Fat Jeans (and Fat Genes)

I finally broke out the pregnancy jeans. My poor button-fly Levis were just too maxed out to go on anymore. And with my muffin top of baby fat hanging out the top I’m sure this move was well overdue from a fashion perspective (I’m at that point of pregnancy “fatness” where if you didn’t know I was pregnant you wouldn’t guess I was carrying a baby inside me, you’d just think I was really letting myself go). And, now that I did it, I may never go back. Oh the comfort of an elastic waistband! Where have you been all my life? And they’re so ego boosting too! No matter how big I get they just keep stretching and, yet, according to the tag on the inside, I’m still just a size 6 – hooray!

And I think they may need to do a LOT of stretching. While shopping for maternity clothes last weekend the store gave me a pillow to wear to help me see what the clothes will look like when I get bigger. I mean, because clearly my stomach is the ONLY part of me that’s going to balloon up. That’s how it works, right?

Here’s what I’ll no doubt look like in a few months when I’m just as slim as ever with a just giant blob of a stomach out front.

I always thought that if I ever got pregnant I would finally have an excuse not to obsess about my weight anymore. As if, suddenly, after 30-some odd years of calculating every calorie I ingested and worrying about where it would appear on my body later, all this negative self image stuff would magically be forgotten the second I learned that it was, in fact, now okay to gain weight. No, not just okay, EXPECTED. Normal. Healthy. Spoiler alert: The totally didn’t happen. (No shit, right?) If anything I think about my weight more than ever (which I previously thought was impossible. But, in the sage words of Mr. Justin Bieber, “never say never.” Also, add calling Justin Bieber “sage” to my list of things I also thought I’d never do).

As always, I blame society (well, mainly I blame Heidi Klum. I mean, every other season of “Project Runway” there she is, looking svelte as ever while rocking the cutest little pregnant belly ever. And then *poof* it’s gone like that! Bitch). But realistically I know that every single pound I put on has to come right off again after I push this sucker out of my unmentionables (plus the couple extra pounds I meant to lose before I got pregnant but never really got around to doing). And, as we all know, losing weight is tooootttalllly easy. And, I’m only guessing here, it’s so much easier when you have a newborn (going to the gym will be a breeze! I mean, babies do nothing but sleep. Sleep allll the time! I’ll be at the gym constantly! Running marathons before you know it). But losing it all and getting back into shape is what’s expected of us and, like all suckers who forsake their comfortable stretchy jeans and yoga pants to go back to the world of cold zippers and buttons, I’ve fully bought into the concept of wanting to look thin and pretty as much as the next gal.

So every morning I step on my scale (even though I KNOW it’s unhealthy to weigh yourself daily because it gives you false positive results and false negative results when you obsessively do it so often) to make sure I’m only gaining the “recommended” amount. And I drag myself to the gym and carefully plan out healthy meals and worry about every new piece of chub that appears around my midsection and what it will ultimately make me look like in several months time. Why? Because even though I see plenty of skinny women who leisurely tell me about the 65 pounds they gained during pregnancy I know that they do not have my genes (even if, once upon a time, they couldn’t even cram themselves into my stretchiest of stretchy jeans). These are women who you can tell just by looking at them are born to be skinny (like that aforementioned gorgeous bitch Heidi Klum).

I’m not saying they’ve never worried about their weight. All women do. All. I’m just saying that, genetically speaking, some women have to think about such things a little less than the rest of us. Oh sure, they may have other problems, like bad skin or brittle hair or a flat butt or something else that women obsess about instead of being overweight. But regardless of how freakin’ huge they got when they were carrying their kid they were always going to take that weight back off … because that’s how they’re built. But, if you’re like me and you’ve spent pretty much your whole life struggling to keep your weight in some sort of semi-normal (though never ever ever “ideal” by our own impossible standards) range then the concept of getting fat, even if you’re supposed to get “fat” because you’re carrying the weight of another whole human being inside you, turns out to be pretty hard to swallow after all.

