Do you see it???

Some people love em'...some people hate em'. I was one that hated them until they became mine. Now they are all interesting to me... Sonogram photos. I have a hard time making sense of the fact that a tadpole looking tail toting amphibian is turning into a little "us" so here is the next set of Baby Clark in the womb shots. These photos were taken at exactly 3 months. Amazing that they are fully formed by that time and the rest is basically growing at an exponential rate.

I'll start with an easy one. Little one sucks it's thumb. If you can't see this one, I would see an optometrist...stat!

I call this one...darling profile atop a little Clarky belly. Isn't the resemblance uncanny?

I call this one...KMU...kick my uterus. I think the baby has legs like my mom. That's a compliment mom...

We have the big 5 month fetal assessment sonogram this Wednesday so hold on to your belt loops people as a new set of these black and whites are on their way. Curb your enthusiam, would ya???

Put Away the Tape Measure!

Many of you have been asking for monthly belly shots. It was a grand idea and I have been keeping monthly photos. Until, that is, our new 9 dollar camera decided to clear an entire 512 SD card. Not happy. Not happy at all. For those of you who know and love me, or just know me for that matter, I am not comfortable showing my stomach to anyone for any reason. I am going to take this pregnancy as an excuse to let go of such resistance and shoot the midsection with reckless abandon. Unfortunately, I only have the below pictures that survived the disk destruction as they were saved to my desktop before the demise of the rest. The below photos were taken at 14 weeks, so about 3 1/2 months. Being that this Wednesday marks week 21, I will have much "larger" photos to post very soon...

For those of you who didn't show until your 5th or 6th month or have friends who still have a 6 pack at 25 weeks (I know some too), I am sorry I'm not your girl! I'm five one for god's sakes with a 2 inch torso (I DO have very long legs though for my height if I do say so myself). I bloat when I eat too many saltine crackers. This pregnancy will show every added day, every pound, every tortilla. If I can face it, so can you. The invasion on my little stature will shock even highly trained professionals. I now look at the end of my 5th month as if I may give birth in a month or two. I'll prove it to you when I post more pics this week. I will also NOT be one of those girls who doesn't look pregnant "from the back". You often hear the infamous, "You can't even tell she's pregnant from the back". HA! I can not guarantee a lot of things in life, but I CAN guarantee that no one, and I mean NO ONE will say that about me. I have come to terms with it and I'm going to be OK, so please don't patronize me. I will not hold your honesty against you.

Feelin' Fine......

How are you feeling?

This is a question pregnant people all over the planet will answer to exaustion....over....and over.....and over....
It's sweet that people care and you do, internally, want to talk about it, but wow...does is ever get redundant! To answer that question based on the last 5 months...I feel GREAT!!! The horror stories of nausea, vomiting, severe food aversions, unbearable smells, and general discomfort have left me the hell alone. I feel very lucky to have felt this "normal" day in and day out for the past 5 months. I have had my "days" of slight sickness, tiredness, etc. but believe it or not, it has been NOTHING compared to the death spasms of hangovers I have inflicted on my body in the last _______ years. Don't expect a number there. You all know my lifelong obsession with intoxication. It does however, instill the fear of God in me that this is simply the calm before the storm. A perfect first 5 months can only mean a horrendous last 5 right? And yes, it is 10 months, or 40 weeks divided by 4 weeks in a month which is...well..you do the math...a month longer than most people think unless you've had one. They must think it is 9 months as most people spend the first month "not knowing" so the rumor mill has decided that it need be only 9 months more. Not that an extra month makes that big of difference in the grand scheme of things, but it would have been nice to know the truth beforehand.

Anywho...I have been able to keep up my same level of athletic insanity...running, kickboxing, weight lifting, etc. I have lightened up on the weights a tad, I do run a bit slower and a little less (more on running to come later), and I do kick a little lower and punch a little softer but other than that, it's been workout as usual. The major difference is that I huff and puff like I just smoked a pack of Parliaments if I climb a flight of stairs too quickly so I do take a few more "water breaks" to lower my heart rate. If I do end up having to be on bed rest or just decide to spend the rest of my pregnancy on the couch out of personal choice, at least I did something the first half! I am a master of putting forth effort at the beginning and then dropping the ball...so be it!

