Lets talk about sex, baby.

On to a semi-awkward, personal and loaded topic: sexuality and the pregnant woman. I, personally, come from a family that is pretty open about sexuality, sex, confidence, and all the things that go along with it. At least my mother and I are very open about it. I can even recall several candid conversations with my grandmother during which she divulged some juicy stories about her two marriages, and her young, single life in San Francisco. Even about being approached by "women who liked women" in the elevator of her apartment building. She was an exceptional rebel and I'm proud to say that I take after her quite a bit. I have always been an open minded, partner pleasing, sensual type. I've worked briefly in a sex shop, lived with people who proudly represent the fetish lifestyle, helped to usher homosexual friends out of their proverbial closets, and been quite outspoken on the topic of practicing safe sex. All the more reason I was surprised to have an unplanned pregnancy (that has turned out to be the most awesome thing ever).

Sex isn't something that I can't live without. I have gone years at a time without a sexual partner and been very comfortable that way. Sometimes it just takes a back burner to work, school, self exploration, friends or just not finding anyone interesting enough to bother with. I've never been the type to have sex just because I can. I need to feel a connection of some kind either mentally or emotionally. I don't necessarily need to be overwhelmed with physical attraction because, truly, it is personality, intelligence, and wit that draw me in. But once I'm in it, I'm in it hard. I become very sexually driven and need that connection for many reasons, pleasure being the least of it. I am so lucky that I found a man that caught my eye simultaneously with his looks and humor, and then had all the personality and charm to go along with it. Part of the reason that our relationship started out on a very physical level and grew from there. We were still getting to know each other when we were thrust into this very serious relationship. It was a rough transition during the beginning of my pregnancy, to say the least.

During the first trimester, I was grumpy. Heinously grumpy. I am a generally happy and upbeat person, so I'm sure this was a bit of a shock to his system. In hindsight, I gave up for a minute there and had lost my drive to always have washed hair, clean teeth, makeup and a smile on for my man. I would still be sitting around in my jammies with bed head, smeared makeup and morning breath when he got home from work. I didn't give a shit about looking my best because I was feeling my worst, and I felt totally justified and also horribly depressed about this. In spite of how off putting I must have been, not just in appearance but in attitude, I was highly offended at the lack of sexual advances coming from my fella. He was constantly in trouble for not trying to seduce me, or for not being in the mood when I was. I had grand mental scenarios built up in which he would slowly entice me with compliments and kisses the second he got home and we'd have that kind of amazing sex that only exists in movies. Even though I felt like crap, I wanted to be wanted and I grew a little more angry and bitter with every advance I made that was shot down. Every day that passed without him trying to man handle me. As the second trimester set in, it only got worse and the truth in all the stories I had heard about the increase in libido started to become very obvious. I was insatiable, to say the least. I would attack him at any given moment. Morning, noon or night and wanted to have sex multiple times a day. I took it very personally when he wasn't in the mood or had no energy after work or at bedtime. I don't know if this holds true for all pregnant women but it certainly did for me and the intensity of my sex drive was only rivaled by the intensity of my wounded ego.

My appearance hadn't changed all that much as far as looking pregnant because I was a bigger gal to begin with, but I still didn't really care to put in the effort to keep up my appearance the way I had when we were first dating. I could recall a time when I never would have let him see me without a shower, fresh breath, and a little eye makeup but that drive had all but disappeared. Part of me even felt a little snarky about it like, "I'm creating a life! What could be sexier than that? He should find me even more attractive now even without effort because I'm having his child and if he doesn't, what a jerk!". Not exactly realistic. I may not have been showing just yet but my appearance was still foreign to him, and my moods sharp as a knife. In my mind I was a goddess, but his apparent lack of interest made me paranoid and very tender emotionally. I was suddenly tearful and accusatory about his lack of interest. He must no longer found me attractive, wished he was with a skinny girl, must be looking elsewhere, resented me, must be watching porn every second he was out of my company....None of this was fair to either of us. I was driving us both insane and nothing is less sexy than insecurity and neediness.

I had failed to take into account that no matter how often he said he understood how I was feeling, understood why I was acting the way I was, and that he still found me very attractive, those were just correct responses. He may really have felt them to be true but there was no way he could really understand how I was feeling and how that was affecting my actions and my confidence, and it wasn't fair for me to hold it against him. It also wasn't fair for me to beat myself up about it and use it to shake my own confidence and sense of self worth. But that is exactly what I was doing and it was directly affecting my relationship, both emotionally and physically. He may very well have found me nice to look at but my attitude wasn't exactly pretty. No one would feel turned on by a person with bitterness, disappointment and lack of confidence brimming right under the surface. Would I be responsive if he tried to kiss me passionately or would I cry and turn into a squishy pile of self doubting questions? His guess was as good as mine.

There was one more piece to the puzzle that is a pregnant woman's sexuality and a partner who may be constantly anxious about all this new territory; there is another person inside this woman's body no matter how sexy she looks or how crazy she acts. Just on the other side of this mythical thing called a "cervix", a word that is suddenly being thrown around freely in conversation, is a tiny person. It is an unfathomable concept even to most women. It certainly didn't seem quite real to me in the beginning so I can only imagine how crazy it seemed to him. We've all seen movies or television shows or read books in which the man confesses that he's afraid of "poking the baby" with his penis and even though it seems so silly and so ignorant, it's a legitimate, albeit unfounded fear. The baby is safely tucked away inside it's warm little uterus all padded with fluid and placenta, but just look at how unsexy that sentence is! All of this new vocabulary, new images, and comedic responses burned into their brains from health class in Jr. high and from movies can be a little off putting. Some men may be fascinated with the "your pregnancy week by week" images of this little miracle growing from a zygote, to embryo, to fetus, to a recognizable baby but for others, it may be a little overwhelming and a little creepy. Men are visual creatures and once they start having images like this to apply to your body, things may get a little more complicated and a little less sexy. He may deny any association with this theory, say that it never crosses his mind when he looks at all your new round shapeliness and growing breasts, but I can almost guarantee you that it crosses his mind occasionally when he's trying to make love to you. Maybe just for a second, but behind his eyes he may be seeing your womanly parts in a whole new light. Less a warm place of pleasure, and more a home for your growing offspring and there is nothing at all wrong with that. In a lot of ways, it shows how caring he may be growing. The start of a sensitivity that you may never have seen in him before. Unfortunately, this doesn't exactly comfort a pregnant woman with hormones so raging that she is as horny as a teenage boy. Just try to be understanding of how this experience is changing him right along with you and communicate your frustrations, if any. It only gets more complex as your belly gets bigger and those little kicks turn into rolling somersaults that are VERY visible even through your clothing.

