Mom-mode post # 6 – on working out while pregnant

I know so far I’ve only mentioned some of the pains of becoming a mother. However, last night at the gym I found one of the joys of being an expectant mom. I went to one of those ‘boot camp’ type classes. Although I’m proud to say I was able to keep up with the best of them, the beauty of last night was when it came time to do those unpleasant planks or the revolting “mountain climbers”. When the going got tough, I was able to go get a sip of water and say “I don’t think the baby would want me to be bending like that.” Heck yes.

mom-mode post # 5 - on how I'm going to keep this skirt

I decided to wear this skirt today because I had the sneaky suspicion it would be my last chance to do so in a while.
I got it custom made for me 6 years ago while in China. I've loved it ever since. But for now, it is going into a cedar chest.
Maybe 25 years from now, if this baby is a girl, she will get to wear it. The shoes might go in that cedar chest too...
13 weeks. Hope the sickness goes away soon!

mom-mode post #4- on how I fainted on my out

Most of you know that I am not an american citizen. I've been a permanent resident for some 3 years now and just recently got approved for my 10-year card. Long story short, my card was misspelled, so I went to the Immigration Services in D.C. this past Friday.

The minute one walks in that building, one most forget that one lives in a developed nation. It is as if a broom of bureaucracy and red tape sweeps the room and suddenly, everything becomes complicated. It doesn't matter how simple your situation is: You got approved for a green card, of course you sent in all of your documents correctly spelled, they make a mistake, they correct the mistak... No wait, they don't. They make you suffer through a long line. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but my 13-week- pregnant body didn't seem to take this high-tense-long-line too well. I finally reach the counter, I proceed to explain my situation. The ever friendly staff "smiles" and tells me I don't have an appointment with them today. Funny, because the computer told me I did. I convince her to at least hear my situation. She caves in a little. She tells me there is nothing she can do for me today. In fact, she tells me that the people I talked to on the phone ( their people, mind you) gave me the wrong information. In her own words: "someone short-changed you". Thanks, I feel much better now. She does tell me my name IS spelled correctly in the system. Quick question: If my name is spelled correctly in the system, WHY IN THE WORLD DID YOU SEND ME A CARD THAT IS NOT? She doesn't know the answer to that. I begin to see dark spots. My husband and I start walking out the door. I can barely move. I think I'm fainting. I'm pretty sure I'm fainting.

Normally this wouldn't scare me, I've fainted before. I'm hypoglycemic. But this time, I had just eaten a huge quiche for breakfast. This wasn't my typical fainting. I panic. My poor husband asks me if I'm okay. I can't see anything, I sit on the ledge outside the door. All I can say is "call 911". The security guards are actually the friendliest people working in that wretched place. They tell my husband what address to give the ambulance people, they get me in an air-conditioned room, a comfy chair and a bottle of water. I wish their other workers were this nice and sympathetic. I quickly regain consciousness. The paramedics get there and insist on getting me out of there in a stretcher, even though I can walk normally. They check me out, make sure everything is okay with me. Final verdict: locked knees and a high stress environment caused it. And then the paramedic says: "whatever you do today, do not go back in that building." Trust me sir, I won't.

Mad that my green card is still misspelled, happy to be alive, blessed that my baby is okay.

mom-mode post # 3 - of how my waist keeps disappearing

Another belly pic for your indulgence. Had to crop because my derriere is bigger than my belly. Ha!
Again, please remember that how I feel about belly pics has NOTHING to do with how I feel about my baby. So please, don't judge me.
~12 weeks.

Mom-mode Post # 2 - of how the doctor's appointment went

Perhaps another one of my many pet peeves is when people find out they are pregnant, all of the sudden a need to share every single and minor detail about it arises.
In order to spare you the pain of reading every minor detail of my new state, I equipped this post with a multiple-choice menu. And by multiple I mean two. Read each option and choose which option is best for you:
# 1 So if you couldn't care less about how my routine doctor's appointment went yesterday, STOP reading this post. RIGHT NOW. For I'm about to bore the life out of you. Go read a book or catch up on emails (www.gmail.com). Or go for a 30-minute walk, they say it's good for your heart.
# 2 if you are bored at work/home and wish to waste precious minutes of your day, read on.

I was dreading yesterday's appointment for a couple of reasons.
You see, ever since I found out I was expecting, every doctor's visit has included some kind of prodding, poking and digging. I know it is all for the sake of mine and the baby's health, but let me tell you, it ain't no fun. They need a sample of this; they need to check on that. The list goes on and on. Needless to say I just wasn’t looking forward to that.
Another reason is the dreaded, horrid, treacherous weigh in. I know, I know, I am pregnant and I’m supposed to gain weight! Well, try telling it to my brain-washed head.
After getting on the cringe-inducing scale, I sat on that cold cot contemplating what had just happened. Every time my brain sees numbers going up on a scale, alarms go off telling me to go straight to the gym and stop eating immediately. I can’t help it. My stomach gets tied up in a knot and sweat profusely thinking about that last bite of cheesecake I had. I immediately go on diet-survival mode. Must lose weight. Now. Now! NOW! And that’s why I dread the weigh in. In fact I not only dread it, but I hate it with a passion. I even thought about writing sweet encouraging little notes to myself and spread it across my drawers of pants that no longer fit me, in an attempt to retrain my stubborn thinking that is okay to gain weight. Or perhaps I should just sue Gisele Bundchen for being so skinny.
Then the nurse walks in, all smiles, oblivious to the non-sense that is going through my head. She tells me to lie down, spreads some icky gel on my stomach and suddenly I hear it. A tiny heartbeat. Fast and furious. A tiny tear falls down my cheeks.
What was I dreading about this doctor’s visit anyway?

Mom-mode post # 1 - 10 weeks

The so-called "belly pictures" are one of my biggest pet peeves -- for those out there who have taken them, please don't take it personally. I also don't like baby animals and they don't seem to mind my humble opinion.-- But due to the great distance I now have between myself, family and friends, I have found a need and perhaps a reason to take a few of these tacky, although lovely, mementos.

Let's agree now, that I will not pose for pictures with a sign hanging from my belly, saying how far along I am. I will not under any circumstance succumb to such. It is almost as if you were asking me to hold a cat or pet a dog. It will just not happen. Capiche?

I may, however, eventually venture off and talk about fashion, or post some of my new-found ways to hide a "beer gut".

For now, I leave you with my first, albeit reluctant, barefoot-and-pregnant-belly-picture. Enjoy!

p.s.: also, please do not suggest that I make a cast out of my belly. Maybe I'll write a post on the subject later.

*disclaimer* Please do not link my belly-pictures despising with how I feel about my pregnancy. One does not in any way, shape or form, have anything to do with the other.