"Me too" Syndrome

According to "The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy," there are two kinds of Dads-to-be. The vast majority are a bit detached .... fearful even ... assuming a "Who are you and what have you done with my woman?" stance when it comes to dealing with his pregnant and oh so hormonal wife.

These men are full of concerns of their own. "A baby is so expensive, will we go broke?" "Will my wife ever 'get back to normal'"? "What if I get lost on my way to the hospital?" "What if I have to deliver my own child?" And my favorite, "If I'm the Dad, I can't be the baby anymore!"

And yet, there's a very special different kind of Dad-to-be out there. A "me too Dad" if you will. This is the guy that insists that it's OUR pregnancy and wants to be there every step of the way. He's never felt more connected to his partner and is so totally 100% on-board! Sounds amazing, right? Well here's how it plays out in real life:

Me: "Ooooooooooo you know what sounds good? A macaroon cookie mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwich!!!!"
Jared: "Great! I'm in. I'll get the Rocky Road flavor!"

Me: "I'm SO tired! I seriously want to stay in bed ALL day."
Jared: "Race you there!"

Me: (Sniffling and bleary eyed) "I cry at EVERYTHING these days! Even commercials"
Jared: (Equally watery-eyed, nods sympathetically.)

After coming to the conclusion that Jared was a "me too Dad" I promptly called him out, to which he replied, "Hey!!!! I'm going through stuff too!!!! It may not be physical .... !!!!!"

I rest my case.

Conquistadorable

As I learned yesterday, the antidote to a bad day when pregnant, is the same as when you're not -- a mani/pedi. After one of the most frustrating, grumpy mornings in recent history, I called my fave nail place in Santa Monica in a panic to see if I could get in .... like now.

All planets aligned and within an hour and a half, I was surrounded by People magazines and the soft murmur of Mandarin, with my hands and toes soaking in warm water. Day redeemed!

But what most made this appointment fun and memorable was the pedi nail polish I chose. All girls know hot pink toes are your reward for opting for something conservative up top. At this point, the appointment was all about emotional comfort, not necessarily beautification, so it was super important the polish had a fun name. After rejecting several "berry something or other" shades, I came across "Conquistadorable." That's it! Strong, powerful, in control ... yet oh-so-cute.

I may have returned to unresolved issues back at home that day, but armed more relaxed, lookin' good, and with a new slogan ... "By the Power of Conquistador!"

Supersize Me

 These days, everything seems to be getting bigger. My waistline, my booty, my to do list, my bra size, my list of fears. But I'm not the only one. Starbucks just announced the newest member of its line-up, a 31-ounce "Trenta," eking out the "Venti" by a whopping 325 ml.

Pre-pregnancy Dawn just might have celebrated this little caffeine victory. Back in the day, my "not going to make it through another meeting" go-to was a Venti Iced Americano ... black.

But now, since cutting back on coffee since last Sept. in preparation for this adventure, and cutting it back to virtually none since November, I find the Trenta ... obnoxious, shocking, AND dangerous. Take that Starbucks!

Forget the fact the Trenta's bigger than your stomach, what concerns me more is that it's twice the size of your bladder! Pregnant women beware ... your 15 trips to the bathroom a day will likely double. Surely, you've got better places to spend your time. Like in bed!

State of Denial

As excited as we are to be parents-to-be, could we also be in denial about this impending, life-altering paradigm shift that's about to take place in our lives? Jared's obsession with which roof rack he's going to buy hasn't waned, and he monitors vacation deals as often as I check Facebook (in other words, a lot).

But I could have the worst of it. I lay out the evidence for you to be the judge:

1. I still hang on every word of "Say Yes to the Dress" all the while experiencing temporary amnesia as I fantasize about MY dream dress.
2. I pay far too much attention to designer jean sample sale flyers (I'm only 9 weeks along, and like I could even get my big toe into a pair. Of course it's downhill from here).
3. I have serious discussions with Jared about how all we'll need to do is toss a crib in the office and we'll be "good to go."
4. I take my nurse's sugar warnings as mere suggestions and go ahead and get after the OJ in the morning, and at least one dessert a day (and I've got the Cool Whip and Chunky Monkey in the freezer to prove it).
5. My response to ANY question that involves planning (child care, preschool, where we're going to live, maternity leave) is "We're just taking it one day at a time!" (Insert clueless grin).

But in my defense, for every occurrence of denial, I make up for it with some good honest "trying to be good at this" -- really!

1. I have a stack of SIX pregnancy books next to my bed (and I've even read some of them!)
2. I drank milk for the first time since third grade, topped only by the V8 I chocked down last week.
3. I bought a maternity "belly band" today at the outlets (which surely deserves a blog post of its own)
4. I take FIVE prenatal pills a day, and even have a neato pill minder with AM and PM compartments.
5. I created this blog! That counts for something, right?

From what I've read, it's quite normal to have "ambivalent" feelings -- overwhelming joy and excitement coupled with fears, doubt and even regrets (we never did get to use our Passports.) Perhaps this is why God gives us 9+ months to get used to the idea.