We love to lay in bed and watch our son move back and forth inside my belly. All his little kicks and rolls, and him sticking his butt as far out as he can are just awesomely cool. It's an amazing and, very often, humorous thing to see but not exactly a mood stimulator. While these little rituals may actually get me in the mood by making me feel very close to him, it's not exactly boner material. He has just spent a good amount of time being visually and emotionally stimulated by something he sees as "really cool", but I am now brimming with love for him and feeling a very strong need for connection. For me, this connection often means a physical one. I could be satisfied with cuddling and kissing but my mind would still start to wander to thoughts about why he wasn't trying for more and then twisting it into nasty little insults inside my own head. This in turn, starts the ugly cycle of self doubt, bruised confidence, over thinking and intentionally achieving the opposite of what I want by pushing him away with an overabundance of questions about why he doesn't find me attractive, and accusations that he would be in the mood if I looked a different way. Things can go from sexy to flatline in a matter of minutes.

There's no real way to counter any of this. It all depends on the endless fluctuation in moods and hormones and often even involves how low your blood sugar is. You may find it easy to console yourself with positive thoughts like, "I am beautiful if for no other reason than because something beautiful is happening inside me.", but it isn't always enough. Sometimes you need to hear it from your partner. Sometimes you just need a cookie, but often you need confirmation from them that you are desirable, sexy, gorgeous, beautiful and wanted. The thing is that they may not know its as simple as that. I am not above telling my fella that I'm having one of those days where I need to hear nice things. I may even flat out tell him to say something sweet to me. It may sound silly or even desperate but it's good practice for when he's in charge of being your labor partner and his main role is keeping you confident. This is kind of his role through your entire pregnancy and for the first few months after so he better get used to it early on.

 A piece of advice for the partners: Sometimes you may really not be feeling it when she is but you need to take one for the team anyhow. You may have a head full of images of whats going on inside her body and the last thing on your mind may be ravaging her the way you did when you got into this situation, but it's what she needs, and I can promise you that she has gone along with your advances more than once when she wasn't really in the mood. Start out with the heavy petting and deep kissing and you may just be surprised at how quickly you get into it because she is so turned on. If it's really difficult to get into it with that baby bump in view, ask her to try getting comfortable on her side and enjoy the view of that sexy backside while you kiss her neck and shoulders. You just have to take the time to find what works, and what is comfortable for you both. Trust me, a little communication and a little effort go a long way in the sex life of a pregnant woman. And if you really just are not in the mood, are exhausted or just too preoccupied with other things to perform, don't be a jerk and use that strained tone like it's such an effort to be asked to offer up a little loving. Don't say, "No, baby. Not now.", followed by a dismissive sigh. It won't help your case. Be aware that simply using the right tone and the right words can save your ass. Use that sweet voice. You know, the one you use when you want something, and tell her she is beautiful but you are just not up to a romp at that exact moment. And for fuck's sake, don't let more than a day go by before you follow up with trying to start things off. It'll only give her that much more time to self doubt and become annoyed with you and start that whole ugly cycle all over again which can only end with the thing men dread the most, a "talk". Sound advice, I promise you. It helps if you mean it, but it's also about choosing your battles and helping your lady feel good no matter how she looks, or acts at the moment. She's going through a lot, A LOT, and most of it is not visible to you.

For the mothers to be, just try to remind yourself that you won't be pregnant forever even though it feels that way. There may be times when he makes advances and you aren't into it so try to offer the same gentle rebuff that you would expect. It may not be easy to get into the sexy times when you have an 8 pound baby sitting on your bladder, aching hips and stored up farts that could rival any trucker. Feeling not so sexy is kind of a regular thing so learn how to deal with it in a way that won't make him feel bad either. He's going through a lot of changes right along with you but things will get better eventually. You will have your body back. You won't always have insatiable appetites for sex and weird food items. You won't always be uncomforatable no matter how you try laying down. You won't always have awful heartburn and terrible gas. You'll heal up and things will mellow out around 6 weeks after your birth.Your baby will eventually sleep at night. Your sex life will eventually return, though undoubtedly altered from its original version. Though your role may have strayed a little from the sexual object of his affections, you will be one sexy ass mama for the rest of your life and there's a lot of positive change that comes with that. If your libido really is too much for your partner, take matters into your own hands (literally). If you've never visited a sex shop before, now may be the time. If you're too modest for a face to face trip and you don't even know what you're looking for, utilize the Internet. There are endless reviews of toys, personal massagers, stimulating lubricants and lots of other items that will help you along. There are literally hundreds of online shops to choose from when making a purchase and a lot of them come in discrete packaging that won't give anything away to your postman. Also, if porn has never really been your thing, you may try it now. There are a lot of production companies that make very tasteful female friendly videos that are far from the raunchy stuff you may have seen before. Give it a go, and get it girl!

What's the plan, Stan?

Since I very first started to tell people that I was expecting the first question out of people's mouths seems to be, "So what's your birthing plan?". In the first weeks, I didn't even know what this really meant. I had seen enough movies and had enough friends give birth to know that this was an important item to have nailed down, I just didn't know what I was supposed to do. Where was I to start? What book should I read to give me step by step instructions on what was best for me? Let me tell ya, there is no book or website or forum that can answer these questions. Your birthing plan is totally unique to you and your situation. Some women have pages of detailed instructions to hand over to the nursing staff upon hospital arrival and some have a napkin with some notes scribbled on it. I fall into the later category.

