Monthly Archives: December 2010

Do the best you can. There are no rules.

I think every woman who desires children (or who has had to endure a screaming child on a cross country flight) have thoughts about what they will and won’t do as a mother.

On my motherhood wish list are the following:

  • Have a natural, drug free delivery
  • Breastfeed
  • Make my own baby food
  • Raise an independent, problem-solving, responsible, empathetic child
  • Raise a man of integrity
  • Read to my child as much as my mom read to me

To some this list may sound crazy. To the experienced mothers out there, you may be thinking: “She has no idea what she is about to get into.”

And the truth is I don’t.

My point is that every mother has ideas of the what is the right/wrong way to raise a child. And for some reason, we hold each other to the standards that we deem correct. It’s messed up on many levels. It’s a no-win situation.

Even though our little guy hasn’t arrived yet I’ve still dealt with the Mommy Standard questions.

Are you going to breastfeed?

How long will you be staying home?

Will the baby be sleeping with you or in a crib?

Will you be scheduling a c-section?

The answers (in no particular order) (this is fun – you can match the answer to what you think I would say. It’s like the SATs!):


I’m going to give it my best shot.

Not enough.

I have no idea.

A few weeks ago a few of my mommy friends and my boss sent me this Wall Street Journal article:

Mother Madness by Erica Jong.

Jong sums it up perfectly with this one sentiment about motherhood: Do the best you can. There are no rules.

We all have to do the best we can with what works for us as a mother, as a wife or partner. Will everything on my Mommy Wish List come true? Probably not. Will I sometimes feel disappointment? Yes. It’s part of life.

Gestational Diabetes

Gestational Diabetes Test

Bottoms Up! Look at the lady in the background. She was totes suspect of me. BTW, this photo is fuzzy because I was already drunk. I joke, I joke.

I went a little hypochondriac on myself and developed a fear of gestational diabetes. I hadn’t given it much thought until my doctor handed me the lab slip at Week 24 and asked that I get the test done ASAP.

I did what logic would dictate and waited four more weeks to have the test done. I freaked myself out thinking about all the fruit and ice cream I had been consuming. Even though I knew that I wasn’t having any of the symptoms and that my weight gain is on track, I still got a little crazy and Googled my ass off. By the time I took the test I knew that I probably didn’t have it, but I still freaked myself out. Then I did something really smart.

I took the test after Thanksgiving! How dumb is that!

I ate my baby’s weight in pie that weekend and then took off to the lab to down the fabulous orange soda-like concoction and have my blood drawn. I’m smart. Promise.

Anyway, I had my 32 Week appointment last week and all is well in the GD department. I can now continue on eating fruit, ice cream and having sugar in my decaf coffee while feeling no guilt.

Hallelujah! How would I survive this last few weeks without ice cream. For realz, though, how?

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Sex ed in the age of Snooki

I found this article on CNN this morning.

Sex ed in the age of Snooki

Soon I will embark on raising a son. A baby who will grow into a boy who will grow into a man. I want him to respect women, to be a man of integrity like his father. To be honest and good. To choose the road less traveled.

I’m lucky that my baby boy will have strong examples of good men – his dad, my dad and yes, even my wild baby brother. So where do I fit into that picture? How do I raise a man?

This article provides some great tips for parents of boys. Give it a  read if you’re interested.

Just keep your boys away from Snooki.

Who the bleep did I marry?

I came home on Saturday afternoon after getting the best pedicure ever (I can make that statement because I’m pregnant and I’m fairly certain that ANY pedicure would be the best ever at this point) and found my husband sprawled across the couch, beer in hand with a football game on the TV.

Yes, that football. The American kind.

I took a deep breath. “Are you…


…watching football?,” I asked with every ounce of disbelief my newly pedicured body could muster.

“Yeah, UNR’s playing.”

“Oh. Ok.”

You see, my friends, he has never in the course of our four year relationship watched any sport besides the occasional foray into the X Games or the Winter Olympics. Never.

It’s one of the things I love about him.

Wolf Pack MascotA long time ago, in a land where I was a young college student and didn’t know much about myself, I pretended to like sports for a guy. Don’t get me wrong, I can handle the occasional basketball or baseball game. I almost enjoy them. When I lived in Australia I loved going to footy games, but when it comes to football season I’m a bit of a black sheep in my family. I could frankly give a damn who is playing, winning, cheating, going to get the Heisman or playing in a bowl game.

And my wonderful husband felt the same. Until, our local university, my alma mater, got good and they won this game. The game that my husband begrudgingly watched with my father during Thanksgiving.  My husband kind of got into it and now it would seem that he’s a fan. A fan! A football watching fan!

Isn’t that the beauty of relationships? When we’re with the right person we’re given the freedom to change, to grow, to suddenly like team sports.

Sigh…at least I don’t have to pretend to like it anymore. But I did cuddle up with him to watch the end of the match game. And I may have liked it a little, itty bit. It may have been kind of exciting.

Braxton Hicks – A Poem

Ode to Braxton Hicks

You feel like Pilates on steroids
But without the lycra or spandex
Or the instructor who is just too pretty
Too toned, too balanced and too flexible

You sneak up on me
Sometimes I wonder, “Was that really it?”
Sometimes there’s no mistaking
That the tightening in my abs
Has nothing to do with those ridiculous workouts I used to do

But this is a different workout
The kind that gets your body ready
For bringing a baby into the world
A workout that my body does without asking permission
From my mind or tummy

The first time you scared me a bit
Caught me off guard in the middle of an important conference call
I caught my breath
You don’t hurt
But your strength is undeniable

Thank you Braxton Hicks
For toning my womb
Preparing me for the marathon that labor will be
Those Pilates instructors would be impressed

The End.

You’re impressed right? With my poetry ability? Non? That’s French.

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