Still wearing my favorite maternity shirt complete with a "what the hell just happened" expression.

A scream that the baby is coming. Tires squealing out of the driveway. Racing to the freeway. Running red lights. Barreling towards the hospital at 100 miles an hour. Throwing the car keys at the ER valet. Getting rushed to a hospital room. Nurses scrambling and the doctor rushing in mid-push.

These things aren’t supposed to happen during labor. The birth of a baby isn’t usually a crazy emergency situation…or, at least, that’s what they tell us in all those birthing classes. But it can happen like that. I know, because it happened to me.

It’s a good thing I didn’t have a birth plan for my baby boy. Because no amount of planning could have prepared me for what happened the night my son “E” was born. My son was born on October 14th, his initial due date, at 11:27 pm. We arrived at the hospital at 11:20 pm. Want to know how that happened? Read on:

Knowing that my doctor would plan an induction if I went past my due date, I spent the week leading up to 14th trying out some natural induction methods. The past few weeks had been filled with a surge of Braxton Hicks contractions and I felt optimistic that I could go into natural labor before the doctor broke out the pitocin. So, I visited my acupuncturist/chiropractor. I ate eggplant parmigiana and pineapple. I went for long walks and bribed seduced my husband. A friend of mine swore by the breast pump to kick-start things, which I tried the morning on October 13th. Later that afternoon, I visited a reflexologist for an hour long massage. By that evening my contractions were coming along more steadily and intensely, but never painfully. I didn’t think much of it since I had been dealing with pre-labor signs for weeks.

The morning of the 14th, I had two appointments – one with my OB/GYN and another with a Maternal Fetal Health Clinic. Due to my elderly maternal age of 35 and Pregnancy-Induced Hypertension, I had been deemed “high-risk” and had been monitored with NST and ultrasound exams twice a week since early September. My doctor checked me and I was barely dilated nor effaced, which wasn’t a total surprise. I was barely dilated with my first son 90 minutes before he was born. We discussed my previous labor, which we had discussed many times already, and talked about the plan to induce the following week if the baby didn’t arrive on his own. I then headed to another floor for my NST exam. The nurses noticed a decrease in the baby’s movement. I had felt him several times that morning and even during the exam, but their concern had me worried. After a discussion with my doctor, they scheduled me to go to L&D the next morning for further monitoring. I knew there was a good chance that they would keep me in L&D and induce me at the first sign of a problem. I silently begged my body and my baby to get things rolling.

I was home by 1:00pm and started timing my still relatively painless contractions. The Dude had stayed home from work that day and my mom stopped by to watch the Monkey.  We took our dog for a long walk, which got the contractions coming a little more consistently and intensely. By 5:00 pm, my mom had left and I was getting restless so I decided to go to Trader Joe’s with the Monkey. While waiting in line to check out, a woman with three small children started chatting me up. A contraction came during that time and she must have read my expression because she asked if I was in labor. I replied that I didn’t think so because the contractions didn’t really hurt. She gave me a look as if to say “uh, yeah you are!” and wished my luck.  When I returned home, the Dude decided to run out and grab us some Indian take-out. By the time he returned at 7:00pm, I felt things were moving more quickly and that we needed to visit the hospital. When he pulled the car in the drive way, I yelled out to him to leave the car there and not bother pulling it into the garage – we were going soon. While the Dude quickly ate, we called his mom to come over and watch the Monkey. She was there within minutes and we took off. We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 pm.