But I’m trying to embrace it. I really am. But because I’m crazy (though my husband the therapist assures me it’s just normal “crazy” and not the “get thee to a loony bin” kind of “crazy” so I’m good. Also, he doesn’t approve of me using the term “loony bin” – or “crazy” for that matter – but he’ll just have to forgive his “crazy” wife for her wrongdoings on this one) I have to focus my weight obsession elsewhere. I mean, I can’t just make my concerns disappear. So instead I worry about my child and his/her genes and whether or not he/she will also someday unhealthily obsess about his/her weight. If I have a girl the answer to my question is undoubtedly “yes,” even if she does somehow inherit some long-unknown to my family hidden “skinny genes.” But if it’s a boy he is not necessarily exempt either. Oh sure, we all love Chunk from “The Goonies,” but in a “he’s so fun to make fun of” way. I’m hoping that, as a professional, GAR can counsel our kid through it if need be … but he wouldn’t really be able to charge our own child his normal hourly rate, and that’s sort of like taking money right out of our pockets. So yeah, THAT’S why you’re not getting a car for your 16th birthday kid!

Anyway, I guess I shouldn’t let myself worry too much. There’s still an entire lifetime in store for our kiddo and we really have no idea what he/she will become. And that’s part of the excitement – waiting to find out. Besides, if anything I should be worried that our kid will inherit GAR’s insane Marge Simpson hair. I mean, seriously, look at this kid!

London Calling

I’m sorry I couldn’t think up a more creative title for this post but, you guys, my brain is dissolving (I just had to have spell check correct the word “dissolving” for me because, apparently, I no longer remember how to spell, in addition to all the other nasty ways my brain is letting me down).

I mean, I’ve heard of this thing called “pregnancy brain” before – where your brain gets all fuzzy and you’re not quite as sharp as you used to be – but I kind of thought it was just a way of explaining why pregnant ladies forget stuff due to the fact that they have lots of other things on their mind. But, truth be told, I’m not flighty because I’m overrun with thoughts and planning and other details – I’m just stupider all of a sudden. And it just kicked in. But I’m overdue on writing a post about our “babymoon” in London so you get to hear from me anyway – stupidness and all.

Since neither of us wants to read a whole post of poorly written nonsense by a half-witted preggo, let me just give you the quick lowdown on our trip (followed by pretty pictures) – It was fun and terribly cold, with famously cool accents and some bad 90s comedy that I found to be totally dissimilar from what I generally associate with British humour (the extra “u” makes it extra British), with some big-city flavour thrown into the mix … and did I mention that it was cold (not to mention dreadfully rainy)? And, while I couldn’t drink a pint in some jolly ol’ pub, I did learn that with enough jam and clotted cream I DO like scones after all.

Most of all I just felt like I was in an older, more historic version of NYC. I suppose it’s all perspective, but I didn’t feel like England is all that different from the U.S. really (which makes sense given our nation’s history) so at times it didn’t feel like we had traveled so far to be there. And, pound for pound (or pound for dollar), I found the Brits to be easily just as drunk and obnoxious as us Americans (if not more, “Jersey Shore” cast excluded) and, weirdly, that made me just a little more proud of my homeland (though, let’s be honest, being sober probably made me more apt to be annoyed by such things so perhaps my judgment is slightly fuzzy on that one). But, let me tell you, London sure is a fun city … and I definitely want to go back in the future (perhaps when I CAN enjoy a few pints to fight off the bitter gloominess of the weather there).

And, without further ado, here’s some photos!