In the last few months I have been talking to a lot of friends who are parents, some of whom have read every single book on the market, some who had no plan at all, and each has a similar story; plan all you want but it's going to happen however it happens and your plan cannot dictate this. You truly have no control over how it plays out, only in how you deal with it. For example, my amazing sister just had a beautiful, healthy baby boy in December. She is one who read many books, studied birthing methods and finally settled on hypnobirthing. If you aren't familiar with this method allow me to break it down:
The approach is all about relaxation and letting go of fear. Fear is the enemy during labor and birth. It makes you tense, it tightens up your body, blocks the production of endorphins, and creates more pain. With this method you condition your mind for months in advance to visualize positive birthing outcomes, your body relaxing and opening. You use breathing techniques to calm yourself and relaxation techniques to allow yourself to let go of the fear that the inevitable pain of labor brings. It's also big on partner participation and having the father be involved in the labor and birthing process rather than sitting in the waiting room. It's all very interesting and can really be applied in daily life just as effectively as during labor.

So, my amazing sister and her amazing husband have committed to this method of natural childbirth and spent months practicing these techniques, including listening to positive affirmation cd's. It's a lot of work! Her due date comes and it goes, but the beauty of committing to natural childbirth is you don't have a doctor pestering you to induce labor. Instead, they offer what they call a membrane sweep, clearing the cervix of the mucous plug and hopefully stimulating labor. It's pretty common from what I hear. She said that this effort worked almost immediately. Good news! She labored at home for a few hours until her contractions were the standard 4 minutes apart, and they headed calmly off to the birthing center to get the ball rolling. Like I said, she's pretty amazing.

If I'm not mistaken, a short 3 hours later she was utilizing the jacuzzi tub, along with some of her relaxation techniques to ease the pain, but felt a strong urge to push. It was all happening very quickly. She requested her midwife be notified but the nursing staff insisted that she wasn't ready and to just try getting back to her room to relax more and they would let the midwife know she may want to arrive soon. Thank goodness my sister is strong willed and knows her body! She stepped out of the tub, laid down on the lounge in the jacuzzi room and told them to get the midwife right away. No sooner did the midwife arrive and take a look than he was crowning and ready to join the world. Four (yes four!) pushes later, her son was born right there next to the tub. Some of the hypnobirthing methods were used but in reality, he came so quickly that most weren't used at all. You can plan and prepare and condition for months, but that baby is going to come his or her way, and at their own pace and there is nothing you can do about it.

While I do intend to use some of the hypnobirthing methods during my labor, I'm not fully committed to it. I'm not fully committed to any method or real plan at all. I don't want to pressure myself into thinking I can do natural childbirth only to find out that I can't handle it at all and feel like I let myself and my baby down by needing drugs. In the other hand, I don't want to mentally commit to having an epidural and then have it happen so quickly that I end up doing it naturally and having my baby in a state of high anxiety and fear. I know that I do not want to be induced even if I'm overdue. I know that I do not want to have a c-section. I know that I do not want an audience and that the room will be cleared of everyone except my partner and medical staff when it comes down to it. I know that I don't want camera flashes going off like the friggin paparazzi are all up in my vagina. I know that I do not want a grouchy nursing staff and I'll be super pissed if that's what I end up with, but that's about all I know. Some of the things I don't want mixed with the few obvious things that I do want is all I can hope for. I want a healthy, happy baby and a good birthing experience.

It's going to hurt. There's just no getting around it. It's a painful and messy process. I may let loose some wicked farts. I may poop. I may throw up at some point. I may tell my fella it's all his fault. I may tell a nurse to get her shitty attitude out of my birthing suite. There will be blood. There will be pain. There will be gross stuff but it will be worth every single tiny little bit of unpleasantness when I get to see him, and his proud papa's reaction for the first time. I could cry right now just thinking about how happy I'm going to be.

So, what is my birthing plan? To remain fucking calm! Seriously, it's simply to remain calm and let my body and my baby tell me what I need to do. I'm not going to build up images of what's going to occur. I'm not going to say I can do it without the help of drugs, or that I'll need drugs at all. I just plan to stay as calm as possible, let my body relax and my breathing stay controlled and welcome my little man, the love of my life, into the world in whatever fashion he arrives in. Learning to let go is something I've struggled with my entire life but in this particular situation, I'm finding it very simple. I have no control over how this is going to happen and building up expectations in my mind isn't going to do me any good. Women have been doing this for a long time before me and they'll continue for a long time after. I'm just a speck in the grand scheme and I find a certain amount of comfort in that. My body was made for this and I trust that. This emotional roller coaster, this discomfort, this entire process that seems like forever but has flown by like minutes, is going to bring me the greatest love that I have ever known and I feel unbelievably lucky for every second of it. I find calm in that.

When I think about love, both the kind you find with a partner and the kind you find from becoming a parent, I think of the poet Rumi and some of his amazingly wise words. One poem in particular has always stuck with me and it resonates more now than ever before.

“The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.” 

Just 6 weeks left. Stay calm, Autumn. Stay calm.

Big Time

Today is a good example of practicing self control to find balance. Every part of me wants to just sit here and pound out a long ranting, negative, finger pointing entry about the shit day I had yesterday. It was a bad one from the moment I got up to the moment I fell asleep, but it wouldn't be productive and would only make things worse. On to another topic: body issues, weight issues and pregnancy. Big fun, eh.

I went from being a teeny tiny little kid to a round youngster sometime between first and second grade. Maybe it was spurred on by the relocation of my family from Oregon to Washington. Maybe It was the lack of supervision offered by my two very hard working parents. It's hard to say, but I'm sure that being allowed to cook for myself and snack as much as I wanted on anything I wanted played a big part. I did not grow up in a house full of junk food, mind you. We were never allowed to have chips, cookies, soda or any of the like but there was always a full fridge and pantry and I loved to cook and bake. No peanut butter cookies? Well, I'll just whip some up! I hold no grudges in this area as I am an excellent cook in my adult life and probably wouldn't be if I hadn't had so many years of practice.

All this cooking and loving food led to a pretty consistent adding on of pounds as I grew up. In my defense, I was always a big kid even without the extra weight. By the 5th grade I was 5'6" and a size 18. No joke. I looked 20 years old but still loved comics and barbies. It was an awkward time to say the least especially because I was also responsible for dressing myself in the mornings. I wish I had photographic evidence of some of the outfits I thought were cool. Lets just say that 90210 was on the air and I was in awe of all the brightly colored outfits consisting of baby doll dresses 4 sizes too big, and that spandex bike shorts were worn under everything. I was not popular but in my head, I was awesome.

