Wednesday 31 August 2011

Battle against the inner supermom


I usually bake on the weekends.  I usually bake for Thom.   I guess it all started off as something to treat him with but he seemed so overjoyed with it that it became a weekly habit.   So maybe I usually bake for me.  

I bake cheese and onion pasties, oatmeal raisin chocolate chip cookies and sometimes a batch of cupcakes.  He works his way through them as part of his lunches at work.  Goodness knows the man needs the calories.  To help with his guns, of course, he would tell you.

I am returning home on the train this Wednesday evening willing myself to compete the baking I never finished this past weekend.  There is pastry chilling in the fridge and butter softening outside of it.  I admit it.  I got tired.  

Oh, the guilt!  Completely self imposed, as he seems to trundle on through the week without a winge.  I guess I got a bit addicted to feeling like the superwife.  I can be a professional, knock out a decent couple dozen cookies and look good doing it.   It felt important to me, knowing that man cannot stay attracted to appearance alone.  I had something else to get him salivating with each batch of weekend baking. 


So what now, I ask myself, not certain that I can be asked to get it going in the kitchen when I get in about 15 minutes from now.  The twins are not even here yet, I'm getting huge (Thom commented that his arms would no longer wrap all the way around last night) and on top of all that, superwife is fading away with the krypontite that is motherhood.

Thankfully I came across an article in the Evening Standard on the way home.  Good news! The mom that can do it all is a myth! (check out the article for yourself here.)  Tips are to delegate, accept flaws and limitations and laugh when you can.  Can I start tonight, by leaving the pastry another day?  I feel a twang of anxiety and a little flurry of 'what if's.  Things to overcome, I suppose, on my mama-tastic way to being normal mom, instead of the mythical supermom.

Thursday 25 August 2011

Daddy-tastic: an update on the man

That's right folks, he hasn't ditched yet, despite my ever expanding amounts of napping, complaining and belly flesh.   Thom is hanging in there like a trooper and it’s a good time for an update into the current issues of dad-to-be.  Big on the agenda for the male of the household this week are:

  1. Maternity bras
  2. Heartbeats
  3. Emotional restraint

Maternity Bras
Dubbed in Thom-language, the ‘get me a discount bra’.  As mentioned in previous blogs, the bump is not the only thing to protrude.  Boobs have been getting bigger and I have bought new containers to house them.  Non-wired seemed the way of the future with all the pinching of anything restrictive, and I ordered something called a ‘maternity bra’ online.  When it arrived I realized it was a fully functioning nursing bra.  Thom thought the clips that unleashed the puppies were hilarious, prompting him  to ask if it was the ‘get me a discount bra’.  The idea in his head being something like this -
I say: ‘How much for that hoover/ham sandwich/hover craft?’
Vendor says: ‘It’s [insert amount here].’
I unclip one of the handy discount-getting clasps and slyly say: ‘Are you sure?’

Heartbeats
We can feel for Thom in his current life situation.  It is a change from the days when he was young, unhindered and free.  Although, God knows, his body could not have withstood the young, unhindered and free behavior forever.  He suffered a broken skull on more than one occasion, bravely doing all the things that made life fun.  He has calmed down a fair bit, but one of the skull fractures has left him with a screwed-up inner ear on one side that has a freakish, bat-like hearing ability.  He has been able to put the bat-like ear to the bump and if the babies are positioned just right, he can hear the heartbeats.  It is a nightly activity now, and he gets a little hurt if they are hiding from him behind the placenta.

Emotional Restraint
‘Honey, can you empty the bin for me?’
‘Honey, can you make me lasagna tonight?’
‘Honey, can you also put a new bin bag in the bin?’  
This man has brains.  He dares not cross the growing female hippo without big ammunition.  He has cooked almost every night and developed a humorous, playful approach to the fact that I am zombie from the time the sun starts to dip below the horizon.  He has called me ‘the incubator’ which seems to pretty much sum up the main activities he gets to see me do – eating and sleeping.  I wonder if he screams in the car on the way to work or just types nasty texts that he doesn’t send to me to get any  of the less palatable emotions out.  Whatever he's doing, the man is a picture of zen-like emotional restraint, gliding through it all with a smile and still giving me a peck on the cheek on the way.  When I ask him, he is just full of love.  He can’t wait to meet the twins and, with the way he is, I’ll bet they’ll be very happy to see him, too.

