*If kissing your husband after he eats a clementine feels like you're being waterboarded with orange juice.. you might be pregnant.
*If you catch yourself saying this is THE MOST AMAZING (FRENCH FRY/DOUGHNUT/BOWL OF RAMEN) YOU'VE EVER EATEN IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE.. you might be pregnant.
*If you've stopped complaining about the dog's/your husband's gas so much because you're not sure if it was you or him.. you might be pregnant.
*If everything you come across seems to smell like urine, socks, maple syrup or grandma's basement.. you might be pregnant.
*If you wake up in the middle of the night inconsolable because you had a dream about wizard nuns stealing you away from your family and it felt SO REAL.. you might be pregnant.
*If you can't sing along to a Taylor Swift song on the radio without sobbing through the refrain.. you might be pregnant.
*If you listen to Taylor Swift songs on the radio.. you might be pregnant.
*If you're secretly bummed it's not swimsuit season so you can show off your new rack.. you might be pregnant.
*If people keep touching your belly, and you cringe at the fact that they're delicately bonding with your extra fat layers and the baby is actually 6 inches lower.. you might be pregnant (but then I guess you already knew that).
*If you prepare exactly what you were craving, eat it, and then want to puke because the smell won't go away.. you might be pregnant.
*If you just got comfortable in the perfect position on the couch/bed/movie theater seat and you suddenly feel like you're about to wet yourself, even after you JUST went.. you might be pregnant.
*If you start eyeing your husband's closet.. you might be pregnant.
*If you tuck your shirt under your bra and unbutton your pants around the house so your belly can "breathe".. you might be pregnant.
*If you sit down ready for an evening of laundry folding and DVR, but then fall asleep thinking about it because even that was too exhausting.. you might be pregnant.
*If your favorite color Runt candy (purple) falls between the seat and you get really, extremely upset that you can't reach it.. you might be pregnant.
*If you've had a jar of peanut butter and a spoon at the ready on your nightstand for more than 3 days in a row.. you might be pregnant.
*If your husband wakes you up from a nap to hand you a DQ chicken strip basket and he doesn't say ANYTHING about you eating the entire thing while laying down in bed with your eyes closed (slightly elevated to avoid heartburn).. you might be pregnant.
*If sleep-eating on your back in bed seems perfectly normal to you.. you might be pregnant.
*If said chicken strip basket was neither a lunch nor dinner, but simply a "mid-meal snack".. you might be pregnant.
And finally, if you make up a list of scenarios of what it's like to be pregnant and every one applies to you... well, you know.
My final week of pregnancy I could have run a marathon to force thiat child out. Then while I was in labor, the pain was so bad ahat a shovel to the head would have felt better. I opted for the epidural over the 
shovel, but I waited long enough to guarantee the contractions were a pain I’ll always remember, not only to rub it in my son’s face one day, but so I don’t fool myself into thinking that a natural birth might actually be a good idea. (It’s not.)
The hospital stay was traumatic in its own right. Dozens of strangers shoving their way in my room at all hours to fill out forms (those were Marc’s guests), to poke and prod Erich and me, to throw off the sheets and examine how things are going “down there” and ask when my last “pee pee” and “poo poo” was (like, they do know I’m not the baby, right?). Don’t even get me started on the Nazi lactation nurses fondling me every two hours while smashing Erich’s face into my breasts. The only person that didn’t wake me up was the food lady, and she was the only one I waited up for.
It didn’t take long after settling in at home to have my first emotional/mental/physical breakdown. I lasted 24 hours before I sent Marc out in a blizzard to fill my prescriptions. I stayed home with a body that wouldn’t function, a baby that wouldn’t nurse, and breasts that wouldn’t stop growing. (Normally I wouldn’t complain about the last one, but I wasn’t thinking rationally at the time.) Another epidural would’ve been welcome, but I settled for an ocean of tears and the beloved Percoset my darling husband brought home. Ice packs, heating pads and oxycodone saved my life. I spent the next month healing, sleeping, nursing and trying not to poop. At least my kid is freakin’ adorable.