Daddy and Podges preparing for baby!

Plastic and Pop Tarts

First, I would like to apologize for being absentee and not updating as regularly as I should have been. With the maid always moving my laptop while cleaning the compound and the personal masseuse feeding me bon bons in between rub sessions, it has been challenging to find some time to reflect. But, alas! I fired them both so I could be a more accurate pregnancy blog updater. No need to thank me now...

Before I delve into the changes the past few months have awarded me, I must admit that my over the top humorous self has transformed itself somewhat into ultra sensitive, emotional chick. I like to refer to myself as EmoPrego for short. If my blogs take on more of an "awwww" rather than a"ha", please blame the hormones and forgive me until bits and pieces of my sarcasm resurface.

While rummaging through old photos, I came across one that I felt was imperative to share with my blog buds. This photo was taken in SF during a family weekend and could the photo speak, you would have heard me saying that "this is as close as I will get to having a baby". It is obvious that I knew nothing about child birth at the ripe age of 27 as the plastic baby (I have NO idea why this plastic doll is in a hotel with me however) is coming out the wrong way. Let's hope this isn't a sign of exits to come...


Cravings or excuses?

I must speak a bit about how growing a human has effected my nutrition preferences. It is not a myth ladies and gentlemen. Lucky for me however, I did not fall victim like some unlucky others who crave dirt, candles, or other non edible delicacies. I crave simple things. Pop Tarts, cheese, chocolate, and anything resembling bread. Unfortunately for me, my love for vegetables and other health items has takes a short hiatus. Not to say that I don't occasionally indulge in a broccoli dish...um...cheese covered casserole. I eat my veggis...I do...just not like I used to. Sorry mom. The Pop Tart obsession did get pretty severe during the first few months and I almost started to count the cherry flavored ones as my daily serving of fruit.

Coming home from work one day yielded a surprise no pregnant, desperately craving Pop Tarts woman could ever forget. A Pop Tart Tower compliments of my baby daddy.


If you think you have the greatest husband on Earth, this is where we disagree. I will never again look at a Pop Tart without tears welling up in my eyes. See, here comes the Emo.

Detour

Things we may have difficulty explaining to "Baby It"...

Your dad thinks he is Captain Christmas.

Your parents saran wrap blow up dolls in people's cars.

Your auntie Tara wears lamp shades.

Your grandma pub crawls on a 1965 Triumph.


Your mom is in a folk band.

Your mom stuffs her bra with tennis balls and shoots fake tennis team photos in Capitol Park.

Your dad is OBSESSED with the Dodgers and will make you wear a Dodger's uniform and love Chavez Ravine.

Your mom is also obsessed with something...horses.

Your dad wears fuschia wigs while coddling toy dog breeds.

Your mom religiously celebrates the birthday of her favorite liquid.

Your dad likes to wear his cake.


So does your mom...

Your dad holds the local Pogo hop championship.

In a nutshell, your parents are weird. Good luck to you with your wacky name and even wackier gene pool.

The Clark Clinic Guide to a Delirious Pregnancy (Month 3)

It's interesting reading the material designed for pregnant moms. It makes me want to interpret some of the "gentle" ways they break news to you or inform you of changes in you and your little sperm worm.

For instance, when I read "The embryonic tail at the bottom of your baby's spinal cord is shrinking and disappearing, and the face is more rounded" I think, "Thank god...Sigourney Weaver was one unlucky broad". "

Your baby's head is quite large compared with the rest of the body" translates to "HAVE YOU SEEN THE SIZE OF CLARKY'S HEAD? He wears a 7 and 7/8 size hat for crimeny sakes!" (Really though, if the baby's head is even close to the size of Clarky's shiny dome, I am in SERIOUS birthing trouble).

