The baby I wasn't sure I wanted

In November 2011 I discovered I was pregnant.  We were not trying to get pregnant, and if I'm being completely, brutally honest, I'm still not sure how it happened.  I mean, I know how it happened, but the event, as it were, was brief.  It was, in fact, not even completed because, as I recall, Bear woke up screaming literally seconds after it had started.  Following an evening together, with a lovely dinner that Archer made for us and at least two bottles of wine, we had, apparently, done just enough.  Thus, I blame George's conception on one too many glasses of wine, a momentary lapse in judgement, and, well, fate. 

I was less than happy about being pregnant, as I wrote here.  I was, in fact, horrified. I cried for two weeks.  I called my best friend daily, who reassured me that I could manage.  That it would be okay.  That we could afford another baby.  That I had really wanted a third child but convinced myself that I didn't.  After three days of such phone calls, my friend said to me what I had been thinking but wouldn't allow myself to say outloud: "M, if the thought of another baby makes you this unhappy, you don't have to have it."  In that moment, my dear, lovely friend offered me what I couldn't, what I had refused to offer myself: the space to consider what my life would be like without this unexpected third child. 

I imagined life very much like it was: a good life, a happy life.  Working, parenting Bear and Wild Man, being with Archer, traveling.  I talked to Archer, who remained largely silent throughout my emotional turmoil.  I talked to my doctor.  I had bloodwork.  I did the research.  I talked with another dear, dear friend who had made the horrifying, gut-wrenching decision to end a pregnancy over a decade ago.  I made an appointment.  I knew Archer didn't want me to, but I couldn't see a future in which we weren't both so stressed out by work and by finances, struggling to be the parents we wanted to be but couldn't be because we were so constrained by time and by resources.  I couldn't see a happy ending.

Then, my wise, honest, loving friend, who had been through it before she had her children, said, "You will want to keep it a secret, but this is big.  You won't be able to keep it a secret forever.  Somehow, I think, Bear and Wild Man will find out, or perhaps you will want to tell them.  Can you explain it to them?  Can you answer their questions?"  I knew I couldn't.  More importantly, I knew I wouldn't be able to answer my own questions, to address my own what-ifs. I would never be able to believe that Archer, whom I know only wanted me to be happy and excited, had forgiven me. Twenty-four hours later I cancelled the appointment.

Now, well over a year later, George is six-months old.  He is a happy, blue-eyed, wiggly, giggly baby.  He has completed our family.  He is the piece we didn't know was missing. He has transformed each of us in big and small ways, even Wild Man and Bear, who are both more compassionate, a bit more patient, and so loving to him and each other.  Now, I look at him and I get emotional.  But not for the reasons you might think. 

I don't regret that period, that whole horrible, dreadful time when I wasn't sure I wanted him.  I realize now that was part of our journey, his and mine.  His unexpected arrival made me stronger, made me a better mother in many ways.  I'm more protective of my children now, of my time with them; I'm more empathetic and, perhaps, more understanding.  In those dreadful, dreadful weeks--and even in the emotional months after I decided to go through with the pregnancy--I realized that, despite all my fear and worry, I was fortunate enough to be in a position to go through with an unplanned pregnancy.  I don't take that good fortune for granted because not everyone has it.

In those gut-wrenching weeks, I learned firsthand,  something I had always suspected: choosing to end a pregnancy is not an easy decision.  It is not a decision that is made lightly.  It is agonizing and horrific and vomit-inducing.  Those of us who have been in such a position to contemplate such a decision, let alone make it, and go through with it judge ourselves harshly, perhaps daily for a long, long time.  But I know now, again as I always suspected, that sometimes that decision is what is right for that person at that time.  And the many, many women who have to make that decision, are not cowardly or desperate, nor are they cruel or emotionless, as so many people would have us believe.  They are brave.  That is what having George taught me.