The admitting nurse checked me and I was at 2cm dilated and 60% effaced. My mom had met us at the hospital since I thought for sure things would be moving quickly. The contractions were coming along between 2-4 minutes apart and had become stronger and somewhat painful. I walked around the halls with the Dude. I would brace myself against a wall during a contraction while he massaged the pain in my lower back. The nurse checked me again after an hour. No change. My doctor stopped by at that point and could see that I was in pain and the contractions were coming on more regularly. She ordered a shot of Demoral to take the edge off  and then told me that I should go home and labor for a few more hours and then come back. She also told me that she would probably see me later that night or early the next morning but, because I was still at 2cm, they couldn’t admit me yet unless I was in a serious amount of pain. My contractions were painful, but not unbearable, however the Demoral did nothing for me except make me a little woozy. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep through the contractions, but I thought I could at least go home and be comfortable while I labored. I joked about getting some Krispy Kreme donuts on the way home as a last calorie-busting hurrah before starting my post-baby diet. The nurse kept asking me my pain scale number and mentioned a few times that she thought I had a high tolerance for pain. I thought it was a weird comment since I was only at 2cm but, looking back, I realize she was trying to clue me into saying that my pain level was higher than I said so they would have to admit me. I wish I had.

We left the hospital at 10:30pm. I would be giving birth in less than an hour.

A block from the hospital the contractions were rapidly becoming stronger and painful, but they were still manageable. Considering we live so close to the hospital, we still decided to go home and wait it out a bit longer. Big mistake. We got back home and I went upstairs thinking I needed to use the bathroom. The contractions had become so powerful that I remember thinking that I could actually be in the transition stage of labor. I could do nothing but moan in a primal tone and brace myself during each hit. Between contractions, I sat down on the toilet and quickly realized that I didn’t need to use the bathroom after all – the pressure I was feeling was the urge to push! I screamed for the Dude and he rushed in to help me pull my pants back on. I yelled that we needed to go back to the hospital  and fast – I didn’t want to have my baby on my bathroom floor! His mom heard the commotion and asked if she should call 911. The Dude yelled back no as we rushed out the door and into the car. He opened the passenger door as I ran to the back seat. There was no way I could sit upright. As he peeled out of the driveway, knowing that he was about to drive much more recklessly than usual, he asked in a somewhat panicked tone for me to put my seat-belt on. I yelled back “DRIVE!!!” which he did both dangerously and beautifully. Thankfully, it was late at night and there were very few cars on the road. We arrived at the hospital at 11:20pm.

The Dude threw his car keys at the ER valet, who caught them as if he had seen this situation a few times before. A wheelchair came out of nowhere and they ran me to the elevator to head to L&D. I could only half-sit because of the pressure, so I held up my body on the wheelchair arms. The ER was filled with people and I could see a few nervous faces.  A woman called out, “looks like it’s time – congrats!” The wheelchair attendant, a teenage volunteer, happily talked about how this was his favorite part of the job. The Dude asked him to pick up the pace and that we needed a room fast. We got to L&D admitting where I could no longer sit down because I could feel the baby in the birth canal. I yelled “the only thing keeping this baby in is me keeping my legs closed!” An off-duty nurse heard the commotion and waved us all into an empty room. At least 8 other nurses rushed in at that time and I somehow got onto the table and out of my pants. My doctor was nowhere to be found so the nurses yelled out that they were ready to deliver. The instinct to keep my legs closed was overwhelming, probably because I was in shock about what was happening, and I remember a few nurses prying my legs open. I yelled out “wait, I need an epidural!” and everyone laughed. One nurse replied, “honey, you’ve done the work already – the baby’s head is here!”  The Dude was looking down at me, telling me that it was time and that our baby would be here soon. I focused on him and his words. The urge to push became incredibly intense and I looked down to see my doctor arrive as I pushed for the first and only time. I felt the baby rapidly descend from my body and out of my womb, a feeling I vividly remember with my first son. An incredible and euphoric feeling that is unlike anything else in the world. I didn’t feel any pain, only relief and awe. I was still wearing my own shirt, so they laid a blanket on my chest and placed my new baby boy on me for a matter of seconds before they rushed to check him. The Dude later told me that immediately after I delivered, they gave me a shot of pitocin in my leg to reduce the chance of hemorrhaging. I don’t remember that. The entire chaotic scene was a blur of activity with nurses running around and my doctor yelling about how she couldn’t find me.

