Synagogue Singing and Holiday Cheer

We hope people are enjoying their holidays, especially if it includes a little time off work - Dave and I are visiting my Grandma Joan in Colorado, but the internet connection is spotty, so this might be our only post until after the New Year. We're excited for 2008; 2007 was a spectacular year for the Cumbie Reckess house, and so far 2008 is on tap to be even better!

Last Friday evening, Dave, Azzy, Paula and I attended synagogue services at Temple Beth Shalom, where Dave and I are members. It was the first time we've been to synagogue since the baby can "hear" outside noises - and wow! As soon as we began singing, the baby had a party. Approximately 50 people were in attendance, and some of us are louder singers than others (Azzy and I seem to have cornered that market), and with each song, the baby rolled. Dave had read in the baby book that sometimes fetuses are startled by sudden sounds, but the baby didn't seem to be startled at all - more like lulled. Of course, there is quite a difference between a synagogue service and an Ozzy Ozbourne concert, so perhaps lullabyes at services don't startle as much as Crazy Train. Regardless, I couldn't help but feel very pleased that the baby enjoyed my Hebrew, even if I always seem to be a couple of syllables behind everyone else.

I do have to add a second part to this story, though, which was that earlier on Friday I was driving alone, and the song Hey Ya by Outkast came on, to which the baby also responded very postitively. So it appears that our fetus enjoys both a beautiful Friday night service AND hip hop. Maybe we should try an opera?

Our First Foray into Baby Land

Dave and I made our move yesterday, walking back through Target to the scary area where large strollers rise up to the ceiling and infant car seats fall off the shelves at any false move. We weren't there to buy anything, just to get a handle on all this information and get a sense of what's what.

What's what? Dave battled a stroller and still couldn't figure out how it folds up in one motion. I was unable to unhook an infant car seat from its car base. Neither of us knew why the infant area is filled with all the baby princess gear (you can even buy a car seat in hot pink that says, "I'm a princess" all over it. Scary.). Most of the car seats are too heavy for me to pick up (now imagine a 12 pound child in it at the same time). I suddenly wished we didn't live on the second floor of an apartment with no elevator (I told Dave that baby and I will only be going on stroller outings if Dave helps me carry the stroller down the stairs every morning before he leaves for school next summer).

In a word we were: overwhelmed.

So we came home and I took a nap and Dave did chores and then we spent the night going through the baby name book instead, coming up with a list of potentially catastrophic names for baby:

Llewelyn
Dickran
Rainbow
Avril Lavigne

Picking out names for a child is still overwhelming (Do I want to say the name Simone for the rest of my life?), but somehow it feels more manageable at this stage than looking at a crib and wondering if baby's head will somehow get stuck in there or if baby's fingers will be crushed by the infant car seat mobile that you wind up and it plays "It's a Small World After All."

Xray vision?

I am standing at one end of the house, ironing clothing that has been patiently waiting to be ironed for 6 weeks. Dave is at the other end, paying bills. We are having a quiet morning of chores (welcome to vacation!). Then Dave walks through the house toward the kitchen, I smile at him, and the baby kicks! Pow! It's like the baby has Xray vision. Here comes Dad!

Baby Loves Ovaltine

And we have a winner... the food/liquid that makes baby do flips and twirls and spins in utero is Ovaltine. I can feel little feet against my stomach, then a whole body flip, then feet, then a whole body flip, around and around like a Merry-Go-Round. All because baby loves Ovaltine. Yum. More Ovaltine, please! I think we'll buy stock.

Dave gets kicked by his own child

So I wrote yesterday that the first time the baby kicked was during our 20-week sonogram, but since then, the kicks have been more frequent and more pronounced. It's great fun, especially when we're sitting at the dinner table and suddenly I say something profound like, "Whoa!"

I do feel a little guilty that I get to feel all this wonder inside, and Dave gets to listen to my explanations, especially when the explanations are as interesting and varied as, "Whoa." It doesn't seem very fair...

until two nights ago, when we were lying on the floor watching TV, Dave's hand on my belly, and BOOM! Baby kicked Dave right in the hand. Dave asked, "Did you do that, or did the baby?" I told him the baby, and then we celebrated like it was New Year's Eve. Ah, the pleasures of experiencing all this stuff for the first time. It's like it's my birthday every single day.

A Recap of our 20 week sonogram

Last Friday you'd have thought Dave and I were sharing a birthday. I couldn't sleep, I was so excited to meet our little one visually again. We even arrived at the doctor's office 15 minutes early, then sat there and perused all the baby magazines, which we generally make fun of, but this time, we were just a tad more serious.

The tech led us back to the sonogram room, and lo and behold, the very first thing that happened was the tech put her wand up to my belly and the baby kicked for the very first time - kicked the wand, that is. The tech jumped back and said, "Whoa! I guess this baby doesn't want to be disturbed today!" Too bad, little one. We were coming in.

First image we saw: the thumbs up sign. (See bottom photo - the tech labeled it) Click on pictures to make them bigger.

The photo on the top is a profile, baby's head at the right-side and baby's belly on the left. All the black space is amniotic fluid.

Based on all the calculations she added up (length of the baby's femur, circumference of the head, etc) the baby weighed in at 15 oz (almost a whole pound of baby inside me!) and 7 inches long. In fact, baby's size is equal to an average 21.5 week-old, not a 20 week old. Dave and I have thought for some time that we were a little ahead of the due date, and this just proved it. This doesn't mean that the doctors will change the due date, however; we'll have to wait until we're farther into the 3rd trimester for that.

Some highlights of the sonogram: measuring the four chambers of the heart, which are almost evenly divided by a cross, seeing that the baby's stomach was full from our breakfast, observing the baby flex his/her fingers and pulling on his/her ear, observing the baby open his/her mouth VERY wide (like a yawn, only bigger), and while measuring the foot, seeing five perfectly square toes. The tech asked who in our family has square toes, and the answer is, my mom! The first family-likeness comes in the form of square toes; how funny is that?

Our Hanukah Tshirts

Thanks to Paula and Azzy Reckess, this year's Hanukah gifts included two funny t-shirts acknowledging our incoming bundle of joy. I wore mine to an end-of-the-semester brunch at my professor's house yesterday, effectively announcing the pregnancy to a few classmates who hadn't caught on yet. Dave is promising to wear his t-shirt when we fly to Denver, to inform everyone flying Delta that he is the baby daddy.

ps - You can click on the photos to enlarge them, if necessary.