My normal

Okay, so I have a 5 1/2 year old, a 3 year old, and a 5 week old.  Most days I'm up by 6:30--not by choice mind you, but primarily because either George or Bear are awake by then.  On the days that Bear wakes up first, Archer gets up with Bear so I can sleep for a few more minutes.  During an average day, I am able to get a shower (I generally shower at night to ensure I do get one), get dressed, and make at least one meal.  I have been to the grocery store, to my office (only once), to pick Wild Man up at day camp, and out to lunch with my entire family.  Most days, my clothes match (although I may not be altogether happy about what I'm able to wear right now), and my hair is brushed.  I gained about 30 pounds, and through no effort other than breastfeeding, I only have about 10 pounds to lose (no, I'm not back in my pre-pregnancy clothes, nor do I think I will be anytime soon).  I have managed to go shopping once (with George in tow) as I needed some shorts that I could fit into.  I've also managed to submit two reports for work, read two books (for pleasure), and make notes on one project (these notes are so rough that I don't even want to admit how rough they are, but they are notes).  I've ordered birth announcements (which may never get mailed), and I've had George's portrait taken.  I've taken (with Archer) Wild Man and Bear to the pool, been to friends' houses for dinner, and taken Wild Man to several play dates.  I'm also trying to potty train Bear.  Most days I feel like I get nothing accomplished, and most days I'm okay with that.

Why am I listing all of this?  Well, I had coffee with a good friend this morning, and she asked how I was doing.  I said, "Fine.  I've got some stuff to do for work this week as my leave doesn't officially start till next week, and I'm trying to find the time to do that."  She was equally aghast and impressed, and I don't get why.  I don't feel like any of the above makes me superwoman.  It just feels normal for me.  I am not the kind of person who can not do things.  In fact, the more I stick to a "normal" routine the less likely I am to get overwhelmed and/or anxious.  If I don't have things to do, I tend to feel out of control, and feeling out of control leads to anxiety, which isn't good for me.  My friend implied I was doing way too much, but I don't think so.  I told her, "This is my normal."  It's what feels right for me, at least most days.

Pregnancy in Public

I've been pregnant three times since I started this blog; thus, pregnancy has been a frequent topic here.  In fact, I've previously discussed how frustrated I become by many people's assumptions that a pregnant woman's body is public domain.  During my three pregnancies, I've had a number of things happen to me or been said to me in public, usually by perfect strangers, that I do not believe would have happened to me when I was not pregnant. 

• I've had perfect strangers tell me not to purchase feta cheese, alcohol, coffee, and sushi.
• I've had complete strangers ask me if I'm carrying twins or if I was ready to "pop" at any moment.
• I've had people ask me if I was smuggling a watermelon out of the grocery store.
• I've had people ask me if I knew the "gender" of the baby.  One person then ridiculed me for finding out, asking loudly in the middle of a coffee shop "Why no one waits anymore?"
• I've had people ask what we're naming the baby and then be offended when I decline to share our choices with them.
• I've had people (a doctor among them, in fact) demand to know why I got pregnant before Bear was potty trained and ask if I don't think I'm too old to be having another child.
• I've had people mourn the fact that I'm not having a girl.
• I've had people demand to know why I'm not having a fourth child.
• I've had perfect strangers touch my body without my permission or without even speaking to me.

I could go on and on.  I fully realize that there are many people who will argue that most people see pregnancy as a happy event, an event that they want to experience even if they are in no way connected to the pregnant person.  I accept that as a plausible explanation for their interest, but I don't accept that as a plausible explanation for people's bad manners or their failure to recognize boundaries.  I have, after all, met pregnant people before, and I have asked questions or commented on their pregnancies, although rarely unsolicited.  I am, however, someone who respects boundaries.  I have a deep respect for public and private, even when the two intersect and/or overlap.  I do recognize that there really is no clear distinction between public and private; after all, this is an area I study.  But there seems to be something about the pregnant body that causes people to collapse all distinctions between public and private, that encourages people to say things that they wouldn't normally say.  Why is this?  What is it about the sight of a pregnant belly that makes people think they no longer have to be polite and tactful, that they can say anything they think, or that another person's body is their business?  I don't have an answer to this, other than the simple fact that something that is a very private thing is on public display every time I leave the house.  And frankly, I don't find that to be a very satisfying answer.  But this really, really troubles me.