I was in a state of surreal shock. I heard the baby cry, which made me happy to hear, but I didn’t feel anything else at all. I could not wrap my head around what just happened. The past hour had become the most intense and crazy hour of my life and it was hard to believe that my baby boy was here and in my arms. When my first son was born, I immediately burst into tears of joy after his birth. With this experience, the shock didn’t wear off until the following morning, which is when I finally became an emotional mess. My boy was here. He was healthy and safe. Looking down at his beautiful scrunched up face with folded down ears and a crease around his forehead from the birth canal, I whispered that I would do it all again in a heartbeat for him. For the rest of my life, I would do anything for him.

What just happened? The Monkey and me, shortly after he made his dramatic entrance into the world.

My maternal great-grandmother gave birth to 13 children. All but #13 were born at home and none of them were delivered with medicinal pain relief.

My maternal grandmother delivered 3 children without any medicinal pain relief.

My own mother delivered two out of three of her children without any medicinal pain relief.

That’s pretty awesome of them. But, as for me? Bring on the meds. Maybe.

I’m in the homestretch of my pregnancy and expect to meet baby #2 within 2 weeks (or possibly later tonight if that famous eggplant parmigiana recipe really works). If I were to have a birth plan, the only plan would be to ask for the epidural as soon as I check into the hospital. You see, my last labor and delivery, which was an induced labor at 41 weeks, was approximately 90 minutes from the time the pitocin hit to when my son made his entrance. Going from 0 to delivery in an hour and a half was excruciating and exhausting and the epidural that I managed to beg for when I could actually catch my breath came much too late. It was not the birth experience that I had wanted and certainly did not anticipate. Considering my doctor barely made it in time (and my doula never made it at all), no one anticipated it. In the end, all that mattered was that my son was born healthy and I was OK…but it would have been nice if our first introduction to one another was during a much less dramatic circumstance.

Whether it’s laboring for 24 hours without meds, as my own mother did with me, or having a planned and wanted C-section, it would be great if every mama could have the birthing experience that she wants. But we all know that’s not always possible. What I also know is that no one has the right to judge, criticize, or give otherwise self-righteous opinions to another woman for how she delivers her baby. If mama wants an epidural to help make her labor and delivery a more enjoyable and relaxing one, good for her. If she wants to go through labor and delivery at home, that’s fantastic. Mama should get what she wants and be given support from her doctor/midwife, partner, family, and friends.  There is nothing wrong with a mom trying to make the best of her labor and delivery experience, in whatever capacity she sees fit. No one gets a cookie or gold star for delivering a baby a certain way. The only prize we could hope for with any delivery is that of a healthy baby and mama.

I was actually half-joking when I mentioned that epidural earlier. Unlike everything else in my somewhat orderly and planned everyday life, I’m more of a let’s what happens kinda gal when it comes to my labor. If I go into labor naturally and the pain is tolerable, I’ll try and go for it. I managed to get through 90 minutes of an induced labor and delivery without meds, so I have no doubt that I can do it. However, if the pain starts to wear on me and, in that moment I feel like meds will help me enjoy the process more, someone page the anesthesiologist. And fast.

This time around, no plan is my best birth plan…no matter what anyone else might think.

When I first found out, I couldn’t wait to share the news. But then something changed. I wanted to keep it private, which is probably very unusual for a blogger. Especially a “mommy blogger.” We tend to share everything. Overshare, actually. But this pregnancy made me want to embrace privacy and anonymity. Perhaps it was just the mama-bear instinct that often kicks in as soon as we read the positive pregnancy test.  Who knows. But what I do know is that I wasn’t ready to share the news until now.

When I started sharing the news with family and friends, I was somewhat surprised about some of the responses we received. I think some of the personal questions people asked me prompted me to keep this pregnancy more private than I originally intended, both off and online. It also motivated me to write a list of things you ought not to say to an expectant mother and couple. I understand that pregnancy often brings out curiosity in others, but it’s pretty obvious that some people don’t understand that their questions are rather personal and that many people would like the answers to remain private.  Here are a few rather personal questions that people have asked me so far:

1) Was it planned?