It was around this time that my mother became involved and put me on Jenny Craig. Try telling a 5th grader that she can now only have frozen/freeze dried food items and also has to start taking them to school with her for lunch. It won't be pretty and a 5th grader really isn't emotionally or mentally equipped to understand the hows and whys of this humiliating experience. Everyone who had a television knew what JC was at that time, and school went from bad to worse in that very first day. I can still cry just thinking about how the next few weeks played out. I was no longer a carefree kid. I was a weight obsessed, secret food addict that went from awesome to troll and never really recovered. I managed to sabotage the plan in a matter of weeks and was free again to eat as I pleased. Success! Success?? That is debatable.

My height and weight continued to rise over the years and by the time I turned 18 I was 5'9" and a solid size 18/20. I looked great and I didn't even know it. I started working at a plus sized clothing store called The Avenue, and was finally learning that the rules made up by the fashion industry about how fat women should be allowed to dress did not work for me. I did not want to be in baggy shirts and pants anymore, nor did I want to be subjected to dresses that looked like couch upholstery or forced to wear "suck em in" shorts and panties under everything. No matter how badly I wanted stylish clothing, it just wasn't available in my size or in my area. I would drive a couple of times a year to the nearest Layne Bryant, which was almost 2 hours away. I became determined to dress cute even if it meant paying way too much money for items, and even sometimes buying maternity clothing. How unfair is that? Maternity clothing is often still way cuter than plus size lines at the same store. Target, I am so looking at you! I found ways to work around the limited availability of cute clothes mostly by utilizing thrift stores. Even if I couldn't find it brand new, somebody else had and I was happy to take their donated leftovers. Altering and tailoring cheap 2nd hand items became a weekly occurrence.

I was concerned from the start of my pregnancy about gaining weight, not being able to find clothes and how these things would factor into my already dodgy self confidence. Most of the time, I felt great about how I looked and carried myself as if my confidence was unwavering even on days when I started out crying in front of my closet about what a hopeless fat ass I was. Unlovable. Unwantable. Unworthy. A woman doomed to be single and eventually living the life of Goldie Hawn in Death becomes her. Fat greasy face covered in frosting being eaten right out of the tub and 500 cats over running an apartment. My nightmare. However, I was thrilled with myself that 4 months in I had not gained a single pound and the only clothing item that had left circulation was my regular jeans. I was the best! And then I met my OBGYN. I had been warned by every single person that I mentioned his name to that he was a great doctor but a total ass. His endorsement always came with a warning label: he has no bedside manner and is going to be on you about your weight right from the start. I was already feeling negative about him before we even met.

Our first meeting went well enough. Just an ultrasound (after a 4 hour wait!) and not much mention about my weight other than him saying he tells all of his patients to follow a diabetic diet plan subsisting of 1,800 calories a day and NO SUGAR AT ALL. If you've ever had a food craving, pregnant or not, you can probably relate to how unrealistic this seemed to me. Our second meeting was a little more bumpy. He had no interest in me at all other than my weight. He entered the room, sat down facing away from me, asked if I was experiencing any pain or cramping and then went into a 15 speech about my weight, gestational diabetes and how I was sure to develop it and eventually die an early death because of my obesity. I felt a heated dislike for him. A loathing that made me fear I would lose my cool and just punch him in the throat if our encounters continued on this path. But he was the doctor that everyone said I needed to be with. The best high risk delivery Doctor in 3 states. Did I mention that I am considered high risk because of my BMI? This fact is what robbed me of my wanting a midwife and a very non medical birthing plan. Frustrating doesn't do it justice.

I had voiced to my fella that I was nervous about him being with me at future appointments because of how this doctor seemed to be obsessed with my weight and my weight only. He never asked me about medications, family history, current medical concerns, my emotional state, my mental state or my birthing plan. It was all about my fat ass and the number on the scale. I was terrified that he would blurt out my weight in front of my partner. This fear turned out to be valid on our 3rd meeting. Doctor was on his usual soap box about my size, my weight, the complications I was guaranteed to have because of these factors, my glucose tests, the fact that my stomach was bigger than it should be even though my uterus was measuring correctly and so on. All while either having his back to me or scowling at me over the top of his glasses. I was reaching a point where I had heard about enough.

I pointed out that even through the Thanksgiving holiday I had managed to maintain and that I was pretty proud of the fact that in my second trimester I had gained only a single pound. Much to my absolute horror, he blurted out my starting weight and my current weight right in front of my boyfriend and topped it off by telling me that though that's pretty good, he wanted to see my weight going down. I was in a state of that embarrassed kind of shock that caused my ears to ring and my face to feel like it was on fire. I could not get out of the exam room fast enough and was very glad that I had driven myself to the appointment so I could cry in my car on the way home without judgement. By the time I got home, I was livid and already planning my letter of complaint and how I was going to get out of this man being my guide through the single most important, and intimate experience of my life. He would not be delivering my baby and I would not be subjected to his lack of bed side manner one more moment. Hell hath no fury like a pregnant fat girl who's just been humiliated about her weight in front of the one person who never needed to know that number.

I spent the next few days calling other clinics, meeting other doctors and submitting my request for a change of provider. I wasn't feeling the kind of support that I wanted from my partner who seemed to defend the offenses of this doctor and was even unwise enough to suggest that I was blowing it out of proportion and making too much of it. He's lucky that I like him so much or I may be writing this entry from prison. Even if it was a hormonal reaction to a minor offense, that is not what I needed to hear and I kept right on making other plans with or without his support on the matter. I'm happy and relieved to say that I gained his support, found an OBGYN that I love and she was able to get me in for my March delivery. She is supportive and thorough and even though I did develop gestational diabetes, she doesn't make me feel like this is because I have no self control or am a bad person because I ate some freaking cake. She has gently guided me through the ins and outs of my condition and assures me that I will deliver a healthy baby and the diabetes will subside as long as I continue to take care of myself. I trust her. I feel comfortable with her. I do not regret my decision and by taking better care of myself with her help, I have gained only 14 pounds. It took some searching and a lot of stress but I found the Doctor that is a perfect fit for me.