Apparently these are necessary . . .

So I'm still pregnant.  And while I have about a million things I could be doing, my brain isn't really focusing on any of them.  So I've been hanging out with Archer, Bear, and Wild Man; reading some fun books; and shopping online.  I came across these, and I'm a bit flabbergasted.  Apparently laboring mothers need to look pretty, so pretty that someone has designed a line of gowns called "Pretty Pushers."  A laboring mother is supposed to put the gown on for delivery (whether vaginal or C-section), look pretty (and I guess feel pretty), and then throw the gown away as it likely got a bit "dirty" during the delivery.  I'm offended in about 15 different ways by these gowns.  I just told Archer about these, and he is now laughing at how irritated I am by these gowns.  They just seem so unnecessary, and frankly, I don't think we need to extend Western culture's preoccupation with beauty and femininity into the delivery room.  I mean seriously, while giving birth I was never less concerned with how I looked or who saw what parts of my body.  I'm troubled by this further commercialization of labor and motherhood.  First we had the presence of "push presents"; then came professional photographers in the delivery room; and now we have "push dresses."  Does every part of pregnancy have to be commodified?

39 weeks

I am 39 weeks pregnant today.  That is all.

38 weeks

Trying to get dressed at 38 weeks pregnant in the midst of a heat wave and still trying to look somewhat presentable is almost impossible, as I just told Archer after he asked me why I had changed my clothes for the fourth time.

Trying to work

I've been trying to work for the last few weeks, with an emphasis on trying.  I've got a lot of projects that are started, but aren't yet finished.  I am fully aware that all work will stop for at least a month (if not longer) following the baby's birth, so I want to get as much done on these projects as possible.  Here is a list of the things I'm working on:

• transforming conference paper into an article length paper
• drafting conference paper which I will present in October
• editing the job talk I recently gave into an article, which I hope to send out next week
• finishing a book review that is long overdue
• drafting a book proposal on an anthology I'm working on with two colleagues from grad school
• researching an idea I have for a book project
• outlining revisions I need to make to a dissertation chapter which I want to transform into an article
• revamping a course I routinely teach into an online course (this is the only project I will not try to work on at all when I'm on leave as, by union regulations, I cannot work on anything connected to my teaching)

It is a long list, and somehow in the next two weeks I need to get our home office functional so I can use it while I'm on leave.  My hope is that by September I'll be able to work for an hour and a half a day while the baby naps.  That may only work for three days each week as Bear will be home with me and the baby two days a week (as an aside, cutting Bear down to part time and having Wild Man in school full time has dramatically cut down on our childcare costs--as in we'll be paying about a third of what we pay now), but I know, to some extent, what I'm getting into.  I'm focusing on being flexible.  I am also going to load my Kindle up with books for work that I've been wanting to read for a long time.  If anything, I'll get lots of reading done in the next few months. 

Venting

As I posted a few weeks ago, Yetta and I have been getting along very well.  She has, however, made a few comments in the last few days that I'm trying hard not to let bother me.  To that end, I'm writing a post to get out my frustration rather than let it eat away at me.

• She called last night while Archer was taking Wild Man to soccer practice.  She called at 6:00, which she knows is dinner time at our house, and she wanted to have a lengthy conversation about the boys' school pictures.  Yes, that's right, she was calling to passive/aggressively remind me to send her copies of the boys' school pictures.  And I do mean passive/aggressively.
• While we were talking, she also asked if it is okay if she and Pita visit together during August.  Archer and I had thought that Yetta was coming alone and that Pita was coming sometime in the fall.  She assured me their visit will only overlap by 3 or 4 days; she told Archer 2 or 3 days.  I do not think I will be in the frame of mind to have them both in the house when the baby is only a few weeks old, but how can I say, "Um, no!"?  I've asked Archer to handle this as tactfully as possible.
• She also asked if we're planning to travel to Home State for Christmas.  Seriously. 
• She called this morning to wish Bear a happy birthday, which was incredibly thoughtful.  We were, however, trying to get out of the house (she called at 8:30), so Archer and I opted not to answer it.  Rather than leave a message, she hung up and called right back--three times.  So Archer finally answered it.  She also asked if we could have another birthday party for Bear when she's here in August.  Archer was forced to remind her we aren't having a birthday party for Bear (we are having some friends over for cake on Sunday, but that's it), and he was again subject to a lecture on what terrible parents we are.

