Push Presents

Over lunch the other day, one of my colleagues asked me if I was getting a “Push Present.” I wasn’t sure what she was taking about.

“What’s a push present?” I asked.

In a very matter-of-fact way, she replied, “It’s also called a Push Gift. It’s something that the father gives the mother to recognize how hard she worked leading up to and during the birth of their baby. My friend got some diamond earrings. Another friend got a Louis Vuitton bag.”

“Really? I thought the baby was the present.” I said.

Well, according to BabyCenter.com, push presents, baby baubles, push gifts or baby mama gifts are the latest trend in having a baby. And actually, as I read, it’s not that new. Apparently in Europe and Asia, giving a new mother a gift after having a baby has been performed for years. However, it’s a relatively newer trend in North America.

One American expert summed the nature of a “Push Present” in a very pre-recession sort of way during a 2007 interview with the New York Times.

“It’s more and more an expectation of moms these days that they deserve something for bearing the burden for nine months, getting sick, ruining their body...The guilt really gets piled on.”

And, in general it’s usually woman who educate men about push presents. I need to stop and take a breath for a moment.

Burden…ruining their bodies…deserve...expectation.

Wow.

I must admit, having a baby does change your body, but to call bearing a child a…burden? (If one is calling a baby that, maybe they ought to have kept their pants on nine months earlier.) Try telling this to someone in a fertility clinic. I also wouldn’t say getting pregnant ruins your body. One of my former UWO cheerleading teammates is now a fitness model and looks better than ever. (This is after having a baby.)

One website suggested that in a recent survey, 88 per cent of women who gave birth were interested in receiving a gift to celebrate “pushing” through labour. And another poll indicated that 37 per cent of affluent mothers actually received one.

And these gifts are typically expensive tokens like jewellery. After all, push presents aren’t called “Baby Bauble” for nothing! In fact, one New York jeweller even established a push present registry a few years ago.

In a society where retailers dictate our gift-giving and make up "gift-giving occasions" (think Secretaries Day etc.) this is not a surprising trend. But it does strike me as pretty materialistic. Granted, it’s nice to receive a gift, but the premise that one has to ask for one, contradicts the true meaning of a “gift.” I think it’s this expectation that really gets me.

It’s almost like a bridezilla who expects her maid of honour to throw her a shower. I'm a bit uncomfortable with this.

In the case of a baby, isn’t the baby the best gift of all? Why should people expect to receive a gift, for this human gift?

Prenatal Predictions

Today I checked my pregnancy journal. I haven’t been as religious filling it out because this blog has essentially become my pregnancy journal. I found a program online that I’ve downloaded. It allows me to print all my entries and then bind them in a book later. (So I will be a published author. Haha!)

Still, there are some interesting pages. The following was one of them.

It’s called “Prenatal Predictions.” The B and I try not to live by “hopes and dreams” because as The B is wont to say, “Desire leads to suffering.” Still, here’s how I filled this page out:

Prenatal Predictions

I hope you inherit this from Mom: Determination, courage to try new things and positive attitude (for the most part.) I also hope you inherit my energy (The B is already bracing himself) and my love of life.

But not this: My impatience. I hate waiting for things and growing up I was an extremely impatient child. Even as an adult, I can honestly and embarrassingly admit that I’ve had a few temper tantrums on the golf course because I wanted to be like Tiger Woods…now!

This from Dad: Relaxed and general contentedness. The B is probably the most laid back man I know. Nothing, except for travelling by plane, seems to faze him. If I’m the Ying, he’s the Yang of our relationship and we balance each other out perfectly.

But not this: His fear of new things. He has to be pushed sometimes. Even The B admits this.

I think you will look like: The cutest baby ever! Even the ultrasound technologist said your image was cute.

My wishes and hopes and dreams for you: I don’t want to live your life or tell you who to be. But The B and I will try to parent so that you grow to become a happy, confident and independent fella. I know you won’t be perfect. We aren’t either. You’ll get your heart broken, break some hearts…and do dumb things. That’s just life. It’s better to live your life and take some chances.

As a mom I think I will be: Well, seeing as I’m new to this, I know that I will make mistakes. But, rest assured, like everything in my life, I will try my very best and try not to sweat the small stuff. And during the tough moments, like the first three months, I will remember to breathe.

Happy Pride

Right now I feel like such a wimp. Sure, I ran a 10K before the rain this morning, but as I sit here typing this, I'm feeling rather sheepish. You see, I'm watching Toronto's Pride parade from my sofa at Chez Weatharro.

Last year, The B and I were lucky to participate in the parade, riding his company's float. I had planned on heading down to take a few pics and party with the million or so people who attend annually. However, I was deterred by the rain.

Yes, call me a baby.

Pride weekend in Toronto is perhaps one of my favourite events. The parade is actually just one part of it. For the past three years I've done the Pride & Remembrance 5K on the Saturday before Sunday's parade. It's a great run because it's fun, festive and really a party on the streets of Toronto's Gay Village. It's a quick 5K and last year I had a personal best time of 23:48. This year, running with Baby Max on board, I did a much slower run of 27:06.

While I enjoy Pride weekend for the colourful personalities it brings out, the message of acceptance, tolerance and equality is what I really love most. And when Baby Max gets old enough, The B and I will surely bring him to celebrate Pride weekend.

We know we're really fortunate enough to live in a city and country that allows for such diversity. We're fully aware that in many parts of the world, the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transsexual community faces persecution and discrimination.

