Get Baby Out or “Why I am glad I didn’t have a birth plan”

***This has been in draft for awhile waiting to publish. Babe is now 9.5 week old***


There is a lot of talk about birth plans out there. Throughout my pregnancy I didn’t have a birth plan. At an OB appointment during the end of the second trimester my doctor asked me if I had a birth plan. I answered “Uh, to let you guys get the baby out.” I had some ideas, like I knew I would probably need pain management (because I can’t get through most weeks without taking Tylenol for something….) but beyond that I really didn’t have any plan.

Now that I am home with my son I can tell you I am so glad that I didn’t have my heart set on a birth plan because nothing about my labour was according to any “plan” that you would want. Just before I hit 37 weeks I got a cold. At my 37 week appointment I said to my OB that I had a cold.

“I am coughing so much and every coughing fit causes contractions. I am afraid of inducing labour.”

The OB said it could happen but it was more likely that it would just help “ripen” my uterus and make labour easily when it did take place. Well, this took me by surprise because I thought my fear was unfounded.

After a week of being sick and having contractions brought on by coughing fits, on June 30th at 11:30pm, after a day of binge-watching “House of Cards” on NetFlix with my husband, I went to the bathroom which was quickly followed by me saying to hubby “I think my water just broke.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I thought I peed myself, but it is definitely my water”

“Well, let’s get to the hospital…”

To which I responded, “But we were just about to do dishes!” Hubby laughed because clearly that wasn’t the priority right now. So I showered and had him at least rinse them off and neatly pile them in the sink. Because of course, I didn’t want to come home after 24 hours to dirty dishes (however, 24 hours is not how long I would be gone).

So off to the hospital we went arriving at midnight on July 1st. Canada Day.

After labour progressing well all night, and my pain being effectively managed by the wonders of the Epidural things started to go down hill. My baby’s heart rate fell – and it wasn’t coming back up.

At the time my husband was in the room and my Mom apparently was just arriving at the hospital, the nurse had to page for a Doctor to my room and I ended up having 2 doctors, 2 nurses and a resident all around me while my husband looked on worried and my Mom waited blissfully unaware outside the maternity ward waiting for Husband to get her text message to come out and get her.

After getting baby’s heart rate up to an acceptable level, the OB that was brought in said that if it happened again, we would have to do an emergency c section. Over the next hour and a half, we watched the baby’s heart rate monitor and watched as his heart rate fell with every contraction. We also watched as the contractions began to slow down, becoming shorter and weaker. One OB said, “It’s as if her body is shutting down the labour process. This baby isn’t going to come out.”

Then the heart rate fell again and stayed low for a while, and the team of doctor’s and nurses came back. That’s when the OB said “We’re getting this baby out now.”

We were going to have to get the baby out via an emergency c-section. This is where I am very glad I had no birth plan. When the doctors confirmed it would be a c-section I said “Ok I understand.”

The nurses and the doctors were shocked with how well I was taking the news. My Mom said that this reminded her of my birth. I, too, was born via an emergency c-section after being in distress.

Apparently, many women don’t take the news of a c-section very well. The nurse told me she has patients who end up so depressed by having an emergency c-section that they require counselling after the fact to deal with the disappointment of “losing” their birth plan and that she was surprised to see me handling the news well.

I took the news well because I believed that having a c-section was what was best for my son in this situation. I also trusted the medical staff at my hospital. They had been wonderful the whole time and I knew they wanted what was best for me and my child. Finally, understanding that my son was in distress, I believed that keeping myself calm would be best for him. Anxiety on my part wouldn’t change the outcome and wouldn’t be good for my son.

The operation went well and my son came into the world at 1:02pm on Canada Day. Two weeks early.

My husband held him near me as they put me back together and I finally got to hold my son as they wheeled me to recovery. I got to hold him for all of 20 minutes. At this point, baby’s breathing was laboured and when the nurses couldn’t clear it off to NICU he went. We were told that he would be there for 5 hours. It turned into 3 days.

