I've been living in the greater DC metropolitan area for almost 12 years now, and I've never lived further than a few blocks from the Metro. I've never wanted to live further away. I love the Metro. I love the idea of public transportation. I love the convenience. I love not having to sit in traffic or pay a small fortune to park my car. I love being able to sit down with a book and relax. I never thought anything could change my mind -- not delays, not broken air conditioning, not even annoying springtime Cherry Blossom tourists.
Except now, being pregnant on public transportation is making me reconsider. I hate Metro. I hate that there's always a delay, or a broken escalator, or malfunctioning air or heat. And I hate the crowds. I hate the fact that, in the morning, I can't get a seat because of all the perfectly healthy young men that don't look up from their book or newspaper or iPad to notice an uncomfortable pregnant lady trying to hold on while the train lurches. I hate the rushing people in the evening, particularly the older men that push me out of the way, in fear that the slow pregnant lady will keep them from getting a seat. I hate the looks from the younger women when I sit or stand near them, as if being pregnant was a contagion.
For years, I've politely offered my seat to visibly pregnant women on crowded trains, thinking that one day, the gesture would be reciprocated. But no, not once. In fact, a few weeks ago, I gave up my seat to a young girl who was significantly more pregnant -- and noticeably more uncomfortable -- than I, while hordes of apparently young, healthy commuters either ignored us, or worse, looked on.
Then again, maybe it's not the Metro: maybe it's people. Maybe having this baby is making me notice what assholes people are.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Antatomy scan redux
On Feb. 15, when we had the anatomy scan, the baby was entirely uncooperative. And so, yesterday afternoon, we had it redone.
This time, she was awake and kicking the entire time.
Mostly, though, she's healthy and growing, and very very cute.
This time, she was awake and kicking the entire time.
Mostly, though, she's healthy and growing, and very very cute.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Is it a Boy or Girl?
On February 15th, if all goes according to plan, we'll be finding out whether Cletus is a boy fetus or a girl fetus. Between now and then, however, we're giving you guys a chance to guess. If you look to your right, you'll see a poll. Vote (guess?) now.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
In sickness and . . .
L and I have both been sick. I had originally caught a cold right around Thanksgiving, then got really sick when we were heading back from St. Thomas. I fought to get rid of the cold over Christmas and New Year's -- but, of course, then L got sick. Then I got sick again. Vicious cycle.
Finally, by last week, we were all but certain that we had sinus infections, so I broke down and made us both doctors appointments. Last Wednesday evening, we finally got our hands on some good, old fashioned antibiotics, and climbed into bed after taking our pills -- L took his with some Sudafed, I took mine with some cough syrup since the Sudafed keeps me awake at night. I then proceeded to cough so hard that I threw up all over myself.
Once I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and changed my pajamas, I sat in bed crying for a few minutes. This, of course, was very distressing to my husband, who, I'm fairly certain, had not really seen me cry. In defense, though, I'm not much of a cryer, and when I do it, it's mostly in secret.
Still, he was awesome. He held my hand and told me that he loved me. Which is pretty amazing if you think about it: to still love someone after they've just thrown up all over themselves and are a weeping, emotional mess.
Finally, by last week, we were all but certain that we had sinus infections, so I broke down and made us both doctors appointments. Last Wednesday evening, we finally got our hands on some good, old fashioned antibiotics, and climbed into bed after taking our pills -- L took his with some Sudafed, I took mine with some cough syrup since the Sudafed keeps me awake at night. I then proceeded to cough so hard that I threw up all over myself.
Once I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and changed my pajamas, I sat in bed crying for a few minutes. This, of course, was very distressing to my husband, who, I'm fairly certain, had not really seen me cry. In defense, though, I'm not much of a cryer, and when I do it, it's mostly in secret.
Still, he was awesome. He held my hand and told me that he loved me. Which is pretty amazing if you think about it: to still love someone after they've just thrown up all over themselves and are a weeping, emotional mess.
Friday, January 20, 2012
A love letter to stretchy waistbands
This week, we went back to the doctor, I went back to prenatal yoga, and I got my first maternity clothing.