I am fully aware that I am extra sensitive to everything right now.  In fact, last night Archer said something about renovating the basement, and I was suddenly in tears for no reason I could explain.  That said, I wish my MIL had it in her to be more aware that right now is not the best time to bombard me with lots of questions.  I am a place where I'm quite likely to be rude or start crying.  I am, after all, 36 1/2 weeks pregnant.

Discomfort

That is my current state of being.  I am in constant discomfort, although I'm trying hard not to complain. It likely doesn't help that this is my third pregnancy and that I'm not the biggest fan of being pregnant.  There I admitted that publicly.  I love being a mother, and I love my children.  I do not, however, love being pregnant.  In fact, I am scornful of any woman who says something like, "Oh being pregnant was so wonderful.  I loved every moment of it!  I was never sick and never uncomfortable and would do it over and over again!"  Frankly, I think such statements are crap.  Being pregnant has its wonderful moments, there is no doubt about that.  But, for me, the pregnancy begins and ends with morning sickness (throwing up at 35 weeks is NO fun); the middle includes a brief burst of energy that has been accompanied by constipation, breast pain, and sciatic pain.  Yes, feeling the baby move is wonderful and all of that, but honestly, there is a lot about pregnancy that I could live with out.  And yes, my cynicism is likely influenced by the fact that I am currently 35 weeks pregnant, that I am not sleeping well, and that I am in pain either when sitting or standing for too long.  Oh, all of my clothes feel too tight, my breasts are enormous (at least for me), and my fingers are starting to swell.  I am desperately craving sushi and margaritas, neither of which I can have, so I am more than a bit cranky. 

The third pregnancy

My ribs hurt.  A lot.  That is all.

Should we?

Friday is my 20-week ultrasound.  If we want to find out the sex of this alien who has invaded my body, Friday is the day we can try.  I say try because we were told that Bear was a girl, and most of you know the outcome of that story.  Currently, Archer and I are undecided as to whether or not we will find out.  Part of me really wants to know, as I've had enough surprises the last few months, but a little voice keeps saying, "Can you trust what the radiologist tells you?"  I will be having the ultrasound at the hospital this time, rather the private practice (or at least I think it was a private practice) where I had it last time.  Archer is leaning towards finding out, as well, but I think it will be a game day decision, so to speak.  So what say you, lovely readers, should we or shouldn't we?

My grandfather's advice

On Sunday evening, Archer called my grandfather to tell him about the pregnancy.  My grandfather, who is 87, said, "Don't you know what causes that yet?"  And then he laughed.  He explained to Archer that he also knows about "surprises."  My mother was born on her older sister's first birthday, so I'm quite certain her arrival was a bit shocking as well.  After a few moments Archer passed the phone to me, and I chatted with my grandfather for awhile. As we were saying good-bye, he gave me one last piece of advice to share with Archer: "Tell him to sleep facing the wall from now on."  He was laughing loudly as he hung up the phone.  I love my grandfather.

A confession, of sorts

For the past several months I've been obliquely referring to ongoing issues that I haven't been able to blog about--or, more accurately, that I haven't felt comfortable blogging about.  One issue was the process of converting my current appointment at CU to a tenure-track line.  For several months that conversion process was being discussed, but nothing firm was in place.  I was, thus, not comfortable discussing it until I knew that the process was going forward.  The other issue is a bit more personal and is loosely connected to my hesitancy to blog about the first issue.