Of course The B and I have chatted about how we plan on raising our kids. While this will be an ongoing discussion that will last for years, one thing is certain, we do hope to expose them to as much as we can, including to those who chose to live different lifestyles. And yes, we've also spoken about what happens if our child is gay or lesbian. You know what? It doesn't matter. Our goal is to grow and nurture a child who is happy, independent and secure.

Baby Max can be who he wants to be.

Happy Pride and may all bask in the colours of the rainbow.

He or She? That is the Question

We had our 20-week ultrasound this morning. I was a bit nervous. After all, the last time I saw Baby Dubya was almost two months ago. Earlier we made the decision to find out whether it was going to be a girl or a boy. It turns out, a mother’s instinct (and the Chinese calendar) are always right – well, most of the time.

Baby Dubya will be a….Baby Max!

For some unexplainable reason, I knew from almost the very beginning that “it” was a “he.” I spoke to my mother-in-law about this and she said that during her pregnancy with my brother-in-law, Dave, she too knew “it” was a “he.” I say, it’s a mother’s intuition.

By all accounts, Baby Max looks fine and healthy. He was very active during the exam and was running, like his Runner Mama. We were so surprised to see how much more he had developed since we last saw him. We saw his tiny legs, feet, spine etc….it was all so…cute!

Though I had long suspected a little boy, without any invasive testing or ultrasound, one really does have a 50 per cent chance of getting a boy or a girl. Since my odds were so good, I did do some gambling. I bet The B that if Baby Dubya was a boy, then he’d buy me a Japanese dinner. If Baby Dubya was a girl, then I’d buy The B dinner. Don’t get me wrong, it didn’t really matter if it was a girl or boy, so long as Baby was healthy. (In this picture, Baby Max is looking right at the scanner.)



When the ultrasound technologist told us the gender…then showed us Baby Dubya’s private parts, (Baby Max flashed us) we got excited. Wow. It was so cool. It’s really strange but I think The B is right. Somehow knowing that I now have a son growing inside of me has brought me even closer to Baby Dubya.

After the ultrasound I was on cloud nine…and am getting the splinters out of my chopsticks and pouring some soy sauce.

What's in a Name: Part 2

Very early in my pregnancy The B and I decided on names for our child. We have since chosen "Kai" for a girl and "Max" for a boy. But like everything at Chez Weatharro, everyone and everything has a nickname.

For example, I never call my husband his given name. He’s called "The B" or simply "B." He also has a nickname for me, but that's a secret. (!) And we only refer to our fur baby as Ellie when she’s at the vet or she’s been a bad girl. At home, she goes by “Burr Burr” and other nicknames like “Ellen BaBurr” or “Merbaburr.” I know, it’s quite strange.

Welcome to my world.

And so it wasn’t a surprise when I became pregnant the baby would be known as something less formal as Baby Dubya. Between us – and Brian’s sister, Sandy – we call the baby, “Baby Lumpity.” The B actually started this. He said that my baby bump made me look “lumpy” and so that morphed into something cuter- “Lumpity.”

I don’t know whether we will still call it that when we find out the sex of the child on Friday, but I kind of like it. “Baby Lumpity” has definitely grown on me. And I’m not alone. My friend, Jessica, called her baby bump “Monkey” or “Peanut.” (She still refers to Jason affectionately as “My little Monkey.”) And Michelle Henry, The Toronto Star crime reporter publicly called her fetus, "Lentil."

I Googled ‘fetus nickames’ and came up with a whole list of others people have used:

Cookie Pie Face (I don't quite get this one!)
Squirt
Rice
Tic Tac
Lemon
Bean
The Bunny
Wiggle Worm
Buddy
The Little Nipper
Peaches
The Baby (how original!)
Skeletor
The Alien
Hong Kong Phooey (?)
Lentil
Tadpole

My favourites on this list are “Skeletor” and “The Alien.” I don’t think we'd call the baby those names, but I can see why others have. (After our first ultrasound, I did think that my child kind of looked like a “Skeletor” and “Alien.")

Halfway to the Marathon: 20wks/5mos

Seeing as I am the Running Mama (!), it seems fitting to call today the half marathon point of my pregnancy, but I eschew this metaphor and instead call it the halfway point to the marathon.

As I’ve alluded to in earlier posts, the real ‘race’ begins at birth when I’ll have to ‘pace’ myself to save my sanity and conserve energy during the inevitable sleepless nights and bouts of sleep deprivation. All my friends who've had babies gleefully tell me that motherhood will be the true marathon and are all quick to say, "Wait 'til you go through it."

Today, as I rode on the train to work, Baby Dubya happily danced away in my womb. I reflected the events in the past 20 weeks. And I've realized a few things:

- Twigs, stones, sidewalk cracks or anything in my way are now possible hazards. (Case in point- this morning, I fell up the stairs on the train. No, I didn’t bruise anything, just my ego. Luckily I had my huge sunglasses on and hid behind them for the remainder of my commute to work.)

- People like pregnant woman and my baby bump can almost always bring a smile to anyone’s face. (Peacemakers in war zones should really consider brokering peace with pregnant women as mediators.)

- My favourite thong underwear aren’t as comfortable anymore.

- I have started to waddle. (This past weekend as I was playing golf with my in-laws, Judy said that walking down a grassy knoll I looked like a penguin.)

- I can still run a 10K under one hour and whack balls (as in golf and tennis balls) as hard as ever.

- Everyone has "great" advice to give you.

- You can learn to love someone as early as seven weeks.

- Attempting to fight a craving for a Big Mac is futile.

- Shavasana is no longer my favourite yoga pose.

- I can give up alcohol. The Prohibition would have been a breeze.

- Bigger is beautiful...and cute.