As you know, I was very anxious about buying maternity clothing, but, last week, I realized that I had no choice, unless I can figure out a way to go to work in my pajamas and/or foldover waist yoga pants.
So, I ordered a few pairs of pants from the Gap and Old Navy (they carry petite lengths!), a few blouses, a dress from Japanese Weekend, and then, some pants and a sweaterdress from Ann Taylor Loft. Internet shopping!
The pants were the first to arrive. I tried them on, and I almost cried.
For joy.
Stretch waistbands are the best thing ever.
Well, maybe that's an overstatement, but it feels true if you're 16 weeks pregnant, and all of a sudden, you have a giant tummy and no waist. I didn't know how uncomfortable my regular pants had gotten until I tried on the maternity pants. And they're not ugly. Win-win.
Now if I could only find a maternity sports bra for prenatal yoga. . .
As you know, I was very anxious about buying maternity clothing, but, last week, I realized that I had no choice, unless I can figure out a way to go to work in my pajamas and/or foldover waist yoga pants.
So, I ordered a few pairs of pants from the Gap and Old Navy (they carry petite lengths!), a few blouses, a dress from Japanese Weekend, and then, some pants and a sweaterdress from Ann Taylor Loft. Internet shopping!
The pants were the first to arrive. I tried them on, and I almost cried.
For joy.
Stretch waistbands are the best thing ever.
Well, maybe that's an overstatement, but it feels true if you're 16 weeks pregnant, and all of a sudden, you have a giant tummy and no waist. I didn't know how uncomfortable my regular pants had gotten until I tried on the maternity pants. And they're not ugly. Win-win.
Now if I could only find a maternity sports bra for prenatal yoga. . .
Friday, January 13, 2012
Prenatal Yoga
Last night, Cletus and I went for our first prenatal yoga class.
For the record, I've been doing yoga on-and-off since I was in law school a billion years ago, so I thought this would be no big deal. I've done pretty much every kind of yoga, from the kinds with gentle movements and focusing on breathing, to the kind where you move every second in a hot room and get more of a cardio workout than a good stretch. I like yoga -- or at least I think I do.
Anyway, last night's prenatal yoga class was a surprise to me in many ways.
The first was that, in a big metro area filled with lawyers and other professionals, I did not really think that 36 was old to be having a baby, despite what all the books say, and despite the fact that my doctors keep gently reminding me that I'm "high risk." Last night, I got the message. I was positively geriatric compared to most of the women in the class -- and many of them were on baby #2 or baby #3. Maybe it's because the old ladies like me work too much to go to prenatal yoga. Sigh.
Second, I realized once again that I am positively huge for fifteen weeks. Gigantic.
Third, and perhaps worst, I realized that I am now completely inflexible. Positions that I could do with no problem a few months ago are now completely outside my range of motion. My old bones just do not want to move.
So, when L came to pick us up, he asked how the class went. I told him I hated it, which is an exaggeration. I really did not enjoy myself. But I'm going to keep going, because I think it's good for Cletus.
For the record, I've been doing yoga on-and-off since I was in law school a billion years ago, so I thought this would be no big deal. I've done pretty much every kind of yoga, from the kinds with gentle movements and focusing on breathing, to the kind where you move every second in a hot room and get more of a cardio workout than a good stretch. I like yoga -- or at least I think I do.
Anyway, last night's prenatal yoga class was a surprise to me in many ways.
The first was that, in a big metro area filled with lawyers and other professionals, I did not really think that 36 was old to be having a baby, despite what all the books say, and despite the fact that my doctors keep gently reminding me that I'm "high risk." Last night, I got the message. I was positively geriatric compared to most of the women in the class -- and many of them were on baby #2 or baby #3. Maybe it's because the old ladies like me work too much to go to prenatal yoga. Sigh.
Second, I realized once again that I am positively huge for fifteen weeks. Gigantic.
Third, and perhaps worst, I realized that I am now completely inflexible. Positions that I could do with no problem a few months ago are now completely outside my range of motion. My old bones just do not want to move.
So, when L came to pick us up, he asked how the class went. I told him I hated it, which is an exaggeration. I really did not enjoy myself. But I'm going to keep going, because I think it's good for Cletus.
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