They had to give him formula. I didn’t have the ideal amount of skin to skin. My husband couldn’t cut the cord, and we couldn’t do delayed cord clamping. Banking the cord blood was also now out of the question. I wasn’t able to breast feed him until the next morning and it didn’t go well. For three days I tried unsuccessfully to feed him – resorting instead to feeding him the colostrum I could pump with a syringe. Daily I wheeled myself down to NICU several times a day to see my tiny boy hooked up with so many wires and IVs poking into him.

By the end of the week we finally got to go home. After all that, I didn’t care that the labour didn’t go according to any kind of plan. I wasn’t heart broken when I realized I wouldn’t be able to have a vaginal birth.  When I look down at my him I can’t be upset by how he came into the world, just that he is here and we are a family now.

Humans and Animals are Different; An essay from my personal journals

From my personal journals
****Before I started this blog, I used to write personal “essays” and send them to my family just for fun. This is one I did in March of 2012 on what I thought I would like my child birth to be in relation to what to do with the placenta. And guess what, though I have edited it for flow and grammar it’s amazing how little my thoughts have changed on the topic now that I am 8 months pregnant****


There is a lot of wonder and magic and amazing things that come with child birth. There are rituals and traditions that every culture and family holds dear, and these traditions vary from family to family, and person to person. This essay is not meant to offend anyone but just to offer my opinions on how I think I want my childbirth to proceed with regards to the placenta.

It seems that use of placenta post birth is becoming more common. It seems that more people are cooking it, preserving it in various ways and it appears that there is a growing market to have it turned into supplement pills to take post-natally, or to use it in various DIY art projects.

Here’s what I would like to say on this…”No. This does not appeal to me.”

I understand this is a personal choice every woman must make for herself, but I see the placenta as an organ that is used to nourish the baby, providing a safe site for nutrient and waste exchange between the mother and fetus’ tissue during gestation. Safe because if the mother and fetus’ blood where to mix directly it could cause immune reactions due to different blood types. The placenta allows the exchange to occur through diffusion and active transport (yup, whip out that 9th grade bio text if you don’t remember what this means) thus eliminating reactions that could occur due to differing blood types.

When the body gets rid of it after giving birth, I believe that is the body’s way of saying “I am done with this.” I believe that if we were meant to re-ingest placenta then our bodies would have been designed to have our reproductive system reabsorb the placenta cells and return the nutrients to our body through some sort of post-natal circulation system.

This is clearly not what happens and thus I want my placenta to be disposed of according to hospital policies. I have no problem with delaying cord cutting to allow the new born to take up some more nutrients from the placenta and in fact do plan on doing this, but again, that is the placenta nourishing the baby for a short time immediately after giving birth; it is not me saving it and ingesting it at some point in the future.

Now, one counter-argument I have heard to mine says that many animals immediately eat their placenta after giving birth so why not humans?

Here’s my response to that: There are a lot of things that animals do that I don’t do and I feel placenta eating is one of those things.

Here’s my logic on the issue, based on 2 reasons animals may eat their placenta:

1) It smells. It smells like blood, and vulnerability to predators. So by ingesting the placenta immediately animals are attempting to remove the evidence of a vulnerable baby animal near by. This makes sense so that the predators don’t come looking for an easy meal.

If there was the risk that immediately upon giving birth, birds of prey would start swarming the hospital to eat my baby and immediate ingestion of my placenta would keep them at bay, I would probably eat my placenta. But barring any immediate threats to my baby’s life that stem from me not eating the placenta this is not something I will do.

2) Nutrients: yes I will not there is protein, vitamins and iron in the placenta. Animals are taking this back into their body. But animals live in the wild. They are not in a hospital or a developed area where as an alternative to eating their placenta they can take vitamins and supplements or easily have a nutritious meal. Also when a human gives birth even if they are really exhausted they can have food brought to them. If an animal gives birth they may be really exhausted and hungry but they would have to hunt, or forage for food. I am guessing they don’t want to do that immediately after giving birth so naturally they eat their placenta to get a quick meal into them so they can take care of the baby.