"Your baby's anus has formed" translates to "Hahaha...my kid is a shithead already and it's not even out yet!"

Phrases associated with MY body...

HCG is working to give you that pregnant GLOW. (I'm wearing too much bronzer.)

Greater blood volume is resulting in slightly flushed and plump skin. (Thank you grilled stuffed burritos no meat.)

Your heart is continuing to pump harder. (Is this why it's harder now to run up the stairs than when I was at a pack a day???)

You may begin to have slightly blurred vision. (This should've been a label on my Absolut bottles.)

You'll continue to feel the need to urinate more frequently (DAMN the 18 stairs down to the only bathroom in the house. Confession: I have not always used the actual toilet. Use your imagination. Convenience is key. And desperation calls for desperate measures. I think I said that wrong.)

You'll probably have gained about 2 pounds by the end of your 12th week of pregnancy. (HAHAHAHA....AHAHAHAHA.....by week 9 I am up, well, more than 2 pounds. That's all I have to say about that.)

You may be preoccupied with the physical changes occurring in your body. (I love my boobs...keep growing please!!!!!)

You may feel fat and unattractive. (Oh, ok...no need to sugarcoat things there Mayo Clinic.) Sometimes I wish I didn't know how to read. That is just something you can not temporarily undo.

Well here is the little big headed 9 week old upside down amphibian. When I asked my OB what the circle was to the left of the baby...she said it was a yolk sac. A yolk sac? I guess I am a hen now. Clarky surely thinks he is a rooster so if the feathers fit I guess...

Side note: Yesterday I gave 7 viles of blood...7 !!!!!! I did feel lightheaded and dizzy and enjoyed it very much. It was the closest I've been to a buzz in a month.

PVE (otherwise known as protected vaginal entry)

Warning! This entry may not be appropriate for sensitive viewers. Yes, mom, I know it's a little "raw" but how the hell else do we expect I got knocked up in the first place?

I know, I know the last word one wants to read about is the vagina...especially mine, but bear with me for this particular rant. As this is my first experience with the double line, I was not prepared for my visit to the OBGYN, previously known to women lacking children as the gynecologist. For some reason the OB sounds WAY cooler than the GYNO so I was immediately proud that I was in the waiting room waiting for a heartbeat and a sonogram versus an annual cotton swab scraping petri dish culture (more on that later...I know...you can't wait). Nonetheless, laying on the 500 count crunchy paper sheet draped in a paper towel waiting for my miracle maternity matron to show me something I have never seen was still pretty exciting. What really threw me for a loop, however, was when she pulled out a giant white dildo and sheathed it in a condom immediately smothering the tip in KY and dimmed the lights. WTF??? Seriously??? Under all other circumstances, this would have seemed highly erotic but this was simply out of my mental grasp. I mean I know we all have a job to do but to make it practically mirror how conception occurs in the first place (obviously minus the plastic "part" and the prophylactic) seemed a bit serendipitous. I decided to suck it up and enjoy the ride so to speak. That is until I saw the dildo's purpose.

To the untrained eye, and perhaps even the trained one, this view into the center of my well, center, showed the above. It looked to me as if I had a hole in my...something....and that maybe there was a, um, a...skin tag or something attached. Apparently the baby frog is my child. Isn't it darling! I see it now!!! I see it ! It looks...like NOTHING! Apparently at 6 weeks, it resembles a flat faced alien with a tail, so for the time being, I prefer to call it my little frog, thank you very much.

After consulting my pregnancy library which includes but is not limited to the following titles...

Pregnancy Essentials
The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy
My Boys Can Swim (by men, for men and hysterical)
What to Expect When You're Expecting and
Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy

...I found out that the little frog is only 1/8 of an inch long! REALLY, I think to myself. That's funny because my stomach could just as easily fit something 4000 times that size! What the heck have I been eating all those burritos for? To house the tip of a needle? To provide way too much square feet for the tiniest tenant in town? That's like, as Tara would put it backwards, placing a lawn chair on the Titanic!