Our 20-Week Sonogram

Tomorrow morning, Dave and I have our 20-week anatomy sonogram. The baby's body will be mapped - the direction of the blood vessels, the stomach, the chambers of the heart, toes and fingers, width of the spine, length from head to toe... it's like our own little biology lesson growing inside my body! We're excited to visually meet the baby again, to hear the heartbeat, to see the face. At our 12-week sonogram, the baby was waving arms and running in place - what will tomorrow have in store???

Pregnant Lady Powersuits

Today I had to be in court at 11am, and last night after I had worked on some notes and talked to my supervisor on the phone, I suddenly realized...

What do pregnant ladies wear to court?

The answer is... pregnant lady powersuits. I don't know if I looked silly or adorable or formidable. Or none of the above.

But then I came home and immediately changed into fleece. Because despite looking silly or adorable or formidable, mostly I was uncomfortable.

My Breyers' Ice Cream Commercial

Here I am studying hard and consuming ice cream from the tub. Yum!

When I haven't felt the baby move in a couple of hours, I like to eat or drink something sugary, because it's like an on-off switch. It'll be quiet (maybe baby is sleeping?) and suddenly, it's a party! Yay! Welcome to my sweet-tooth, baby. I hope you're not one of those kids who doesn't like ice cream, or else we're sending you back to the baby factory.

More Belly Pictures

Week 18! The first picture shows you my camoflauge, the second shows you what it would look like if I wore my bikini to school.

This morning I was blow-drying my hair upside down, and when I flipped over, me, the baby, and my hair all went flying backwards into the bed. Whoa! Talk about weight distribution! Then I felt the baby flip again - thud.

Then Dave and I went out for breakfast, and I realized that I didn't know where to put my napkin - across my belly, my lap, my breasts? Hmm. I choose the belly and held it in place with one hand, the bagel in the other. And then I dropped the bagel onto the belly, where it flipped cream cheese side down and landed on my black pants. It was awesome. Dave and I laughed and laughed.

Take Our Poll

In the spirit of an election year, we've added a new Polling feature to the blog that lets you vote on some VERY important matters. It's located on the left side bar, underneath our blog's description, and you don't have to sign in to vote (some readers do not comment on the blog because they don't like signing in, and we understand that). So vote away!

We'll update the polling question every two weeks, so keep checking back. But please, don't stuff the ballot. One vote per person per question.

Flying the Not-So-Friendly Skies

Dave and I were part of the jet-set for Thanksgiving, and before flying, we had a checklist of things to ensure a smooth pregnancy flight. We had a copy of my medical records, I drank a lot of water, I sat in an aisle seat to allow me to roam the aisles, we brought a bag of snacks, I chewed gum, I did seat exercises for my legs and torso... and still, it was probably the hardest thing I've done so far this pregnancy. The doctors warned us that it might be tough, and they weren't lying.

The strangest and in some ways hardest part of the flight was the ascent and descent - each time we went up or down, I got there first, and then the baby followed. It was like getting socked in the stomach over and over again. Apparently the baby isn't as strapped in as I thought - it's floating all over the place in there!

After each flying day, my stomach hurt on all sides, stabbing pains, for about 15 hours or so. And the second trimester is supposed to be the easiest time to fly during pregnancy! I am not looking forward to our upcoming flight to Colorado - after we get home, I'm staying on the ground until the baby is born.

The Stork Brings the Baby, Right?

Last night, Dave and I, along with our friend Katie, went down to Onondaga Lake Park for the holiday Lights on the Lake extravaganza. Last night was the walking tour - usually people drive the four mile light display, but on the opening night, the Park and Rec dept. opens the display to walkers for free... and all of Syracuse seems to show up.

Little did we know that alongside the Wizard of Oz display, the Victorian Village display, and the Cavemen display, was the Animal display - and who should be there, but the Stork! So we got our pictures taken with the one who will soon deliver the baby. Sorry, Dr. Brown, but you've been replaced by a 12 foot light display!

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! Hope you enjoy your turkey, tofurkey, lobster, etc. with friends and family!

Goodbye, Martini; Hello, Faketini?

I was at the bookstore yesterday, and among the silly pregnancy books on the shelves (Choose Your Baby's Gender is one such ridiculous title), was one called, The Pregnant Girl's Guide to (non)Alcoholic Drinks, and it included a whole bunch of concoctions to fool you into thinking you were drinking an alcoholic beverage, when in reality you were drinking fruit punch and ginger ale in a spiffy glass. (* I have another beef with the book, specifically the title - I'm still a girl? At what point can I be a woman? If pregnancy doesn't bestow upon me womanhood, then what does? Puh-lease.)

The existence of such a book was puzzling; who needs a fake alcoholic drink book? I'm not sure why going out to the bars as a pregnant person and drinking a Coke is any different than being the designated driver and drinking a Coke, but apparently, some pregnant women crave alcohol because it's forbidden. Or because it's part of their lifestyle.

Today I was talking to my grandma on the phone, and she told me that when she was pregnant with Neil, she specifically asked her ob/gyn if she should stop drinking alcohol. He replied, "Of course you can drink alcohol. Just don't fall down." Then Grandma told me, very matter-of-factly, "And I never fell down."

A Snowy Morning

This morning we woke up to a dumping of beautiful lake-effect snow, which is soft, fluffy, and clumps to all the tree branches. It was beautiful. I woke up to go to the bathroom, and before I climbed back into the bed I opened our bedroom blinds for Dave to see. You'd have thought it was his birthday- his eyes widened like saucers.

Arlo was curled on his back at the foot of the bed, and Purna was standing on her back feet on our dresser, watching the snowflakes and trying to catch them through the window. Then as I snuggled back into bed, Dave said, "It's baby's first snow day!" At least the first snow day inside the womb. I love snow days like this, especially when I don't have to hurry anywhere. And I can't wait to share them with a little person. Snow = magic.

It's amazing how as the pregnancy progresses and the knowledge grows that soon enough we will add another member to this family, all the things I love about changing seasons and living in a Northern climate are emphasized and seem more celebratory. It's like when you move into a new house and invite important people over, you see everything through their eyes. I'm already seeing all the things I love about this time of year through the baby's eyes, and the baby isn't even here!


Today begins week 17, the last full week of the 4th month. People keep telling us the pregnancy will fly by, and they ain't kidding.