 However, now that I am nearing 32 years old and 32 weeks pregnant, not much has changed as far as clothing options. The Avenue is still not my style, my town still doesn't have a Layne Bryant, the plus section of Macy's is excessively expensive and segregated to a location outside of the actual store at our local mall, Target is hit or miss with cute plus sized items and still has a maternity section that is twice the size of the women's department but doesn't offer plus sizes above an XXL. We do have a Motherhood store but their plus section is two wracks and they stock a very limited amount of each size so you can never get what you want anyway. It's a sad state of affairs.

This caused me to reach out to my fellow big beauties and prompt them to tell their secrets. No surprise that it was all Internet shopping. This is great and all but when you are a size 22/24 you really need to try things on especially when your baby bump sticks out a foot in front of you and your ass is somehow even wider than before. Not to mention the added cost and the waiting for shipping. When I'm having a bad day and I need a little retail therapy, it isn't ideal to look at tiny pictures and then have to wait for days or weeks to have my "feel good fashions" arrive. When they get here, its worth it. Patience is a virtue I'm determined to keep throughout this pregnancy.

Some of the websites that were offered up by friends are as follows and I encourage any of you pregnant, plus size, or pregnant and plus sized ladies to take a peak and not lose hope. You are freaking gorgeous and there are cute clothing items, good doctors, and great men out there. You just have to do a little leg work and find them. Happy hunting!

www.simplybe.com  www.oldnavy.com  www.torrid.com www.dominodollhouse.com www.motherhood.com www.eshakti.com www.chicstar.com www.laynebryant.com www.etsy.com

Adding Insult to Injury

We all know that women are sometimes very sensitive by nature. It's no secret, and no mystery when it comes to the fairer sex. We are just emotional creatures, but I have always felt this was a strength. My mother, in the midst of a huff with my dad, has often looked at me and said, "I'm so fucking glad that I'm a girl.", and I've pretty much always felt the same way. This is not to imply that there aren't a ton of very sensitive, thoughtful, nurturing men out there. I know a lot of them and I value each one in high regard. It's just that in this particular instance I'd like to stay on the topic of women, my pregnant self in particular, and how easy it is to let my emotions get the better of me.

In my case, I have always been labeled the family drama queen. This, of course, irritates me to no end but I at least have enough self control to not freak out and prove the theory true when the topic arises. I'm just one of those personality types that is going to tell you how I feel no matter what. I like to think of myself as a talented and creative communicator rather than a drama queen. Kim Kardashian is a drama queen. Taylor Swift is a drama queen. I am a productive talker, or so I tell myself. The drama queen theory has only gotten worse as my pregnancy progresses, and I'm honestly finding less reasons to argue it on a daily basis.

I don't know that this holds true for all pregnant women but movies, television and my own experience have told me over the years that pregnant women will cry at the drop of a hat. Even the smallest and most innocent of comments can set me into a whirlwind of what ifs, whys, and unrealistic fantasies of telling people off. This shit will stick with me for days, even weeks. I can even get myself worked up about insulting encounters that happened 10 years ago. I can take it back to junior high if I let myself keep going once I start. Most of the time these insulting encounters happen in a way that I've come to refer to as the "staircase affect" and is part of why I tend to hold onto things.

Let me explain: think of one of those times when a friend or stranger says something they see as innocent (or maybe they mean it to be hurtful) and it kind of takes you off guard so you don't react to it right away. This would be at the bottom of the metaphorical staircase. You then continue your journey up but halfway you stop and think, "That was a really shitty thing for them to say. Why would they say that?", but they aren't even on the stairs anymore. They've moved on. By the time you reach the top, you may be really sad and insulted, or really pissed, and already going through the amazingly witty list of responses you should have come back with. The amazing way that you should have defended yourself, but you're already at the top of the stairs and the moment has passed so you are now stuck with this head full of insult, injury and regret about not standing up for yourself. I think everyone can relate, pregnant or not. Male or female. If not, you are my hero. Teach me your Jedi ways.

This scenario has gotten huge for me as I get more and more emotional. I don't want to be that jerk pregnant lady that freaks out over every single thing that anyone says, because believe me, at this point I am feeling so unsexy, so uncomfortable, so unwanted that I could turn almost any comment into an insult. My poor, poor boyfriend knows this truth all too well. So, if the offender is lucky, I bottle it up and take it with me. If they are unlucky, they leave our encounter without a face. Not fair to either of us, really. Not fair at all to whomever catches the pointy end of my wrath later on when I finally lose my shit. The art of dealing with it is a little thing called balance. Become familiar with it. Utilize it. Win with it. You really have to be conscious about choosing your battles if you want to win the war. Hormones are the enemy and they want to take out your entire platoon in the bloodiest fashion imaginable.

Another, bigger issue for me is the dreaded horrible boyfriend dream. You know what I'm talking about. Those dreams where you catch him lying, cheating, abandoning or worse. I have had them on occasion during every major relationship of my life but now they are a weekly occurrence. They feel real when they are happening no matter how the scene is playing out. In dream land, it's just as normal to fly into the tree house and see him pounding your 3rd grade teacher as it to track him into a bedroom at a party and see him doing the unspeakable with some faceless blond that has the nicest body you could possibly think up. It could even be with a friend or coworker of yours which is all the more difficult to shake off. The worst part is that you never think to yourself that you must be dreaming when you are actually in it. It's real. It's happening. He is actually betraying you and you can't even land a good punch because hitting never works in my dreams. Even if you feel a wave of relief upon waking up, you still feel as angry and hurt as if he had actually done those things. Then the paranoia sets in. "If he could do that so easy in my dreams he could do it in reality". You may even be tempted to start acting like a detective. Looking through his pockets for numbers or condom wrappers. Checking in on his whereabouts when he isn't with you. Dropping by his work to make sure he's actually there. You may even go so far as to invade his privacy and look through his phone. In some sick way, you may even hope to catch him at something just so you don't feel crazy. Dangerous ground, my little darlings. A minefield of unlikely possibilities that will probably only hurt you in the long run. Ever heard that saying "holding onto resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die"? It's true. Especially when the resentment is over fictional offenses.

