Being the Oven to the Bun

(This entry is a short introduction to an essay that I wrote when Laurel was 18 months old.  I have never let anyone read it.  Hope you like it.  But a head's up--it does contain the words boob, hemorrhoids and probably something else that I am forgetting.  This entry is a little bit longer than past posts.)


I am an active faux runner.  I joke that my running isn't the real deal because it's always on the treadmill.  I don't expose myself in outdoor elements.  (I do expose myself to indoor elements like the joker next to me that thinks that letting yesterday's gear just dry out is just as good as washing.)  I run because I like the way my body looks and I am in control.  One of the hardest issues that I had to deal with was the lack of control I had when I carried both girls.  And with that..I would like to segue into my essay..

Being the Oven to the Bun

As soon as I saw that second line, my body wasn’t mine anymore. Everything that went in my body was for my nugget’s benefit. If something went in that was bad, I felt horrible guilt. (When I reference bad, I am not talking about a shooter, just some iced tea.)

Not a lot went into my body during the first trimester. The nausea was moderate but consistent—every day from mid-June until mid-August. I really didn’t think I was going to make it and felt like a wuss everyday. It felt like Ching was making me read the map as we were driving—that makes me very queasy. Everyday I would think, “Oh my God, I am still reading the map.” Staying home didn’t help because the two times that I did that, the next day the nausea seemed worse and I wasn’t going to miss two days in a row. We were also getting our kitchen re-done. Nothing like staying home and smelling old baseboard of the kitchen floor. I avoided watching TV because of the constant loop of Applebee’s, Ruby Tuesday’s, TGI Friday, Chili’s commercials. That food looked like crap to me. Regular television shows seemed to have so many people drinking alcohol. I couldn’t watch this either. I just wanted to sit in a dark cool room and wait until trimester #2.

My control was gone. I was petrified that I was going to be sick in any form of public transportation. I was taking a commuter rail and shuttle to work during a very humid summer in Boston. Airplane barf bags kept in my shoulder bag gave me a little confidence. Luckily none were used.

No weight was gained during this time. I lost three pounds.

Typical things that I thought would happen that didn’t happen: my boobs were no bigger (so typical) my pee frequency didn’t feel higher, nothing was tender, no sense was heightened and no random jagged crying. Just nausea—I don’t remember being all that tired but Ching said that I was.

And then one day it was a new dawn. Cliche as it may sound, one day during the tail end of the first, I felt better.

My second trimester was just a waiting period of seeing results. Again, no control. In the past if I wanted to see weight gain-pizza and donuts; weight loss was more exercise and less pizza and donuts. I needed some proof. The fact that I didn’t have my period but a stick with two lines was not doing the trick. Several weeks went by where I looked bloated. No one ever told me that you can button your pants in the morning but by afternoon, not so much. I spent many an afternoon sitting at my desk looking sloppy with unbuttoned pants and my blouse untucked. I started to look fat, not pregnant, just kind of a beer gut. This is when I started wearing the maternity clothes—so my shape was validated. Honestly, I wanted to wear a sign saying “Am pregnant, Not fat”. It was fun in meetings when someone would build up the courage and try to ask me if I was pregnant. The question never came out as smooth as I thought the deliverer intended. If I knew the person well, I would give them a deadpan “No, I am not..do you think I LOOK FAT?” So fun—you have to give me something. I hadn’t had a good stiff drink in months.

I tried to exercise but that lasted for two days. I tried the yoga and since I would giggle at words like chakra and, I decided it wasn’t for me. I walked to the train everyday—that seemed like enough exercise to me. I read that Heidi Klum never exercised during her pregnancy because the body is all ready doing enough work growing a person. That theory sounded great to me.

There were only certain times where my senses didn’t seem to work. One day, lilies smelled like salami. And salami was the only thing I wanted to eat. Once I started to cry as I was getting ready for work. I was actually thinking about how beautiful my newborn niece was but in retrospect that was hormones. I never cry at crap like that..now when I look at her picture I think—“she just looks like every other baby.”

My most humble moment occurred during a trek of Christmas shopping. In the past, I would be able to weave in and out of crowds—nimble like a cat. I couldn’t weave in between crowds anymore. I learned this when I took out a whole display in Godiva.

It was getting so hard to ascertain my mass. I would try to pee in a cup during a regular OB exam and miss cup and end up peeing on my own hand. Are you kidding me?

While I was nausea free, I did have to stay home for a day due to hemorrhoids. Roy showed up around the holidays. (Must have been a yuletide gift from the pregnancy fairy.) I could not walk or sit down comfortably. I was pretty lucky. Roy only stuck around for about a week. It was a pretty long week but it did teach me to maintain a rich fiber diet.

In actuality, I didn’t gain a huge amount of weight—41 pounds over all with the last 12 happening in the last two weeks. This was the water weight everyone talks about and it came at such an inopportune time. Right before a baby shower that my mom and her friends were attending, my feet just ballooned with grossness. My ankles were gone. Panic ensued and my mom was convinced that I had some sort of pre-eclampsia which I didn’t. Again, just water weight.

I have heard debates about epidurals. While it did help with the pain, it also made me more comfortable than I had been in months. My back didn’t ache, my side didn’t hurt—I felt as light as air. Actually I think this feeling could have mimicked drunkenness—it was nice.

After Laurel was born, I knew I would not leave the hospital looking like I did nine months previously. Regardless of  knowing that, I didn’t feel any better about the way I looked. I thought I looked lumpy. And I knew that in the few days (after she was born), my milk would drop. My body still wasn’t my own just the role had changed—from an oven to a constant milk spout.

I have always complained about my lack of boobage but when I started breastfeeding, I missed my small boobs. They were enormous—I felt like a circus freak. What is Pamela Anderson thinking? None of my pre-pregnancy tops fit. Because I am petite with small boobs, I equated small boobs to being petite. Regardless how much weight that I lost, as long as I had these bozombas, I was not petite. At least I know now I would never want breast implants.

The lack of control that I had in the first trimester when fearful about spontaneously vomiting was back again but this time the fear was incontinence. I had no muscle control down there. I would lie in the hospital bed thinking, “I have to pee”, struggle out of bed and not make it eight feet to the toilet. Just nine months before I had a bladder of steel and now the thought of a kegel exercise was a pipe dream. While this did get better, there were a couple of weeks where I was afraid to leave the house.

Within 3 weeks time, I lost 36 of the 41 pounds. I don’t know if this is typical or not—it’s just what happened to me. I have to give the credit to sheer exhaustion and running on fumes of stamina. Even though I had only 5 pounds to go, I couldn’t wear my pre-pregnancy clothes. My waist seemed to have a tire of extra flesh since my skin hadn’t bounced back. My boobs were out of control and my hips were still in pregnancy mode. I just felt wide, flubby and voluptuous.

Regardless of weight loss, my body was still a machine for my daughter. Food, water went in for the sole purpose of making milk. I wouldn’t even think of my own nourishment. I breastfed Laurel until she was 6 months old.

Laurel is now 18 months old. I started working out a month ago just to make myself stronger and to create a little more stamina. While I weigh less than I did pre-pregnancy, a little bit of flub still hangs over my waistband of my pants, my belly button is a very weird wrinkly “O” like shape. And the best part: my boobs are smaller, a little saggy and not even, but smaller. Battle scars—not sure. But I am the first to jokingly brag about them to any woman.