Lift My Feet

It sounds easy enough.

In the last week-and-a-half, I've had to “relearn” how to run to adapt to my growing belly and shifting balance. And I’ve already had my fair share of pains.

First, the added weight. This extra poundage, about nine pounds now, is probably the root of my daily lower back pains and sore calf muscles, especially felt when I run. I’ve noticed that when I hit 3K, my lower legs - from calves down - begin to feel tight and fatigued. One of my runner friends told me that he thinks my feet are just swelling from the pregnancy. Seeing as my shoes still fit, that isn’t likely the problem. I’ve since figured out how to manage some of the pain by concentrating on relaxing everything from my knees down to my feet.

Last year when I battled a double dose of IT-band injuries, I stumbled upon a technique called “Chi Running.” It involves engaging one’s core and slightly leaning forward. The Chi Running book I bought also suggests relaxing from hips downward, allowing the core to do most of the work. Now that I’m preggers, focusing on the core and relaxing my lower limbs has become paramount to still being able to enjoy one of my favourite hobbies.

Second, my quickly shifting balance. While dealing with the rapid weight gain has been challenging, my shifting balance has snuck up on me like the shifting ballast in an overloaded tramp steamer.*

This morning, during a beautiful summer 5K run, I was focusing so much on relaxing my lower limbs that on one stride, I barely lifted my feet. I tripped. I slipped on the gravel like a baseball player sliding into third. When I close my eyes, I can now see the trip in slow motion: my legs stumble under me; my hands and arms engage quickly to brace my fall; and my right knee skids on the gravel.

Obviously, I was concerned because I had a baby on board. But there was no pain, only minor cuts and scrapes. To be sure, I showered and then quietly sat down to see if I could feel any kicks. Thank goodness I was rewarded with some strong ones a few minutes later. If anything, it was a good reminder to be more careful the next time.

Running lifts my spirits, but I should remember to lift my feet.*

(* I think I should give writing credit where it is due. My father-in-law, Gerry, came up with these lines.)

Father-to-Be Day

This year, we celebrated Father’s Day at The B’s parent’s house. (I called my dad to wish him a “Happy Father’s Day” too.) For us, today’s Hallmark-generated occasion is a very special one. For, this is The B’s first “unofficial” Father’s Day. I guess, it’s more of a “Father’s-to-Be” Day.

Naturally, during the course of my pregnancy, I’ve read a lot of books about my impending foray into motherhood. I am in the process of reading, “Home Game,” by author Michael Lewis. I’m hooked. The book’s jacket descibes it as a book “that explores the difference between the idea of fatherhood and a man’s actual experience of it.” It’s extremely well-written, funny and honest.

While there are many great parts, the following few lines were quite interesting and made me think. He writes,

”The thing that most surprised me about fatherhood the first time around was how long it took before I felt about my child what I was expected to feel. Clutching Quinn (his daughter) after she exited the womb, I was able to generate tenderness and a bit of theoretical affection, but after that, for a good six weeks, the best I could manage was detached amusement..Here is the central mystery of fatherhood, or at any rate, my experience of it. How does a man’s resentment of this...thing...that lands in his life and instantly disrupts every aspect of it for the apparent worse turn into love?”

I found this very interesting because it really captured, to some degree, the different experience of pregnancy and birth for a father-to-be. Of course, I can’t expect The B to have the same, or even, close to the same experience I’m having. After all, I’m the one carrying and feeling the child move. I’ve slowly watched, and felt, my body change into a human taxi cab and now think constantly about my precious cargo. I am smitten and in love.

For the B, the experience has been almost entirely ‘detached.’ He’s not yet felt the baby kick or had his boobs grow a cup size. Sure he’s super excited about the prospect of fatherhood, but for him, pregnancy has been one of bearing the brunt of my hormonal mood swings and my wacky cravings.

I read this passage to The B. Somehow I thought his feelings towards fatherhood and Baby Dubya would be different. I thought he’d say, “This Michael Lewis guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Instead, he totally related to these feelings of detachment. However, The B doesn’t believe that there’s a ‘central mystery of fatherhood.’ He says when this young child will love him unconditionally and depend on him for survival, he will very quickly develop a love so strong, that, if he had to, The B would even die for his child.

The B says until he can see and picture a future with our baby, it’s a little hard to feel some kind of attachment. And that is why we’ve decided to find out the gender of our child: it will help The B, to some extent, start to bond with it and feel a connection.

Getting a little sappy for a moment.

I’m so excited about the prospect of bringing up a child with The B. He’s everything I could ever ask for in a husband and know he’ll also be a great daddy. I hope our child gets The B’s patience, curiousity and love of life.

Happy Father’s-to-Be Day, my B.

A Womb with a View

As I continue to feel more kicks and pokes everyday and become more accustomed to my belly that is now having its own growth spurt (I am now almost 32 inches around and my belly button is threatening to "pop"), I often wonder what is happening inside of me and what Baby Dubya is up to.

I do have my fair share of books and pictures that show what Baby Dubya looks like at week 19. The classic book, "A Child is Born," by Nilsson and Hamberger depicts life from the very beginning through the use of beautiful medical photography. Looking at the pictures, you'd swear they were generated by a computer. But they're actual photographs taken with a tiny camera inside the human body.

However, nothing quite captures the view within the womb like moving pictures. And today, I stumbled across a really neat set of animated videos that depict life from conception to birth.



They're called "Inside Pregnancy" and I scrolled down to see the animation for 15 to 20 weeks. It was really interesting to see what was going on. I laughed to myself because far from being aquatic ballet, Baby Dubya is quite spastic right now! Its movements are essentially like knee jerk reflexes as its nervous system continues to develop. It's quite cute.

