I had heard of butterflies, but all I got was poke, poke, poke

I blogged a few hours ago about waiting impatiently to feel BabyBear move. Other moms-to-be had waxed on about fluttering butterflies in their 18-week bellies. I wanted my turn. I had waited 18 weeks to feel something other than light-headed nausea.

Either these women are actually hatching sociable little pupae or they lie. It's got to be one or the other, because I'm getting no flutters. I was promised tickles and instead I'm getting poke, poke, poke on my bladder.

Tonight PapaBear used his stethoscope to confirm that what I was feeling indeed were kicks. Then he encouraged our little one to high five him through my belly. And BabyBear was happy to oblige, over and over again.

What am I having?

I've been rather impatient of late. I'm waiting to feel the baby kick and I'm getting nothing. Lots of women have felt kicks or at least flutters by 18 weeks. All I'm feeling is the constant need to pee.

I'm also impatient and excited about our upcoming ultrasound. On Monday morning, we'll take a look at BabyBear. While the ultrasound tech measures every length, nook and cranny, I'll be looking for...length, or the absence thereof. Assuming our munchkin isn't bashful, we'll learn whether my mother's craving for pink smocked dresses will be satisfied.

Around Harlequin, the jury is divided on whether I'm toting a boy or girl. I would love a boy for Tom's sake and his male-dominated family tree suggests that boy odds are strong. Lately, however, I've had very strong girl vibes. I've even been using our favourite girl name in conversation with the little tike (now that I am pregnant, I have a captive audience...no more talking to myself when I can talk to the baby).

So what's your take? Am I having a girl? Or a boy, who occasionally responds to a certain female moniker?

Definitely a 2008 baby

I bumped into an acquaintance of mine this week and appreciated his excitement over my pregnancy. Things got a little awkward, however, when he asked, "So will this be a Christmas baby or a New Years baby?"

This would be a fair question for him to ask, if I were...say...4 months further along in my pregnancy. This is not the kind of thing that a woman wants to hear at 18 weeks. I didn't have the heart to say more than, "Definitely a 2008 baby."

I think I'll use this forum to say all the things that were in my head at the time:

• "Christmas baby!?!? Christmas baby?!? Buddy, I'll still be 5 months pregnant on Christmas Day!"
• "Are you kidding me? I've only gained 8 pounds! It's true that more than 8 pounds appear to have settled on my breasts, but the scale says 8 pounds!"
• "When is your baby due, sir? Oh, I'm sorry, you aren't pregnant. You are just fat."

Of course, it could be worse. A friend's wife was heartbroken when someone asked when her baby was due...as she stood there holding her newborn daughter.

Mommy blogs and my hare-brained idea

Today's Globe and Mail highlights the emergence of infertility blogs in Baby Desperate Moms Share Every Detail Online. Although I got over my mommy blog obsession a few months back, I read a few on a regular basis.

One that I just love is a humourous take on a humbling journey from infertility treatments to parenting twins. The author's recent post on her husband's pending parental leave reminded me of my lingering to-do list for a little project.

The project is one of those topics that inspires extreme reactions among young mothers. No one is lukewarm on the subject. I'm either nuts or an incredibly chill mom-to-be who understands the importance of baby-inclusive adventure.

Next summer, PapaBear and I plan to take BabyBear on a trip. Over a 3 week stretch, we'll stay in 4 different locations. There will be planes, boats, and automobiles. We will cross multiple time zones. We aren't appearing on the next season of Survivor, but we will test our ability to outwill, outsmart and outlast.

I think it's going to be a hoot, but I've never travelled with a 3-month old. I've never done any of this mom stuff, so I don't know enough to be intimidated yet. Given that I've already paid for a bunch of the trip, it would be great if you would just encourage me and snicker once I'm out of earshot.

And think of it this way, I'm not having twins. Could be worse. Or better.

Sneezing and all that goes with it

For years, PapaBear has told me that I'm going to explode my eardrums if I don't change my sneezing technique. In attempt to be dainty, he says that I hold in the pressure. Naturally, I ignore him.

