one choking kid ruins it for everyone

Consumer Reports' baby blog issued a reminder today (what with Easter being this Sunday) that the surprise toys in Kinder eggs may pose a choking hazard. Duh. Who would give a Kinder egg to a child under 3? Furthermore, was it really necessary for the U.S. to completely ban the eggs (you can still find the mediocre - in my opinion - chocolate in bar form, sans surprise, at stores like Cost Plus World Market) in 1997 because of this possible choking hazard?

My family moved to Germany when I was 9 and although I have no specific memory of my very first Kinder egg, I do remember acquiring quite the collection of surprise toys and things found inside. I remember when I stopped eating the chocolate but still looked forward to what the small, plastic egg inside held. It was the night before the big Fasching parade in Mainz and my brother and I both received one. Since that was the last thing I ate before coming down with the flu (and missing the parade the next day), from then on I associated the milk and white chocolate confection with feeling miserable. I'd pass the chocolate on to my brother, but I continued to collect the toys, still stored in a shoe box somewhere in my Dad's attic.

6 months

At 27 weeks and 6 days, I've officially entered the third trimester. While the first trimester crept along in secrecy, the second trimester absolutely flew by. And in the last few weeks, I've suddenly felt very pregnant. The belly is rounding out nicely (as are some other areas, which I'm less enthusiastic about), accompanied by an increase in general discomfort, morning hip pain (I think my hips are wide enough, thank you very much), and a bit of a waddle. Baby G continues to be most active first thing in the morning and when I go to bed, but he has been the occasional cause of some early morning insomnia. Using my full bladder as a trampoline wakes me up; the realization that we've only got about twelve weeks to learn how to take care of an infant keeps me up. As my only antidote, the prenatal yoga has become an absolute must, at least every two to three days.

By the way, the top pictured is another from Japanese Weekend, probably my favorite item from an increasingly limited wardrobe. The pants (what you can see of them, at least) are the full panel secret fit belly style from Motherhood Maternity. I bought them a bit on the roomy side, which is great the first couple of times I wear them, but they're the only pair of pants that fit me comfortably. As you can imagine, getting through a recent long weekend away was tricky, even washing them once mid-trip. I'm generally pretty happy with them, although I can imagine the panel will become a tad uncomfortable once the weather warms up (should that happen here in New England before mid-June). It kind of reminds me of wearing pantyhose that are way too long in the torso, hiking them up to just below your bra strap. So now I'm convinced the roll panel is the way to go, and perhaps I'll invest in a pair of roll panel capri pants, assuming of course that spring-like temperatures begin with (or shortly after) the season officially begins tomorrow.

adults say the darnedest things

I'm a little shy of an official 6-month update and despite promising last post to upload an updated belly pic before that milestone, I haven't actually gotten around to it. I can tell you, however, that my fundal height is right on track, measuring 26 centimeters at last Friday's appointment, at 26 weeks 1 day. And my blood pressure's good. And I'm assuming no news is good news as far as my glucose test administered that morning. It would seem like I'm doing everything just about as right as I can, if only I hadn't gained 7 whopping pounds in the four weeks since my previous appointment, putting me at a total gain of about 17 pounds according to their scale, but more realistically (since that first weigh-in was at 9 weeks) at about 20-22 pounds according to my pre-pregnancy weight and my scale at home.

I should back up and say that despite spending time all summer getting ready to conceive (making sure my health insurance coverage was adequate, kicking my caffeine habit, popping folic acid supplements, etc.), I was apprehensive about my BMI still officially lingering in the "overweight" range and remember asking at our very first appointment what my doctor thought was an ideal weight gain range for me and how to go about that, all things considered. I was referred to the nutritionist, who was incredibly supportive and constructive in her advice, but essentially based her recommendation of gaining only 15-25 pounds solely on said BMI. Since I'd already gained 6 to 8 pounds at that point (I blame that first-trimester weight gain on a combination of raging hormones and psychologically giving in to the whole "eating for two" myth), deep down I felt like that was pretty unrealistic. Maybe I could stay within 25 pounds but I'd be personally happy if I stayed within the typically suggested range of 25-35 pounds. I suppose I should have followed up on all this with my doctor, who clearly got the range recommendation memo, focusing on my weight at all but one appointment so far, but never actually had a conversation with me about that recommendation.

Between mid-November and mid-December I gained 4 pounds, which received a mild scolding at our second appointment. She recommended I start walking (when I was not only walking, as much as I could in the crappy December weather, but still doing The Firm a few times a week), and limit my intake of juices and snacks. Between December and January, magically their scale recorded no weight gain, likely a combination of December's weigh-in being off for one reason or another, and my fear of another scolding leading to desperate measures to trick the scale, outlined in this post. Our doctor was, not surprisingly, pleased by this. Between January and February, I gained 4 pounds, which got no mention during the as usual slightly rushed appointment. So 4 pounds is what I hoped for on Friday, but I guess those crab rangoon and extra slices of pie caught up with me.