An old colleague recently had his first child. On a Twitter post, he wrote, "Newborn babies are like good movie marathons. I can sit and watch for hours." How true. My child is still in utero and I'm fascinated by these animated videos!

Well, I watched that video a few more times again.

Then Baby Dubya kicked me.

I made The B watch it.

Then Baby Dubya kicked again.

A Blah Mood for a Blah Day

A few days ago, I had a great 8K run. I felt energized and my legs and body felt so light. For some reason, this wonderful feeling seemed to have evaporated overnight. This past week, my runs have been slow and sluggish and my legs have felt as heavy as tree trunks. Overall, like the grey clouds lingering low in the skies over Toronto today, I’ve been enveloped by my personal cloud of “blah-ness.”

Blah, blah, blah…

I feel lazy and all I want to do is just curl up in bed. No, I don’t feel particularly tired, sore or achy anywhere, it’s just one of those days when I wish I could curl up in a ball just like Ellie, who is currently sleeping in her cat condo without a care in the world.

I really should be celebratory. Today marks 19 weeks. Many of my friends have told me to “enjoy this wonderful time.” Today, I wish I could encapsulate some of that wonderful-ness in a vial and take it along with my prenatal vitamin and three doses of Omega-3s that I take daily.

It seems that in the span of a week, my belly has just doubled in size and that may partly to blame for the heaviness I’m experiencing in my legs. I’m hoping I’ll get use to this size and this rapid growth.

Also, being in sport pretty much all my life, I’ve observed that the longer and more consistent one trains, the better conditioned and fit they become. Running last night, I’ve realized that the opposite is true in pregnancy: no matter what you do, the more pregnant you become, the less fit you actually feel. It’s an issue that I’m overcoming and have realized that it’s part of the miracle of growing a tiny human.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’ve had a pretty sweet pregnancy so far. And I’m extremely grateful. I guess I’m like a (hormonal) kid on a rainy day wishing the sun would just come out.

Happy Heartbeats

Yesterday we had our 18-week midwife appointment and met the third midwife in our “team.” Rezvan is a petit, elegant, squeaky-voiced Iranian lady who spent most of her youth in Paris. In a word, she’s cool. She speaks with a beautiful Parisian accent (that conjured up wonderful visions of my long ago trip to Paris) and called me “Madame.” I think she was very excited when I told her that I wanted my child to be in French immersion someday.

Actually, the three midwives, one of which will hopefully delivery Baby Dubya, are really, really nice. And together the three have over 60 years of experience caring for and delivering babies.

There’s Angel, pronounced in the French way, ‘Ahn-jel,’ the wonderful midwife-in-training, Charmaine and then there’s Carol. Carol is the first of the three we met. She’s the one who I always seem to get hold of when I have my “crises.” Like the time I called about spotting; or the time I rang about the mercury content of Omega-3 vitamin supplements; or the time when I didn’t hear back about my Triple Screen prenatal test. (I have since learned that if you don’t hear anything at all, it’s usually good news.) She’s so motherly and understands how fretful new moms-to-be are.

To date, my glucose and protein counts are normal. Our Triple Screen test came back negative. (A good thing that means a low risk for chromosomal abnormalities) Rezvan checked my belly and with a Doppler pronounced that Baby Dubya has a “happy heartbeat.” My weight gain is also good and she’s fine with my running - to which I attribute my Baby’s “happy heartbeat.” After all…who wouldn’t want to come along for a run, especially when they’re being carried?

Since I didn’t have any questions or concerns, she bade us farewell. We'll see her in four weeks in the middle of July. That will put us at 24 weeks.

Time does fly.

Lulu & Bella: My New Best Friends

Hurray for Lulu and Bella!

Over the weekend I bought my first maternity “item” (it’s not clothing!): The Bella Band. It's awesome. As I sit and type this, my fly is undone and splayed open, just like last week. Instead of letting my belly hang out, it's nice and snugly contained by this maternity apparatus.

It's a wonderful, yet simple contraption. It’s almost like one of those things in life that makes you think, “Why didn’t I think of that?” It’s just a stretchy type fabric that sits over my unzipped fly and essentially holds my pants up. And it makes wearing my “normal” pants so comfortable.

Because I’m still on my non-maternity store boycott (for now) I also ventured into one my favourite places, Lululemon. I bought a pair of Jesus Yoga Pants. And as soon as I put them on, well, let me tell you I was singing to our Divine Messiah. This Luon number felt so wonderfully soft against my skin. And the best thing: they can pass for dress pants in a board room! Hurrah!

But these items of maternal bliss weren’t cheap. While Lululemon clothing can make anyone feel and look skinnier, too much Lulu can also make your wallet look shockingly anorexic! So for me, I only go in there with a gift certificate or when someone wants to foot the bill. The Bella Band, as comfortable as it is, set me back $40!

Really, $40 for a stretchy tube? This got The B and I thinking: What can we invent to improve the lives of others? Hmmmm.

Time to brainstorm.

It's (Mostly) All About Me & Baby W

When we registered for Baby Dubya's birth at Markham Stouffville hospital this weekend, I noticed a trend. For some of life's biggest milestones, like a wedding or the birth of a child, it's always about the girl.

At weddings, that's clearly the case. It's never, "Ohhhh, did you notice the shiny shoes he was wearing?" or "Wow, his smile sure does sparkle when he cares to brush his teeth." It's more like, "Wow, she looked like a princess today."