After landing in London we started by taking a double-decker bus tour of the city (disclaimer: this is not our actual bus, but you get the general idea)

We saw all the basic sites, including Big Ben (or, you know, the tower that houses Big Ben, which is a bell ... a fact you hear about 200 times whilst in London)

We also took this really cool British Rock n' Roll walking tour. We saw the pub (now a record store) where The Stones were founded, the place where Jimi Hendrix got his start and this house - the roof (the building was not as tall back then) is where The Beatles held their last concert

This is Westminster Abbey. Darwin, Newton and a whole lotta other important people are buried here (but you can't take photos inside - wah wah)

I did take this lovely photo of GAR in the courtyard at Westminster though (because technically that's not "inside" the Abbey)

Here's the Tower of London. Fatty King Henry VIII had 2 of his wives beheaded here. So that's pretty cool

I still don't know why they're called Beefeaters (they don't even know) but I'm not above drinking their gin anyway (though I prefer a vodka martini personally)

The Tower Bridge, unlike London Bridge, has never fallen victim to a children's song that questions its structural integrity

They did remove the Olympic rings though (we were just a few months too late)

Because we were playing the part of typical tourists we took a trip in the London Eye

And we went at night so it would look all purty up there

Did I mention that the weather was pretty shitty? To prevent ourselves from getting S.A.D. we went shopping and split a gelato milkshake at Harrods



I let GAR pick a theatre show for us to see. He chose the most British sounding play he could find - One Man, Two Guvnors. It was actually quite hilarious, and one of the actors literally broke a leg onstage. The main character in the show filled the time while we waited for her understudy to show up by doing impromptu stand-up, leading the audience in a group sing-a-long of Bob Marley's "One Love" and even eating fire. I don't think we'll ever see another show quite like it

We visited the Queen's weekend and summer home, Windsor Castle. It was another rainy day so it looked totally foreboding and creepy

And we went and saw these rocks as well

These are the Roman Baths. They were my favorite thing I saw while in England ... which I think just proves that I am always partial to anything Italian

Of course we had to see some stand-up. Mostly it was a combo of cheap fart jokes, making fun of "gays," obvious bits about horsemeat in burgers and, randomly, some political musical numbers thrown in for a more serious note

This is the Rosetta Stone. It's pretty important. It even has language software named after it

Of course we also stalked the Queen at her weekday estate, Buckingham Palace. That snob wouldn't even let us inside for tea



With all those years of English history and gore we thought it would fun to take a ghost tour. The only one we could find was aboard this bus, which featured an actor telling us stories of the various specters one can find around town while employing some bad acting techniques for added entertainment


Oh yeah, and here's me in Hyde Park rocking my 15- week baby bump. Dear kiddo - I sure hope you'll treasure all these in utero memories of London!

Call the Police! 'Cause I'm the Best at Drawing Chalk Outlines

Hey, remember when I said that pregnant women are smug? Now that I’m knocked up people have been asking me to retract this little statement of mine. But I stand by it. We are all so damn smug. Oh yes, I’m sure that includes me too. I mean, I haven’t seen it happening just yet, but I’m sure it’s in there somewhere – just waiting until I’m really big and round to come on out. But, until then, the only thing I’m smug about at the moment is the sweet, sweet chevron I* painted on our future nursery wall.

*GAR won’t actually let me paint anything right now. He’s worried about the fumes turning our baby into a mutant. The doctor said I could do it but GAR argues that he’s also a doctor (though NOT a medical one *ahem*) so, fine, I’m letting him win this battle, for now. I guess my point is that he did the actual “painting” portion of this project, but I’m still calling it “my” project because I did all the hard stuff. You’ll see.

Within mere days (if not hours) of learning I was pregnant GAR painted the entire nursery a nice light gray color (before you ask the obvious question here, yes, we will be finding out the gender of the baby. But, we’re not really “paint it blue for a boy, pink for a girl” type of people so, in this case, the overall paint color is purposely gender neutral because, let’s face it, this room will soon be filled with plenty of girly or boyish accruements, thereby rendering the need for a gender specific paint color unnecessary). But, of course, we are nothing if not people who embrace bold, vivid colors and, therefore, I felt we needed some big “splash” to make the room itself come alive. After some thought I decided to attempt a chevron pattern on one wall in the most eye popping, I would only use this in a kid’s room, color – Kermit the Frog green (I think the actual name of the color was “Apple Martini.” But, seeing as this is a baby’s room, that name sounded less appropriate than likening it to a shade of Muppet).

