Tuesday, February 5

The Story of Us Part VIII

August 6, 2012 marked 11 years together for Ryan and me.

Eleven years together, six of those married.

I love our story.

From the first 18 years of chance meetings and unbelievable coincidences to the last six years of marriage, parenthood and figuring out, well, everything.

I never want to forget how we came to be or all that we've been through to get here.

Catch up with Part IPart IIPart IIIPart IVPart VPart VI  and Part VII.

After that insane outburst two minutes into my first pregnancy, you'd think the following 9 months would have been similar to riding on Ozzy Osborne's Crazy Train WITH Ozzy himself.

I wasn't that bad.

At least I don't remember being that bad.

Ok. So I may have had another meltdown or five.

Being pregnant never scared me.

Being a mother never scared me.

Going from the former to the later? Scared the living daylights out of me.

I had many tiny private panic attacks about it LONG before I was actually pregnant.

Being for real pregnant meant that I was going to have a for real birth.

That, in combination with pregnancy hormones, turned tiny private panic attacks into full-blown, snot-filled, ugly cry meltdowns.

Aside from the obvious excitement (and meltdowns) of a first timer, my first pregnancy was largely uneventful.

I spent most of those first few months in a limbo-ish state of nausea.

I was never actually physically sick.

Just *right* on the verge 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for months on end.

I found that if I constantly nibbled, the nausea wasn't so bad.

(I also found that constantly nibbling on Big Macs garnered me an extra 80 pounds.)

I still remember the first time I heard Kadyn's heartbeat. Clear as crystal.

It was, without question, the most amazing sound I had ever heard.

And from that moment on, I worried every second of every minute of every hour of every day.

Is something wrong? Is everything ok? What's going on in there?

It's a very weird state, those first few months of a first pregnancy.

And then I would find myself distracted by the enormous set of ta-tas I had acquired.

I miss those ladies. They were really something.

I worked through this pregnancy and was at my biggest through the winter.

Getting dressed became a daily irritant.

Maternity clothes are (mostly) ugly as sin and more expensive than diamonds.

Plus, um, I gained 80 pounds.

I outgrew every piece I bought by the time I was 7 months in.

For my last month at the office, I showed up in yoga pants and Ryan's t-shirts every day. I simply could not fit into anything else. 

My boss did not like this at all.

The office was a pretty casual, jeans every day kind of place.

Jeans. Not sweat pants and baggy t-shirts. (Though they were hardly baggy on me.)

But my boss' wife was pregnant as well so there was no way he was saying anything about ANYTHING I did. Or didn't do.

Poor guy was getting it from all sides.

As irritating as getting dressed and lugging my enormous body to work every day was, other people were far and away my greatest irritant.

Other people are just so darn awesome around pregnant gals.

Any woman who's ever been pregnant knows what I'm talking about. 

I see blog posts and articles almost daily on the ludicrous things people (mostly strangers) deem appropriate to say to a woman with child.

Here's a small sampling of my most favourite experiences:

My office was located in the back of a brick and mortar store which sits in the middle of a popular and well known shopping/nightlife district.

The area attracts all kinds of people.

ALL kinds.

I had gone about 2 blocks down from my office to grab lunch and was on my way back when I saw one of the regular homeless men who panhandles in the area. He set sights on me and started with some "Oh! A beautiful pregnant woman..." mumbo jumbo. I rolled my eyes a bit but I'd become accustomed to the neighbourhood vagabonds.

What I had NOT become accustomed to was being molested by them.

As I walked past him, I did the half-smile/head nod thing.

Apparently that was an invitation to put his dirty hands all over my baby belly.

In one swift motion, I karate chopped his hands off of me, side stepped away from him and sprinted back to my office.

Lunch still perfectly in tact.

To this day I still cannot believe that happened.

Or that I moved that quickly being THAT pregnant.

My office was set up so that my back faced the entrance. 

If someone came to my office, they couldn't see me until I turned around in my chair.

One sunshiny day, a girl from another store came by the office and stopped in to see me.

Half in my office, she started talking to me. I swivelled around in my chair to face her.

She stopped mid-sentence. ".....Holy shit! You're fat!!"

I just stared at her.

"What?" she says. "You're pregnant, it's ok for me to say things like that. Besides you're HUGE!"

I just stared at her.

(Not that the size of her matters but she was a tad more than festively plump. And she was NOT pregnant. Chubby little pot with no excuse.)


And then there were the arguments over the contents of my uterus.

With complete strangers.

It seemed that fetal dopplers and ultrasound machines had nothing on these experts I'd never met because no way could I be 'that big with only one baby.'

I had a good laugh over the woman who told me to 'wait till those babies come out, then you'll see I'm right. There's twins in there!" 

I was grilled on everything from breast vs bottle to cloth vs disposable; asked if we would circumcise if we had a boy, if I planned to jar feed or make our own food and told to get on daycare, preschool and kindergarten wait lists RIGHT NOW.

Many of them were well meaning auld biddies. But the majority were just rude and annoying.


In addition to the number of babies being a topic of much discussion, the gender of our unborn peanut was also a hot debate.

I knew I was pregnant long before any test told us so. I also knew I was growing a little boy.

Our ultrasound technician (a cranky, judgey, bitchy thing of a woman) wouldn't tell us if our baby was a boy or a girl but I didn't need her to. I  knew we were having a boy.

Not a single person agreed with me.

I was carrying high, so I was having a girl.

I was carrying way out in front, so I was having a girl.

I think every person who weighed in on gender said girl.

I was adamant for my entire pregnancy that I was growing I boy. I just knew it.

I was so sure that I didn't even look when Kadyn was born. I didn't need to.

The other thing I must mention here is Ryan.

This is the story of US after all.

But more than that, Ryan was more than I ever could have asked for during this pregnancy. 

He endured every meltdown like a champ, he NEVER missed a single prenatal appointment, he went to the store in the middle of night to get me Tylenol when I woke up with excruciating migraines, he went on countless Big Mac runs, took me to Red Lobster** for my seafood/vanilla bean cheesecake cravings multiple times a week and bought every flavour of Doritos available when I had a craving but wasn't sure what for. He even ate every time I ate so I wouldn't feel so terrible about eating so much freaking food all the freaking time.

If I had to say what I miss most about being pregnant, it would have to be laying on the couch with Ryan, watching Kadyn tumble and kick. I absolutely loved Ryan's hands on my stomach, feeling his son rock and roll.

We were very lucky to have such a good man taking care of us.

**We went to Club Lob so frequently that ALL the staff knew us. We became particularly close to one lovely server (it had NOTHING to do with all the comped cheesecake she gave us, I swear!) who we still keep in touch with today. I would be remiss to not mention Miss Dani. Given all the protein she fed me and Kadyn while I was pregnant, she deserves some credit for helping grow such a strong little man. Plus, she's just a really awesome lady. Sadly, she moved away just before Kadyn was born so Dani was not able to meet the man she fed for so many months. Hopefully one day!!


Next week: Welcome to Parenthood!

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