My approach with my fella in regards to my endless insecurity and horrible dreams is to talk to him about them. I try to make it very clear that I am referring to dream Jason, not real life Jason. I tell him all about jerkhole's offenses in detail so that he will understand why I'm suddenly genuinely upset with him when he hasn't really done anything wrong. It's difficult to do and difficult for him to hear, but it has to be done or it will only get worse as the day goes on. If I don't speak up, the next day will almost definitely be a stay in bed and cry and feel horrible about myself day. This is bad for me and bad for baby. If I communicate with him, he at least has the opportunity to vindicate himself by assuring me that I am beautiful, loved, wanted and that I can trust him in real life no matter how big a lying douche he is in my dreams. Just getting it out and having him comfort me is often the best remedy and we usually end up laughing about it. Communication is a huge part of the balancing act that I try to perform all day, every day. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it fails miserably. I just try to not be too hard on myself or anyone else and remember that even the bad stuff is all just a part of the journey that will end with meeting the love of my life, and that is a huge comfort.

So, if there is truth in my family referring to me as the drama queen, I'll never admit to it. If there is a situation in which I feel insulted, I will try to be calm in my reaction. If I miss my opportunity to stand up for myself, I'll take it as a learning experience for next time and try to let it go. If dream boyfriend continues to behave badly, I'll try to remember that he's not actually the man that sleeps next to me and greets me every single day by saying "good morning sunshine". If I feel like real life boyfriend is being a stupid jerk, I'll try to refrain from murdering him and remember that this journey isn't easy for him either and he probably isn't really being a stupid jerk. I will attempt to choose my battles wisely, avoid drinking the poison that is resentment, and remember that even when I feel crazy, it's no one's fault and it will pass. Hopefully. Be patient with yourself, with others and especially with your partner. Remain calm and find balance through communication.

In the not exactly accurate but still hilarious words of the late, great George Carlin, “Here's all you have to know about men and women: women are crazy, men are stupid. And the main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.”

Touching

I'd like to briefly discuss the topic of touch. Especially the topic of touching pregnant women. Every pregnant woman has more than likely experienced that dreaded strange hand coming at them in public. Nowhere is safe. Strangers at the salon, the grocery store, the gym, restaurants, and on the street will eventually get that glazed over look and walk towards you, mouth gaping like a zombie with arms outstretched, and germy hands ready to molest your protruding belly. Prepare yourself!

 I feel very lucky to have already been fat when I got pregnant because people don't seem to really notice, or aren't sure if they would be offensive by asking about if I'm pregnant. I've become secretive about my body in public and am more than happy to be able to hide under my bulky winter coat. I try to never rub my tummy or let it slip out of hiding in public places just to avoid the stranger danger that is sure to come my way should anyone catch on. My personal bubble has become increasingly smaller with each passing week of my pregnancy and my ability to be polite about being touched is minimal, even with friends and family. I'm already a protective mother lioness and you are taking your life in your hands when you reach for the belly that contains my unborn child.

The hardest part is that it isn't always strangers. Sometimes friends are the worst offenders. They are excited for you and are often really curious and just can't help themselves. In these cases, I try to be patient and simply remind people that a flat palm with no pressure is really the only acceptable way to do i,t and often by invite only. Mommy doesn't always want to be touched and really, there isn't much point in your trying if the baby is being still. No movement means nothing to feel, and nothing to feel means you're just some annoying weirdo with your hand under my boobs. I'm guilty of this myself. I can think back to plenty of my own offenses on pregnant friends and family members. Poking fingers and belly jiggling to see if I could stir the creature awake are now mortifying in hindsight. I'm lucky to have had friends and family that were as patient as I try to be now.

I have figured out some ground rules when it comes to being the eager friend or the unknowing stranger around a pregnant woman:

1. Always greet mommy first. Do not act like her belly is the only important thing about her.

2. Unless you are a kindly old woman who cannot resist the urge to touch a pregnant belly, keep your fucking hands to yourself.

3. Unless the pregnant stranger, acquaintance, or friend has already shared the news or their water has just broken in front of you DO NOT ASK pregnancy questions. Trust me, you don't want to be that asshole that asks a plump person when they are due only to ruin their day because they aren't pregnant at all.

4. Learn to read the room. If the pregnant person seems at all moody, do not touch. You may not get that hand back.

5. Only after asking if the baby is moving and gaining permission should you touch that belly.

6. A flat, gentle palm is acceptable. Poking, jostling, shaking, flicking, tapping, squeezing or prodding will likely get you well deserved tongue lashing and maybe a black eye.

7. Be aware that sometimes lingering hands are just as bad as unwanted hands. If you don't feel anything and mom isn't directing you toward a spot that may yield a kick, take your hand back or you may lose it.

8. It is never too late to abort the mission! If you forget yourself and realize mid reach that you have forgotten your manners, simply stop yourself and ask mommy if baby is active and if it's alright to touch.

9. Do not begin your encounter by telling a pregnant woman she is huge, as big as a house, must be having twins, or by asking if she swallowed a basketball. It's not funny and she is probably not feeling super thin and gorgeous. This will definitely get you slapped or cried on if it's followed up with a belly molestation.

10. Be respectful and don't take it personally if you get snapped at or she turns her body away from your reach. It's her right as a human being, as well as a soon to be mother to decide if she is going to allow you to touch her or not. Getting upset because you're embarrassed at the outcome of your actions is only going to make things worse. Just say you didn't mean any harm, wish her a lovely day and move on. Trust me, with the heightened emotions a pregnant woman is housing, you may be the one getting an apologetic phone call later.

Just some thoughts. Really, just try putting yourself in her shoes. As you are right this second, would you want people, strangers or not, to lay hands on your body every time they see you? I didn't think so. Now add to this equation a living human being developing inside your body that you are already in charge of keeping safe and happy. Does this make the idea of hands on your stomach any more appealing? I thought not. Just be aware of personal space, heightened emotions and the safety of your appendages.

One of my favorite visual examples of this is Miss Riki Lake in her role as Pepper Walker in the classic Jon Waters flick, Crybaby. In the opening scenes of the movie, which is set in the 50's in Baltimore surrounding two social groups of high school students, everyone is lining up for flu shots that are being administered by nurses and doctors in the classic white uniforms. A nurse approaches the very pregnant looking Pepper Walker who is standing in line knitting a baby garment. Smiling ear to ear, the nurse reaches out and puts her hand on Pepper's belly. Unwise even for a medical professional. Her gesture is promptly cut off by having her arm twisted behind her back and being marched up to the doctor. Way to go, Pepper! Just sayin', it doesn't matter who you are or where you are, if you invade the personal space of an expectant mother, you get what you deserve. Unless your Johnny Depp. If you're Johnny Depp you can touch all you want.