I guess if I were in a situation where I might starve and be unable to care for my baby because there was no other food source available then I might eat my placenta to give me energy. But I live in Canada, a developed country with grocery stores and restaurants and ways to eat healthy food after giving birth without having to eat my body’s own organs. I also have a husband who can help and bring me food, as well as family and friends. Yes there are some pack animals that “help” raise the young, but in most of the animal (mammal) kingdom the mother raises the baby herself. .

Now with all that said, after I give birth, please don’t suggest various placenta preservation ideas. If I have low iron, I will take Iron Supplements. Not eat placenta tablets. If I have low protein I can have a protein shake. Not a placenta smoothie.

Another placenta option that seems to be also growing in practice is the “placenta as art” movement.

People think it is beautiful. And yes I believe that placenta is beautiful in the metaphysical, spiritual sense of “Oh this is the thing that allowed my baby to come into the world healthy and nourished” NOT in a “Let’s take artistic vintage photos of the placenta and post to instagram” or “let’s make a print of it on canvas” or “let’s turn it into a teddy bear.”

It’s an organ. If I am going to see pictures of placenta they better be in a medical text book or journal. Not, in the newsfeed for Facebook.

I don’t mean to offend anyone who does plan to incorporate their placenta into their lives in some way, this is just how I choose to give birth. It is between me, my husband and the medical practitioners working with us. Humans have come a long way in medical advancements and science. We have a much better understanding of how the body works. In primitive societies maybe eating the placenta made sense because of lack of medical therapies to help a woman recover and because if you live in tribal society animal predators may be attracted to the placenta and attack your baby, but for me with all the knowledge we have I believe there are other options to recover after birth so yah, I don’t plan on ingesting the placenta, or doing anything with it other than letting the hospital dispose of it in what ever way they see fit.

Triggers OR “What makes you think you could handle compost?”

Well ,I have now surpassed the half way point in pregnancy (21 week, 2 days) so let me first state that while my Morning sickness has improved, it is by no measure gone.  In fact at 19 weeks I was so fed up with the non-stop vomiting that I called my doctor’s office on Valentine’s Day and got an appointment that day. After 15 weeks of it I needed help and I am not ashamed to say I broke down in the consult. In just over 3 months there had been only a handful of days where I hadn’t vomited, and not one day without nausea, dry heaving and gagging.

The doctor adjusted my medications and told me to take 2 weeks off work to recover and rest.

I have never taken a sick leave like that from work. But I did and found that the rest, lack of stress and new medication regime helped. I went 10 days without vomiting! So I returned to work and even though I was sick the first morning (my body just wasn’t used to eating at 7:00am anymore) the rest of the week was going well.

I would get a little nauseated at times throughout the day but overall was very happy. My energy was returning to near pre-pregnancy levels and I was taking less naps. I could even resume housework, like cooking meat, buying groceries and even doing dishes without a mad dash to the bathroom (or kitchen sink, or garbage pail, or in the case of the grocery store one of those plastic baggies you put your produce in). It seemed that the triggers that would aggravate the nausea were no longer a problem for me!

So last night after doing the dishes I started gathering up the garbage and recycling around the house to help out my husband who has been so wonderful taking over almost all the household tasks while I have been sick. It went well. Until I decided to try to gather the compost. Where we live we have green bins that go out every week with our compost. In the kitchen, I opened the small container to pull out the compost (which is in a compostable bag) and tie it up. Turns out I have at least one more trigger left.

I dropped the bag on the kitchen floor (tied up, so luckily no compost explosion) and proceeded to test the limits of the kitchen sink drainage system by throwing up everything that was in my stomach (which was a lot given it was shortly after dinner, and dessert, and a snack).

When my husband comes in I look at him and say “I tried so hard to help with garbage but the compost…I couldn’t handle it and it defeated me.” Pointing to the bag on the floor.

My husband looks at me incredulously and says, “Why would you think you could possibly handle the compost? I was going to do it.”

“But, I have been doing better….and I handled cooking raw meat and the dishes…and I wanted to help…” (my voice trailing off)

He shakes his head and says he’ll deal with it….and then I say, “um, I can’t handle the kitchen sink.”