And when a couple is expecting, it seems it's always about the mom-to-be, not the daddy-to-be.

Up to this point, The B graciously attended my midwife appointments only to be ignored in the corner. When we got to signing a bunch of consent forms at the hospital for the registration, I asked them whether they wanted The B's signature too, but the kind lady, Annu, smiled behind the desk and said, "No, honey, this is mostly about you."

I asked The B how he feels about this and he said, "Well, you are carrying the baby. I only played a small, yet pleasurable, role so far!" Hahaha. It's nice my husband has a great sense of humour. In the coming months I will learn to rely on him more and more. (For back rubs and comfort) And when Baby Dubya arrives, there will be no room for shrinking violets. Quite simply, The B will have his star turn when he assumes the role of Daddy B.

In my pregnancy journal, it says that "It's natural that you become the centre of attention as family and friends - and even strangers - rally around the "visible" baby you're carrying." How true. To include The B, I bring him along to my midwife appointments, we talk about our hopes for Baby Dubya and guess what it may be like. He is also, "Chief Interior Designer" of Baby Dubya's room. And I've also decided to honour one of his wishes: to find out the sex of Baby Dubya.

Stay tuned.

Got Food?

At this moment, I feel like a stuffed goose. No, a stuffed whale. (Really, I do love whales – the world’s largest and heaviest mammals.) Yes, that’s it. You see, I had Chinese for lunch. And it was really good!

These days my daily rhythms are ruled by my stomach and eating cycle. Being pregnant, I live for food! When I’m running, I know I should be concentrating and focusing on the task at hand, but I’m usually thinking about what I’m going to eat afterward! And last week at yoga, all I could think about was the ice cream cone I was going to have that afternoon.

Alas, with a growing Baby Dubya, I can’t eat as much as I want because I feel full a lot faster. I'm in continual conflict with my body: Mentally, I want to eat everything on my plate, but physiologically, my body usually puts on the brakes.

A few days ago, I had fish and chips. (Lately my favourite foods include: chocolate ice cream, green lettuce leaves with balsamic vinegar, sweet yam tempura rolls and fish n'chips. I have to stop, I'm getting hungry already.) I had thought about “F’n C” all day. But I was dismayed because after only a few chips and a few bites of fish, I suddenly felt full. I slowed down and ate more like a French lady - slow and deliberate - but still wasn’t able to eat the whole thing.

Pre-pregnancy, I always thought that preggos should be eating for two. However, my midwife quickly dispelled this notion. At our last meeting, she took out a chart and showed me that I only need to add about 300 extra calories per day in the second and third trimester. Really, that’s not a whole lot. That’s only equivalent to about a 5K run! And so my dreams of eating endless tubs of chocolate ice cream and not feeling guilty were dashed.

In fact, she said the key to eating during pregnancy is enjoying a lot of small meals throughout the day. Lately, I've discovered that I'm hungry every two or three hours - kind of like a newborn with and without the screaming and crying!

I've been told that to save my sanity during the first few months, I should sleep when the baby sleeps. I'm wondering, to stave off hunger pangs, should I also eat when the baby eats?

The Big Top

Being the last among my close girlfriends to reproduce, I've been to a fair share of baby showers and have discovered that new parents are suckers.

In his new book, "Home Game: An Accidental Guide to Fatherhood," best-selling author Michael Lewis writes,
'If you have a gift for frightening new parents, your fortune in this world is secure. New parents are not rational; they worry about all sorts of things that it makes no sense to worry about.'

How true. Many companies are making billions off of first time parents. It was P.T. Barnum who once said, "There's a sucker born every minute." I think that line can aptly apply to the baby market. While some of the products provide convenience, many more make such strange claims that obviously prey on new parents’ fears and insecurities.

For example, while researching strollers, I came across the expensive Stokke Explory. It’s quite a strange looking stroller. Its claim to fame is its higher-that-average seat. Yes it does help taller parents interact with their children easier, but it also suggests that having your child higher up prevents your child from inhaling dangerous car exhaust. Seriously? I guess it’s now okay to walk my child in heavy traffic, beside the tailpipe of cars with the Stokke Explory!

When I was at a recent mom’s sale, one of the volunteers steered me toward a baby wipes warmer. What the? I assume unless I buy one of these things, I’m doomed to having my child hate me because I didn’t wipe its bum bum with a warm wipey.

And then there’s something called the “Germ Garden Nursery Santizer.” Apparently, this device uses a 30-minute blast of hot air to sanitize your pacifiers, toys and bottles with a dry heat cycle. It claims to kill 99.9 per cent of germs and bacteria. I surmise the manufactures of this devise would call children's aid because my husband says he wants to roll Baby Dubya in dirt. "You've gotta expose them to stuff, or they'll never develop an immune system dude," said my husband who is sitting beside me picking at his toe jam.

Walking into big-box baby stores and baby boutiques, you leave feeling like you must have the latest must-haves. Why? Because many of the items predict dire warnings if you don't. (And I might add, none of these gadgets existed when I was a baby. I think I turned out okay.)

I laugh now, but I know The B and I will buy Baby Dubya its fair share of useless baby accessories. So I shouldn’t judge. After all, do we really need a Bugaboo Chameleon? No, but I like it, can comfortably reach the handle bars and feel secure pushing it.

Like those other products, the parents who bought them like them also and feel comfortable and secure. And when you’re taking care of a newborn – especially your first born - comfort for both child and parent is all that matters, right? (For all you seasoned parents, this is your cue to laugh.)

Under Pressure

I may have felt strong and invincible yesterday, but today I feel a bit…I don’t know…sore, especially in my midriff.