Wednesday 24 August 2011

The Lord taketh away. And sometimes he giveth a little back.


Yesterday I had an hour between clients and went hunting on Oxford Street for bump-friendly clothes.  There are not many places you can stroll into and browse great range of maternity wear. Thankfully, autumn is just beyond the horizon and the shops are full of big knitwear. 

I went to a favourite shop of mine and found a chunky cream coloured long jumper.  I picked up a 'large' imaginining that the size would see me through.  It was soft and I was honestly pleased with my find.

I browsed further, looking for something to spice it up. A scarf. A necklace. When I laid my eyes on a display table that seemed down-lit from heaven.  On it, a cobalt blue pencil skirt paired with simple fine knit tops and a choice of killer heels.  My hand started for it, as if of its own will or propelled by a divine force, when I realised that this season, I could not pull it off.  I looked down at the cream jumper in my hands.  Suddenly it seemed achingly dull.

I did what anyone one would do.  I reached for my phone to email a friend to have a little 'poor me' moan.  He emailed back: 'Don't start regretting your children before they arrive!'  He's right, I thought, distraught that I was already a crappy, selfish parent.

That evening, I returned home, shopping bag with the dull, but soft, jumper in hand.  Inside, other than a happy Thom, there was a package to greet me.  The maternary trousers I ordered over the weekend.  Black, skinny trousers for which I decided to splash out full price rather than troll about for second hand.

Once I tried them on I knew I'd made the right choice.  They fit brilliantly, showing some still skinny legs, and looked amazing with a number of tops I already had.  They fit comfortable over the bump and looked just great paired with fitted, bump-show-off tops.  I was happy with my new look and satisfied to go with it, abandoning the blue pencil skirt with a smile.  At least for this year.

Sunday 21 August 2011

H2, I love you: A bulging lady learns to adjust

Ever fall in love at first ride?  I did this week.  Those of you with dirty, dirty minds will be disappointed to know that I fell in love with H2 - my new pay-as-you-use spinning studio and gym. 

These bones aint what they used to be.  As the weeks of pregnancy progress I have become slower and developed all the grace and stability of a pot-bellied pig chasing a doughnut on it's hind legs.  It's to be expected.  Relaxin, the hormone released during pregnancy to help ligaments and muscles relax to make room for baby during pregnancy and labour, also can wreak havoc on joints during exercise.  Running is feeling more risky and I needed roll with it if I am going to remain mobile for the other 5 months. 

Along comes H2.  Hooray!  No pesky contract that will sap my bank account during the months when I won't be able to work out. No paying for a full range of equipment when I won't use it all now.  It seems the perfect pregnancy workout for me at this stage.  

Cycling is low impact, while still offering aerobic benefits.  But sadly, recommendations for pregnant women are to avoid cycling on the road after week 12.  Also we are told to work on maintaining fitness rather than improving, to remain hydrated and stop before exhaustion.  Also calories burned should be replaced (happy days).   So for me, spinning is the perfect adaptation to my routine as I reduce the running. 

The gym itself is great.  Simple but pleasing, consisting of a spin studio, a strength and strech area and plenty of bike parking space for the hard-cores who cycle in.  The class I took had a strength focus which saw the instructor leading us up an imaginary moutain.  Her French accent transported me to visions of our class cycling on mass in our own Tour de France.  She offered me adjustments to the bike set-up to suit the needs of my bulging pregnant body and encouraged us all to make it our own workout.  Consequently, I felt good to take the class at my pace, having a great time and a perfect workout with none of the joint-jarring action of my long-gone jogs.

