Photo by Kalimba Bennett So last week I hit the pregnancy wall. I can’t sleep, I can’t get up w/o a lot of effort. My knees hurt when I walk, my back hurts when I walk or sit. Sitting for too long is uncomfortable, lying down w/o propping my head up properly has led to 3 counts of acid reflux vomit — once through my nose (even less fun and more burny than it sounds). I’m so generally exhausted that I nod off like by 71yo father every time I’m in the car or trying to read my last baby care book. I have this thing about not showing up to things that I’ve promised to be at. It’s A huge pet peeve and I usually go out of my way to keep my event promises. In the last month I’ve flaked on four events — two just this past weekend. A few well-meaning people have told me to enjoy this time before the baby arrives. My question to them would be, “How?” I definitely wasn’t a princess in a past life, b/c all this sitting around is driving me crazy. Thus the inspiration for “Operation Get Betty Out.” So far I’ve walked about a mile a day, ignoring my viciously protesting back. I’ve eaten this legendary salad. A friend suggested pineapple, so I’ve been hitting the chunks hard. The only thing I haven’t tried is the castor oil, which two friends suggested. I figured I should save that, just in case Betty tried to stay in past June 22nd. So we went to our 39 week check-up yesterday and the doctor did another cervical exam, and it turned out that I was approximately … 1cm dilated. “But Ernessa wasn’t that exactly where you...

So the one pregnancy symptom I had hoped to avoid happened yesterday. After 3 hours of sitting and writing on our back office futon, which doesn’t allow my feet to touch the ground, when I walked downstairs to join my husband for Heroes, I found that my feet were swollen. I complained as I usually do when a new pregnancy symptom presents itself, but my heart wasn’t in it. After about 10 minutes of whining, I looked up swollen feet on the internet and decided that I needed to drink more water, put up my feet and somehow find the time to get more exercise. Conveniently enough, two days ago I had decided to start making a weekly schedule and sticking to it. So now instead of 1 hour to eat lunch everyday at a reasonable time, I’m thinking 45 minutes to eat lunch and a 15 minute walk. I’m don’t like schedules, but time is a big commodity for me, and I find it slipping through my fingers, in a way that I felt I needed to get on top of before Betty is born. All of the childcare books I’ve been reading have agreed that babies and kids need a ton of routine to feel safe and happy and loved. I’m not a fan of routine, but I am already a big fan of Betty’s, despite the fact that she seems to be mooching many of physical resources for her own growth and development. So learning to keep a schedule it is. Last night I got up twice to use the bathroom and after that I had a rather intense dream in which CH and I landed in World War II era Hitler-controlled Germany in our time machine. We were brought before...

So I’ve never been the type of woman that could wear high heels all day. Pumps … only if I won’t be doing a ton of standing. Wedges, though, are awesome and I used to wear them into the ground. However, I made an awful discovery when I slipped on my sister’s black wedge boots for my baby shower. They looked perfect with my dress, but it only took 10 minutes of walking around on carpet for me to kick them off and switch them out in favor of way less flattering flat. Apparently, I am no longer able to wear even wedges comfortably. Horrifying. I’m blaming the whole pregnancy thing for this one. But I’m a little concerned that I’ll still find myself unable to swing wedges after my nine months are up. And I’ve been wondering lately if I should invest in a pair of athletic shoes that 1) aren’t green slip-on converses and 2) will match other things in my wardrobe. I’ve always wanted to ask women who wear heels regularly how they do it. Is it because they have smaller feet that fit their frames? I’m 5’3 and wear a size 9.5 — the same size as my 6ft tall friend, Sallie. Maybe having clown feet precludes me from being able to wear fashionably tall high heels. Or maybe I’m just not woman enough to deal with the pain. Anyway, here’s a Jezebel piece about a 1930’s guy that thought the next step in women’s emancipation would be abandoning the then-new high heel trend in favor of “non-barbaric” footwear. Considering that most feminists I know wear heels, I would say that’s not going to happen like ever. But I am waiting for the day when the supposedly comfortable Cole Haan...