I am currently 18 weeks pregnant.  I have not blogged about this previously, despite being a self-proclaimed academic mother, for several reasons.  First, and quite honestly, this was not a planned pregnancy.  I have previously blogged about the decision not to have a third child; despite my own desire for a third child, Archer and I decided a third child was not in the best interests of our family for a variety of reasons.  It seems, for me, that this decision was much more definite than I realized.  When I discovered I was pregnant last fall, it was unexpected.  To use the word shocked is accurate, although, in many ways, that word is not strong enough.  Without going into details, I will say that Archer had been waiting to get a referral to a urologist for several months (my one complaint about the Canadian healthcare system: if one is not deathly ill, it can takes months to see a specialist).  I also will say that I am well into my 30s, and I do know what causes pregnancy. Nonetheless, I was shocked.  I was terrified.  I was overwhelmed.  Archer was cautiously excited.  He was never completely comfortable with our decision to stop at two, so he was immediately happy, although well aware of the complications that come with another child.  I was not happy.  In fact, I spent the first two weeks of the pregnancy crying.  Sobbing is more accurate.  I contemplated ending the pregnancy, a decision that Archer hesitantly supported.  I had a long list of reasons as to why this was the most logical choice, and he admitted that he couldn't argue against my logic.  Despite his cautious happiness, he conceded that it made little sense to have a third child.  I even called my doctor to make the appointment, but ultimately, I couldn't do it.

Even almost three months later, I'm not sure I can explain why I didn't make that call.  I talked to two good friends, both of whom were incredibly supportive.  One friend, who had ended an unplanned pregnancy (under very, very different circumstances than mine), cautioned me that, even if I was sure in my decision, I would always wonder.  As I looked at Wild Man and Bear, I honestly wasn't sure I could deal with wondering when I already knew them.

Where am I now?  After many months of ambivalence, I'm slowly getting excited.  We've told very few people though.  Primarily because we opted to have genetic testing, in part because of my age and in part because I was not in a place to deal with any more surprises.  All of those tests have come back (these tests include an ultrasound and blood tests done at specific points in the first and second trimesters), and everything seems to be progressing normally.  We've both told our department chairs, and as you might expect, it's caused some complications to the interview process for me (which I'm sure I'll blog about later).  We've told Wild Man and Bear, and Wild Man is beyond excited.  Bear doesn't really seem to understand, although he is happy to talk to my growing bump.  Other than that, we've told about 10 or so close friends and my sister.  We are traveling to Home State next week for CU's spring break, and as we've never been able to tell our parents such news in person, we decided to tell them then.  I'll openly admit I've delayed telling them until the testing was done, as well as so I could get used to the idea. 

I'm still worried about how this will work.  Archer and I both have demanding jobs, and there are some days when I feel like we're barely keeping our heads above water with two careers and two children.  I'm worried that I won't be seen as a serious academic, especially by members of Research Department.  I'm worried about time and money and any number of things.  But when Wild Man launches into an argument as to why we should name the baby after his favorite Star Wars character, it is hard not to get excited.

*As an aside, to those of you who know me in real life, I'm sorry for coming out this way.  I am at a point where I feel the need to write about this as a way to process it all.  As I wrote above, our parents and extended families don't know yet, so please don't post about this on Facebook as I would hate for them to find out that way.

Scheduled

I spoke with my midwife this morning and scheduled an induction for June 28th. Scheduling an induction means that I will have to be transferred out of my midwife's care into that of an ob/gyn. My midwife encouraged me to wait one more day because the doctor on call on the 28th is a doctor whom she has worked with before and who is willing to allow her to be a part of the induction process. Not all ob/gyns are willing to include midwives in the process. My midwife also seems to think that this doctor would be willing to try just breaking my water rather than giving me pitocin or other drugs first. When I had an emergency induction with Wild Man, my then ob/gyn only had to break my water. 4 1/2 hours later Wild Man was born. This suggests my body will go into labor on its own with this single intervention. I'd really like to go this route as I may not have to deal with pitocin and will be able to have an unmedicated birth. I'm not sure what will happen if I have pitocin. I also have a series of appointments scheduled for next week in the event that I do have to be induced. This is making for some crazy conversations and contigency plans.