- Before I even received a “congratulations” or a “mazel tov”, a few people went straight to one of the most personal questions you can ask an expectant couple. Listen, when someone tells you that they’re having a baby (especially in an obviously excited tone), it doesn’t matter whether or not the pregnancy was planned.

2) I didn’t know you were trying!?!

- Family planning isn’t exactly something that everyone wants to discuss with others, even family and close friends. The only person that needed to know that information was my OB/GYN!

3) Were you trying for a while?

- This question has a number of highly personal messages behind it. First, the person asking wants to know your fertility-ability and whether or not you needed some help getting pregnant. It’s also another way to find out if the pregnancy was planned or not.

4) Why did you wait so long? A 4-year age difference between kids is pretty big!

- Um, yeah. This is a interesting one to me. I didn’t know that family planning has a universal time-line for everyone! Whether or not we intentionally planned to space our children out 4 years or had issues getting there is no one’s business. And, for the record, I don’t think 4 years is a big age difference at all. The 20 and 24 year age difference between me and my half-siblings is a big age difference. When an older sibling often gets confused as being the parent of a younger sibling, THAT’s a big age difference.

5) Since you already have a boy, you must be wanting a girl!

- Not so much a question as it is an assumption. The answer is actually no. Hoping for a healthy child goes without saying, but, as far as the sex of the baby? I honestly don’t care. I didn’t care during the first round either, which is why we didn’t find out with the Monkey.

6) What is your birth plan? Since you were induced for the first baby, will you be induced again?

- My only birth plan is to have a healthy pregnancy and delivery and bring a healthy baby into this world. Although I ideally would like to avoid an induction again (along with the experience of an induced natural labor that only lasted 1.5 hours), how we get there doesn’t matter to me. Birthing a baby should be an empowering and celebratory experience, no matter how you do it.

People are naturally curious about the pregnancy and birthing experiences of others. I am, too. But once I experienced my own pregnancy, I quickly learned that the only appropriate thing to say to a pregnant couple is “congratulations” followed by “you look great” and/or “how are you feeling? ” Anything else can easily be considered rude and invasive. Some pregnant women and couples don’t mind the personal questions, which means they will probably offer up what they want to share on their own. I know I love to talk about all things pregnancy-related with close friends and family, but only when I feel the timing is right.

Have any other personal pregnancy questions/assumptions that you were asked? Please share!

The debate still rages within.

I have never been so conflicted about anything in my life. Ever since I decided to become a mother, I assumed that I would have two children. No more, no less.  My reasons for not wanting more children may be considered selfish, but they are still valid reasons nonetheless.

I don’t want to be pregnant again. It was an incredible experience to be pregnant but it wasn’t necessarily enjoyable. Simply put, the lack of control over my body was an unpleasant experience. This may have something to do with my OCD tendencies, but I think a lot of women feel this way with or without acknowledging it. I felt the same way about breastfeeding for nine months. For 18 months, my body belonged to another human being. Now that another 18 months have gone by in which I’ve had complete control over my body, I’m not so sure I want to rent it out again.

I enjoy sleeping again. I enjoy having personal time for myself and time for the Dude. Getting time for myself, let alone with my husband, is a luxury. Infants and toddlers tend to put a marriage/partnership on the back-burner when it really needs to be a priority. All marriages/partnerships suffer when children come along and there is a big part of me that doesn’t want my marriage to be affected any more than it has already. Introducing children into your world can be the most beautiful thing in the world, but it can also create a huge strain on family dynamics.

I also want to go back to work again, sooner rather than later. The longer I stay home with young children and out of the work force, the longer my skill set, knowledge, and experience wanes. Working is not my priority right now but I often think about what it will be like when I finally head back. It makes me anxious, to say the least.