A Surprise in the Night

I had some strange dreams last night, mostly the anxiety kind (Did I ever change my last name with the student loan people? Did I remember to sign my promissory note this semester? When do I give my Americorps grant to financial aid? Etc., etc.) I also had a strange body night - I'm at the point where I should quit sleeping on my back (it cuts off oxygen and hurts your back), and sleeping on my belly ain't happening, so it's sleep on the left, flip all the way over, sleep on the right, flip all the way over, sleep on the left, all night long. I practically have to push off from Dave to get the momentum, but luckily he is a deep sleeper and doesn't seem to mind me using his thighs as my platform.

At one point, as I flipped over from my left to my right, I decided to stop on my back for *just a minute* to rest/sleep in the forbidden position, and suddenly I was awake and aware that my t-shirt was drenched on the left side of my chest. I moved my arms, and the bed covers were wet. I sat up and looked around, but of course it was dark, so I frantically felt around the bed, finding the edges where the liquid stopped. I don't want to sound like it was a huge amount of liquid, because it wasn't, but I was still wet and cold and unhappy because... my left breast was leaking breast milk. (To be more specific, it was probably leaking colostrum, which is the precursor to breast milk, but anyway...)

I pulled the wet areas of my shirt up to my nose and inhaled, and yep, that's what it smelled like. Actually, it smelled like this little girl Meghan I used to baby-sit. Kind of warm and sweet and it made me think of rainbows and kittens and fluffy clouds.

I don't know if some dream caused my leakage, or a hormone fluctuation, or Purna the cat crying from some corner of the house and awakening an unknown maternal instinct. I don't know if this is normal or very weird or kind of ho-hum, because I've never heard/read/received any information at all about this topic. It does seem rather taboo, and I even hesitated to write about it at first, thinking, "Who wants to read about my leaking left breast?" But then, for the sake of information and the possible comments this post might produce, I decided a post about my surprise in the night was appropriate. And if you're sqeamish about THIS topic, perhaps you should stop reading the blog until AFTER the baby is born, because it is my understanding that it only gets worse. Can you handle it?

Busted

My cold is entering Day 11, with no signs of relenting. This means I've been combating a cold without medication for 11 days, and my focus during classes is to keep my noisy nose and cough under control. Hot honey water provides the most protection for my throat, but it also goes through me pretty fast during a 75 minute class.

Last week I drank my honey water during class and suddenly had to go to the bathroom, so I quietly exited the lecture hall. 20 minutes later, I had to go again, so I quietly exited the lecture hall. And then 10 minutes later, I... yeah, you know what I had to do, so I got up and quietly exited the lecture hall. To which my professor interrupted his lecture to say, "Well, there's a lot traffic today, isn't there?"

Busted.

We Have Movement - and another picture!

Another view of the 14 week belly
Posted at week 16 (so there's a little bit of lag time between pictures...)

We have movement!!!! The little person inside is a gymnast. I stayed up from 2:30am to 5:00 am this morning, watching infomercials detailing how to become a SPAM business-owner, because baby did not like the jalapeño peppers I ate last night at dinner. This feeling is very new, so hopefully I'll get used to it soon and get a little more sleep. Besides, Purna the cat got angry at me because she had to share the couch AND the afghan at 2:30am, which is when she generally has dibs on the couch. She sat on my hip for 2 1/2 hours, staring at me with her ears back, telepathically urging me back to my own bed. I finally got the message and returned to bed, and baby went to sleep (or at least got down off the trapeze).

Drum Roll Please - It's a !*&$!%

So Dave and I found out the gender of our baby, kind of by accident. We were having a sonogram yesterday, and the technician asked us if we wanted to find out the gender, and I said yes, and then she told us... but we weren't ready! At least, I thought I was ready when I said yes, but in hindsight, I wasn't. As Dave just said to me, "It hasn't sunk in at all yet." This is true - after she told us the gender, I didn't feel anything. It was like she told me that the baby will want to be a postal carrier when it grows up (this was my dream as a 4 year old). I just didn't feel anything but, "Oh, ok. It's a *&%$#."

How does our reaction affect you? Well, since Dave and I weren't ready to know the gender of the baby, we've decided that you, our dear readers, aren't ready yet either. You'll just have to wait until we've processed this, and then we'll let you know. Maybe.

But the important parts of the sonogram revealed a little person who weighs 7 oz, who has a very active set of legs and arms, and whose heart has developed into four separate chambers which were visible on the monitor. There is nothing like seeing and hearing the heart - 152 bpm and steady. The baby is also laying low, in the "hammock of my pelvis," as the doctor said.

My dentist asked me what gender I wanted the baby to be. "Everyone says a healthy one," she said, "but people have secret hopes." And I made up some answer that wasn't really true to satisfy her. Because I don't really feel strongly one way or the other. Although, in all honesty, I should let you know that there is a little part of me hoping for a girl so that we can continue the women's college legacy, but Dave did remind me that we could just require a son to only date women's college graduates. (This is a joke, of course. We are not the kind of people who will require our son/daughter to only date a certain type of person. I did enjoy the story, though, from a Chinese-American friend who said that after he came out as gay to his parents, his mother said, "You still have to marry a Chinese man and give me Chinese grandchildren." Our parents' expectations of us are often indeterminate until push comes to shove.)

My First Topple

This morning I crouched down on the ground to clean up some indecipherable kitty matter (bad kitty!!!) and tipped right over when I tried to stand up. So THAT'S what they mean by "redistributed weight."

What the Pregnancy Bible, "What to Expect When You're Expecting," Didn't Tell Me About Pregnancy

Everyone seems to ask the same question at the doctor's office: have you bought the book, What to Expect When You're Expecting yet? Oh, don't you worry, we tell them. We are dedicated readers. However, we think the woman model on the front is a little... too Better Homes and Gardens. We'd rather have a model who could at least wear jeans like the rest of us.

But although What to Expect... is the tome of pregnancy, and a pretty excellent resource all-around, it didn't prepare me for the following strange physical reactions to the hormones (and baby) taking over my body...

1. Heavy, voluminous earwax. I can feel it drop into my ear, like a raisin. Yuck. We are going through Q-tips like new parents go through strangers' "helpful" advice.

2. Thick, dark veins showing up on my eyelids. I have to wear concealer everyday under my eyebrows because otherwise it appears that Dave hit me in not one, but both eyes. I have to protect my marriage with concealer!

