clearly, that just proves that everyone else on the planet is wrong.

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This photo captures the stages of early motherhood. Me, pregnant. My sis-in-law with a one-month-old and my other sis-in-law with a two-year-old. From my personal observation, pregnancy is the hard part. Once they come out of you, it seems to be a cakewalk.

I am at that point of pregnancy where I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’m actually going to get bigger. At our last doctor’s appointment, we were delicately told that the baby was fat (yes, those were the exact words followed by “in the 90th percentile”) and that I should really cut back on bread. (Apparently, babies at 28 weeks usually weigh around 1 kilo. Ours weighed 1.2 kilos at 26 weeks).

Which is really weird because I only eat complex carbohydrates three or four times a day. I don’t know how it would be possible for me to cut back. After the appointment, Adan and I went out for pizza and talked about how might be good for us as a family to eat less flour.

Other than that, am still feeling great. We are super anxious to meet the little Jalapeño Popper already! And not just because I can get back to eating a loaf of bread and pasta for every meal.

The Perks of Being Pregnant

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Apart from the exclusive checkout lines at the grocery store and special parking, I am really appreciating that I can finally pass on the alcoholic beverage without having to explain myself. I don’t really care for the taste of alcohol. Never really have. And when I am at a party or large gathering with people that I don’t know well, I usually end up using one of a few excuses to get out of imbibing:

  1. I am training for a marathon.
  2. When I was much, much younger I would rely on: I am underage (even if I had already made it past that milestone).
  3. I’m the designated driver (even if, say, I had walked to the party and was responsible for the safety of no other human beings. Not to mention that I don’t drive).
  4. I’m a recovering alcoholic.

I used to be honest in such situations and just tell people that I had yet to meet an alcoholic beverage that I actually enjoyed drinking but they would just assure me that it was because I had not tried this cocktail or that microbrew and promptly shove a drink in my hand. Now, as soon as they offer me a drink, they stare at my belly and sheepishly apologize.

Raindrops on Roses

For when the dog bites, when the bee stings:

Bacon-wrapped dates, bacon-wrapped chicken tenders, bacon-wrapped asparagus, bacon-wrapped-ad-infinitum, a plate of blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon, carbonara with bacon, and bacon as a pizza topping.

These are a few of our favorite things.

Because it was Valentine’s Day and nothing quite hits the note of: “You are the love of my life and I am so glad I married you” to Adan quite as loudly and clearly as bacon we had it both for breakfast (with pancakes) and at dinner (on pizza).20171221_173457

You know what most decidedly does not communicate love to my husband? Turkey bacon. Apparently, turkey bacon says “life is not worth living,” to him because the one time I made it for him, he reacted as if I were trying to poison him.

When we were up in Idaho for Christmas we realized that you can actually buy fully-cooked bacon. It’s the kind Matt and Brenda get. What a win-win situation! All the flavor of bacon without any of the hassle or mess of cooking it? Immediately upon our return, we made a beeline for our Costco to see if you could also get it here and they did, in fact, have it. This prompted an intense pro/con conversation in the freezer aisle where we debated the issue with the seriousness that most couples reserve for taking out a second mortgage. In the end, though, we ended up walking away sans bacon because we figured that if we have fully-cooked bacon locked and loaded in the fridge we will probably eat it every day for every meal. The only thing that currently keeps our bacon consumption (and cholesterol, I’m guessing) in check and reserved for special occasions is that I hate having to clean the stove after I cook it.