There is one thing that I keep going back to when it comes to welcoming another family member. The importance of giving the Monkey a sibling. I will be perfectly happy to go through life as a “trio formation”, as one reader commented on my previous post. But we won’t always be a trio. If life goes the way it should, the Dude and I will be gone long before the Monkey. His connection to the world will die with us. I’m assuming he will have his own family by then, but it would be nice if he had a brother or sister around as well.

Watching my own father and his brother grieve together during the recent passing of my grandmother really hit home how important siblings are throughout life. I am the oldest of  4 siblings (2 full, 2 half ) and I am very happy to have them in my life. With the two siblings I grew up with, we have a shared childhood experience that becomes more meaningful the older we become. The older I get, the more I also appreciate my brother and sister. I didn’t always feel that way. Like most kids with siblings, I would have much preferred to be an only child. No matter how much attention I received, it was never enough. There was daily fighting and bickering. But we eventually grew up and learned to appreciate one another, despite all of our differences. I think we all realized that as much as we are different, we are also inherently the same. We have similar values and give each other unfailing support. That alone will be something I cherish throughout my life.

The internal debate continues, but it’s a big decision that will need to be decided soon. I will be 34 this year and  I don’t want children past the age of 35.  Adoption is certainly a consideration but the Dude and I aren’t completely on the same page about it.  Let’s just say that having another bio-child is preferred and that adoption will be discussed more in-depth if that tactic should fail. But that’s another topic for another day.

This feels much better than it looks

Being poked, prodded, and cracked is a great way to spend an hour or two.

As most parents or caretakers of small children know, nothing puts wear and tear on your muscles and joints like a kid. And, if you’ve been pregnant, you probably know that it starts in the womb. By the time I reached my 3rd trimester, I was regularly seeing a chiropractor, acupuncturist, and masseuse. And by regularly, I mean weekly. Sometimes multiple times a week. Yes, I clearly used to have both the time and the money to devote to myself.

Now that my pregnancy aches and pains have morphed into the ailments associated with lugging around a wiggly and arm-flailing 25-pounder who prefers to be carried, I still get tune-ups when the need arises.

A few months ago, I had the brilliant idea to show my Monkey some tricks on the monkey bars (tricks that have not been practiced in 20 years).  I woke up with muscle spasms in my back so severe that I could barely walk, so I immediately called my doctor who is both an acupuncturist and chiropractor (find one of those!). I was back to normal within minutes after my session. I was good to go for a few months until just the other day when old neck and upper back injuries flared up again. After a session of electro-acupuncture and a quick adjustment, I was back to chasing my kid around without any problem.

Some people do not believe in the power of acupuncture or chiropractic care. I’m guessing they have either not tried it or haven’t gone to the right doctor. For me, there is nothing else that can compare. For aches, pains, and sore muscles, I much prefer alternative methods that are healing and restorative rather than rely on conventional medical methods, like prescription drugs. For the same price as a few prescription bottles of Flexiril or Vicodin, I would much rather be stuck with a few needles and have my spine cracked. The best part of all, the healing effects of treatment last much longer than the duration of any prescription drug.

Have you tried acupuncture or chiropractic care? If not, what’s stopping you?

Let’s start with pregnancy. It’s been said that the physical strain of pregnancy and childbirth can take a year off your life. For some of us, that experience might have shaved off about five years. Remember that life sucking machine from the movie, Princess Bride? Well, that’s what labor felt like for me.

After the kid is born, it’s all about the kid. You barely have time to shower and throw on some lip-gloss let alone check in with your physical and mental well-being. Sure, you’re in and out of doctors offices all the time, but you rarely (if ever) see one for yourself. Oh, you’ve had a migraine for a week? A weird bump? A lingering cough? Who has time to check in with a real doctor? That’s why they invented WebMD.