I’m almost five months pregnant and I’m suffering from growing pains.

Apparently, the rapidly growing Baby Dubya is putting a lot of pressure on muscles, ligaments, veins and the rest of my insides. And last night, during my run, I felt that pressure. It was only a 3K tempo, but I didn’t have the same spring that I normally have. I felt bloated, big and beluga-like. (I thought this trimester was supposed to be the ‘Honeymoon’ phase of pregnancy!)

As I write this, my pant zippers are splayed open. (Think large-bellied man sitting on his porch, in a plastic chair, wearing a greasy white undershirt, guzzling a beer.) I’m afraid I’m in a state of denial: I need some kind of maternity pant or Bella Band-type product that holds my pants up, while allowing the zippers to stay open. I swear I will get one this weekend. I’m now down to two functional pants for work, not including my beloved Lululemon yoga ones. And in an effort to hide my open fly, I am continually yanking at my top. It's annoying. Still I’m resisting the urge to step into a maternity store. Frankly, they scare me.

A few weeks ago, I chatted with a dear friend, Jessica. She now has a beautiful little boy. She told me that she was able to hold off buying maternity clothes until she was six months pregnant. Six Months. Wow. She’s a fashion martyr.

I know I can get cute outfits to show off the Baby Bubble. (Fit Pregnancy’s fashion spreads are a testament to that.) But I don't like maternity clothing, they just seem like a waste of money. After all, like the baby growing inside of me, I'll only wear those pieces for a few months.

In chatting with other mothers, I’ve found one secret and it starts with “L.”

LULULEMON!

I love Lulu. Though most pieces fit snugly, Lulu clothing has a lot of expansion room -perfect for burgeoning bellies. Now, my next step is finding a way to make them boardroom ready.

Good news! I found a Bella Band distributor near my house. So I don't have to go to one of those "M" stores...yet.

18 Weeks Strong

I woke up today pumped and full of energy. Not yet half way, but very close. And as I skipped into work this morning, I had Helen Reddy’s iconic, 1970's women's lib song, “I Am Woman,” in my head.

‘I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore...'

Somehow the lyrics really resonated with how I felt today, especially reflecting on the events from the last 18 weeks.

‘I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
I am woman’

And yes, I am more woman these days, having steadily put on weight and tipping the scales like never before. I have begun to embrace my burgeoning size and belly and have started to relish a new-found state of dietary indulgence.

I am strong and feel powerful. I’m going at things a tiny bit slower than hummingbird speed and yet, I feel as empowered as an eagle. Perhaps it's the growing responsibility for this new life The B and I have created.

Now at almost five months, I continue to run and run strong. Which reminds me of yet another song by Matthew Wilder--

'Ain't nothin' gonna to break my stride
Nobody's gonna slow me down, oh-no I got to keep on movin'
Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride
I'm running and I won't touch ground
Oh-no, I got to keep on movin'...'

Yes, nothin’ gonna break my stride…at least for now.

Time to Grow Up

Maybe it’s hormonal, but lately, I’ve been a sucker for anything that has to do with babies: tiny baby clothes, cute baby accessories and fuzzy baby animals.

Seriously.

And since I’ve joined the preggo ranks, my "preggo radar" can find others like me within a 400m radius. Are we sending out vibes – like sonar beams – that only preggo people send out? Are we like whales?

I’m also wondering if there is a baby boom going on in Canada. Stats Canada says otherwise, but doggone it, I swear there’s one. I think my sensors are just heightened. It’s like when I was getting married last year. I could have sworn everyone was getting hitched.

Speaking of marriage, when I tied the knot, I thought, okay, I guess I’ll have to start acting more like an adult. When the positive sign came back on the home pregnancy test kit, I thought, “Boy, I can’t fake it any longer, now I have to really be an adult!” And there were times very early on when The B and I wondered what we were getting ourselves into.

When I was younger, I never thought I’d want kids. As a fledgling reporter, I wanted to cover the hot spots. And during my second degree, I told myself I was going to be the next Christiane Amanpour, reporting live from Baghdad.

Well, that didn’t happen.

Instead, I met a sweet guy – a best friend and someone who loved me just as I am.

Fast forward to today. I've switched careers, married The B and am pregnant with his child. Trust me, if you knew me 15 years ago, you’d be shocked.

Chatting with one of my male colleagues, he says that this child will be the best thing that’s ever happened to us. He says that we’ll love it; hate it; and want to pull out our hair at times. But he says, the biggest thing: this child will give us a higher purpose in life.

Deep down, I know he’s right. But some days, when I look at travel packages to the Galapagos Islands or tours to the Serengeti or see friends pursuing higher education, I wonder.

My Biggest Fear

One lazy Saturday morning a few weeks ago, I sat reading my book in bed. The B was watching a Formula One qualifying race downstairs which gave me a chance to read in bed - something I rarely do these days. I was joined by my little friend, Ellie.

As I read, Ellie curled up and slumbered beside me. I finished chapter three and glanced up. There she was fast asleep, purring away. My skinny cat looked so content. So comfortable. So peaceful. I wondered if this is how it would be when I'm on maternity leave, watching my child sleep away the hours.

However, I know for a majority of people, this is not the case.

Okay, there are a few things I'm nervous about regarding this whole baby-rearing thing. But the biggest fear of all - no, not labour - is the sleep deprivation that comes after Baby is born. I am truly, truly scared.