Apparently he didn’t realize that is where I had been sick. “Why?” he says as he looks in before I could warn him of the horrors. Poor guy, had to deal with getting that unclogged and cleaned up too.

In the end, it was agreed that I will no longer try to handle rotting food of any type until after this baby is born and I think we can all agree that it is a wise decision.

Why I chose to find out the gender of my baby

Today it does seem like most women I know are finding out the gender of their unborn babies. I don’t know the exact statistics on this and I am sure it varies across regions and age groups and social demographics. Though not everyone I know finds out, most people I know do. At least for their first pregnancy. Of course, my sister is also pregnant with her first child and chose not to find out the gender.

My husband would have preferred to leave it as a surprise however this was one situation where he gave me veto over the decision. He felt that since my body was going through it all and I had to do the hard work of labour he could concede on this one and I would make the choice for both of us. (My track record of keeping secrets from him is quite poor so we realized it would not be feasible for only me to know).

Before getting pregnant, I always assumed I would want to know and at first I was sure I wanted to know. Then I thought, maybe not as I got a few weeks into the pregnancy. It was still too early to know anyway so I had plenty of time to decide.

Then the horribleness that is my pregnancy started. I won’t go into detail here, because I have previously discussed it in detail on this blog (here, here and here). You know a pregnancy is bad when people closest to you start asking, “Are you excited?” and you have to muster up the courage to say “Yeah” because anything else makes you look like a monster. Truth was, at times the pregnancy was so horrendous that I found it very hard to be excited. Every day was a struggle just to put in an appropriate number of hours at work so that I could go home and nap.

Every meal was a gamble as to whether it would stay down. I still dread mornings because I know I will throw up before I get to work.

I confess, I felt no connection to the baby at all right into the 2nd trimester.

Some women seem to be instantly connected to the life growing inside of them, that wasn’t the case for me. I was happy to have supportive people in my life who told me it was normal. “Wait until you feel it moving then you’ll feel more connected.”

My husband and I even gave baby nicknames each week based on what food Baby Centre was telling us the fetus resembled.

Husband “How’s avocado today?”
Me “Avocado is being really mean to Mommy and not letting me keep food down….”

It was cute but I was still so miserable that I didn’t feel strongly connected to baby.

So when I was getting my last ultrasound done I decided that if they could tell I would want to know the gender. As it turns out, the baby wasn’t shy and even without the help of the technician I was reasonably sure what I was having. The technician confirmed it as well.

I can honestly tell you that being able to put a gender pronoun to my child instantly lifted my spirits. My family told me I seemed so much happier and excited about the pregnancy. I know gender isn’t the most important thing and I see myself as progressive when it comes to gender norms, but for me it wasn’t about whether the nursery is going to be pink or blue (we are going with grey), it was finally something I could know about this person growing inside of me. Right now we don’t know the name, we don’t know what colour the eyes will be or the hair (though we can make some educated guesses based on our family), we don’t know what the baby will be like and who they will grow into. But right now, knowing the sex of the baby allows me to know something new about it and it has helped me feel connected.

So imagine how hurtful it was when upon revealing to a coworker that I found out the sex of the baby I got lectured on how wrong it is and that I wouldn’t really truly enjoy child-birth because I won’t have that surprise in the delivery room. I don’t know what the motivation of this person was to say these things to me. Especially since it wasn’t as if I could now ‘unlearn’ that information. But this person took the first real sustained joy I’d experienced during this pregnancy and undermined it.

I know from reading other blogs and parenting sites that parents judge other parents and at times it can be quite harsh. I guess I didn’t expect my parenting decisions to be attacked so quickly. Luckily, I am a pretty opinionated and strong woman and was able to look at her and say, “Well, for me it was right to know.” Then I walked away.



Don’t worry, it’ll get better OR “Really, I don’t believe it will get better:

I am now into the second trimester.

The fabled Golden Age of pregnancy where morning sickness disappears, your energy returns, you feel the baby move and according to seemingly every mother I talk to it’s the best time to be alive.

Except for me.

I am in my second trimester and morning sickness still hits me with alarming regularity. I still feel exhausted and most days have to nap after work. I haven’t felt the baby move so I can’t even take joy in that yet.