When your kid starts preschool, it’s all downhill from there. Children become carriers for all things germy and disease-ridden. There is no doubt that you will get sick when you have kids. Often. If your child has a runny nose and cough, expect to wake up the next morning with the same problem. You’ll probably get even more sick than the kid, but you don’t have time to wallow in Kleenex-wrapped pity. Get back in the kitchen and make their lunch! And, speaking of lunch, who has time to eat it? You might serve your kid organic and nutritious meals, but you’re often relegated to live off saltines, canned chili, and whatever particles of food are left on the highchair.

Physical health aside, let’s talk about something that can wreak even more havoc on the body. I’m talking about our mental well-being. Were you anxious and neurotic before kids? Yes? That was nothing. Expect your anxiety level to multiply a thousand times. Not only is the world a dangerous place, but so is your house. If you’re like me, every single drawer and cabinet door is child-proofed.  There are baby gates everywhere. There is an alarm on all the doors (just in case the kid tries to escape). TV’s are secured or strapped against the wall. All cords are stored away, oven doors and toilet seats are locked, and there is absolutely nothing breakable around. The kid’s room is practically empty other than a few stuffed animals and a baby monitor. Sometimes all you want is some peace and quiet, but once you finally get it you’ll freak out that something is wrong.

There is no peace. Ever.

Your mind will always be thinking about the what if’s. You hear of horrible stories and experiences from other parents and then play the “what-if-that-happened-to us?” scenario over and over in your mind. There’s a good chance that the new cough or slight fever is the H1N1.  You worry about letting your kids walk down the street or go to a friend’s house. You worry about vaccinating. Is Jenny McCarthy right? Will my kid end up like Rain Main if I vaccinate against polio? Maybe polio isn’t such a bad thing.

Is it any wonder why there are so many mom blogs and twitter accounts with the words – alcohol, bottle, rum, drink, etc… So many of these moms are so stressed out that they don’t know how else to cope. Drinking moms could be laughed off as being cliche if major tragedies didn’t occur from play-dates fueled with martini’s. We’ve all heard the horror stories about that. So, while some moms drink, others need Trazadone just to ease their restless and worried mind. I have a feeling that the consumer demand for sleep medication is dominated by parents of young children.

On a serious note, it’s not that uncommon to put yourself second (or third, fourth, etc…) behind your kids.  We will (literally) break our backs for our kids, but even that might not be a good enough reason to tend to ourselves. We need to prioritize our own physical and mental health, too. We need to eat well, exercise, and stay healthy. We need good coping mechanisms to deal with stress: think yoga, lunch with friends, or a walk around the neighborhood. We need to sometimes check out in order to check in with ourselves. As difficult as it might be, take some time every week to do something for yourself. Parents are caretakers and the role of a caretaker is often the most difficult job in the world. You’re so busy tending and fretting over other people that you don’t do the same for yourself. Make the time. Get your partner, family member, or friend to watch the kid(s) for a few hours every week and don’t feel guilty for doing so. Your family, your body, and your sanity will thank you for it.

-Ferris Bueller

As a child, I would count down the days to school breaks or to family vacations. As a student, I would count down days until an exam or the end of a semester. Once I started working, I would still count down minutes, hours, and days -  is it 5:00 yet? Is it happy hour yet? It’s only Monday? Ugh, I wish it was Friday. Time, it seemed, often consumed me and sometimes even paralyzed me.

I’m still consumed by time, but now I often wish the clock would just stop ticking. How I would love to recapture the feeling of too much time, but I fear it’s impossible. I’m much older and wiser now. I know better. My days fly by in the blink of an eye now. You can blame it on the busyness that adulthood and responsibility brings, but it’s much more simplistic than that. Simply put, life is too short. I just didn’t realize how short it was until I had a child.

My Monkey is about to turn two years old this week. I remember everything about my pregnancy, from the shocked moment I found out, to the incredible sensation of carrying life, to the very second he came into this world. It was a very silent moment. Tears streamed down my face, both from pain and exhaustion, but also from overwhelming joy and happiness. I then remember hearing the Dude say “it’s a boy!” and the nurse exclaim “he is beautiful!” but the Monkey didn’t utter anything at all. He was silent for a few minutes, but I was surprisingly not afraid by the quiet. I knew he just needed a few minutes to adjust to the world, take it all in, and then speak. He’s like his mother that way.