Anne Douglas, blogger, child care guru and author of "The Mother of All Pregnancy Books" series, is quite frank: I can read all the pregnancy and baby books out there to try to prepare myself, but until I make my own journey to Motherland, there is nothing I can do now to prepare myself for the sleep deprivation The B and I will inevitably face. In fact, she writes, "While it can be exhausting and frustrating to have your sleep interrupted in the night, those middle of the night SOS'es are a fact of life for most parents of young children."

Fact of life! Are you there God? It's me, Sharon. I'm sending out a sleep SOS now!

One of my sisters-in-law is finally getting some sleep. My nephew, nine-month old, Aidan is now sleeping more than one hour at a time. On top of caring for him, she also minds my three-year old niece, Lily. Honestly, I don't know how she does it. And last year, I asked one of my friends, Monika, whether she was going to have another child (she already has two). She said, "Sharon, I haven't slept in years...No more kids. We're done."

My mom, who, at one point had three children under 18 months, said that I was a bad sleeper and that my twin brothers were joys when it came to the sleep department. I seriously hope Baby Dubya takes after its uncles, Derrick and Darren. She also said that they, unlike me, were very easy babies- easy to feed and easy to get to sleep. Again, I don't know how she did it.

Rob, another friend said that becoming a parent is awesome. He suggested that while 90 per cent is fantastic, 10 per cent sucks. I'm betting part of that 10 per cent included the sleep deprivation.

Well, I hear it's worth it.

I guess it's like training for a marathon: you can train and prepare all you want, but anything can happen on race day. The best I can do is be aware. Maybe Baby Dubya will be an exception and will sleep through the night from day one.

Are you there God? It's me Sharon....

Putting on the Dancing...and Running Shoes

While I laced up my racing shoes this morning for the Bread and Honey 15K race in Mississauga, it seems like my friend Baby Dubya slipped on its dancing shoes. For the first time, I felt my child kick...or dance. (I'd like to think it was doing some kind of Riverdance jig. It's far more romantic!)

No, it wasn't the gas bubbles like I felt before or the tiny tapping. This time it was about four distinctive pokes/kicks/punches. It was the strangest, yet most wonderful feeling. In a very weird (and almost inappropriate way) I kind of felt like one of those people in the movie, Alien. (Don't worry, I don't think my child is an extra terrestrial being.)

While Baby was into high-spirited Riverdancing, Mother Nature was into running. Despite the cool temperatures (about 12 degrees at gun time) and overcast skies, (no rain) it was a perfect day for a footrace.

And it was a great race too. I ran the 15K with my friend Val. Now, she is no longer a 15K virgin! I'm glad I helped to deflower her! Haha. We ran a beautifully consistent race averaging about 5:40 min/km. She wore her iPod and blasted Madonna, so she didn't hear me chatting happily with Baby Dubya. Throughout the whole race I talked to Baby, describing all the sites I saw and the hills we climbed - there were a few at this race. I must have sounded a bit nuts because Val did hear me once. She thought that I was talking to her!

I guess when one becomes pregnant, a bit of inhibition goes out the door. Like for instance, on Saturday, I had dripped chocolate ice cream and soya sauce onto my shirt. I didn't seem to notice, until The B pointed it out, nor did I really care. I talk to Baby Dubya on most my runs - yes to converse and tell it about what I'm seeing or experiencing, but also to gauge my exertion level. But I don't mind if people hear.

I digress.

The run went quite smoothly and about an hour and 24 minutes later we were done. It wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. And I now have a plan regarding the waterworks department: Kegels, Kegels and more Kegels. (I'm doing them right now!) In fact, I didn't feel the same strong urge to pee like I did during the 10K race I ran two weeks ago. I did feel a bit of pressure by my belly button, but nothing too significant. I guess that's normal when one is almost 18 weeks. (My pregnant colleague at work is pretty surprised that I'm still running.)

All in all, I felt great. And I know Baby Dubya did too because of that jig it danced inside its aqueous abode.

Slapping Honey on that Bread

I’ve jumped over the fence and have decided to run the Bread and Honey 15K on Sunday. It should be cool and there’s now a 60 per cent chance of showers – at least it’s not 100 per cent! At least, for a preggo like me, I won’t have to worry about the heat and humidity…yet.

With summer approaching in about two weeks, I am fully aware that there will be days when I won’t be able to go outside to do a run. And I know that despite my valiant efforts to fight the urge not to feel guilty, I will. I can’t help it. Once one gets hooked on running, one becomes somewhat obsessive.

For example, I write down race times and rave runs and keep a weekly log of my mileage. (I still do this, despite the reality that given my state, I can’t be a slave to my training diary.) Most runners are also adept at quickly converting between miles and kilometers and can tell you an approximate pace time you’ll have to run to qualify for Boston or reach a time goal.

Being a preggo runner or a runner that's preggo, I've come to notice how similar the two beings are:

Preggos become extremely adapt at listening to their bodies. Runners also often hear their bodies, though may not always listen.

Preggos measure and record everything – belly size, weight gain or when they felt that first kick. Runners love metrics. Most have watches the size of bricks that measure everything under the sun from pace, distance, time, calories burned, heart rate etc. And most keep a log of these stats. I can even tell you that many know the age of their running shoes and how many miles/kilometres that particular pair have logged.

And preggos love to share their experiences- especially how sick they've been (or not), how their boobs hurt (or not) and how bad their morning sickness is/was. Runners too are great storytellers- what else do you do on those Sunday 32K long, slow runs? No doubt, you've heard that mantra, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." Runners also have a similar line, "What's said or happens on the road, stays on the road."

So you see, my physical appearance my be changing and my pace is definitely slowing down, but I will always be a runner at heart.

Am I Normal?