3. The Tickle-Me Elmo belly. The skin is so tender around my lower belly that when Dave rubs it before we go to bed (for good luck!) I become Tickle-Me Elmo. I wriggle and giggle and can hardly believe how incredible it feels. I even have the same high-squeal that parents find so endearing about Tickle-Me Elmo. I have turned into an electronic stuffed animal!

4. The ever-present heartbeat. I can't fall asleep at night because I can feel my heartbeat beating against my shouldar blades, my ankles, my fingertips... everywhere. If I lay on the couch and cross my ankles, it's like I'm actually tapping them together, because my heartbeat is so strong. I feel like I have some mental disorder, unable to fall asleep at night b/c my heartbeat is keeping me awake!

A Sore Throat Makes Me a Crabby Lady

It's official - being ill while pregnant is a horrible combination. No NyQuil, no cough syrup, no nasal decongestant. Just me and the Riccola cough drops and a whole bunch of water. And a whole bunch of water plus a diminished bladder means a trip to the bathroom every 20 minutes.

The only way to make myself feel better is to substitute cold remedies with food - genius!!! I ate a bowl of ice cream today in lieu of cough syrup, and it did the trick. I had chili for lunch yesterday, and that worked like nasal decongestant. Maybe for dinner I should eat a large Thanksgiving turkey meal and that can work as my sleep aid?

Pregnacy + Middle Aged Men = Pick-Up Lines Galore

A phenomenon not mentioned in the Pregnancy Manuals: the Pregnant Sarah has received more pick-up lines from middle-aged men than the Not-Pregnant Sarah ever did. And this has occurred both when I wasn't showing and when I was. I must be emitting some kind of weird smell that attracts them like flies, or it's my glowy skin. Or maybe it's the new waddle that follows me around, or my ungraceful way of getting out of a chair.

Whatever it is, it is bugging me like allergies that won't go away. Strangest of all was that in the last two weeks, I actually received the same pick-up line TWICE from two different middle-aged men. Both times I was sitting at a table alone, and both times, the man walked by me slowly and said, "Pretty women are beautiful when they smile." Which of course is supposed to make me smile, but I don't want to smile when this happens. I want to flip them off.

But creepiest of all was the middle-aged man I met on the elevator in the Law School on Friday, who told me I had a very long, beautiful neck. This makes me want to wear scarves. Or turtlenecks.

Perhaps the pregnant Sarah is a safe person for middle-aged men to flatter. Maybe they think I feel unattractive as a result of being pregnant (it's amazing how many people comment about getting "fat" - as in, "Are you fat yet?" Pregnancy is not fat. Pregnancy is carrying a fetus. Although I must admit that I am now at that stage where maternity clothing makes me look cute and pregnant, and regular clothing makes me look like I gained some weight. But anyway...)

Whatever the reason for the flattery from the middle-aged men, it is unexpected. A sore back, learning about car seats, people touching your tummy - all expected. Being told I have a beautiful neck? Not expected. Not at all.

My View

My view of the tummy. I had to bend backwards a little bit, so it's a bit exaggerated. And that's a tie in front, not my belly-button popping through my shirt like some piece of rope.

14 weeks along

oh, here I am all smiley and tired after a long day at school. But look at my belly! That's 14 weeks, folks. Wow!

Our last Halloween without a little Yoda

Dave and I are big fans of Halloween, but being an adult without a child to share it with sometimes makes Halloween just an excuse to drink alcohol. And I like Halloween because of the reasons I loved it when I was 10- the time of year, the creative process, the pumpkin-carving, bobbing for apples, etc. I was the type of kid who planned my Halloween costumes in August, and I still take it pretty seriously, because I think it is a quintessential holiday representing America - specifically, I think that it is unbelievable that you can come up with a bizarre conglomeration of clothes (like the year I was a bag lady - not very sensitive) and walk around your neighborhood with a pillowcase, ring stranger's doors, and get FREE candy. Amazing. As my foreign-exchange student friend Anne-Sophie said after experiencing her first Halloween in the States, "America is beautiful."

Dave and I came home from work/school yesterday, carved pumpkins on the front stoop before the trick-or-treaters showed up, and proceeded to hand out gummi candy shaped like severed body parts for a couple of hours. And I felt so excited... because this is our last Halloween without a kid. And the very thought of experiencing this amazing holiday, one of my ultimate favorites, with a little person dressed in a white sheet is great. I can't wait to plan Halloween costumes in August, and carve pumpkins, and walk around the neighborhood greeting our neighbors and shouting Trick or Treat! I really can't wait.

And I am already, one year early, plotting my little one's Halloween costume for 2008. A baby Yoda - the little green character from Star Wars. Last night I read that we should start looking for cribs soon. But Yoda is much more exciting.

PS: That kitty pumpkin is my creation. Just so you know I didn't steal the picture from someone else's blog and pretend it was my own.

Hungry. Really Hungry.

I woke up to a growling stomach Friday early morning at 4am. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore my hunger, but no-can-do. I was awake and starving.

Only 6 hours earlier I had eaten some soft-serve ice cream with M&Ms on top, and 3 hours before that I had eaten pizza for dinner. Pizza + ice cream = hunger so bad that I had to get out of bed at 4am and find something to eat? Unbelievable.

Dave and I were in a hotel room in Fredonia, NY, and there was a package of granola bars in my bag, so I quietly got out of bed and proceeded to eat the noisiest granola bar ever created. Dave woke up, thinking I was nauseous, but instead found me standing at the foot of the bed, shoving a granola bar into my mouth.

3 hours later I was awake again, and starving. I felt like a machine. I am a machine - a baby-growing machine. I couldn't understand all this hunger. And then Sunday morning I woke up, looked in the mirror, and... oh my. Look who finally looks pregnant! Ah-hah!! Hunger every hour = Quickly Growing Baby. Now it makes sense.

Welcome to My Eating Trimester

I left class this morning and headed straight for the vending machine, where I bought a bag of potato chips. Then I headed for the clinic office to begin my workday. The potato chips were for later, I swear. But then I decided to eat the whole bag while I checked my email. It was not yet 10am, and I was eating potato chips. Normally, I would find that a little disgusting. Now, I'd like another bag.

The first email I received was from my friend Liz, who is celebrating Thanksgiving with us this year. She ended her email with, "Less than a month 'til Thanksgiving, yey!!! So exciting! Especially since you're in your eating trimester."