I do have to say though that it has been really nice to have this time with my mom. We've been shopping, she's helped me hem curtains, we've organized Z's closet, and we've been out to lunch several times. On top of that, she's done all my laundry, done the dishes every day, and played with Wild Man until he's collapsed on the floor in giggles. We also had a long conversation about my expectations once the baby gets here, and before I could even say much she told me she thinks it is more important for her to focus on Wild Man so I can focus on the baby. Since she isn't comfortable driving around a new city, she said she thinks it will be better if C handles errands and things like that. This is precisely what I had in mind anyway, so it all works out very well. It seems a lot of my worrying about her was unfounded. She isn't as energetic as the mom I grew up with, but she is definitely more together and present than she was right after Wild Man was born. Even if she is only here for a few days after Z is born, I will not feel like this was a wasted visit sine we've already had such a good time together.

An induction

Since I'm still pregnant and Z shows no signs of making an appearance, we have decided to schedule an induction. My midwife, who is not at all concerned about the baby or me, will not even consider an induction until I'm 41 weeks and 3 days, which is about 10 days from now. Her reasoning for this is that with any intervention I'm more likely to have more interventions, and I totally agree. I am somewhat frustrated though. I fully realize these are circumstances that are beyond my control, and I'm mostly ok with that. I want the baby to come in her own time as that means she's ready. That said, our good friends, who had driven to CU Land from New York, had to leave today, and their primary purpose in coming was so that my friend could be my doula, something she did for me when Wild Man was born. My mom also got here on Saturday, and she's very nervous that she won't be able to be here much after the baby is born if Z doesn't show up until the induction date. Granted, Mom will be here for about 11 more days (and for the record, the "together" Mom showed up!), but if I have to be induced, Mom will have to take more time off of work and extend her ticket. Her visit will also overlap with C's mom's, which isn't ideal for any of us.

Needless to say, both C and I are a bit stressed out. Neither one of us wants to have an induction, but I don't know that I'm mentally prepared to be pregnant for another 2 or 3 weeks. Right now the plan is to schedule an induction for June 27; in the meantime, we'll hope Z decides to come on her own. If she hasn't come by next Tuesday, my midwife will send me to have a stress test, and a few days after that she'll send me for another stress test and an ultrasound. Oddly enough, everyone is more worried than C, my mom (who went to today's appointment with us), and me. As I said to C a little while ago, I know what it is like to have a doctor look at me and be worried. After the scare we had with Wild Man's delivery, I know the look that medical personnel get when they think something is going wrong with my pregnancy. My midwife, whom I like a lot and really trust, does not seem at all concerned, so I'm not concerned--at least not about my health or the baby's. I'm just a little sad that our friends had to leave before the baby arrived and that my mom might not get to spend a lot of time with us after the baby does arrive.

*Edited to add: Yetta and Pita, both of whom are prone to assume the absolute worst, are freaked out. They are sure something will go wrong and were very upset when C told them that he isn't really worried and that he'd prefer not to have me induced.

Belly shot

A few weeks ago, we had a photographer come to the house and take some family pictures of the three of us and some maternity shots of me. Wild Man was not as cooperative as I'd hoped, but the photos still turned out great, mainly because the photographer was determined to get some great pictures. She got some really nice ones of C and me, which makes me very happy since we haven't had a professional picture taken of just the two of us since our wedding, almost 9 years ago. This is one of my favorites.

Weepy

I'm feeling a bit weepy today. Truth be told, I've been feeling a bit weepy for the past few days. Lots of things make me want to cry, especially things connected to Wild Man. In the past month or so, it has really hit home how much he has grown up.