Oblivion is Overrated

Due to the simple fact that I am nearing menopause and drop about as many eggs as a rooster, one can imagine my surprise when I started to feel "different". My usual summer appetite increased from a modest continual feasting to that of a war ravaged vulture. Unfortunately for me, there were no other vultures there to fight me morsel for morsel, therefore ultimately consuming more than my share of delirious concoctions. I vividly remember having a cellular telephone conversation with my BF in Foster City (Orlando 5) and describing to her what I had on the agenda for dinner. Thanks to my obsession with all things Apple, I snapped a photo of my delicacies.

Yes, this is a well rounded meal of Tribes traditional flavored hummus accompanied by a variety of mustard dipping sauces for mini pretzel sticks and spicy black bean chips finished out by a cup of Big Spoon yogurt (granola and white yogurt chips on the side). What did not appear in the photo, however, was a bottle of Dr. Pepper and a Shirley Temple with soda water instead of 7-up. Who drinks the "uncola" anyway?? Amazing as this may seem, nothing about this meal seemed odd to me.


What DID seem odd was that my once inverted A- (minus) size "band aids" were growing at an alarming rate. Now, we are all aware that breast tissue is simply fat. Why I got jipped in this area is beyond me (thanks Mom) but there comes a time in every flat chested girl's life when she looks down and realizes she is starting puberty. This usually happens for most at age 13 or so. It took me 33 years, extra bountiful eating habits, and an abundance of a foreign hormone to happen to me. I realize the sad but true fact that my cha chas were actually fitting into the carriers I had been wearing for years. Not only were they fitting, they were fitting nicely! Which means I was finally a TRUE A! Imagine my excitement. They actually look a little something like this...


As if the signs couldn't be any more clear...I stumbled upon this obviously mislabeled aisle in the neighborhood Safeway. Thinking it hysterical, I of course emailed the photo to several girlfriends with the title..."Wanna Get Pregnant?...Use Kleenex!"

A trip to the state fair with a giant pickle craving over a deep fried White Castle burger...

Oblivious!

A Face Melter image of an over sized me squatting on a mini garbage can in a Vegas tramp stamp dress...

Utterly humorous...nothing more, nothing less (well maybe more)!

Avoiding all possible indications that something could be amiss, I kept on truckin' with my daily doses of denial and tomfoolery. After a week or two of the continuing side effects and unable to calm my ever increasing anger towards anything breathing and most things inanimate, I decided to use a year old, buy 1, get 2 free underground (cheap) pee stick test. Now, I am very adept at peeing on a stick due to the good ol' Atkins diet eons ago and knew I completed the task in the most precise fashion imaginable. As if I wasn't confused enough, this is what I got...

If you can't see the second line very strongly, you know what I was faced with. Is it there? Isn't it? Is it KIND OF there? What does kind of there mean? Am I kind of pregnant? Kind of not?

In my last ditch attempt to prove this plastic thing right or wrong (I wasn't quite sure which one I wanted to prove), I drove the LONG 2 blocks to the Safeway to buy another set of buy 1 get 2 free. The reason I didn't walk is clear. It was entirely too difficult to carry the mass quantities of raw fish Safeway select sushi I was about to gorge on if in fact these sticks were going to tell me something diet altering. A Hawaiian roll, spicy tuna roll, and California (the only one left) later, I peed again. 3 times. Same thing. Faint line. JEEEEZZUUSSS. Seriously? Time to consult a friend and then the Internet. Of course consulting a friend first is the best bet as personal experience trumps the stranger behind the screen. Personal friend votes....a faint line IS a line. Pregnant. Internet activated! Internet geniuses in cyberspace vote...pregnant. Sutter OBGYN confirms...pregnant.

And so the journey begins...(with a large Big Spoon yogurt and a million outgoing calls and texts)!