Ah yes. A question that is often associated with the angst of youth.

But it’s a similar sentiment experienced during pregnancy. And I’ve come conclude: speaking to other preggos, I can, to some degree, relive that feeling of angst all over again. I liken it to chatting with other girls in a high school change room.

Unless you’re a tween reading this blog, you all know what I’m talking about: the new buds that form on your chest? Are those normal? Are they shaped alright? What about the hair that is growing where the sun don’t shine…do I have enough? Do I have too much? Am I normal?

All these questions. All these comparisons. All this insecurity.

Though no two pregnancies are the same, preggos always seem compelled to share - and compare - experiences.

And I can’t help myself.

A pregnancy “virgin” (excuse the pun) myself, I’m always looking for real-life validation that everything is going well and that my child's developing normally. I have read a few pregnancy books and online sites and have become familiar with the signs and symptoms of everything from miscarriage to placenta previa to varicose veins. (And I swear at one point, I had or was getting most ailments I read about.) I know how much weight I’m “supposed” to gain during which trimester and how much my Baby is “supposed” to weigh.

Chatting with other women, I’ve discovered that pregnancies can even vary between children of the same mother. This element of surprise is sometimes a bit disturbing to someone like me - a Type A, organized, control freak.

When I exchanged stories with one pregnant colleague, this morning, who is a month ahead of me, I couldn’t help but stare at her belly. It’s MUCH bigger than mine. And she's only one month ahead!

I don’t have the weight gain that she’s experienced; didn’t have the morning sickness or the fatigue that she had...am I normal?

Oh no. The insecurities. The doubt. I thought when I turned 20, I had grown out of my teenaged angst.

On the Fence

Race day for the Bread and Honey 15K is on Sunday and I’m still not sure whether to sign up. I know my training has been enough: I did a 13K long, slow distance run on Sunday and felt fine and recently raced a 10K.

There are a number of things I now have to consider when I decide to sign up for any race, especially in the summer:

1. Weather. If it’s hot or humid, I’m not running.
2. Pee strategy.

I’ve checked the weather forecast for this weekend. The good news is that at only a high of 22 degrees, it’s unseasonably cool. And the 40 per cent isolated showers will further cool things off. So, clearly weather is not the issue.

I think my worry stems from potential leakage in the waterworks department. Even though in the first trimester I had to pee all the time, it wasn’t so bad. The waterworks department’s maintenance light never flashed during runs and I was comfortable even during half marathon distances.

However, these days, I’ve noticed that even when I go to the bathroom last minute, right before the gun goes off, the maintenance light switches on soon after! What the heck? I’m trying to do those Kegel exercises I heard about to strengthen my pelvic floor and to try to prevent the urge.

I’m also trying to focus on other things like my breath. Distracting oneself always helps. A bit. So I think I need a few days to think about my pee strategy a little more.

I don’t want to pull a Paula Radcliffe.

Belly Rubbing

I was in the office kitchen today and one of my colleagues came up to me and patted my belly, saying, “Wow, today is the first time I’ve noticed your growing belly! How cute!” She continued to pat and rub away the whole time.

This wasn’t the first time.

A week ago, at the Running Room, another lady came up to me from a few hundred feet from where she was standing to rub my belly. It was quite strange.

Unlike some other preggos, I really don’t mind people rubbing my belly. I guess it’s natural. Almost primal - sort of like when we see a cute puppy. All we want to do is rub it and let it lick our hands. I’m assuming that it is our natural instinct to nurture our young.

Or maybe some people mistake my burgeoning bump for a genie’s lamp. Perhaps they believe that if they rub, a genie will emerge from my ears and grant them their three wishes! Well, Baby Dubya won’t lick your hands or grant you your three wishes, but I’m sure it likes it when you do touch. I can tell already, this Baby likes to feel the love! I can’t say for sure, but I think it’s my mothering instinct! Beside, who wouldn’t want to feel the love? But again, that’s just me.

I did a bit of research on the Internet. There are some sites that provide you with a plan on how to get rid of unwanted rubs.

http://pregnancy.families.com/blog/lets-talk-about-handling-unwanted-belly-touching.

I guess, if those strategies don’t work, a preggo can always buy a shirt, like the one pictured above, that is quite explicit about trespassing: "You can touch my belly if I can punch your face."

I guess that’s easily understood. But what if you’re in a foreign land, where English is not the primary tongue? Perhaps then you could plant booby traps around your person. I’m sure if I look hard enough I can find such a contraption online.

Morse Code

Last week I woke up to gas. Or was it?

Apparently, between 16-20 weeks I’m supposed to feel my child move for the first time. It’s something called “quickening.” Some other women have felt their child move as early as 14 weeks! Wow, those women are really in tune with their bodies.

If this was the first time when my child “came to life,” well, it was somewhat disappointing. It didn’t feel like the very romantic notion of “butterfly wings fluttering.” In truth, it felt like gas and bubbles…except there was no farting. (Lucky for The B who was sleeping soundly beside me.)

However, being more attuned to what may be happening down there, I have felt some “tapping.” It’s almost like someone doing Morse code. Beep-beep…beep. It’s pretty cool. In my pregnancy ignorance, I thought that Baby Dubya would just give me a big kick as if to say, “Hey Mama! I’m here!” Obviously, that wasn’t so. I told one of my friends about this feeling and immediately she was super excited. She said that her child also began tapping around this time too. So that’s nice. At least I wasn’t imagining things.

She said that as Baby Dubya starts to grow, then the taps will be replaced by real kicks. I can’t wait – even though some women say they can sometimes wake you up! I think all of this is so neat.