Liz nailed it on the head... a great description for what my world really revolves around right now: The Eating Trimester. And I am rather fortunate that my eating trimester coincides with Halloween candy corn and Thanksgiving pumpkin pie and Hanukkah fried donuts (I can't spell the name Dave calls them) and Christmas peanut butter cookies and Birthday cake! We couldn't have planned this better! Pass the potato chips, please!

65 pounds vs. 2 pounds - the weight debate

So it's not a "real" blog unless you have some kind of celebrity item, right? Time magazine reported this week that supermodel/horror-movie actress Milla Jovovich, at left, gained 65 pounds in the first 4 months of her pregnancy. 65 pounds! If I was to follow her lead... I'd need to eat about 10,000 calories a meal. Maybe I should start heading for the fried chicken stand?

Weight and pregnancy is a tough issue. Each generation receives different information about how much weight is best. Grandma Joan wore pre-maternity clothing out of the hospital with Neil (she barely gained anything); Mom gained 40 pounds with me. My endocrinologist told me she gained no weight in the first trimester, then 50 pounds in the next two. Every body is different, and prenatal advice changes over time. Current standards: moderation, whatever that means.

We received a chart from the ob/gyn that showed how much weight is ideal to gain over the course of the pregnancy, and again, it's an ideal. And we don't own a scale at our house, so my knowledge of how much weight I'm gaining relies on monthly doctor visits and whether I'm rounding out my jeans because my stomach/intestines/internal organs have been shoved up to make room for the baby or I'm actually gaining any weight. At our last check-up, I'd gained two pounds in 3 months, which doesn't mean much. However, for the baby's development and my own energy-level, I do need to start gaining some weight. Last night I ate a HUGE bowl of Breyer's Vanilla Ice Cream, and I felt (1) relief that I'm not constantly ill anymore, and (2) smug that Ice Cream is full of calcium and fat.

Supermodels probably need to gain 65 pounds for the health of the fetus. I probably don't. But I'd like to pack on a little weight soon... if for no other reason, then I'll begin to show a little more. Right now I just feel like an imposter.

You Smell Like Belly Button Lint

Friday, Dave smelled weird. He kept coming over to hug me or kiss me or wash the dishes with me, and I kept moving out of the way. Finally, hours into the weird smell, I started sniffing him to figure out where the smell was coming from... not his breath, not his feet, not his armpits. But his neck. Yech.

We were lying on the living room floor together, discussing dinner (because although we do own furniture, we don't sit on it), and I told him he smelled horrible. Whenever he came too close, I felt like vomiting.

"What do I smell like?" he asked.

I thought about it for 1 second.

"Belly button lint."

And then we laughed and laughed and Dave stood up, walked straight to the bathroom, and took a shower. The smell disappeared.

We don't know what the smell actually was or where it came from, but something was on his neck that Pregnant Sarah really disliked. The more I think about it, my best guess is that it was sweat stuck to three-day old beard growth, which I never seemed to mind before. After all, Dave and I lived in a car/tent for 2 1/2 months one summer, traveling around in 98 degree weather to spectacular locations like Scottsbluff, Nebraska (that campsite was next to a zoo - have you ever woken up to the sound of an elephant? and the smell of the animals was top notch). So we're used to each other in our stinkiest form...

But now things are a little different, and my nose is fastidious. I walk through the produce section of the grocery store with my shirt fashionably pulled up over my nose, and I have to run through the seafood section. My sense of smell is not just acute, it's faulty. One morning early on in the pregnancy, Dave was eating Grapenuts cereal for breakfast, and I walked into the dining room and announced, "I smell Cheeze-Its." We haven't had a box of Cheeze-Its in this house... ever?

I apologized to Dave for thinking he smelled like Belly Button Lint. He doesn't smell like Belly Button Lint, I promise. And he showers every day.

My First Puke

My Family Law clinic partner, Joleen, and I travel around Syracuse fighting crime. Not really, but we do spend an awful lot of time together talking about people's problems and how to fix them. So yesterday, we were driving around Northern Syracuse near the airport, completely lost and late for a meeting at a client's house. We pulled into a strip mall to reread our directions and call the client for information. And I don't know if it was the heat (mid-70s and humid) or my long-sleeved shirt or the fact that I had just drank a blueberrry smoothie and it was reacting with some antibiotics I am currently choking down, but I had to puke.

So I said to Joleen, "This is really gross, but I have to go inside that bakery and throw-up now," and I jumped out of her car, raced in, and finally, for the first time in 13 weeks, threw up. Yech. I hate throwing up, and so far I've been able to prevent throwing up in a kind of mind-over-matter fight with myself - one morning I really had to, but the thought of throwing up the blueberry pancakes that I had begged Dave to make went against my constitution, so I just decided, as I sat there next to the toilet, Purna beside me on the bathroom floor watching intently, that I didn't want to throw up. So I didn't. And that's how it's gone for the past 13 weeks. Until yesterday.

I was a little embarrassed about throwing up in the bakery restroom, and that Joleen knew what I was doing, and the counter people could hear my retching. And I felt like I should probably buy something now after misusing their facilities. So I opened the door, prepared to order a Pepsi to settle my stomach, and there was Joleen at the counter, ordering an egg sandwich, as though pregnant women jumping from her car and puking in bakery bathrooms was a perfectly normal occurrence. So we sat inside for a couple minutes, I felt better, and we got back on the road. And when we arrived at the client's home, I felt so thankful that I had gotten all the grossness out of me, because really, the last thing I wanted to do was puke in this client's house.

Sarah and the Pillow

And here we have a picture of me + 3 months, according to the Pillow (see October 7th entry Confronting the Pillow, for more info - click on title to the left). Holy shmoley!

Where's Dave?

Here's Dave, looking at the Baby Name Book. I'm posting this photo because some lady in the peanut gallery (comments section), going by the moniker "Not Really That Anonymous," (Hi Mom!) demanded a photo of Dave be posted. So here he is. Welcome to the Blog, Dave!

Being Outed in Class

This morning I walked into class, and my classmate Jona said in a sing-song voice, "Look who's getting bigger!" Trouble was, approximately half of the people in the room didn't know I was pregnant, and Jona received the nastiest looks from my colleagues. There was some uncomfortable laughter and silence, and then Karista asked, "Sarah, are you pregnant?"

Once everyone realized what was going on, we laughed and laughed at the supposed rudeness of Jona's comment. And it was nice to be outed, because I wasn't really sure how to go about telling people before it becomes really obvious. Only trouble is that neither of my professors were present, so I still have to tell them, seeing as how they will remain my profs next semester as well.