The moment he was born seemed like a moment that would never come. Pregnancy seemed to take forever plus a few days. But the moment he came into the world was also the moment I stopped counting down minutes, hours, days, and months. Now he’s about to turn two. One day he will be off to school and then off to college. Maybe he’ll get married and start his own family. When those things happen, I’ll be looking back at these days that I’m living now with what I’m sure will be a combination of fondness and wistfulness. I might have some regrets by then. I might have wished that I had done some things differently. It’s much too soon to tell what those things will be, but I can’t think about it too much now. I need to live my life for these moments and savor them all. Even the moments that I dread. The moments that make me want to pull my hair out and scream. No day is ever perfect, no matter how perfect it might seem in retrospect. So I need to just live and enjoy it all – all the perfections and imperfections of my days and, in general, my life with the Dude and the Monkey.

The Monkey made me slow me down and change lanes. It was one of the best gifts I have ever received. Slowing down made me truly appreciate that time, in itself, is a precious gift. A gift that will one day be taken away from us. Did I need a child to tell me that? Yes. I have learned more from a child that doesn’t even speak coherently than from any book or professor. Each day is a gift that none of us are guaranteed. Hug your kids. Tell your partner you love them. Laugh. Live. Enjoy it all. And, for God’s sake, please stop counting down the hours and days of your life. You might be wishing for all that time again one day.

Immediately after they become engaged another Big Question starts coming around: So when is the Big Day?

As soon as the newlyweds step off the plane from their honeymoon, The Big Question gets much, much bigger: So, when are you two having kids?

For some married/partnered couples, that question will never get answered. But for the rest of us, we hope that the Big Questions stop as soon as we push junior out.

Not so fast.

This ain’t China, yo. Unless you live in a cramped New York City apartment and can only afford one private school tuition, couples are expected to multiply at least a few times.  We are obsessed with children around here and the more, the merrier. We live in a strange culture where people actually plan for births of multiples, celebrities adopt babies from multiple countries as if they’re souvenirs, sextuplets are celebrated (despite their bickering, self-absorbed, and money-hungry parents), and an uber-religious couple with their 19th child on the way says that the Lord has told them to keep multiplying until it’s no longer possible.  I’m sure if that uterus had any say in the matter, it would’ve called it quits a few kids back. Lastly, let’s not forget about the single mom with 6 kids who then gave birth to octuplets. Crazy, right? Well, crazy makes for good ratings, which is why these stories are even stories at all. We might not be able to give our kids proper attention, nurturing, and guidance, but at least we can make a few bucks off of them!

People don’t have just ONE child in America! Never mind over-population and the strain on environmental and economic resources. We must replicate our DNA over and over again! Plus, doesn’t your child deserve to have a brother or sister…or 10 of them?

I guess it was inevitable but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. As soon as my kid had his first birthday, people started asking about the next one: so when are you going to make the Monkey into a Big Brother!?! Why is there an assumption that there will be a next one? I understand getting it from the parents who love being grandparents, but getting the Big Question from complete strangers is just strange.

Planning for a second baby is much more difficult than planning for the first baby. You have no idea what you’re getting into before you get pregnant the first time. After that, not only do you know better, but you have another child to think about. To be honest, I would be just fine with my one little Monkey. He is just shy of two years old and I am simply not willing to give up the attention and time I devote to him. Until the little guy can speak coherently, is out of diapers, and is in preschool, I’m not even going to think about it. If I choose to have another baby, I’ll never regret it. But I will regret not being able to devote as much time as possible with the Monkey before another child takes so much of that attention away.

My old footprint (alongside the Dude's) - the new footprint might not fit in this frame.

It’s a really bad idea to buy cute and expensive shoes shortly before or after getting pregnant.

