We listened to the baby's heartbeat last night. PapaBear brought home a Doppler machine from his office - one of the perks of being married to a family doc.
After a few minutes of hearing nothing but post-dinner gurgling, he finally found a rapid whirr, whirr, whirr, whirr...There were also the sounds of a few kicks and a triple lutz for good measure as the baby moved around.
PapaBear did this because (a) he's a star and (b) he was tired of hearing me worry about the twinges I had been feeling. I went at life a little too hard over the weekend and the baby let me know loud and clear. With all well last night, however, we got a reprieve from my neurosis.
Naturally, I started worrying about something else. Specifically, if I'm supposed to play music for the baby, do Justin Timberlake minutes offset Mozart time? Do I need to cut out Mix 99.9 completely in favour of CBC Radio 2?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Bread, raspberries, and other cravings
For most of my first trimester, I craved berries. A typical day involved at least 3 cups of blueberries and raspberries. Daydreams involved sweet, tart, watery goodness. I became a woman obsessed.
PapaBear and I long ago stopped buying groceries for the week in one big trip to Leaside Loblaws. I never know what I'm going to be able to eat for dinner and he got tired of guessing. So most nights I just stop in on my way home and pick up the taste du jour.
A preggie friend of mine shares this obsession with raspberries. Recently she stirred a pot of tomato sauce on the stove and thought about how good the sauce would taste with raspberries. Her usually rational brain was convinced that tomato and raspberry sauce would make the gnocchi dance on the plate.
This week's craving weirdness centred around bread. While turning south at Eglinton and Laird, I spotted a strip mall of carbohydrates. The Great Canadian Bagel, Subway, and Panzerotto Pizza called my name. By the time I reached the Loblaws checkout, I had a loaf of whole wheat, a loaf of raisin bread, crumpets, and bagels in my basket. (Who even eats crumpets?!?)
Fortunately, the carb crazies passed quickly. By the time I arrived home, the thought of bread was completely offensive. I skipped dinner and went straight to raspberries and yogurt. Good thing there wasn't any innocent tomato sauce within my innovative reach.
PapaBear and I long ago stopped buying groceries for the week in one big trip to Leaside Loblaws. I never know what I'm going to be able to eat for dinner and he got tired of guessing. So most nights I just stop in on my way home and pick up the taste du jour.
A preggie friend of mine shares this obsession with raspberries. Recently she stirred a pot of tomato sauce on the stove and thought about how good the sauce would taste with raspberries. Her usually rational brain was convinced that tomato and raspberry sauce would make the gnocchi dance on the plate.
This week's craving weirdness centred around bread. While turning south at Eglinton and Laird, I spotted a strip mall of carbohydrates. The Great Canadian Bagel, Subway, and Panzerotto Pizza called my name. By the time I reached the Loblaws checkout, I had a loaf of whole wheat, a loaf of raisin bread, crumpets, and bagels in my basket. (Who even eats crumpets?!?)
Fortunately, the carb crazies passed quickly. By the time I arrived home, the thought of bread was completely offensive. I skipped dinner and went straight to raspberries and yogurt. Good thing there wasn't any innocent tomato sauce within my innovative reach.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Hon, did we get new fitted sheets?
One of my pregnant colleagues, of which there are many at Harlequin, is due a few weeks before me. AP swings by my office every few days to enlighten me on new frontiers in pregnancy. Today's topic: maternity underwear.
When I shopped for maternity clothes a few weeks back, the sales clerk asked if I needed any maternity thongs. "As in sandals?", I thought. "Oh, you mean thooooongs. Right, um, let's stick with the empire-waisted tunics for now, 'K?", I said with a strained smile.
I should have known that this topic would resurface at some point. And today it was AP who brought it all to the fore. Below belly, above belly...so many options, but none of them attractive. And here I thought my Victoria's Secret cotton briefs would do the trick. They'd get stretched to hell and then I would just buy new ones. All would be fine.
AP advised me to seek out the above belly briefs - think elastic waist at one's sterum. Her husband refers to these articles as "Passion Killers". While folding the delicates on a recent laundry day, he asked, "Hon, did we get new fitted sheets?"
For now, I'll revert back to a state of denial. There are some things that should only be understood once there is no choice but to dive into the giant swathes of stretchy fabric.
When I shopped for maternity clothes a few weeks back, the sales clerk asked if I needed any maternity thongs. "As in sandals?", I thought. "Oh, you mean thooooongs. Right, um, let's stick with the empire-waisted tunics for now, 'K?", I said with a strained smile.
I should have known that this topic would resurface at some point. And today it was AP who brought it all to the fore. Below belly, above belly...so many options, but none of them attractive. And here I thought my Victoria's Secret cotton briefs would do the trick. They'd get stretched to hell and then I would just buy new ones. All would be fine.
AP advised me to seek out the above belly briefs - think elastic waist at one's sterum. Her husband refers to these articles as "Passion Killers". While folding the delicates on a recent laundry day, he asked, "Hon, did we get new fitted sheets?"
For now, I'll revert back to a state of denial. There are some things that should only be understood once there is no choice but to dive into the giant swathes of stretchy fabric.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Early days in maternity clothes
Today I came thisclose to wearing an empire-waisted knit dress. I bought the cute little shift at Mimi Maternity. And I need maternity clothes at just 3 months along because my breasts need their own postal code. My suit jackets feel awkward, so something had to be done.
When I studied at Wharton, I did a research project that required cooperation from a large, multi-site retailer. Motherswork Inc., parent company to Motherhood, Mimi Maternity, and A Pea in the Pod, stepped up to participate. As I walked through their offices in 2004, I knew that I would be back one day to buy their delightfully stylish maternity clothes.