I can’t tell you how many people in the last few weeks have told me, “Oh you’ll feel better once you get beyond xx weeks” (xx representing 12, 13, or 14 weeks, whatever it is, it’s always in the past) and I respond with “Well thanks, but I am at xx weeks now, so passed that….and still feeling like crap”

To which they usually respond…”Well you know it will be worth it when you hold your baby…”

As much as I know that I will enjoy holding my baby, I can’t help but think wistfully about the women who are rewarded with their baby without going through a wretched number of weeks with vomiting, exhaustion, nose bleeds, head aches, crippling round ligament pain, and not to mention the roommate to my fetus, the hemorrhage currently residing in my uterus that is always in the back of my mind.

When those women hold their baby do they enjoy it less than those of us for which pregnancy has been one trial after another?

I don’t think they do. 

My husband & sister have taken to calling me the “Pregnancy Cliche”. My Mom laughs sorrowfully when I explain a new unfortunate symptom and says she wishes she could relate (apparently her pregnancies were walks in the park). My mother in law relates very well (apparently my husband was not a good pregnancy for her) and has been very supportive and caring. 

I didn’t have any grand fantasies about pregnancy. I am not one of those women who thought it would be the most magical time in my life. However, I work with a lot of women who have been pregnant over the years and I have never heard them vomiting at their desk, or running passed all the cubicles to rush to the bathroom. I have done both of these too many multiple times. 

It would appear that I was not made for pregnancy. Countless friends have told me how they can’t believe how horrible my pregnancy has been and yet, those same people tell me that I’ll forget all about it and I’ll want to do it again soon. I don’t know if that is true. Maybe we will have more kids. Maybe we won’t. But I don’t think I will ever forget how miserable I was for the this pregnancy. 

I joke with my husband that if he wants another child he better find someone else to carry it, apparently others find this joke to be distasteful. Imagine how great I felt last night when another woman agreed with me that sometimes a pregnancy is just so terrible that the thought of doing it again is completely and utterly unfathomable. 

“Most embarassing point of my life” or What happens when you make a pregnant lady drink a litre of water

No pregnant woman should ever be required to drink a litre of water ever. Period.

For those of you unfamiliar with the preparation required for a first trimester ultrasound, I am here to enlighten you. First of all, you are required to be finished drinking a litre of water at least 1 hour before the ultrasound. Now, if these seems excessive then let me tell you it is. I was required to have 2 ultrasounds in my first trimester one, The dating one at 9 weeks and then a second at 13 weeks because there was a hemorrhage detected on the first one so some additional follow up was needed. (Side note – the hemorrhage was still there so I get to take it easy now).

From the first ultrasound I had, I couldn’t fully drink the recommended litre of water. I think I got about 3/4 of it, but I threw some of it up so who knows, but when I got there they said that I was “full enough” so I thought great. Coming up on the second ultrasound I remember didn’t need to drink the full amount but apparently those cups held more water than I thought they did. I was  also able to keep it all down this time and by the time I arrived at the Ultrasound clinic my bladder was so full I literally had trouble walking. My husband thought I was over reacting but I really wasn’t. I was in physical pain from how full my bladder was, I still don’t know how I managed not to pee myself that morning.

As I made it up to the desk to register, all I could think of was how I just had to get through a little bit more time and then I could pee. Imagine my dismay when as the registration desk they informed me that earlier that day the power had been out for 1 hour and they were running behind on their appointments.

Much to the confused and annoyed looks of others waiting in the waiting room, I literally wailed out loud.

“WHAT! You’re kidding, My bladder is so full. I can’t manage, can I just go pee and have a trans-vaginal Ultrasound instead? That can be done empty right???” (You should probably read extreme desperation into this plea). Unfortunately, they didn’t want to offer my this olive branch, instead I was informed that I could go to the bathroom and let some of it out. 

I don’t know what kind of super-trained bladders these women have but when your bladder is THAT full it is nearly impossible to only let out “some of it”. So I did what any desperate pregnant lady would do in this situation, I quietly said “screw you” and went pee. I tried to stop mid way through but didn’t and kept going for longer than I probably should.