When I first started reading this Jezebel post about a new study, which supposedly disproved “preg head” or “pregnancy brain” or more simply becoming more fuzzy head while pregnant, I said “Bullshit.” Seriously, I said it out loud while reading the story in bed on my iPhone. I’ve had to start keeping a daily “To Do” list, because I can no longer remember to do the things I need to do on my own. Also, if I don’t put doctors appointments, child-rearing classes, or even meet-ups with my friends in my calendar, then they might as well not exist. And I don’t even want to talk about my vocabulary. Let’s just say I’m happy to be writing an action/adventure novel right now as opposed to something that might require me actual breadth of word usage on my part. All of this is of course accompanied by the constant sensation that I am failing to do the things I need to do when I need to do them and as well as I need to do them. But according to this story, pregnant women did just as well as non-pregnant women in various logic and memory tests. “Well sure,” I thought. “If we’re made to really focus with no distractions, then yes, we’re probably exactly the same as non-pregnant women. But how about when I go to the grocery story for hamburger, ketchup, cake, ice cream, and an onion and return home with cake, hamburger, and an onion?” True story! When my real world memory is put to the test, I’m definitely not as on the ball as I used to be. But then I went on to read that women’s might actually get better at memory and logic tests the further they get into...

So I had  really lovely plans about what kind of pregnant person I would be. First of all, I wouldn’t get sick or have pregnancy symptoms, b/c I rarely get sick and never have symptoms of anything. In fact, I got through 6 months in China with only one bout of food poisoning, which is — ask anyone who went to China pre-the-new-economy aughts — pretty much a frickin’ miracle. However, that didn’t work out. And I remember quite clearly telling Ryan Dixon from Fierce Anticipation just 5 years ago that I planned to be the kind of parent that you didn’t even know had kids unless you specifically asked, b/c I couldn’t stand moms who talk non-stop about their kids. But obviously, that’s not working out either. Yet. Being a person who likes to read, I assumed that I’d read every book possible on pregnancy and raising kids. But you know what? The bestselling book on pregnancy What to Expecting When Expecting is boring as f*ck. I mean so boring that I cannot stay awake while reading this. Seriously, if you suffer from insomnia, buy this book. I 100% guarantee that it will be cured. I’ve only managed to make it through the first trimester stuff, and that’s only after a complete self-applied guilt trip, that I doubt would work twice. The situation for me learning anything about my own pre-natal care before our baby was actually born was looking pretty dire, but then luckily I went to a breakfast for dinner-themed holiday party, hosted by new parents. So while talking non-stop about her new baby (cute as a button and mellow as the day is long) and my developing fetus, she suggested Your Pregnancy: week by week, which is basically a weekly...

So I’ve been told that a lot of mothers-to-be instinctively know whether they’re carrying a boy or a girl. My best friend Monique insisted that she was carrying a boy despite her husband, mother, and me thinking otherwise. Then a few months later, lo and behold, it’s a boy. Supposedly the mother’s instincts are right over %50 of the time. In my case, I had logic on my side. Lots of morning sickness, which was inconvenient — must be a boy. CH’s father had a few kids — only one of which (the very last) was a girl. And my small pregnancy belly is sagging, which might mean I’m carrying low. Classic sign of a boy. Also, much like Monique, I just had a feeling that it was a boy. But of course there’s only one way to know for sure, and that’s with an ultrasound or in my case the first trimester screening, which test for Downs Syndrome and Trisomy 18. And even then, you don’t know for sure-sure for a few more week. I had to go to a specialist for this, b/c apparently, most regular OB’s don’t handle screenings and refer them out — at least in Los Angeles. I don’t know how it works in other places. Now I had found looking at the baby on my IVF doctor’s screen nice but challenging. You could make out the basic frame, but I had to trust her when she said she could see the hands and feet. However that wasn’t an issue on the specialist’s machine, which was like an ultrasound on steroids. Not only could you see everything clearly, but she also gave you a pair of glasses that magnified the screen right in front of you, so that you...

I don’t want to complain any more than I already have about my first trimester of pregnancy. But alas I fear that it’s in my very core nature. I’ve mentioned before that I’m a terrible sick person, which is why I think I rarely get sick — being a kind deity, perhaps God wanted to spare my loved ones and therefore decreed me off-limits to most colds, flus, and other sicknesses that are just annoying for some but seemingly unbearable for me. And indeed, as if motivated to stop me whining about it, my morning sickness has faded to the point that I enjoyed a full appetite during Thanksgiving and was able to ride the waves with my trusty ginger gum. Also, I’ve actually learned to work my fatigue into my general schedule in the form of naps. But now a new (though common pregnancy) problem has reared its head: Nightmares. I think I’ve had about two nice dreams over the past two weeks. The rest have been beyond terrible. So far my newborn baby has been kidnapped from the hospital and taken hostage by evil men with machine guns (2 separate dreams). And, I myself, have been chased by zombies in a small town, scared into submission by invading aliens, been told that the last super-boring writing project that I’ve been working on at work will now go on indefinitely, woken up crying because the head of my grad writing program had died, and perhaps worse of all, been the sad sack wife of a Mad Man. My husband was sympathetic about all but the last one, snorting and saying, “I don’t think you have to worry about that, honey.” At first I thought he might have said this because of the lack...