And the female changing room is designed with what we women want in mind.  No messing about with useless extras like wood-pannelled lockers, but simple clean decor with plenty of showers.  And the understanding that just because we women sweat like men doesn't mean we're ok with mouldy tiles.  It's clean and beautiful, finished off with proper lighting to facilitate makeup application - a welcome touch.

H2, I love you. And I can't wait to see you again next week.

Tuesday 16 August 2011

How stretchy can a tummy be?


I was able to have a little lie-in today.  An extra half hour because I was going to meet my obstretic consultant for the first time.  I enjoyed raisin bran while watching Muary Povich dish out paternity test results on morning TV, and after a shower had my second breakfast while choosing an outfit that I could still squeeze into.  I dragged an old dress from the 90's time capsule in the back of my closet.  It wasn't my first choice but I hoped that a man of medicine wouldn't worry too much about my lack of fashion sense.

Turned out I needn't have worried.  The waiting room of the ante natal clinic is a cure for all wardrobe worries.  The ladies waiting with me were made up of the most unbelievable shapes and sizes.  None of us looked particularly comfortable.  The chairs in the waiting room of the ante natal clinic are more padded and slightly bigger for our comfort.  But I imagined from the looks of us, that we were all slightly out of our comfort zone being dressed in whatever fit us that day, instead of what we really would like.  Not a high heel in sight. 

A young woman called in ahead of me was dressed in an odd combination of a summertime maxi dress and a huge chunky grey cardigan.  The look on her face was pure agony and she tried to make her way to the consulting room at a decent pace.  As she stood I clocked the size of her belly.  It stood at an almost gravity defying angle.  Straight out, leading the way and throwing her off balance.

As I scanned the room I noticed a beautiful blonde whose proportions grew from the chest down to an amazing girth at the waist that easily took up two chairs.  Across from her a woman dressed in what looked like her husband's XXL t-shirt whose giant round belly seemed to be making her breathing near enough impossible. 

My time with the consultant was fine. Nothing to worry about and he seemed to be a lovely man.  We chatted a little about when I might think about starting materntity leave.   I was keen to stay at work as long as possible.

'Well,' he said, 'in as little as10 weeks you are going to be as big as most women when they are full term. Something to think about.'

As big as some of those ladies of waiting room?  Something to think about, indeed.

Saturday 13 August 2011

Getting kinda crowed in there in the Temple of Womb

It's been a busy week in pregnant lady world and it looks like the little womb-raiders have been plenty busy, too.    The latest scan has revealed two good sized babies.  Right where they should be on the sonographer's growth charts.  Even more exciting, they are already learning the valuable life skill of posing for the camera.  Now and again at this week's scan, in between bouts of wrestling and kicking, they turned their little faces towards the 'camera' (or the sonographer's device) as if to say 'What you staring at?'

Looks like it is getting pretty snug there in the Temple of Womb for my little Indiana and Jones.  As you can see from the photo they no longer have the luxury of stretching space that they enjoyed at the first scan.  They are nestled in tight.  The one facing upside down had a little flurry of kicking against the walls, as if trying desperately to make more room.  All in good time, little person.

On the outside of the hive, I am indeed rapidly expanding.  The belly has become the unmistakeably round baby-belly bump.  I completed my Advanced Personal Trainer assessment today, and was super-pleased to pass considering I didn't demonstrate some exercises.  Lying on my front has suddenly become a no-go.  It feels like I have a beach ball under me.  On the plus side, my arm muscles are looking as good as ever and I can still lunge and squat to keep those legs strong and hot.

All the better as I plan to do a bit of posing myself and get some photos of fit pregnant me to help me market my new services.  As I can testify, being in physically good condition has been a great help.  Over the last few weeks I have loads of energy and although my stomach doesn't fit into my trousers any more, I don't have many other body complaints.