The Thin Red Line

Your Ma and Pa (clothed)

Your Ma and Pa (in the buff)

I must begin this blog with a brief comment about the "No Sir, Not my Baby" blog posted a few months back. Um...well...I still hold those beliefs close to my heart and no doubt, when given the first opportunity to jump out of an airplane, free ball down a double black diamond, or throw myself into a punching bag at the local dojo...I will take it with enthusiasm and reckless abandon. I will, however, have to figure out a way to strap the little tyke safely to my board, back, or punching glove as I engage. Stranger things have happened. Take for instance the fact that I am pregnant. Nuff said.

I figured I better include the blog to give a better idea of my attitude towards parenting and motherhood just a mere 1 month before conception. I think they call this type of thing...Murphy's Law.

Entered June 25, 2008

No Sir, Not My Baby

My blogs and verbal diarrhea can at times seem like rants, other times like raves. Nonetheless, today's rant, slash, blog, has the personal connection of being a little bit of both. This morning after 47 minutes of high intensity laps in the pool at the Alhambra gym well before 6 am, I snatched two magazines off the shelf in preparation for my after shower ritual (titles at this time unknown)…flipping through meaningless articles while applying my mask on the floor in front of the mirror listening to the morning news. As I laid them out in front of me, I was immediately hit with a sense of disorientation. One magazine was titled "Parenting", and the other titled "Transworld Surf". The photos on the cover were obviously quite different as one might presume. "Surf" portrayed a ripped Dustin Barca sequence atop, in, and over the most beautiful turquoise wave you've ever seen. "Parenting" was proud to display a brown haired, blue eyed toddler boy leaning effortlessly (obviously posed), over his mothers yellow bikini clad waist. The mother's face was not in the picture, giving the reader the impression that the kid was the obvious focus here. In a split second, my mind made one of those unconscious, yet, conscious decisions of which magazine lifestyle best mirrored that of my own. For those of you who know me, I am not an avid surfer. That is not the point here. This magazine could have been any number of publications; National Geographic, Horse Illustrated, Travel, Ski, Kiteboarding, etc. The list could go on and on. What the periodical did say to me was this. It brought to light the negative connotations attached to women my age without children. Am I a bad person because I would rather surf or photograph rhinoceros? Am I missing out on some wondrous adventure in babysitting? Taking a few minutes to flip through both, this is what I noticed. "Surf" was filled with ads for Body Glove Board shorts, PADI diving excursions, adventure automobiles capable of sustaining a Go Green approach, and Extra's mintiest proportion gum. "Parenting yielded Sesame Street Beginnings, Intuition razors, Capri Sun and Crisco. Musical recommendations from "Surf" included the likes of Wu Tang Clan, Brimstone Howl, Radiohead, and White Hinterland. "Parenting"…Bossy Bear, Songs for the Coolest Kids, and Danger Rangers. Sure methods of pacifier freezing for maximum gum numbness is interesting as is the fact that the average temperature of a lit sparkler is 1000 degree Fahrenheit and thus dangerous for youngsters. Yes, doodling on the sidewalk with colored chalk is fun as well as is constructing drum sets out of pots, pans, cardboard boxes, and other household items. To me however, remedies for reef cuts using a lime juice antiseptic or successful escape routes thorough deserted dirt roads of Mexico are a little more my speed. It is often overheard that people without children "don't understand" or the infamous, "when you have kids, you'll know" sentiments. For the record, I think kids are great. I teach them. I love them. I believe in their future. I also think freedom and the ability to explore the world are necessary to my internal and external survival. When parents are confronted with this type of thinking, many immediately become defensive that their "children are their life" and "you can do both". Actually, you can not do both. You may be able to randomly hitch a ride to a border town for a weekend in Tijuana or plan a family vacation to Hawaii, but parents are always, always attached to their responsibilities. I am happy for you and your children. I am happy that your families are your priority. I am happier though, that I am free. I may delete this post in the future if I happen to wake up one smoky Wednesday morning feeling overwhelmingly maternal. But for the time being, I choose to surf.