Welcoming the Second Trimester

I have welcomed the Second Trimester a couple of different ways.

1. I look very cute in maternity clothing. This bodes well for the next six months.

2. I am less tired - hooray! But I still want 9 hours of sleep every night.

3. Today I walked through the Marshall's baby aisle and looked at shoes and clothes and baby furniture. It was scary - everything is either baby pink or baby blue. Apparently we will scare little children by dressing them in real colors. But then I got stuck looking at baby books, and my heart about melted.

4. I gained two whole pounds during the first 12 weeks. It's time to start eating - which I welcome, because I am finally feeling hungry. I celebrated my returning appetite with my favorite treat: french fries and chocolate milkshakes.

5. Our cat Purna, who many of you know is not fond of sitting on human laps, has taken to mine recently like she's making up for lost time. My theory is that suddenly she knows how good she's got it, and how much her life will be different in 6 months. Plus she'll have a plethora of baby toys to keep her busy. But I think she might be too advanced for the newborn toys - so if/when we have a baby shower, please, someone remember poor Purna and buy her an Erector set or some blocks.

6. I cried on Sunday because Dave was sitting too far away in the house. This is a good sign, right? So I've been told, but thinking about it now, I can only shake my head in wonderment.

A Wave from Inside

Today Dave and I had our second sonogram. The first sonogram occurred at 7 weeks, and we saw a little peanut the size of a grain of rice with a steady heartbeat of 152 bpm.

So today I wasn't sure what to expect- and WOW did we see a lot. A little, mostly-formed growing being, with a discernible nose, upper and lower mandible, lips, ears... the works. Dave couldn't close his mouth - he was dumbfounded. Heartbeat 164 bpm. (No sex, yet. So don't ask)

The purpose of the sonogram was to measure the length of the body, the width of the spinal column, the bridge of the nose... to count all limbs (two of each, whew) and identify the stomach and bladder. The baby's head takes up most of its size right now, and it has no shoulders but a large paunchy belly (like me!). And the heart, which we could see beating on the screen, was HUGE in comparison to the stomach. Then we looked at the top of the baby's head and could actually see the two chambers of the brain, which the tech also measured.

And here was the best part-the technician (who has the coolest job ever - I'm jealous) couldn't get a good measurement for a while because the baby REFUSED to stop moving. It was like a bucking bronco, really. It was flipping from its back to its side, and she kept talking to it, saying, "Ok, now, just one second so I can snap a picture!" and then it would roll around. She said that some babies just lie there and don't do much, but ours was incredibly active. And then the best best part happened...

The baby started fluttering its arms, waving at us (or waving us away? "Get out of my house!" I think it said)! And we counted five little fingers. And then the tech decided to take other measurements (length of the fetus - 6cm - size of a lime) and we could see the little feet and legs, and they were swimming! Dog-paddling, actually. Then she returned to the top of the body, and we saw the baby put its hand to its forehead, like, "Please, people, leave me alone," and then the other arm started moving. Dave and I drove to the appointment this morning listening to a CD we just made for Dina (congrats on passing the FL bar!) and I am positive it was the upbeat music that woke the baby up for our appointment.

We have pictures of all this, but the process of watching it together on the monitor is 100 times cooler than the fuzzy pictures wherein we have to explain in detail what the viewer is actually looking at.

The baby's bones haven't calcified yet, so when it moves around, I can't feel anything, but soon, soon, soon! And then I will wish it slept more and stopped doing flips, I'm sure. Right now, though, it is AMAZING to think that although I can't feel anything, there's a lot of activity going on.

The one part that made me really sad is that there are still a lot of women in this country who don't get adequate (or any) prenatal care, and I think they miss out on some amazing bonding with their fetus as well as health care. It's one thing to feel sick and tired and emotional; it's another to have the opportunity to eyeball the responsible party and realize, "Hey! I'm growing a PERSON!" Especially since today's sonogram enforced the idea that this little person is a separate entity, all by itself, and although it depends on my body for a lot, it is growing and developing all on its own in a small little cavity (uterus). It's not an extension of me - it's going to be a self-supporting person in 6 short months! And that in itself is why the sonogram is so important - and scary. Dave said to me soon after we left the office, "It's amazing to see the baby as its own person. It's a whole 'nother person we'll have to take care of!" Suddenly we realized - what in the world have we gotten ourselves into???

Ok, ok, we'll give you a picture

Here it is - the first pregnancy photo I'll share with y'all. But geez, it's hard not to scrutinize as I look at it - why is my belly shaped so funny? It's bumpy! I don't know why. Maybe the Belly Band? And my pants are unbuttoned. That could be it. Or I just have a funny-looking shape.

Photo taken: October 10, 2007; 11 1/2 weeks pregnant.

Rejected Baby Names

Dave and I have begun the conversation... what shall we name this little person growing inside? We're going to start a list, buy a baby name book, etc. and then we're going to keep it secret from all of you. But we wanted to share something about the process of naming, so we give you...

The REJECTED BABY NAMES LIST: (check back periodically; we'll update!)
1. Elvis

2. Jesus

3. Elvis-Jesus

4. Names that end in S (Bacchus, Elias, Silus)

5. Sarah's first cousins' names (Aaron has already been taken TWICE)

6. Names that have belonged to our pets (Bjorg, Alpha, Phooey, Chomper, Ellis, Dudley, Tootsie, Fred, Checkers, Muffin, Arlo, Purna, Baby Jane, Mr. Baggins, Felix, Precious, and especially not Bob Kitty or Little Kitty). This is too bad because any kid named Bjorg Reckess would be an awesome tennis player.

7. The place name where the baby was conceived, ala a colleague of Neil's who named her child Bozeman and then proceeded to explain how she and her husband decided on such a unique name in their baby announcements.

8. Names that rhyme or half-rhyme w/ Reckess... like? Alexis. Texas. Nexus.

9. Names that Frank Zappa has already taken: Diva Muffin, Moonunit, Dweezil.

Confronting the Pillow

I still fit in my regular clothes, kind of. Everything is snug, and some stuff hasn't fit in awhile (like my jeans). But the existence of Belly Bands, nylon swaths of fabric that go over your unbuttoned, unzipped pants and keep everything from falling down, has let me wear my jeans for weeks now without anyone knowing any different. Soon enough, though, belly bands aren't going to cut it. So I went to the Motherhood Maternity outlet in Waterloo, NY, to find some new clothes, and there I discovered... the Pillow.