He is almost completely potty-trained. He always pees on the toilet, and he poops on it about 85% of the time. While a lot of this is due to mine and C's effort to make sure he goes, he is getting much better about telling us when he has to do. He can dress himself, aside from buttoning buttons and zipping zippers. He can even get his shoes on himself, although he still confuses which feet they go on regularly. And in the milestone we've been working toward for so long: he consistently sleeps through the night and puts himself to sleep. This is a big accomplishment in our household. All of these things are great, and I'm very proud of my little guy. But he is definitely not a baby anymore. He's lost most of his baby chub with his most recent growth spurt. He is about 35 inches tall and weighs about 33 pounds. He constantly tells me, "Mommy, I do it myself." He has never been much of a snuggler, and he is even less of one now. He is very free with hugs and kisses, but he won't sit on my lap (or what is left of it) for any length of time. As if all of that weren't enough, he is fascinated by C. Whereas he used to want to be with me all the time (and yes, I remember complaining about it), now he follows C around and does everything he sees his father doing. I'm quite happy that he is attaching himself to C, as it will definitely make the transition easier once Baby Z arrives, but it makes part of me a little sad.

On top of missing my baby boy, I'm also feeling some guilt about having a second child. On some level, I feel like we're doing Wild Man a huge disservice by having a second child, at least financially. If we were a family a three, we'd be able to give him a lot more--in terms of education, of travel, of life experience. Being a family of four, those things are necessarily going to be harder. C's reassures me that this won't necessarily be the case. After all, given our professions and his particular field of study, our kids will have a lot of life experiences we didn't have as children. But financially things will be harder, at least a bit. And then I feel guilty for thinking maybe we shouldn't have decided to have a second child. It's this horrible cycle, which I'm hoping will end once I meet Z and hold her for the first time. But I keep thinking, what if all I can think about when the midwife gives her to me for the first time is Wild Man? What if I don't have the immediate love for her that I had for him? What if I like him better? And I want to cry again.

I'm really hoping all of this is just pregnancy hormones and that all of these doubts and fears will go away once Z arrives.

Warning

The following was written by a cranky, tired, dissertating, pregnant woman.

I am so tired of hearing the following two questions/comments, and I'm only half way through my pregnancy. As I recall, I was annoyed by these same questions/comments when I was carrying Wild Man.

1. How are you feeling?
2. You're how far along? You look great!

The first question annoys me just because it seems like the only thing people can think to ask me. This time around I'm inclined to say something along the lines of "Well, I've got to have a complete draft of my dissertation finished in 7 weeks. I'm a bit stressed out, but thanks for asking." I know, however, that isn't what most people are asking about.

The second question/comment annoys me because it always strikes me as a back-handed sort of compliment. I always want to say "Thanks, but did you expect me to look awful?"

And, as I know I'm likely to get comments on the people's good intentions when they make these sorts of comments, I know people don't intend for me to respond as I do to these comments. Most people make these comments out of interest and concern, which I way I never respond how I want to. I just wish I didn't find the comments so annoying.

I'm hungry. . .

basically all the time. I wake up hungry, and I eat a snack right before I go to bed because I'm hungry. I'm hungry an hour after I eat. For example, this morning, at 7:30, I ate a piece of toast, an egg, and a grapefruit for breakfast. Plus I had juice and coffee. By the time I got to campus at 9:20 my stomach was growling. Seriously, C heard it and asked me if I was ok. I just ate a banana and a granola bar, but I'm still a little hungry. At this rate, I'll spend the entire day eating and not get anything done. I remember experiencing extreme hunger while carrying Wild Man, but I don't think it started this early!

Do men really find pregnancy sexy?

I'm still thinking about sex and pregnancy. But now I'm wondering whether men really find pregnancy sexy? According to Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt finds pregnancy incredibly sexy, and while I do realize she is trying to promote an image of herself and of them as a couple, her comments have made me consider the sexiness of pregnancy from another angle, especially after reading "Pregnant sex brings thrills, fears." I'm not sure what I want to say about this, but I am thinking about it. Perhaps later I will have something more insightful to say, but for now, I'm throwing this out there (and I'm hoping that the few men who read this blog will actually comment): do men (and I mean real men, not Brad Pitt) actually find a pregnant woman sexy? Do most men want to have sex with their pregnant wives or girlfriends? Do men find pregnant women, whom they have no connection to, sexually attractive? I also want to point out, as Academama did in her comment on my original post, there is a difference between finding someone sexy and wanting to have sex with someone.