Will that change after tonight's dinner?  Thom has just popped the veggie-packed cottage pie into the oven and I might have a little avocado and cheese starter in a moment.  I have been ravenous and working my way through masses of food.  Feeding my muscles and my pretty, un-camera-shy babies, I suppose.


Saturday 6 August 2011

Pregnancy workouts: Maybe not iron-woman, possibly aluminium

I miss the old days of hard sweat in the gym or pounding the pavements out for a long, long jog.  Had a little reminder today of what I missed that tugged at my heart strings.  7am, saw Bianca and I already up and getting ready to head to London for my Advanced Personal Trainer practical exam.  She was a star, getting up and helping me out, surrendering her poor body to my specially selected torture methods.

I've still been training.  I could hardly say good-bye to it for 9 months.  I'd go mad.  But I have a new adjusted for pregnancy routine.  It's not as sweaty, punishing or adrenaline-fuelled.  It's the light version of my normal routine.  And in my estimation, not as fun.

Bianca and I arrived a little early for the exam.  The energy of the gym gets me salivating.  I just want to be released onto the machines, classes and weights, enjoying that Saturday gym-time that needs no clock-watching or rush.  But today we are on a different mission.  And besides, my body is no longer allowed to go quite so mad, for quite so long.

Bad news is, the assessor didn't turn up.  Very unprofessional of them and gutting for Bianca after such an early start.  7am should only exist once a day for her delicate constitution.  We did get a chance to practice the routine, though, and do you know what?  I was jealous.  I wanted to be the one being put through the paces, being told 'more, more, more'!

These past few months, I don't miss many other things.  I don't miss pate or brie.  I don't miss wine.  I don't often miss my platform high heels.  But I do miss my workouts terribly.  There are plenty of things I can do in pregnancy, just not as much, as hard, as challenging as I'd like.

Like the pate, wine and high heels, I will be back into my workouts one day in the near future.  I will doubtlessly get opportunities to work my arms with a baby on each and before long it will probably be a workout just running after them both.  And my Saturday morning gym-time will happen again, but for now my adjusted, slightly-less-than-iron-woman pregnancy routine will do.

Wednesday 3 August 2011

Elastic-tastic

I put on my jeans today and thought, 'In another week, I won't be able to squeeze myself into these!'.  I enjoyed a week at work, wearing trousers and dresses that were feeling just a little too tight.  A lovely light beige fitted shift dress has been hung up in the back of the closet after I strained its stitches with my emerging bump.  I said goodbye to it until next year.


I sit now in leggings and a slouchy top.  This is my evening uniform and I fear that elasticated waistbands are about to become my new best friend.  Thom and I made our way into town the other day and picked up some simple but stretchy-fabric dresses so I won't need to face the world naked as the weeks progress.  My mother is also sending some clothes, wisely in a size or two larger than I'd be ready to choose for myself.

Feels strange living in a body that is slightly different than my own.  The sensations of it within my clothes or washing in the shower feel odd.  It's changing quicker than my mind can adjust.  Yes, the stomach is bigger.  But that creates more issues than simple waistband selection.  I realised that its protruding was limiting how much I can see and the interior of my belly button may have been a little neglected.  It took some yogi-like bending to see if I had cleaned it well enough today in the shower.  Doesn't feel like me and it hasn't felt very attractive.

From the front, most people can't tell.  It still looks like I have a waist, but when I turn to the side - BOOM-  a round bump.  The belly protrusion is the obvious issue, but I must also share that two other things are getting in the way.  Boobs - almost the bigger issue right now (excuse the pun).  Squeezing into bras is a literally a pain.

Thom is not complaining, nor is he particularly sympathetic on this issue.  Some men on the streets of London seem to share his view.  They don't seem to notice the sticky-out belly as I approach towards them on the pavement and today one called me 'sexy' as I passed.  Me?  The one waddling towards the tube, inelegantly shoving a nectarine into her mouth not caring that the juice is dripping all over my hands, down my top and my face?  Ok, I'll take that.  Hey, everyone, evidently pregnant is sexy.