As I’ve said before, IVF pregnancies are a little different. From what I can see, women tend to either be a lot more secretive or a lot more forthcoming about them. I’ve chosen forthcoming. I wish that more women would. And I would love for stars like J.Lo, Angelina Jolie, Nicole Kidman (all rumored IVF recipients) to talk more about IVF. In my opinion, by not doing so, they are lending even more to the impossible “perfect woman” ideal, and making women who have to go through IVF feel that it’s taboo. With that in mind, I decided to do one last blog on my IVF pregnancy, just in case it’ll shed some light on the subject for someone else out there. Once the dot was confirmed, I was a little surprised to find that IVF pregnancies operate a little differently from traditional pregnancies. You don’t immediately switch to an OB, but have to continue seeing your IVF doctor for the first 10-12 weeks of the pregnancy. This is a little difficult, because the things you want in an IVF doctor (aggressiveness, intensity, intelligent explanations, constant risk assessment, a certain brusqueness [so you don’t cry]) are not necessarily the same things that you want in an OB. Also, you’re monitored a bit more closely. Save for my Belgium trip hiatus, we’ve seen our doctor every other week since the pregnancy was confirmed. It’s gotten to the point, where CH and I have set up a routine of going in on an empty stomach full of dread and eating out for breakfast after we see that the baby is okay. And one more thing: drugs. You have to take estrogen for the first few weeks of an IVF pregnancy and progesterone suppositories for the first...

Good news! Good news! On Friday night the 24/7 morning sickness broke and basically settled for just coming on in waves throughout the day. This doesn’t sound as awesome as it is, but believe me when I say that compared to 24/7 nausea, it totally is. I’m grateful for three things: 1. Ginger gum: which seems to be the best cure-all I’ve gotten so far and doesn’t require more appetite than I have at the moment. 2. All of your advice. I’ve got a cabinet full of ginger cookies and candies, and even the motion sickness bracelet for the plane to Texas. I feel like a pregnant Girl Scout, I’m so prepared. 3. The return of my sense of humor and other good qualities. I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a good sick person, and added to that, I’m awful quick to whine. I’m fine with that. The nice thing about your 30s is that you begin to accept yourself as you are, and stop beating yourself up about some of your worst qualities. But can I tell you, I was really beginning to miss the good things about myself. And I’m happy to have them back. Still working on appetite and other concerns, but being in a good mood is helping tremendously with all of that. All in all, I think it’s going to be a good week for giving thanks. 100% Love, etc P.S. — Delia, sorry about posting the monkey again. . Calliope Sock Monkey: Jessica...

Thanks so much to everybody who weighed in on morning sickness cures yesterday. The main suggestion was ginger and time (which seemed like a call for patience if you read between the lines). Well, as we all know, I’m not great with the p-stuff, but CH did bring home an assortment of ginger items last night. So far the ginger-cookies with the lemon filling washed down with a Jamaican ginger beer seems to be the best solve. The only thing is that the effect wears off 20-30 minutes after the ginger items are consumed, which I suppose is why a few of you suggested eating 24/7. But, here’s the thing, I’m officially over eating. If it doesn’t have tummy-soothing ginger or a ton of vinegar in it (pickles, salt and vinegar chips, sauerkraut) I no longer want it. It’s like my tastebuds are dead to anything else, which is sad, because we made 2 more of the Roya dishes, which I don’t feel like eating. Also, there’s a little eating holiday coming up called Thanksgiving. And CH’s sister and mom (who we’re visiting) are phenomenal cooks. Serious wanh! As someone who has only once in her life been sick for over 72 hours, I don’t see myself remaining a good and sane (enough not to get arrested) person if this persists through next week (as it supposedly will according to babycenter.com). And though I’ve always considered by inability to accept things the way that they are an asset, right now I wish whatever mother gene allows most women to get through this without (nearly as much) complaint would kick in already. I can’t do anything. I can’t work on my novel, I can’t get my one personal daily blog turned around in less than...