I had a delightful visit at the baby doctor’s office this morning. I can never get enough of the swoosh-swoosh sound of the baby’s heartbeat. It’s so reassuring to know that the little man is in there growing stronger and stronger by the day.

That sound also mitigates the torture I have to endure when stepping on the scale at each appointment. Today, I hit a “milestone” I hoped would not come for another couple of months: at 25 weeks, I’ve officially gained 20 pounds. I’ve tried not to let it bother me all day, but it’s bothering me now, damn it.

It doesn’t help that I’ve spent the past year or more on what I called Project Apple Bottom. That campaign to lose weight and improve my overall health turned out to be quite a success. Before I got pregnant, I was back down to my college size. More important, perhaps, I had reignited some of the spark that had dimmed over the past few years. I was strong, feisty, and, well, more like myself than I had been in years.

I still have about 15 weeks to go. I will likely gain at least a pound a week. That means even though I started this pregnancy exponentially healthier than my last, I’m still going to gain at least 35 pounds, probably more. I’m 5’2”. That’s a lot of weight for a girl my size.

I’ve been exercising as much as I can, I haven’t been eating fast food for lunch every day, I’m not making that daily trip to the Snack Machine of Death, and I’m not sitting at a desk eight to twelve hours every day. I am doing what all the “experts” say to do, with the exception of the occasional ice cream indulgence. Still, there is something in my body that says, “PACK ON THE POUNDS, SISTER!” when I’m not counting calories and working my ass off two hours a day.

I know I am growing another human being in my body. I expect to gain weight. I had just hoped that giving myself a better start and treating my body better in the process would pay off with lower numbers on the scale. I guess some women just get fat when they’re pregnant. I’m one of them.

I keep reminding myself that even though I’ve gained 20 pounds, I just now reached the weight that I was back in my chubby TV days. I’m nearly six months pregnant. Last time I weighed this much, I was just fat. That’s gotta count for something.

Labels: Pregnancy, Project Apple Bottom, Weight

I haven't blogged in a very, very long time. The reasons are many, but I'm not going to belabor the point of this post. I just don't have time.

I'm going to have to pause my live TV (thank you, DirecTV) in a few minutes to go pick my son up from preschool. I'm absolutely giddy watching the parade of people packing into Washington this morning to witness an historic moment. I'm going to watch every frame of it, even though it will not be "live." I want my son to watch it with me. I want to try to impress upon him the importance of this moment for our nation. I'm not sure a four-year-old can get it, but he's been following "O-rock Obama" for the past year or so. He screams, "Mommy! Mommy! It's the president we voted for! O-rock Obama," every single time he sees his picture or hears his voice. Those words go over well inside our home, but when we're out in public in our area, not so much.

On a completely ridiculous note that has nothing to do with our nation coming out of the dark ages...

If you haven't already given a limb or another valuable body part to purchase yourself a shiny new iPhone, here's my ringing endorsement:

I am a complete head-case right now. Unbelievably stupid, forgetful, ridiculous almost. Some people call it "baby brain." My Fit Pregnancy magazine this month told me it was an actual condition, proven fact, even, that women who are pregnant experience some serious mental lags. Thanks for the affirmation.

I've done and said a lot of stupid things over the past five months of my pregnancy, so much so that my husband recently remarked that I USED to be smart. Not so much right now.

This morning, I was trying to get my son into the car to get to school on time when I did a really bone-headed thing. My boy was dancing, kicking and singing his way to the vehicle when he kicked over a box full of hangers I plan to donate to Goodwill. There are at least a hundred hangers in this box, now scattered all over the garage floor, including under my car. I'm sure it would have been hilarious watching this hugely pregnant woman on her hands and knees gathering up dozens of wayward hangers underneath her SUV. It was not funny to me at the time.

I finally got the stinking hangers packed up and got the kid buckled into this car seat when I realized we were running extremely late. I HATE to be late. I hopped into the car and started backing out when I felt a bump. The first thing I did was look in my rear-view mirror to make sure my child was actually in the car. Thankfully, I'm not that ridiculous right now. That was the first time I almost cried this morning: realizing I had not run over my child.

I threw the car in park and looked down. That marked the second time I almost cried this morning. There, on the floor of my garage, with a big tire track on the side, was my Mama Purse, which contains my entire world outside of my husband, children and dog.

I ran to that Mama Purse, knowing I was going to find disaster. I first saw an envelope containing a bill I needed to mail. Also covered in tire tracks, crumbled and looking much worse for the wear. Directly under that envelope: my brand new shiny iPhone my husband got me for Christmas. Mark the third time I almost cried this morning.

I pulled out that shiny new device, noticed the cover was a bit off, but, wait. Wait a minute. (turning it over and over and over in my hands) Not a scratch. Push the button to pop up the menu screen. Lights, camera, action, bitches.

No time to waste. Running late. Must not be late. Jump in the car. Son immediately starts talking. "Please, don't talk, honey. Mommy just did something really bad, and I'm a little upset right now," I said. Don't tell a four-year-old you're upset and then ask him not to talk. Stupid, stupid move. A thousand questions commence.

I make three phone calls on the way to school, which is a three minute drive. No one answers, but it appears all calls are going out.

As I'm getting him out of the car, my beautiful little boy gives me a huge hug. "Don't have a bad day, Mommy. It's OK. Your phone is not crushed. It's fine. Everything's fine." What a wonderful child I have. His daddy told him to take care of his mommy for him. I'm not sure anyone knows just how much that little man actually does that makes my life better every day. He is an angel.

But, sappiness and Baby Brain aside, I ran over my shiny new iPhone with my SUV, and the little sucker is still tickin'. Still playing my music. Still texting like a maniac. Still making expensive international calls. Can somebody say endorsement deal?

Labels: Baby brain, Barack Obama, iPhone, Presidential election