Perks of Pregnancy

So it's been a while since I've written because ... you're not going to believe this ... I'm not worrying as much.

There goes my blog title, right?

As my sweet and very wise friend Liz once mentioned over dinner one night, it seems that something happens to you, biologically, when you start feeling your babe have little dance parties on the inside. As Liz (who works in publishing but is practically a doctor, I think) put it: feeling those movements bonds you to your baby on a very basic level and takes you out of your own anxiety-ridden head and more into maternal mode.

And go figure, she was right. Now, that doesn't mean that when my little boogey-down babe has a less active day I don't totally freak out and fear the absolute worst. That's still very much a part of the repertoire. But luckily enough, soon after she scares me by taking a disco nap, the dancing starts up again and I am truly, physically reassured.

So today, on a totally different note, I'll share three little perks of being 30 weeks pregnant ...

1. The Unexpected Compliment
At Pinkberry the other night, where I was picking up dinner (hey, it was GREEK yogurt and there was fruit involved), I was digging through my change purse when the cashier told me that I looked really pretty. Befuddled as to why she'd get so personal with me—this is NYC after all, and people don't typically do that kind of thing—I looked up to see her making the universal gesture for "pregnant" over her belly. She meant that I looked pretty while pregnant. It was such a sweet, unexpected compliment and had me waddling home a little taller.

2. Seats on the Subway
This is a real thing, folks, and not an urban legend. I get offered seats at least 75% of the time these days, and people seem truly happy to hop up and let me rest my aching everything.

3. Free Brownies?
Guy at Pret scanned my sandwich and my mini brownie and told me the latter was "on the house," glancing surreptitiously at my belly. Not loving the extra attention paid to my body by strangers these days (I thought I was self-conscious before ...) but you simply cannot argue with a free brownie.

The Great Antibiotics Debate

For a solid two-and-a-half weeks, I had a raging sinus infection. I'm talking (TMI warning) neon green mucus, major nose drainage onto my pillow and down my throat at night, and searing headaches. But would I consider going to the doctor and getting it treated? No way, man.

You see, I have this strange anxiety offshoot, wherein I think I know more than doctors. Obviously, I do NOT. I struggled through college algebra and never took a science course that wasn't required, so I wouldn't begin to pretend to know anything about medicine. But anxiety doesn't play the logic game, and I'd convinced myself that taking antibiotics would hurt the growing babe.

But then I had a new, far scarier thought: What if an untreated infection could hurt my little resident more than two pills a day for ten days?

Off to the doctor I went.

After much hand-wringing, confirmation by my OB that Amoxicillin is completely safe in pregnancy and even an informal poll among my July 2013 ladies on TheBump.com (thanks, gals!) I determined that it was time to suck it up and take the medicine. Of course, the worrying didn't end after the first couple doses. I spent a good chunk of Sunday afternoon debating with my husband over whether our unborn child might be allergic to antibiotics -- he wouldn't let me Google it -- I started to chill out.

Now here we are, three days into the meds and, lo and behold, I feel better. Imagine that! A pill that can cure an infection. Modern medicine is really something, huh?

It's just no match for my worried brain.

Worry of the Day: Are My Pants Hurting the Baby?

Time for a particularly crazy one, folks.

So at 23 weeks, I'm firmly in the full panel-style maternity pants, but today I decided to do a throwback to the "half panel" that I wore in the first trimester.

Bad. Freaking. Idea.

The pants have been cutting me mid-bump and now I'm convinced that my bump looks smaller today than it has lately. And if I'm correctly identifying the bean's little kicks, then I am being kicked IN THE WAISTBAND. The baby is clearly not digging me going back in time on pants.

Which got me thinking ... could I be hurting the baby with my clothing choices? Am I denting my ute with what I chose to wore today? More importantly, did I really just type that?!

Off to go put on some pajama pants ... and to knock some sense into my dumb self.

First Tri Friday: The Phrase That Will Save Your Sanity

In the throes of one of many near panic attacks in my first trimester, I searched online for a way to calm down. And I found pregnancy affirmations.

It's a little hippy dippy, new agey, but it worked wonders for me. The theory is that if you repeat a phrase or mantra to yourself enough your subconscious will eventually catch on to the mantra and you'll begin to believe it.

The magic phrase?

MY BODY KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT IT'S DOING.

Instead of wondering how it's possible that x is happening inside you, or feeling like you have to will yourself to have a healthy pregnancy, just let go. Trust your body to do its thing. If the pregnancy is viable, your body will most likely do its job to maintain it because ... Say it with me ...