Now that my 13 week old sack of potatoes is sleeping through the night (10 hours last night!), babbling through his huge gummy grin and keeping his once 2 hour feeds at less than 40 minutes now, I’m starting to forget. My higher power is putting His Magic Eraser to work, obliterating traumatic portions of the past few months. Forever recording my experience in the blogosphere wasn’t likely part of God’s plan for new mothers, but He has a special plan for me. I’m beginning to forget what it felt like, but I hope by writing this, I don’t forget what happened. I propagate the species by accidental fertilization. It’s happened once, and it could happen again. At least next time I’ll know what to expect.
Toning up a post-pregnancy body is like reassembling a cake that’s fallen on the floor. Some pieces fit back where they belong but there are ultimately chunks leftover, and you really end up wishing you had swept the dog hair from the floor before baking. Right now my stomach looks like I pushed my thumb into a ball of playdough (thumb print = belly button). I’m hoping I can get at least some definition back, but I’ll have to accept the fact that some of my cake/playdough might be forever laced with last nights stuffing: Lumpy. Discolored. And maybe a little salty.The realization came last month, about a week after giving birth to my little baby boy. Looking in the mirror, I noticed several red marks across the top of my bum. These mysterious painless “scratches” came out of nowhere. Jäger hadn’t jumped me from behind any time recently, and they definitely weren’t Marc's handiwork (for as beaten up as I was, I wasn’t letting that poor guy anywhere near my booty.)We had been dealing with a bit of a mouse problem at the time, but I think I’d remember a giant rodent clawing at my ass. That left only one dreaded explanation for these unsightly blemishes: stretch marks. I had survived my entire pregnancy without a single one... or so I thought. Truth is, while in my “enlarged” state, I purposely avoided checking out my bare backside out of sheer terror. Well, that and I didn’t have enough mirrors to look at it anyway; twisting in any direction certainly wasn’t a feat I could manage without assistance. In any case, I’m told these lines too shall pass, or at least fade into “flat silvery streaks.” Great. With any luck I’ll have a tinsel butt by next Christmas. Though be it a rock hard tinsel butt! Bounce a quarter off that, Santa.
Guess what, World?!!!
I’M PREGNANT!!!
First, the facts:
1. Showing my Belly Off – I’m a proud mama, and if you land in our home any evening, you’ll get a full dose of my beautiful, round, exposed belly. Sure, I practice more modesty at work, but I have no qualms about tight shirts. I love anything that screams “Look at my gut!”
2. The Ultrasound (or Sonogram, whatever) – Even though prodding my full bladder for an hour felt like a form of Chinese Torture, every second was too short. I couldn’t take my eyes off of that squirmy little monster.
3. Feeling the Little Guy Move – Fascinating, comforting and sometimes irritating, it’s the funkiest feeling ever. Even more satisfying was the first time Marc got to feel it. I’m afraid I’ll feel so empty when it’s gone (or relieved? I don’t know, ladies, you tell me!).
4. Cleavage – I’m not sure if the mama or the papa is happier about these developments. It’s pretty great, though.
5. Doting – Everyone wants to take care of the pregnant lady! I haven’t carried anything heavy at work for months. Apparently lifting a bag of lotions will give me a hernia. Well, just in case they’re right, who am I to take that kind of a risk?
6. Father and Son Bonding Time – Here’s where I get all mushy. The moments Marc spends whispering to and rubbing my belly are my favorite of all.
7. Eating Whatever I Want – I’m so obsessive about my cravings that my sweet hubs has learned not to say anything as long as I’m within reason. (Even when I’m not, he’s learning to be careful.)
And finally, the reasons it’s not so great (I’ll gloss over these). They include: midnight trips to the bathroom, sleeping on my left side (my poor shoulder), moving at a snails pace, and being sleepy, forgetful, cranky, moody, achy, and suffering a wide array of digestion issues. The list goes on, but I'm told I’m “lucky” because at least I didn’t puke!!