For some reason I wasn't all that concerned when I stepped on the scale, which is probably why I felt completely cornered and downright shocked when our doctor, accompanied this appointment by a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed resident, wanted to address "this weight issue" after barely saying hello. I swear her exact words were, "what's that about?" but my much more emotionally stable partner recalls her asking "what happened?" Either way, I was left mostly speechless but what I managed to say probably came out a little defensive as she again encouraged me to begin walking and avoid the hidden calories in juice and fruit. Laying back to let her measure the height of my uterus (and again not sure how to respond to her exclamation "polka dots!" when she obviously caught a peek of my underpants), and listening to the baby's heartbeat were already a bit of a blur as I walked out of the office and caught another blow as the gal at the front desk guessed that I'm expecting a boy based on how my face has changed. I hesitated before asking for clarification, knowing I probably didn't want to know the answer. But I asked her anyway, "what do you mean by my face changing?" She sort of danced around it but essentially pointed to my chin, which has been prone to the occasional breakout lately. Why would you say something like that if you're not prepared to point out a pregnant lady's pimples?

Anyway, my doctor's obsession with my weight has only added to some gut instincts I've had about her since the first appointment. I left the appointment feeling downright depressed, not only about my own body image but as if I wasn't in fact trying to do everything as best as I could for my baby. Instead of addressing her concerns about my weight gain in the context of everything else, which has, knock on wood, been going swimmingly well, she focuses on the one thing I'm not doing perhaps as well as I could. Furthermore, she focuses her attention on the weight I've already gained, which I can't really do much about, without giving me any constructive feedback about how to proceed. All in all, I feel like I'm in an incredibly unsupportive relationship with the person who has a 50% chance of delivering my baby.

Needless to say, it was enough to trigger an emotional well that had been filling up for weeks. I'm feeling better now that, after calling around for two days, I have an appointment with another doctor in another practice that's actually taking new patients (not to mention one who's nearly into her third trimester) but one that's still affiliated with the hospital that, overall, we're happy with and have heard really positive things about in terms of labor, delivery, and post-natal recovery. And don't get me wrong, I'm not just looking for a doctor who simply smiles lovingly as I pack on the pounds. I'd just like a doctor who treats me as one of two patients, not just the slightly imperfect vessel for the smaller patient hanging out inside.

It does make me wonder about the whole pregnancy weight gain issue, though. Basing a recommended weight gain on BMI alone is like measuring the baby's growth on the outmoded practice of measuring the fundal height, which is now, of course, done in combination with the much more accurate ultrasound measurements. Just for fun, I plugged in my weight immediately after high school, when I wasn't exactly skinny but generally slender and probably in the best shape of my life, and the BMI it spit out was barely within the "normal" range.

Needless to say, I'm ready for a much-needed spring break family visit this weekend, which will give us plenty of photo opps to snap the 6-month belly. I'll be back next week with a full update...

my how time flies when you're feeling cranky

I'm having a hard time believing it's been three weeks since my last post. In that time I've given in to the roominess of the full panel maternity pant. And it's a good thing, because I hate to imagine how cranky I'd be if my pants were too tight, on top of the sudden increase in waistline, heartburn, leg cramps, general discomfort in bed, and fatigue (I wonder if those last two are connected in any way?). I welcome the quickly expanding belly, actually, for obvious reasons, of course, but also because I feel like I finally look pregnant and not just super bloated. And I still can't complain too much about the side effects of growing a human. The leg cramps have only woken me up a couple of times and the heartburn was at its worst one night about a week ago when I woke up really wishing I'd had something healthier for dinner than 5 giant, fried crab rangoon, followed by two small slices of pie (chocolate cream and lemon something-or-other)...plus seconds a little later. I was clearly asking for it and felt so guilty when my heartburn was accompanied by lots of kicking from my very active and probably very uncomfortable unborn baby. I popped a few Tums for the first time this pregnancy and I have a feeling they'll find a permanent home in my purse over the next three months.

Aside from my complaining, there's not a whole lot else to report. Baby G's kicking continues to be pretty consistent and strong, to the point that resting my hand on my belly whenever I can no longer satisfies my curiosity over what he's up to in there. I can now spend a half-hour or so just staring at my navel, waiting for my belly to move and bounce as a result of his movement. That might explain why I've had a hard time crossing every item off of my daily to-do list this weekend.

As for that expanding waistline, I might have to post an updated belly pic before the 6 month mark in two weeks. Stay tuned...