As I return to the waiting room, I run into my husband who had missed this whole scenario play out as he was parking the car after letting me out at the door, such a sweetie. I explained my saga, while trying to replenish the lost fluids with a styrofoam cup of water from the office’s water cooler.

Thankfully, I get called into the ultrasound only 4 minutes later than my scheduled appointment and the ultrasound begins. Already, I am feeling extreme discomfort and from all the water I have been forced to drink. When the tech starts the ultrasound she says, “Oh my, you are really full! HOW WERE YOU EVEN SITTING THERE?!” So it was not my imagination, I really did drink too much.

Thankfully she tells me that she’ll just take a couple of pictures and then let me go “empty” (and there was much rejoicing in my mind, and possibly a few tears of joy). Of course, her and my definition of what a “couple” means apparently differs by a factor of about 20. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of having the transducer pushed and prodded against my bladder I am allowed to go to the bathroom.

I come back and she continues with the ultrasound. Within 10 minutes she says, “Wow, you must be really hydrated, you’re bladder is almost full again.” Eventually my husband comes in and the fun part of the ultrasound happens where we get to watch our little baby move around and see that it does indeed have a brain, two arms, two legs, a spine, and a butt! Yea. All major body parts accounted for. It even moved it’s arms around.

The ultrasound ends and I run to the bathroom once again to pee. As we leave we find out that because of the power outage they are still waiting for systems to re-boot so they can’t actually give us any pictures of our ultrasound. I was a little disappointed but given how I almost lost the last ultrasound photo (it was forgotten in the bottom of a suitcase), and forgot to show it to people, I wasn’t too upset. I figured the baby looked healthy and they said they’d send it to our doctor any way.

My husband drives me to work and on the way I tell him I am really not feeling very well, all the water I had to drink is making me queasy and I think I am going to be sick. He asks if I want to go home. I stupidly tell him no, to drop me off at the office figuring it will pass.

I get to work and after about an hour of feeling terrible head to our cafeteria for some lunch. Unfortunately, the smells of the cafe do not agree with me and I begin noticeably gagging and heaving in the cafeteria. People staring at me. I start bolting to a bathroom while clutching my mouth and dry heaving, then in the middle of the hall I realize I can’t make it to a bathroom and start vomiting. I have nothing to catch it in so I try to hold it in my mouth but there is too much so I cup my hands and continue running. I make it to my desk and proceed to continue to be sick in my garbage pail (I realize I probably should tip the cleaning lady for that). When I think that it has passed and head to the bathroom to clean myself up. But it’s not done and I end up vomiting into a paper towel in my hands in the middle of my department again, on my way to a bathroom

People are staring at me. I am vomiting into my hands in the middle of an office crying.

When I finally make it to the bathroom I try to clean up as best I can but I have vomit all over my clothes. At this point I have to instant message my boss and ask if I can work for home for the remainder of the day because even though it is casual Friday vomiting on your clothes is pushing some sort of boundary. Thankfully she agreed.

I can honestly tell you that there is nothing that has happened to me that is more embarrassing than being seen running down the hall while vomiting on yourself and then explaining to your boss why you now have to go home after being in the office for only an hour. I remained so well hydrated that day that I ended up spending most of my day in the bathroom, and had to wake up 8 (YES, 8) times to pee throughout that night.

The only thing I can take comfort in at this point is knowing that my next ultrasound I’ll be further along and won’t have to drink the water.

Hair, hair everywhere!

Here’s something interesting.

In pregnancy they tell you that you’re hair grows faster! Yea, my hair is growing faster which is awesome because I had cut it short and wanted to grow it out long even before getting pregnant,

Unfortunately, it doesn’t contain itself to the hair on your head

I swear my legs look like a man’s legs after 3 days, my eyebrows are unruly no matter how often I get them done!

Not to mention unsightly hair growing on my face.

I’m already slacking as a mother

Turns out, that according to my husband I might already be slacking as a mother.