Over Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, my entire family made maternity clothes shopping their mission. My parents and sista headed to The Somerset Mall, just outside Detroit Rock City. We dedicated a day to outfitting me and my hard to outfit bod. (Let's just say that I've carried baby weight for years prior to conception.)
To be clear, my father walked the mall while the ladies hit the stores. Eventually tired of wandering, Dad wanted lunch. He searched high and low and could not find his family. A call to my mom's cell revealed that we were still in the same change room we had entered 2 hours previously.
Thankfully, the time invested paid off. I left Detroit significantly poorer, but carrying my new maternity wardrobe. And before you lecture me on cross-border shopping, let me say that I simply don't care. The loonie is powerful and MamaBear has expensive taste.
I also bought a Bugaboo Frog online and shipped it to my parents, saving myself more than $200. I'll keep buying in the US for as long as my parents will accept FedEx parcels in my name. And for as long as my waistline and imagination expand.
When I studied at Wharton, I did a research project that required cooperation from a large, multi-site retailer. Motherswork Inc., parent company to Motherhood, Mimi Maternity, and A Pea in the Pod, stepped up to participate. As I walked through their offices in 2004, I knew that I would be back one day to buy their delightfully stylish maternity clothes.
Over Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, my entire family made maternity clothes shopping their mission. My parents and sista headed to The Somerset Mall, just outside Detroit Rock City. We dedicated a day to outfitting me and my hard to outfit bod. (Let's just say that I've carried baby weight for years prior to conception.)
To be clear, my father walked the mall while the ladies hit the stores. Eventually tired of wandering, Dad wanted lunch. He searched high and low and could not find his family. A call to my mom's cell revealed that we were still in the same change room we had entered 2 hours previously.
Thankfully, the time invested paid off. I left Detroit significantly poorer, but carrying my new maternity wardrobe. And before you lecture me on cross-border shopping, let me say that I simply don't care. The loonie is powerful and MamaBear has expensive taste.
I also bought a Bugaboo Frog online and shipped it to my parents, saving myself more than $200. I'll keep buying in the US for as long as my parents will accept FedEx parcels in my name. And for as long as my waistline and imagination expand.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
I've been inspired
A friend just sent me a link to T.O. Mama, a website dedicated to maintaining sanity and bliss among Toronto-based moms. The site's blog is laugh-out-loud funny and cry-out-loud accurate. The truth hurts and then it makes you wet your pants in giggle fits.
At any rate, the blog has inspired me to record a few rambles during my pregnancy. On Friday, I'll be 13 weeks pregnant and kissing my first trimester goodbye. This seems like as good a time as any to expand my blogosphere footprint (everything else about me is expanding, after all).
When I first learned that I was pregnant, I thought about recording my thoughts online. Less for myself or blog readers, and more for the sake of my child. But I got freaked out by the online-liness and how I would feel if I miscarried. Besides, I wasn't thinking perfectly angelic thoughts as I scarfed goldfish crackers every 90 minutes and begged for the room to stop spinning.
In the meantime, I've lost momentum in my other blogs. My running-related blog ceased publication when PapaBear and I pulled the goalie (that's Canadian-speak for ceasing to responsibly use birth control). The Whisperer has waddled along, but it lacks the spark it once had. Or perhaps its author does.
Either way, I'll blog about my thoughts on pregnancy and keep The Whisperer alive for as long as there are MBAs out there desperate to leave consulting. (So, um...like...forever.)
This blog's title is meant to be somewhat tongue in cheek, although the subtlety may be lost on everyone but me. You see, PapaBear and I live in Moore Park, a posh Toronto neighbourhood. In truth, I share a postal code with spiffy mansions, but my house is smaller than some of the garages in the 'hood.
If you qualify, a mother in the area can join the "Moore Park Moms" group. Yesterday I was blessed with an invitation, but only because there are some cool chicks controlling the email distribution list. Plus, PapaBear is a family doc, so he's nice to have around when a little one cracks his head against a cement wall.
At any rate, that's my longwinded introduction. Check back for a few updates each week. Or maybe more - the comedy that is pregnancy just might generate enough content for hourly posts.
At any rate, the blog has inspired me to record a few rambles during my pregnancy. On Friday, I'll be 13 weeks pregnant and kissing my first trimester goodbye. This seems like as good a time as any to expand my blogosphere footprint (everything else about me is expanding, after all).
When I first learned that I was pregnant, I thought about recording my thoughts online. Less for myself or blog readers, and more for the sake of my child. But I got freaked out by the online-liness and how I would feel if I miscarried. Besides, I wasn't thinking perfectly angelic thoughts as I scarfed goldfish crackers every 90 minutes and begged for the room to stop spinning.
In the meantime, I've lost momentum in my other blogs. My running-related blog ceased publication when PapaBear and I pulled the goalie (that's Canadian-speak for ceasing to responsibly use birth control). The Whisperer has waddled along, but it lacks the spark it once had. Or perhaps its author does.
Either way, I'll blog about my thoughts on pregnancy and keep The Whisperer alive for as long as there are MBAs out there desperate to leave consulting. (So, um...like...forever.)
This blog's title is meant to be somewhat tongue in cheek, although the subtlety may be lost on everyone but me. You see, PapaBear and I live in Moore Park, a posh Toronto neighbourhood. In truth, I share a postal code with spiffy mansions, but my house is smaller than some of the garages in the 'hood.
If you qualify, a mother in the area can join the "Moore Park Moms" group. Yesterday I was blessed with an invitation, but only because there are some cool chicks controlling the email distribution list. Plus, PapaBear is a family doc, so he's nice to have around when a little one cracks his head against a cement wall.
At any rate, that's my longwinded introduction. Check back for a few updates each week. Or maybe more - the comedy that is pregnancy just might generate enough content for hourly posts.
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