Initially I was hesitant to attempt this task myself. It seemed like something that could be really tricky or complicated to execute. But, honestly, it was really quite easy … just a smidge labor intensive.

Because I’m a perfectionist I decided to start by drawing a giant grid made of 12”x12” squares all along the wall with chalk. I used a ruler to do this (and resisted my urge to also use a level, which I’m sure would have driven me crazy because NOTHING in my house is level and I’m sure it would have thrown me. Instead I just stayed as straight as possible with the ruler, while frequently stepping back to eyeball it to make sure it also looked even from a distance), though I’m sure I could have simply done large horizontal and vertical chalk lines using a taut piece of string that stretched the entire length of the wall … but didn’t think of that, so sue me. I’m sure you could also cut a piece of cardboard or something to the size you want and use that as a template for your squares. Damn! I am thinking up all sorts of shortcuts now. Anyway, point is, I used a stupid, non-time-saving ruler.

The chalk outline was the longest part of the process actually (though I can’t be sure because I didn’t do it all in one sitting – I’m too fat … I mean, pregnant … and lazy for that). Then it was fairly simple to make the tape lines connecting the bottom corner of one square to the top corner of the next square – and so on. In my photos it looks like some chevrons are wider than others. In fact they are the same width. It’s just the way I chose to do the tape (along the top of one row and along the bottom edge on the next … which is hard to explain but, if you look closely, maybe you’ll see what I mean by that). But, really, this is as simple as connecting the dots.

 
Then I just wiped off the chalk from the areas that needed to be painted and let GAR get to rolling it on (see, I told you he had the “easy” part).

We pulled off the tape and viola – nearly perfect chevrons! (Okay, so we still have to wipe off the chalk on the gray areas, and there was some bleeding through the tape that we need to clean up a bit but, from a distance, perfection!)

I love the combo of bold pattern and bright color together. The green color could read a little masculine to some, whereas the chevron shape could be seen as overly feminine. But, together, this duo of shapes and hues leaves me feeling like either a baby boy or girl fits right into this space (plus, you know, it’s a baby – it doesn’t have an opinion on whether or not their room suits his/her individual style. The tyke is just worried about when someone is going to clean that gunk out of its diaper). So, yeah, call me smug if you must. Instead I’ll call it pride in a job well done (pat on the back)!

And since I can’t* paint (see note above in case you forgot the dubious reasons I made this statement), and obviously I can’t be doing heavy lifting, hard physical labor or a whole lot of other stuff I need to do to renovate, that means I’m pretty worthless in the home improvement arena right now. So really, all I can focus on from this point out is making everything in the house look “pretty” – which includes myself because, frankly, I’m getting bigger by the moment (plus I swear this kid is sucking out every last bit of youth and attractiveness I was still desperately clinging to. Old wives tales dictate that this happens when you’re pregnant with a girl because, as the story goes, girl babies “steal their mother’s beauty” but, honestly, I’m not yet smug enough to buy into all that ... and I’m certainly not going to rush out a buy pink everything based on folklore. I’m more apt to think I look like crap because I’m bloated and tired. But, I’ll admit, having my beauty stolen does sound a bit more fairytale romantic, doesn’t it?)

Since I refuse to buy gigantic, unflattering maternity clothes so early on, I’ve invested in this crazy stretchy band that goes around the top of my regular pants to hold them up even if I can no longer button them (which, of course, sounds totally sexy). I haven’t had to try it out just yet (I’m still stretching my zippers to the limit) but I’m guessing I will this upcoming week – GAR and I are headed out on our Babymoon, our last big trip before we’ve got a wee one in tow, and we’re going to jolly old England (London mostly). And, trust me, I plan on eating my share of fish and chips (and whatever other disgusting fare that the British are known for preparing poorly) while there. Talk to you when I make it back from across the pond!