The Pillow is found in all of the dressing rooms, and you hold it to your stomach and then pull a velcro strap around your back and velcro it into place. And ta-da! You have just added two to three months to your torso. This is a great idea, because it's difficult to try on clothing you will be growing into without knowing how big you're going to be. And based on the Pillow - I am going to be absolutely massive.

At first I was strapping the Pillow on too low, and nothing fit correctly. Then with a little assistance from a store clerk, I correctly positioned the pillow and suddenly my try-ons all looked like... maternity clothes. And... I looked REALLY pregnant. Whoa.

I asked the sales clerk whether the reported Pillow-size of two to three months REALLY meant two to three months, and she said yes, I should count on being that size by New Year's. "And then I'll grow bigger?" I asked. She laughed and said, "Of course. When is your due date?" I told her, April 25. And she laughed again and said, "You might be making a second trip out here in January."

Or instead, I might just take to wearing my bathrobe everywhere. Except my bathrobe isn't even going to fit, much less my winter coat. The pregnancy manuals suggest wearing your male partner's button-down shirts, but I think by the end of this month I'll already be bigger around than Dave. What a conundrum!

So I bought two pairs of pants with the stretchy stomach inserts that grow with you, and a couple of shirts that are stretchy as well, and I decided to hope for the best, the best being that these clothes will last longer than two to three months. Because you never know... maybe the Pillow is wrong.

Pregnant Belly as Art?

Yesterday a package arrived for us in the mail which we were not expecting. We opened it to find: a Pregnant Belly Cast Kit. This is a do-it-yourself plaster kit that is described as "Proud Body Pregnancy Art." The idea is pretty simple: like a paper mache mask, this kit helps you cast your pregnant belly forevermore.

We thought this was an especially innovative, funny gift because it came from our friend Sue Smith, who many of you know was an instrumental person in getting Dave and Sarah to become "Dave and Sarah." Without her permission, I am replicating part of her note:

"You are never going to believe me, but a few weeks ago, completely out of the blue I thought to myself, I bet Sarah is pregnant...Anyway, I saw a painted belly cast a while back- didn't think much of it until today. I figured what better homage to Sarah's ta-tas than to make a pregnant monument to them!"

I thought this was especially funny because I have been thinking about how to post an homage to my growing breasts on this blog, and instead of a blog post, now I'm getting to cast them in plaster! So that years from now, people can say, "There's no way they were ever THAT big," when they see our cast.

Dave has asked if HE gets to be the sculptor here and apply the cast, and I think it's only fair because he got us into this mess in the first place.

The kit comes with about 100 different ideas for decorating your pregnancy cast, and if you're interested, go to http://www.doulashop.com and click on "Pregnancy Essentials." They have a pretty extensive art gallery, with some very cool ideas.

If you have any specific suggestions for how and when we should use our cast, post them in the comments section. And think about sharing the pregnancy cast with other pregnant people you know who might really enjoy a gift like this. Thanks, Sue! You're the best!

I Popped! (but just a little bit)

Today I am wearing the pants that are supposed to fit for awhile, but there is a button digging into my tummy.

This morning I woke up, showered, and then woke Dave up by saying, "Look at my tummy. It popped." I wasn't dressed yet, so I didn't know how much I had grown, but I could tell. The belly was sticking out. Dave barely opened his eyes, but he did agree, maybe so I would let him sleep.

It's hard to gage if tummies really change that quickly, or if it's gradual, or if it's wishful thinking. I keep complaining, "But I don't LOOK any different." Although Dave's mom did comment that I am glowing like a tanned beach bum, of which there are generally none in Syracuse, NY. Somedays, especially last week when I had a court appearance and client meetings and was freaking out that my case was going to trial, I didn't think about being pregnant very often at all. But when I'm home, and cooking dinner or washing dishes or playing with the cats, I think about it a lot, and part of what I think about is: what if this isn't true? What if it's all a game? Even though I have photographic proof of a fetus, having a baby can seem really remote at times.

And then I popped, and all day I've been looking down at my tummy, which is not going back into my body any time soon, and I'm silently shouting, "Look at me! It's real! I'm pregnant! Woo-hoo!" Although I'm sure my law colleagues are simply thinking, "Someone needs to lay off the Cheetos."

Dave has Pregnancy Radar

Don't try and hide it from Dave. If you're pregnant, he'll find out. Suddenly he is picking out women on the street, saying, "She looks about 4 months, don't you think?" He is hyper-sensitive to pregnant women. I guess sharing a bed with one cat, a pregnant lady and her large body pillow makes a man aware.

We found out that we were pregnant in Newfoundland, before I had even missed my period. I had known immediately that we conceived, but Dave and I both didn't say anything to each other, hoping not to jinx it by revealing our intuition. Then I started having these sharp abdominal pains, and then Dave said I smelled weird. Not bad, but different. He could tell. He knew I was pregnant.

Once we landed in Newfoundland, I was ill and feeling out of sorts, and Dave got to go grocery shopping in St. John's and bring back to our apartment Saltines and GingerAle. After a few more days of this, and continued abdominal pain, we broached the subject. Were we pregnant? We both thought so, but there was no proof. So Dave hiked back to the store and bought a pregnancy test. And even though it was too early to use it, I went ahead and peed on the stick - and there were two pink lines. Dave's pregnancy radar had officially begun to work.

But the best story is that after Dave's first day of graduate school, he came home and told me that his professor was in her early stages of pregnancy. She hadn't said this, but he claimed it was obvious. Not that obvious, though. Not obvious enough that everyone would look at her and say, "Pregnant lady." Obvious to Dave and no one else.

Then two weeks later, the professor lets it slip in class. Yes, she is pregnant, not much farther along than me. Her confession made Dave smug. He really does have pregnancy radar.

A Note to the Baby from Dave

"I just offered Sarah some yummy dessert. She said, 'No, I just want some water.' Then I saw her grab the milk.
"'Water?' I asked.
"'Well,' she replied sheepishly, 'I saw the milk, and Ovaltine sounded so good all of a sudden.'
"You're making Sarah act awfully funny."

10 Weeks and Counting

Today we are at 10 weeks, which is a very important milestone in the pregnancy. The peanut inside has graduated from embryo to fetus, which means that all the organs are present and accounted for. This also means that the fingerprints have formed, the eye color has developed (even though the pigmentation is incomplete and doesn't form until after birth), and that the reproductive organs are present but indiscernible. Unbelievable! It also means that this week or next, the placenta begins to function.
I was going to include a photo of fetal development, but at this point, it looks so... alien, that I think I'll just let it be. If you're interested, though, go to http://www.pregnancy.org and click on Fetal Development First Trimester.