In my pregnant state, I discovered recently that sneezing and "holding in the pressure" are no longer compatible. But it is not the pressure in my head that is the issue. It's a little lower down.

In recent weeks, I have sneezed and wet my pants. That's right. Wet my pants. The floodgates did not open, but I definitely had to change my clothes. I have never seen PapaBear laugh with such abandon and utter lack of control.

When the ultrasound technician commented on how BabyBear likes snuggling up to my bladder, she was correct. I can only imagine what awaits when the little one starts treating my bladder like a soccer ball.

Do they make Depends for moms-to-be? If not, I'll just keep doing my kegels.

A fashion intervention

My friends at work have been incredibly supportive during my pregnancy. That is, until yesterday, when they insisted that I end the charade and just let it all hang out.

By "it", I mean my growing paunch. My Buddha belly. My munchkin's home for the next 5 months. For the first few months of my pregnancy, my fashion choices were motivated by a desire to hide the massive form. Compress it. Draw the eye away from the one thing on my body that no one can miss.

I attempted this impossible feat by way of the following sins:

1. Overusing my Bella Band: Although meant to help a woman transition from regular to maternity clothes, I kept wearing it in the land of panel-front pants. I felt like the snazzy girdle held me in. Turns out it just pushed fat up and over.

2. Embracing the layered look: If my Bella Band could hold in my gut, I hoped that more stretchy layers would do more of the same. Yesterday, for example, I enhanced my ensemble with support tights and one of those tanks that smoothes out the muffin top. Apparently the effect was less smooth and more sausage casing. I heard something about "skin on a weiner" before tuning it all out.

3. Banishing colour: If black is slimming, then wearing black from head to toe might mask my blossoming bosums and soon to be swelling ankles. Or so I thought. When I sported a black high neck pullover and long black skirt yesterday, my colleagues wondered when I had taken to burkas. Failing to accessorize adequately made this ensemble an HR violation...or at least inspired one of our HR gurus to lend me a necklace.

Today I decided to let it all hang out and hope that a cream and black scarf could lift my black/charcoal grey outfit to new heights. With some luck, perhaps my breasts will get some lift as well.

Driving on snow tires at 15C

Having a baby can be expensive. Maternity clothes, maternity leave, baby gear...and all the costs associated with a financial dependent for the next 25 years. I knew this going into this idea.

What I didn't expect was the ancillary stuff. Being pregnant made PapaBear and I rather adult all of a sudden. Rather responsible. We hired a lawyer to write our (first-time ever) wills. We bought more life insurance. A few weeks ago, we put snow tires on our cars.

I was prepared for the education fund contributions and extra airplane tickets. I did not expect, however, to drop $1,600 on tires. Or $400 on a lawyer. Or $130 a month in incremental insurance premiums. Note that none of these expenditures involve an element of fun indulgence. There is nothing fun or sexy about the Canadian Tire man telling you that the ads for $49 snow tires are intentionally misleading.

Thanks to global warming, it was 15C in Toronto yesterday - not exactly snow tire weather. But I'll be ready when the first flakes fall, with my life well insured and my assets bequeathed should the tires fail.

Revised due date and my horoscope

When Tom and I first learned of BabyBear's cellular existence, the medical community declared May 2, 2008 as our due date. Given that only 5% of babies actually wriggle out precisely on time, I knew to take this as a best guess. Since then, a few other credible sources have weighed in on the subject of dates.

Credible source #1: Harlequin's astrologer
Harlequin's Australian subsidiary publishes astrology guides each year. I got my hands on my sign's 2008 title a few months ago and was intrigued by the following snippets for April 2008:

"The presence of Pluto in your Sun sign now indicates the start of a 12- to 14-year cycle that will utterly transform everything about you and your life."
"Between the 18th and 20th, a shift in your attention to younger children is forecast. For most Capricorn women who are thinking of raising a family, this is a good time to pay attention to this aspect of your life."

