While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping

What I write after Joe and Henry go to bed

Archives for May 2011

Pregnancy Confession No. 9

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[I pee my pants.]

bridesmaid dresses

The first time it happened
I was appalled.

DISGUSTED.

I was running my usual three-mile stretch
when I sneezed.

A healthy
cleansing
sneeze.

I'm one of those people
who looks at the sun for two seconds
and sneezes.

It's called Photic Sneeze Reflex.
And since I live in Florida,
I sneeze all the time.

I actually (used to) enjoy it.
I found it refreshing.  

That was,
until I got pregnant
and started pissing myself.

Let me preface this by saying
it's been a long time since I peed my pants.

YEARS.

Well, except for that one time in high school
when my friend Sarah cracked a joke
that had me rolling.

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Pregnancy Confession No. 8

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[I'm saying no to drugs.]

According to the latest labor statistics,
99 percent of women in the United States
still give birth in a hospital.

This woman, however,
ain't planning to.

I'm the one percent.

ONE PERCENT!

Does this make me crazy?
Brave?
Foolhardy?
Smart?
Adventurous?

Maybe all of the above.

But I'm superstitious
and hesitant to write much about it at this point.

The IT being the fact that Joe and I decided
to have Henry at a birth center.

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ThReE bEtTeR OwLs.

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For those of you who believed in my ability to paint owls …

and for those of you who still think I should stick to writing …

I give you …

Three better owls for the baby cave.

If you look closely at the wings, you’ll see words I cut from the original French version of my favorite enlightened kid’s book, The Little Prince (Le Petit Prince).

My painting class wrapped this week. I’m happy to report the session ended much better than how it started. The teacher brought in brownies and wine to mark the occasion, but I was so focused on my owls I indulged in neither.

—

PS. Congratulations to my fellow due-dater, Nicole, who had her baby girl, Lily, Sunday night!

Introducing Lily!

And here are the owls in their cave.

(Note: my dad is installing chair rail where the white stripe is.)

S.O.S for expectant mothers

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I’m writing this in response to emails I’ve received from first-time expectant mothers.

How to avoid becoming Pregzilla:

10 tips to help you keep your wits during nine months of beautiful freakishness.*

…..

1. Don’t stuff your face the second you see a plus sign.

I get it. You’re pregnant. You’ve been granted a one-way ticket to weight-gainsville, so why wouldn’t you overindulge? After all, everyone around you keeps telling you that you’re eating for two — even women who’ve had children. You have the world’s blessing to pig out. At no other point in your life will people smile at you cutely as you order two double cheeseburgers and a bucket of french fries. Oh, she’s pregnant. Look at the pregnant woman eat. If I had a quarter pounder for every time someone told me that I should “take advantage” of being pregnant, I’d look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Seriously. For your well-being and your baby’s well-being, eat smart. That doesn’t mean you should sweat every pound. (See Pregnancy Confession No. 7.) Nor does it mean you should deny yourself every milkshake. (See my obsession with Reese’s Cups.) It just means you’ll likely feel better, look better and be happier if you at least AIM for the recommended 35-pound weight gain. BTW: The average preggo needs an extra 300 calories a day. That’s one Hershey’s bar. My advice for newly knocked-up mamas: eat small healthy meals and/or snacks all day. And by snacks I mean, fruits, vegetables, crackers, cheese, whole wheat toast and cereal. My favorite staple: peanut butter. The sooner you cut out junk food and processed crap, the sooner your body stops craving it. It’s easy to forget that every morsel of food you ingest travels down a pipeline that runs straight into your baby’s stomach. That’s a lot of f#@%ing responsibility. But so is motherhood, so get used to it. Look at being pregnant as going on a nine-month health food kick. Take “advantage” of it in that way.

TRY keeping frozen fruit bars in your freezer. They combat nausea, chocolate cravings and they’re low-cal.

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A Q&A (due) date with Nicole

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Meet Nicole, whose baby girl (Lily) shares the same June 1 due date as my Henry.

Nicole is a teacher in Upstate New York. She used to work with my best friend Ro and my sister Heelya. I actually met her for the first time last July at Ro’s wedding in Buffalo. Joe and I were tearing up the dance floor when this beautiful, leggy blonde came up to us, introduced herself and said she was an avid Lance reader.

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For Henry, four days after Mother’s Day

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Dear Henry,

Up until now, I’ve refrained from writing you a letter on The Lance. I know a lot of blogging mamas do it, but I’m kind of an old-fashioned letter-writer. One day I’ll set you up with a pen-pal and you’ll understand.

What’s there to say today?

Well, to start: I’m not centering the text on this letter. In my last post, your father asked that I opt for a left paragraph alignment. I’m sure you appreciate the readability. Your dad, he’s so fastidious.

If you take after him, you’ll be far more articulate than your mother. You’ll be grounded and rational. Thoughtful and smart. You’ll have a voracious appetite for music, politics and social science books. You’ll be a good cook.

If you take after your mother, you’ll have your head in the clouds 90 percent of the time, and in that space, you’ll run wild. Just remember: while it’s frustrating to be a dreamer, you’ll grow to appreciate the escape. Because no matter where you are, you’ll always have an out.

And just when you think you’ve lost it; when you’re fretting about passing a final exam, or paying your bills, or saving for retirement, you’ll pull out the dreamer card and though it’ll do little to solve your problems on earth, it’ll put things into perspective in that ambiguous ether that gives Buddhists peace.

At 29, if there’s one piece of advice I can give you, it’s this: I’ve met people who have it all and I’ve met people who have nothing and what I’m learning as I get older is that the path to fulfillment isn’t measured in stock dividends.

I can’t imagine what the world will be like when you’re my age, but I’m confident there will still be poetry books, good music, hot coffee, ballpoint pens and people howling at the moon.

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Pregnancy Confession No. 7

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[I'm vain.]

This confession has been eating at me for some time now.
In true-confession style, it fills me with tremendous guilt.

It makes me feel weak
and superficial.

And to those of you who don't share
my neurosis,
 I apologize.

Because in admitting this hang-up
I'm letting go of it.

Truth is
I wasn't cool about gaining weight.

Why?
Because as much as I enjoy eating.
(And believe me. I enjoy eating.)

I also enjoy exercising.

And I've taken pleasure in the fact that
I've been able to maintain my weight for many years
by eating healthy
and staying physically active.

It's in no way an obsessive thing.

It is,
I admit,
a control thing.

And very little has compromised that control
until now.

For obvious reasons. 

I'm now 36 weeks pregnant.

A rounder, bustier version of myself.
A baby apartment
with a tenant whose lease is up in four weeks.

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