For the record, as much as I am happy about growing a person, I think back to all my single and childless years and realize that while I was happy for others, I really didn’t care that much about seeing their ultrasounds or following the growth of their baby on a FB tracking application. So I am personally forgoing those things. I do have a weekly tracker that tells me and my husband what is going on via e-mail but that is more to keep track of what week I am at…at this point I often forget how old I am (28?) so knowing how many weeks into the pregnancy wouldn’t happen with out my weekly little e-mail.

So how exactly am I slacking at 10 weeks pregnant? Well it turns out that last week when I got our first ultrasound and saw “baby” for the first time I was supposed to be more excited. I was thrilled to see that Baby was in there, had a heart beat, appeared to be developing hands and feet normally but mostly I was thrilled that there was only 1 baby in there (I thought we might have twins for some reason).

Seriously though, there wasn’t much to see in that Ultrasound. Especially this first early dating one. (They also did a trans-vaginal ultrasound on my which is seriously not as bad as I expected and actually better because I could actually make out Baby and recognize its developing limbs). I was happy to have received a print out of a couple pictures they took during the ultrasound I put them on my fridge next to about 17 Save the Date Wedding Fridge magnets and moved on with life.

Well I guess my husband thinks that we should share these photos with loved ones. On the weekend we were driving to a family gathering he asked “Did you bring the Ultrasound Photo?” I responded with a matter of fact, “No, why would I?” AND guess what, turns out that was not what he was looking for.

I felt that it wasn’t a big deal, we would tell the family we were pregnant and that would be it. No need to start inundating them with photos already right?

Well, he disagreed on that. Apparently, my in-laws do want to see the ultrasound photos which makes sense so he can bring them next time we visit. But I will not start whipping it out and showing it to every extended relative because I know a glazed-over look in someone’s eyes when I see it, and nothing brings out that look more than a fuzzy ultrasound photo with an overbearing mother saying, “Look at baby, see it’s totally obvious that this is the head right here….”

“Liars” or Seriously, whoever called it morning sickness is a moron

One of the first signs that I was pregnant was sitting with my husband eating dinner and gagging over a glass of wine.

However within a week, the nausea and vomiting hit with a vengeance. Who ever called it MORNING SICKNESS is a horrible liar. Not only does it not contain itself to the morning, but sickness does not do justice to what is actually happening. The constant, excessive nausea and vomiting is more akin to a  Biblical Plaque

Very quickly after the positive pregnancy test I started getting a little nauseated. Within a couple of days it was 24 hours a day and caused considerable strain in my previously happy relationship with food.

It was as if my body said to me, “Hey, YOU loved meatballs so why not taste them again and again!” But guess what body, Meatballs do not taste better being burped back up.

I think I could have even handled the vomiting but most of the time it was a vomit-tease. The same food would come up into the back of my throat over and over again. Hours later and I would think, “how has this not passed through my system?”

When I actually did vomit it was better because the food was gone and I didn’t have to relive it for the next 4 hours.

Having just witnessed my sister go through this in her first trimester, I knew that there was a magic little pill out there to help me.


Ah diclelctin, the happy little pill with a pregnant woman printed on it telling me I could now eat with impunity and it was totally safe for baby.

But noooo. That was not the case.

Sure the diclectin helped but not the way I expected. I wasn’t actually vomiting as much and had less burps of my last meal coming up on me. I was still nauseated throughout most of the day…everyday. I still went into fits of gagging for NO APPARENT REASON.

And you can’t control it. You can learn the foods that work for you and enjoy them, bananas and peanut butter sandwiches were my life. Until suddenly your stomach decides no more of that. A constant learning curve every day to determine what foods will be somewhat tolerated and which will send you running and gagging to the toilet (or sink).

It’s really hard to maintain a professional demeanor when during a project meeting you start RANDOMLY GAGGING.

Morning Sickness sucks. And for those of you who have yet to get pregnant and experience it, or those of you who were lucky enough to get through pregnancy without it I hate you just a little bit right now as I eye my garbage bin under my desk knowing my lunch will probably end up in there.

Morning Sickness: It lasts all day so let’s cut the BS on that.