Spreading the News Far and Wide

Another debate rages in our household - how many people to tell about the pregnancy, in which order, and how to insure that people's feelings don't get hurt. And then there's one more layer: informing people in our professional lives.

So far I haven't vomited in class (a most embarrassing situation that did happen to me in 2nd grade, in the front of the class as I rushed to the bathroom). And I'm not wearing maternity clothes per se. But my stomach is growing, and soon enough it will be obvious. Being under 5 foot 2 pretty much insures that this baby has nowhere to go but out.

But is it my professor's business to know that I'm pregnant? Is it my responsibility to tell? Should Dave share the news with his professor, who is also pregnant? We want to tell everyone we meet, including the check-out lady at the grocery store. But how private should this remain? How many people really care? It's hard to gage, and so we let it slip, little by little.

So who knows thus far? The Dean of Student Life at the Law School. The flight attendant on the way back from Newfoundland who saw me swallowing a Prenatal Vitamin and congratulated Dave while I slept. Our roomie, Adrienne, who couldn't be kept in the dark with all the baby literature laying around the house. Our new friends Jason and Keira, also pregnant. Relatives. Close friends. You, if you're reading this. Our rabbi, who happened to be at the ob/gyn on the same day and upon seeing us said, "Really, it's not what you think," to which we replied, "Really, it IS what you think."

We've decided on the slow moving information approach... leaking it every time we speak to people on the phone, inserting it in those last few thank you notes we've written, explaining to our dinner companions who are curious as to why I brought a bottle of wine for dinner and then refused to drink it.

The pregnancy is a joy, it's a blessing, it's all of these things, and we want to spread the news far and wide. But we also want to maintain the last vestiges of our privacy before it becomes completely obvious, before our lives change forever with a real live little person who will deserve all the attention that's coming her/his way. And so for now, we're trying to keep it mum and smile at each other, content in our secret.

The gender debate - to find out or not

Dave and I haven't yet decided whether to find out the baby's gender when we visit the doctor (Dr. Brown is his name -another Dr. Brown in our life!). We have a little bit of time to decide, but here are our thoughts/quandries:

1. Do we want the doctor to know more than we know? Absolutely not. If the doc knows, we should know.
2. We don't want the knowledge of the gender to create a gender-influenced pregnancy- as in I just felt the baby kick me in the bladder... but that's what boys do.
3. It will be easier to pick a name because we can narrow the list by 50%.
4. We don't want to create a personality and socially-construct a person before they have their own chance to be themselves. And we feel like knowing the gender might allow for that.
5. We're interested.
6. We don't really care what the gender is.
7. We can plan for a bris/ baby-naming ceremony in advance.
8. There's no surprise at the end. Sarah loves surprises.

So that's where we're at... and who knows how many more pros/cons we'll come up with in the meantime.

Hiding McDonald's Chocolate Milkshakes from Dave

If there is one thing that Dave is good at, it is insuring we eat healthy meals all the time. There's the occasional dinner out where no vegetables graze our plates, but this is a rare instance, especially with our vegetable garden and CSA-farm membership. Right now we have tomatoes and squash galore... and the last things I want to eat are tomatoes or squash. I want chocolate milkshakes.

Today I drove out to Target for a prescription pick-up, and suddenly I was starving. The past two weeks of school have been very busy for me, and I've been eating and running, or not eating regularly and then finding myself famished at 4:30pm, my last meal at 7:30am. And when the hunger hits, the blood sugar level drops dramatically. So I was walking to the car with my prescription and suddenly my body was crying out for something to eat. So I drove the car through the McDonald's drive-thru, ordered a small chocolate milkshake, and proceeded to suck it down as fast as I could before getting home.

It was around 5:00pm, and rush hour traffic should have saved me from having to come clean about ordering a chocolate milkshake, at McDonald's, no less, but unfortunately I was driving the wrong-way in the traffic, and I got home too fast. Plus, I was about to give myself a monstrous ice cream headache to boot. So I sulked up the stairs and hoped he wouldn't see the milkshake cup I placed on the kitchen counter.

But he did, and being Dave, he only said, "A milkshake, huh?" And thus I felt guilty that I had consumed a milkshake right before dinner. I told myself I shouldn't drink these things. But that's what I wanted. And it had to be better than a Big Mac and fries.

All of this is in my head, of course. Dave isn't passing judgment on the McDonald's milkshake; he's sad that he wasn't around to share one with me. It's my own guilt recycled around - you're feeding this baby WHAT? You don't want your children to eat junk food , and yet you're ordering it through the drive-thru and forcing the fetus to consume this milkshake? Yes, that's really where the guilt comes from - all the perfect mommy books and perfect parenting guides that tell me drinking one McDonald's milkshake will destroy this child growing inside. So dealing with my food guilt is really dealing with the perfect parent brigades - and it's about ignoring those people for a little pleasure, taken in small doses. Because I'm pregnant, damnit. And I should be able to have a milkshake.

Understanding our blog name

One well-known, beaten-into-the-ground aspect of pregnancy is food aversions and cravings, of which I have already had my fair share. Two weeks ago, after walking home from school in the heat and humidity, I collapsed on the living room floor and proclaimed myself too hot to eat. Less than five minutes later, I proclaimed myself starving. Dave threw out a number of suggestions... grilled cheese sandwich, salad, pasta, etc, to which I firmly shook my head no. I finally agreed to some heat-n-serve split pea soup, of which I am a big fan generally. Dave made himself a turkey sandwich and we sat down to eat. Four bites into the soup, I announced, "This soup tastes stupid," and refused to eat anymore. "I want chocolate for lunch," I said, to which Dave explained that there was no chocolate for lunch, but I could have an apple, a nectarine, a banana, etc. I settled on some bunny-shaped crackers and grapes.

"And the last thing I want for dinner," I maintained, "are VEGETABLES."

Welcome to "This Soup Tastes Stupid"

Dave and Sarah started a pregnancy journal to record all the trials and tribulations of being pregnant. But we realized early on that part of the fun of the journal was lost when we tried to retell the information located therein to our family and friends. And thus, our blog, This Soup Tastes Stupid, was born (ha ha... pregnancy jokes, so funny) for those of you who want to keep up-to-date.