Mexico was just lovely.  We went to Cabo, because it was the shortest flight from Calgary.  We saw whales in the bay during breakfast, we read books, nice young men brought me icy drinks and I lost many games of crib.  It was a wonderful week away.  It also really helped when we found out it was +25oc in Cabo and -43oc in Calgary.  We left and the weather crashed to polar temperatures.  Excellent timing, us.

I wore a bikini for the first time in my life.   I figure as I had crossed over from ‘chubby’ to ‘very deeply pregnant’ this was the perfect time to wear a black polka dot bikini on the beach.  Which, ignoring a couple of asshole comments from a group of assholes from Texas (serious, so annoying, that whole lot), was quite lovely.  I was hoping to tan enough to make the stretchmarks look less visible, but no such luck.  I will also say that being in the pool while in the third trimester is just lovely.  My belly would actually lift a couple of inches in the water.  I may have to figure out how to spend the rest of this pregnancy in a pool.  Or at the very least, a bath tub.

I’m definitely getting to the unwieldy portion of pregnancy.  Rolling over is a 5 step process that wakes me up.  And sometimes David, despite the king size of the bed.  All that flopping and flailing and sweating…

Oh, about the whole EI thing?  My mother the tax accountant reminded me that not only do I pay $800 a year in to the system, so does whatever company I work for.  So realistically, my mat leave was paid of, between my husband and I, three years ago.  I don’t think, in the end, it even really matters.  This is a social program that as a nation we’ve deemed important, and I’m really really lucky to have that.  It’s certainly not free, but on a national level it works out.  I pay in to a system, as does the company I work for, and the system pays out in times of need.  And it clearly values the role of parental child care in the critical first year of babies lives.  Yay great white north.  (Too bad about the weather.)

At the doctor’s appointment a few weeks ago, the doc told me to start taking a 150 mg zantac every 12 hours and oh my god, you guys, it worked!  I can eat FOOD AGAIN!  After 12 weeks of heartburn following closely on 10 weeks of low grade nausea, this is a miracle.  Depending on how long the day or what I ate, I don’t always even take the second pill.

Despite two and a half weeks of being able to eat food, including a week at an all inclusive resort with all the virgin coconut drinks I could consume, I still have only managed to put on 9 pounds.  My body is fighting like hell not to put on weight.  It’s weird.  My belly, however, is huge.  And my fundus measurements are dead on, and the baby is generally very active, and my blood pressure’s at the very bottom of the desirable range.  So I’m just assuming all is well.

However.  At Friday’s appointment, she mentioned something about this not being brought up before due to my lack of consistency of care at the clinic, but that I need to have an another ultrasound.  (I have every second Friday off, therefore I book all my appointments on Fridays.  However, no doctor regularly works Fridays, so I see someone new almost every time.  I don’t really mind – the appointments are so short that what does it matter who checks the heartbeat?)  It’s weird, because in Alberta, you get one around 12 weeks and another around 20 and that’s it.  Unless there is a problem.  So, only after leaving, did I realize this means there might be a problem.  Huh.  Trying pretty hard to squash my anxiety over that one.  Helps that Skipper’s being all active and constantly assuring me of it’s aliveness.  In fact, today it feels like it’s trying to climb out through my belly button and that actually really hurts.  I suppose I’m feeling the stretch mark form as I sit here.