Here’s the thing: there is a really good chance that your feet will get bigger during pregnancy. Should that happen, there’s something else to understand  – unlike your big belly, your feet don’t shrink back down to size.  Do not believe people when they say that the bigger feet are not permanent. I dare those people to try telling that to the 50 or so size 10* shoes that have long been donated to Goodwill.

When I was pregnant, I looked into why my shoes were no longer fitting properly.  Yes, I had some swelling in my feet, but that didn’t seem to be the main culprit. Turns out, the same hormone that helps the pelvic floor expand (another touchy and painful subject) will also loosen the ligaments in the feet. That hormone is called relaxin, which is such an appropriate name. All those ligaments just simply relax and let loose…literally.

For some lucky women (raises hand), the feet don’t just grow longer but they also grow wider, which can be attributed to all those extra pregnancy pounds. I really wish I had known this because I would’ve done things differently, like not buy those Tory Burch flats in celebration of my new pregnancy.

So what can be done about loose ligaments and squashed feet? You want the truth? Absolutely nothing, except to go shopping. Chances are, you”ll squeeze back into your pre-baby clothes at some point. Just don’t assume that you’ll fit back into your shoes, too.

*Yes, I am very much aware that I already had big feet to begin with. In my defense, I’m also 5’9″, so the big feet do come in handy.

Me @ 8 months pregnant. No, I was not carrying twins...jerk.

One of the worst things about pregnancy is dealing with people who ask intrusive or insensitive questions. And then there are those who say rude comments…or worse. Like strangers who actually put their hands on a pregnant belly without consent. You know what I call these types of people?

Belly Bullies.

Belly bullies, who tend to be other women, are the equivalent of mean girls from the 7th grade. However, they like to harass pregnant women instead.

So, who are these *belly bullies* and what do they do exactly? Let me tell you.

• They are the strangers who believe they have a right to touch your burgeoning belly. In the wise words of Billy Madison,”that’s assault, brother!”
• They are the rude people who stare at your belly, widen their eyes and exclaim  -  wow, you’re huge! You must be due any minute now! (You’re not. You’re only in your 2nd trimester).
• Similar to the above example except, instead, they say – wow, you’re huge! Are you having twins?
• They are the people who you tell you that they think you’re expecting a girl because your hips are so wide or that you’re huge all over.
• They are the people who ask how much weight you’ve gained. Enough to squash you, I say.
• They are the people who share horrible birth stories and other terrifying pregnancy and/or child-rearing experiences.
• They are also the people that ask you whether or not you will be breastfeeding or if you plan on having a *natural* birth (meaning no medication or epidural). These questions might sound pretty harmless but, more often than not, they are loaded questions. People don’t typically ask these things unless they want to start a discussion or debate.

You might read this and think, that doesn’t really sound like bullying to me. Or maybe you’re offended because you do these things and you don’t see the harm in it. Well, then, here’s my question to you: do you think it’s rude and disrespectful to say the aforementioned items regarding body size or weight to a woman who is NOT pregnant? Do you think it’s inappropriate to touch a non-pregnant woman’s belly? Do you think it’s rude to ask highly personal questions or share horrible experiences with someone who is probabely feeling a bit anxious?

You probably said yes, because that would be correct.

Normal social boundaries still apply to the pregnant. They deserve the same courtesy and respect as any other woman, if not more. Rather than joke around with a pregnant woman about swallowing a watermelon seed, why don’t you tell her that she looks beautiful. How about holding the door open for her or just throw her a smile.  Those small gestures go a long way. And instead of silently (or not so silently) cursing you, a pregnant woman will remember your kindness and throw magic fairy dust your way. Pregnant women are magical beings like that.

But, hey, you can ignore this post and keep doing what you’re doing. Just don’t be shocked if this happens at some point: you put your hands on a pregnant belly to ask the due date… and the woman puts her hands on you and asks the same thing.  Rudeness begets rudeness. And the same goes for kindness, so be good to the pregnant mamas out there.