(Mood) Swings and Roller Coasters

You've probably heard a lot of things about pregnant women in your life. Terms like "crazy pregnant lady", "hormonal", or "pregnancy brain" may come to mind. I can tell you now from a place of experience that there is not a single thing that applies across the board. No two women will have the same symptoms, or display the same characteristics. Although, crying is the unfortunate, but common factor. Since I found out I was expecting, I started to read a huge amount of forums and blogs on the topic from new moms, and veteran mothers a like. Some are laugh out loud funny and others are really heartbreaking. I have heard stories about women in early pregnancy going to jail for assault because they suddenly hate everything about their partner and are prone to aggressive outbursts that have gone so far as to include physical assault, drag out brawls, and breaking everything in the house. Others may share sweet stories about partners that insist on rubbing tired feet, never letting their lady lift a finger, and how much closer they've become since they found out about the pregnancy. My journey lies somewhere in the middle ground. Between the field of wild flowers and the path of burning hot coals. So lets talk mood swings!

In my case, it wasn't anything I noticed right away. I have been on anxiety/depression medication off an on for the better part of 12 years so that may have played a part in the beginning. When I think back on the first couple months, I was handling things smashingly well. I was a woman on top of the world! A beautiful, sweet, funny man in my life and a baby growing in my belly. Cloud 9! In reality, I was a mess. I was so emotional that I couldn't keep my head on straight. I often cried at work, cried at home, cried with friends, cried alone. I was in a constant state of self doubt and very afraid that the only reason my fella was still hanging around was because of the baby. I was constantly telling myself that he didn't care about me at all and that he must be secretly resentful of having to give up his "fun" life for this new existence of stress and responsibility. The mental anguish I was putting myself through was only rivaled by the suddenly increased amount of physical pain I was in. I've struggled with back and shoulder pain for years due to an old work injury, but now it was becoming something I couldn't manage and the pain medications I had come to rely on were no longer an option in my eyes.

On one particularly rough day at work I had the opportunity to speak to my spa manager and our owner about what I was going through (I'm an Esthetician, btw). I gather that even through the crying and snot and gasping for air, they got the message because I was permitted to leave my position at the first job I have ever really loved a short 7 days later on my 31st birthday. It's a decision that I still struggle with. I couldn't be the employee that I was and the guilt of feeling like I was letting people down was not something I was prepared to deal with on top of everything else. I truly wish that I had been able to power through and work until I was ready for my maternity leave. I still feel a huge amount of guilt and disappointment when I think about it. On the upside, I have been mostly pain free since I made the choice to leave and this tells me that I did the right thing. Tomorrow I may still have a good cry about it, but right this second, I'm happy that I made the tough choice and can be sure that it was not a snap judgment fueled by hormones.

 I have to take it one day at a time. That's just how it is now. I could wake up feeling fabulous, full of optimism and energy, and by lunch be hating the way my body looks and crying because I saw one of those awful animal abuse commercials. Lets try an example of a moment in my mind: I wake up feeling fabulous and head to the bathroom...

 I have to pee. This baby is really pressing on my bladder. How is a small human going to come out of my vagina? I bet he won't seem so small during labor. I'm going to give birth to a full grown man with a beard and a beer in his hand. What happens if I have to have an episiotomy during labor? What if it goes wrong?  Labor is going to suck. No, Autumn! You'll do great. But what if I don't? What if I can't handle it? Animals make it seem so easy. At least I don't have to have a litter. What if I did have a multiple birth? God, I hate Kate Goslin. What an awful human being. I hope I'm a good person. Who am I kidding? I'm a selfish jerk. I'm so unproductive. I never should have left work so early in my pregnancy. We could really use that money. I can't believe I'm living with my parents again in my 30's. I hope Jason is happy here. I hope he feels at home in my parent's house. I should really be doing more to help around the house. Man, we need a new dishwasher. If I was working I could buy one. I'll sink my first paycheck into one when I go back to work. I hope they'll rehire me. I bet they think I'm crazy for the way I left. Maybe I am crazy. Crazy people are so nuts. You'd have to be crazy to be on reality television. I hate those reality shows about animal abusers. I should volunteer at a shelter. Oh those poor kitties! But I can't be around that many cat boxes. I would be useless. I am useless. If I was thinner I wouldn't have been in such pain and I could have stayed at work longer. I hate my body. How can Jason stand to even look at me? He has never bought me flowers so he must not really love me. If I wasn't so fat he would buy me flowers. What an asshole. I should bring up the flower thing later. Maybe I'll just buy myself some flowers! We're out of toilet paper. Am I the only one that ever restocks this bathroom? Bunch of lazy bastards. I really want toast.

.....end morning trip to pee.

It happens that fast, folks. I could leave a room with a smile on my face and come back 5 minutes later so worked up that I can't decide if I should cry or yell. Thank goodness that I have an exceedingly patient man in my life, a father that is as much a friend and confidant as a parent, and a mother that gets me because we are so much alike. I know that I have it easy and am a very lucky individual. I have a roof over my head, food in the fridge, healthy pets, loving and supportive friends and family and a level enough head to remain calm for the most part, but it's all easy too lose sight of. Like every other expectant mother on the planet, I may have a day or two of total dismay and distress, lose my keys/phone/coat/gloves regularly when they are right in front of me, and flip flop from happiness to misery a hundred times an hour in my head, but deep down I am blissful and I know I'm not alone in my journey. I find that the best remedy for all the negativity that I let sneak in is to simply stay aware of the big picture and not get hung up on the small details. If you are one of the unlucky majority to suddenly hate everything that your partner says and does, from the smell of his shampoo to the way he walks, take comfort in the fact that it will pass and all the fondness will retun. I actively practice letting the little stuff roll off, and retraining my brain to go in a positive direction when it starts to go toward that dark place. It's a survial tactic. Sometimes it is easier said than done, so just keep trying. Everything is going to play out the way it's supposed to, and in reality, you don't have much control over it. Find ways to deal. Find beauty in small things. Find solace anywhere you can. Get lost in music, books, movies, and nature instead of in your own head. Don't be so hard on yourself! The only advice I really have to offer on the topic is to remain calm and love yourself.