These and other statements assured me that BabyBear will be born in April. I just love watching people try to keep a straight face when I make this assertion so confidently.

Naturally, the astrologer doesn't declare a specific birthdate for BabyBear, but his predictions point to an auspicious April 22.


Credible source #2: The medical experts
Not wanting to trust an astrologer, our friends at the York Radiology Consultants revised the due date to April 29. Something about how large the baby measured in our first ultrasound.

My OB shared some medical mumbo-jumbo, but I couldn't really hear her. I was too busy chanting, "I was right! I was riiiiiiight!" to PapaBear, who had predicted May 10 as the big day.

My intro to HypnoBirthing

One of my fave preggo podcasts, Pregtastic, introduced me to the idea of HypnoBirthing. In the book, Easy Labor, an obstetric anasthesiologist reports that HypnoBirthing is the only alternative to epidurals that offers complete elimination of pain. That news got my attention, so I started researching.

When BabyBear arrives next spring, I have every intention of getting that blessed epidural. But you can't get an epidural as soon as labour begins. PapaBear's delivery room stories suggest that women need to wait until 3 or 4 cm before relief is possible. And some epidurals don't do what they are supposed to do. With my luck, I'll be the woman who only gets one side of her body numbed.

With these possibilities in mind, PapaBear and I attended our first HypnoBirthing class on Saturday. Most participants want an unmedicated birth and there is a distinct granola, girl-power vibe within the HypnoBirthing community. I knew this going in and was ready to talk about how much yoga and organic tea have changed me.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when the instructor decided to nurse her 13-month son in the middle of her lecture. And let's be clear that she didn't take a break. She just kept talking while I tried to focus intently on her forehead. Who knows how much useful content I missed, simply because I'm a breastfeeding prude.

In the end, I remain optimistic about what HypnoBirthing can do for me. Relaxation, visualization, and back rubs certainly sound like a good way to deal with pain. I'd rather not be the labouring mom who screams at her husband, but we won't know how I react until the big day arrives. In the meantime, I'll sip my organic mint verbena, practice prenatal yoga, and fall asleep listening to "Rainbow Relaxation".

If I appear rather Zen when we next meet, we'll know that it's working.

How pregnant women make a point

In a recent meeting, I participated in a enthusiastic debate. My colleagues used sharp gestures to emphasize their points.

When I had the floor, I punctuated my argument by spurting blood from my left nostril. It turns out that pregnant women often get nosebleeds. Although I haven't had one in 25 years, this week marked the return of Old Faithful.

May I say that this is not the best way to gain credibility in a discussion? The meeting turned from a tone of animation to a mixture of pity and disgust.

After excusing myself briefly, I returned to the meeting and didn't say another word. Who knew what would happen amid my next assertion?

Marathoning moms

On Sunday, Paula Radcliffe, one of my distance running heroes, won the NYC Marathon. She did this after giving birth to her first child in January. Talk about losing the baby weight quickly.

If and when I return to marathons, I can assure you that I won't be pinning on my race number just 10 months after giving birth. When I race again, rest assured that I'll be wearing a sports bra. Looks like Katie Holmes forgot hers before lining up for NYC.

You are feeling veeerrrryyyyy sleeeeeppppyyyyyy

My friends with kids keep warning me of how severely life will change post-baby. "You won't go out for dinner anymore...I can't remember the last time I watched Leno."

I understand that life is going to change. I even understand that I don't fully comprehend the extent of the imminent shift in my life. But there is one thing that I know for sure: our 6-year old neighbour has a richer social life than I do.

On Friday evening, he was prepping for a night out. The neighbourhood was buzzing with activity - road hockey, talk of Halloween parties, and basketball in the driveway. I was in my pajamas at 7:30 pm and asleep by 8.

This routine repeated on Saturday and Sunday evenings. Plus I had a few naps thrown in for good measure.

If parenting a newborn involves never leaving the house and wearing pajamas 24/7, I'm already halfway there.