It’s funny, my reaction to food over the last 30 weeks.  I’m normally a bit of a foodie, as much as I hate that term.  I have a bookshelf full of cookbooks, I’m an adventurous cook and eater, I’ve actually written a cookbook (Christmas gift), I can explain most terms off a fancy menu off the top of my head and I read a lot of food blogs.  I collect recipes like some people collect hockey cards.  But with the first trimester came low grade nausea and a complete indifference to food.  With the second came the crippling heartburn and my diet shifted heavily towards Lucky Charms and ice cream, the only two foods that never gave me heart burn, and sometimes even would quell it for a couple of hours. David has eaten a ton of frozen burrito lunches and dinners, along with many scrambled eggs in tortillas and random frozen meals.  I never have random frozen meals – it’s just not the way I like to cook, and to eat.  Until I got pregnant, and then, suddenly, food became resoundingly MEH.  It has really added to the sense of alien-ness of this pregnancy.  (What, I only called it alien parasite for a few months.)  My body is off doing it’s own thing with very little input from me, and now I can’t even be bothered to EAT?  WTF.  The heartburn pills are helping – when you’re not burping up acid every few breaths, it’s easier to want to eat – but I’m now 8 months along and the kid’s really pushing on my stomach and lungs, so I can’t eat as much anyway.  Actually, thinking about it, I’ve only had The Hunger once, at about 8 weeks.  It was ‘if I don’t eat now I will die/faint/kill someone’.  So I ate, and then it never happened again.
Pregnancy is so so weird.


2012 Goal

Well, I guess I should mark my intention or resolution or what ever for the year.  After all, 2012 is the End of The World As We Know It, right?  So may as well have a good last year…  *eye roll*  (Side note – I took a lot of Latin America Studies courses, and it’s not like the Mayans actually believed that the end of the Long Count Calendar equalled the end of the world.  Just the end of a major cycle.  And also?  Let’s please not forget that as a cultural empire, they collapsed around 900 AD.  They may not have, in fact, been all-knowing, if they didn’t see that coming…)

Anyway, 2012 is going to be a year of massive transitions for me.  What with, you know, giving birth and all.   And the whole not working for the vast majority of the year thing.  And it is, on the whole, rather terrifying.

I have had some form of job since I was 18, on top of years of babysitting before that.  There’s only been one 3 month period when I wasn’t working, and it was a circumstantial thing involving crushing depression.  And I think I may have picking up shifts at a couple of part time jobs during that period.  I’ve never collected Employment Insurance, I’ve never been out of work.  I worked 3 part time jobs for most of university, picking up shifts as I could.  (Catering, concerts and special events for the city.  Luckily all were occasional evenings and thus never interfered with school.  And I got to see a ton of great concerts and work a ton of weddings, which was helpful when it came time to plan my own. Once you’ve tied on a couple of hundred chair covers?  Knowing how much time it took and therefore cost?  You too would never have it done either.)  I got an interview as the week I applied for my first job out of university, and 7.5 years later, I’m still at the same company.  (If I make it to 10, I can get a 10 piece cuisinart cookware set! You need 25 before you can get the kitchen aid mix master.)   At any rate, I’ve always been a good little worker bee, and now, for the first time in my adult life, I won’t be.  Oh, I’m sure I’ll be working very hard, what with the small creature I need to keep alive and don’t think I don’t know how much work that sounds like, but it’s a hell of a lot different than going to work and sitting in my fancy chair with my wonderful view on the Rocky Mountains and creating reports and managing data and ordering pizza.

And the whole keep a small creature alive thing is pretty damn terrifying in it’s own rights.  I mean, David and I are responsible for Skipper for, well, the REST OF OUR LIVES.  The panic from that has finally subsided a little, but only a little.

It means that I can’t make plans for 2012, beyond to remember to breathe, and to surrender to the experience.  To enjoy the highs and lows of our tiny baby, and the blessings of having a year at home to do so.  It means that so much will change, and that hopefully we can make sure than some things don’t, too much.  That we choose to hold on to the core of US.  The travel (2 trips to Mexico already planned for 2012) and the rock solid foundation of love and the belief that the best New Year’s Eve is spent in the basement, just the two of us, with Lego and bubbles.  So instead of making any plans for this year, because I have no idea of what the hell is going to happen or how our lives will change, beyond the fact that I know they will, I herby resolve to surrender to the experience.

Hey, it’s a goal I might actually succeed at…  I hope.