My body knows exactly what it's doing.

Here's to a happy, chilled out weekend for all.

I Miss Sudafed, Still Scared of Tylenol

Sorry for the delay in posting. I have a nasty cold/stomach bug combo deal that's kept me pretty sidelined. I never realized how much I love Sudafed until I couldn't have it any more.

Not that I'm considering taking any, no matter how desperate I may get.

From the beginning I've been pretty much terrified of taking anything OTC, even when my own friggin' doctor tells me to do so. For example, she says Tylenol is A-OK while pregnant. But all I can do is imagine that foreign substance creeping through me and into my little bean. What if I'm the one with a babe who's allergic to the stuff? Or what if it contributes to some sort of disease? Maybe doctors don't really know whether Tylenol is safe and they just think it's a good bet!

Clearly, I've lost it, but this is nothing new.

So I'm suffering through this monster bug, sipping a Coke for my nausea and trying not to worry about the 32 mg of caffeine (yep, I looked it up) or whatever other baddies might be lurking inside. Also trying not to stress about the fact that I've been using the Neil Med squeeze bottle for my sinus pain and pressure. It's just saline (like in a Neti Pot) but I refuse to Google it and freak myself out. I'm sure it's fine.

Did I really just say that? Talk about progress.

Hope everyone else is hanging in there and fighting off change-of-season colds. Hopefully it'll be truly spring soon!

Complaint of the Day: My Bloodhound Nose

I'm putting my worries aside today to complain instead. Hello, pregnancy hormones! I'm only feeling tiny kicks intermittently these days and haven't felt one in a while, come to think of it … but I'm going to put that worry aside for now in favor of some bitching. How's that for progress?

Like many of my fellow pregs, my sense of smell has become insanely acute, pretty much since the day I got my positive test. And just when I thought it couldn't get any more sensitive, it did.

My husband says I should intern with police dogs.

But for some reason, my olfactory prowess when there's a pleasant smell in the vicinity does not appear to be any better. I only smell the foul stuff.

Sometimes I'll be on the subway and need to cover up my mouth and nose, so intense is the stench coming from somewhere in the car. And yet, no one else seems to notice. I'm starting to think I'm picking up an unpleasant odor from the day before. That's how sensitive my nose has become.

Take what's going on now for example. I'm sitting on an Amtrak train to Virgina where I'm visiting one of my best friends (who's taking me to register at Buy Buy Baby … I'll report back on that adventure later). After a pleasant journey from New York City to Philadelphia, my contentment has been shattered.

A woman who boarded there told me she was directed to sit in 3C. There are no assigned seats on Amtrak, mind you. I told her as much, but she sat down anyway.

AND SHE REEKS OF CIGARETTE SMOKE.

I really don't know how I'm going to make it all the way to Virginia. I feel like I'm suffocating in another person's odors … and now that I've written those words, my nausea has returned. I may need to switch seats by Delware.

To make matters worse, this is not my usual, Quiet Car-equipped Northeast Regional Train. This is a "Carolinian," and apparently, the staff think they're cops. I was directed to sit in a certain car, deterred from sitting in certain "party of two" designated seats, and scolded for putting my bag down on the seat next to me while it was still unoccupied and we were careening through New Jersey, clearly not picking up any passengers who might need the seat.

WTF, Amtrak? Where's the southern hospitality up in this car?

Update to come later when I throw this woman's stinky coat off the moving train or give these asshat Amtrak employees a firsthand look at pregnant rage. 

Worry of the Day: Will I Ever Be (Hormonally) Normal Again?

I almost cried at the nail salon today. True story. After a totally routine, normal OB appointment (the best kind), I decided to treat myself to a manicure. Choosing my polish was quite a task ... I probably stood in front of the wall of colorful little bottles for a good five minutes before picking a variation on my usual color.

And instead of relaxing through the mani—one of my main reasons for going in the first place—I fretted. I came up with everything new that I have to worry about in my pregnancy now that it's four weeks 'til the next OB appointment and I've got no ultrasound in sight.

At some point in the process, I got a little nick on my middle finger and imagined all the horrible infections that could result.

But the real hormonal whammy came when I decided I did not like the color I'd chosen. As my technician painted it on, I actually had to fight back tears. Over a nail color.

And so it goes in the land of crazy pregnant hormones. One minute you're a mess and the next you decide that maybe a coat of subtle silver sparkles will save you from weeping at the nail salon and voila! the mood improves.

Here's hoping we won't be crazy forever, mamas ...

The end result ^