Big Blueberry

I'd like to take a brief detour from my all too common sarcasm to say "praise God!" Our Lord doesn't promise us that everything will go our way in life (in fact - quite the opposite) but I do believe that ALL good things come from Him and so an earnest AMEN is in order for my amazing follow-up doctor's appointment.

Baby on the way is "growing up a storm" and is on-track for a healthy pregnancy. Heck, we even bumped up the due date a notch, going from Aug. 21 to Aug. 20! (P.S. -- Major props to me for ovulating late, craftily skirting what would otherwise have been a due date of Aug. 15. You're crazy if you think I'm going to be blowing up balloons and renting Bounce Houses on my wedding anniversary!) 

Now for a little teaching moment. My advice to anyone newly pregnant and equally clueless as me when it comes to all this pregnancy business, is to go in to these appointments with some questions in your back pocket, if for nothing else but to fill the air with comfortable chatter while doc's going about her business measuring your teeny tiny growing baby. Reason being, you're in stirrups, which makes the experience seem agonizingly, painfully LONG. So of course, you talk and talk and TALK. Like me!

I felt compelled to relay to my extremely professional and educated MD that my husband and I (OK, just I) had made a bit of a hobby out of reading about the stages each week and found it incredibly cute that the baby's size is compared to a blueberry at week 7. At week 8, when we should have been delighted to move on to the obviously more mature "raspberry" phase, we were already attached to our "little blueberry," as we'd become accustomed to referring to the baby, and insisted on calling the baby our "big blueberry" instead. My doc - who is LOVELY - took it all in stride and said we could continue calling our baby a blueberry, technically incorrect as it was. (See? Lovely!) But really? With a little thought and preparation, surely I could have come up with a better way to fill the awkward silence. I mean, I'm sure that appointment cost about $50 a minute, so technically, UnitedHealth Care dropped a Benjamin Franklin for me to gush about my fetus' nickname.

Now how's this for a curve ball. Fast forward to a whopping NINE weeks (as of last Saturday) and now, according to the experts, that's about the size of a large grape. Maybe it's just California's screwed up fruit hybrids and fancy plant food, but aren't raspberries and grapes kind of the same size? Regardless, neither make for a respectable nickname ... so if you hear us talking about Blueberry like it's part of the family already, you'll know we haven't completely lost our minds and are just excited to have a healthy, growing baby on the way!

Size Matters, Apparently

I had my first doctor's appointment this week, and suffice to say, it FREAKED me out.

Now of course it wasn't completely devoid of coolness. I got the "yep you're pregnant" stamp of approval from doc, and even saw the baby's heartbeat (will spare you the details on the magical sonogram technology that led to getting that miraculous image on the screen - yowsah).

The bummer is that all of those much-anticipated moments were compromised by the words "I'll have to see you again next week to make sure this is a healthy pregnancy." Needless to say, my head was spinning most the rest of the appointment and I'm sure I only heard half of what was thrown my way (the approximately NINE vials of blood they also took that day didn't exactly help.)

The culprit of my doctor's concern? I should be 8 weeks pregnant based on the dates, but based on the size of the baby, I'm only 7 weeks. Odds are, I ovulated late, which - to anyone that knows me - shouldn't be a shocker. I'm kinda sorta late to everything. So fingers crossed and many prayers that when I go back next week, I'll be a healthy 8 weeks, proving everything's progressing fine, if not a little tardy, and then I can read my "Pregnancy & Newborn" magazine at the gym with confidence, not to mention start to share this little secret with more loved ones. - Dawn

The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets

With so many convenient and immediate ways to share information, the art of keeping secrets is now one of the past. When not even what I had for lunch ceases to make Facebook headlines, how am I supposed to keep this baby a secret? Particularly since I'm a "wear your heart on your sleeve" sharing type?

It's been difficult keeping the news to ourselves (for the most part), but there will be plenty of time for official announcements in the weeks and months ahead.

But of course, we haven't completely kept it under wraps. Our logic - though it wasn't followed consistently - was that we'd tell you if we saw you in-person over the holidays (however that train of thought didn't kick-in until about mid-way through the trip, so a couple very special people were left out!)

But the more we announced it, the more I personally didn't feel ready to. I think I'm still coming to terms with the news myself. Plus, I've learned that before proudly announcing the news, and basking in the glow of "congrats" and "good jobs!" (that's my favorite) there are a few things you MUST be armed with:

1). A due date (because it's the first question you get asked and people totally don't think you're prego unless you have one. Instead of high-fives, you get non-committal nods and a smile that says "are you sure"????).

2). A thumbs up from the doctor that everything's OK (this is more for the mom-to-be, helping to nix the nervous awkwardness out of the "ta-da!" moment.)

3.) General plan of attack (beyond the due date, I've already been asked the following: how long are you taking off for maternity leave?; have you thought about day care?; are you working right up till your due date?; have you thought about moving?; where was the baby conceived (um what?!); what does your insurance pay for?; among other questions.

So for now, I have to be content sharing with this blog no one reads yet, and the few family members and friends that know, all the while stalking my Facebook page to ensure no one's slipped and accidentally spilled the beans!

In signing off, I challenge everyone to "under share" for once, and keep a good secret -- just for fun. - Dawn.