In the words of the always fabulous Rupaul, "If you don't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?".

P.S. I will write a later entry just for partners and fellow future parents. A little how to on not getting yourself into trouble, and making mommy feel a little more stable. Trust me, husbands/boyfriends/girlfriends/wives need all the help they can get when it comes to dealing with the crazy, hormonal, wonderful, beautiful pregnant lady in their life.

The ages old question: mistake or surprise?

My intent with this blog is to shine a little light, and even a little humor, on the chaotic journey of my pregnancy as a plus sized soon to be mama. Mostly, I just need a productive outlet for some of the mess that fills my head but I truly hope that I can help someone along the way. So, here we go.

I hear that the best place to start is at the beginning, so lets go with that. A bit of history to my story could be pages long if you give me the chance, so I will try to make it brief. I met my fella through friends at a bar. I knew that I liked him immediately, I mean instantly, for various reasons. The reasons that stand out to me now were his ability to make me laugh, his lovely eyes, his rather burly red beard, and the fact that I was comfortable enough on our first meeting to do the Dougie at the table. If you aren't familiar with the Dougie, Youtube.com can remedy that. It was a couple of months after our first encounter, New Years Eve 2011, that really got the ball rolling. It was almost midnight when we ran into each other at a local bar and he stopped me in my tracks, demanding that I stay put until the countdown. Our first kiss started before midnight and ended sometime after. I was smitten from the word go. It's no secret between us that I did the pursuing. He is 5 years younger than me and was very comfortable with his bachelor lifestyle of living in a party house with several roommates, playing video games for hours on end, and having disposable income. I took the lead and so begins the story of our rocky start.

In the first few months, I was little more than a lady friend. This was not ideal for me, and I did my share of paranoid wondering, "what is he doing and who is he doing it with?", when we weren't together. Not wise, my dears. Don't let your mind go there. I brought up the defining of our relationship when an old flame asked me out to dinner and I realized that I felt guilty at the idea of going without telling him about it. The conversation was the very first baby step into our committed relationship.

Over the next few months we spent more and more time together. Mostly spent laughing hysterically, drinking wine, and having sex. The typical honeymoon phase. Fun beyond words, but not enough for this lady. In the midst of our courting were issues of trust and jealousy, fidelity, and what my role really was in his life. Our first attempt at a relationship failed in a matter of weeks. I wasn't feeling valued or appreciated and, though it hurt my heart to do so, I called it off. This seemed to peak his attention in a way I hadn't anticipated. In my experience with men, once broken up with, they will simply bury their pain or hurt pride in another (hotter) girls bed. Instead, he wanted to see me the next day, and the day after that. A very long 3 days later, we had a conversation that still sticks with me. It went something like this:

me: "I guess the question is are you happy being single and free, or do you care enough about me to let your life get complicated?"

him:"Lets complicate the shit out of this."

I still had my doubts but I was already in love with him and this small bit of talk was close enough to something out of a movie to make me open up again.

The following weekend was the 4th of July and we joined some friends for a very sunny day of bbqing, drinking, games and fireworks. Mostly drinking, and it was spectacular! Our fun ran over into the wee hours of the morning, and all sense of responsibility and forethought went right in the garbage along with our final beer bottles. It was 4 weeks later when I realized I was a day late on my normally dependable cycle starting. Annoyed and sure it was a fluke, I went to the store and purchased a 3 pack of pregnancy tests and a box of tampons. I was sure that as soon as I had a negative test, my period would start. I could not have been more wrong.

My heart started to beat out of my chest as I watched that evil second pink line forming on that stick. People often use phrases like "knock me over with a feather" or "at a loss for words" but these do no justice to how I felt standing in my bathroom with that dubious, pee soaked stick in my hand. I couldn't have told you my name if you asked me. It wasn't a loss for words but a loss of the ability to speak. It could easily have been an hour if it had been 30 seconds of me staring at that test before I regained myself and tore open a second. Same results. Still unbelievable. Surely, these tests were faulty or damaged. I bought more from different drugstores and even had a friend that was definitely not pregnant take one to be sure that I wasn't receiving false positives. It was true and I was screwed. My mind was racing with a mixture of total joy and complete panic. How was I going to tell him? How would he react?

I prepared myself for a negative reaction on his part and told myself that he was allowed to freak out as well. That I would have to forgive his initial reaction and forget anything he said in the first conversation. I had, after all, had a few days to get used to the idea and he deserved the same. My fears about his reaction were confirmed within seconds of my news and though I was expecting abortion to be his first request, it didn't make it any easier to hear. I spent the next few days crying and actually feeling guilty that my decision was already made. I was not giving this baby up in any way, shape or form. I was going to be a mother with or without a partner to be a father. I had told him I would think about it knowing that my mind was made up because I wanted to give him a few days to get used to the idea himself.

When we spoke about it again a few days later, I confirmed that I was going through with it with or without him and that I hoped he could find a positive way to deal with that. His response surprised me again. He was on board with whatever I wanted and vowed to stand by me and our baby. I was thrilled but wary, still unsure how his opinion may change in the next few months, but here we are at 31 weeks and we couldn't be happier. His fears and resistance to the idea of "growing up" have given way to the excitement of fatherhood and to the strength of the partnership we've created. Where fear once filled me up is now a flood of joy every time I hear him ask, "How's our son today?", when he gets home from work. Or the way his eyes get as wide as saucers when he feels a good kick, sees our boy move across the surface of my ever swelling tummy, or gets a chance to be there for an ultrasound.  We are expecting our healthy baby boy in March and now, our biggest disagreement on the topic is about names. 

My point in all of this, aside from filling in a little back story, is to show any women that may be in a situation like mine with an unplanned pregnancy and a partner you are still getting to know, to remain calm. Every one's experience will differ but if you're feeling that overwhelming sense of fear, unsure about the future, or may be facing it alone, take a moment to think about the amazing things that are happening inside your body and to really give yourself credit where it's deserved. Your strengths, your thoughtfulness, your intelligence, your nature will do you well if you let them. You'll figure it all out in time and so will he. Don't let yourself become negative about something that could end up being the best thing that ever happened to you. Ultimately, becoming a mother is a choice and you have to do what is best for you and your situation without concern for the judgement others may offer. You know what's best for you, and that's all there is to it. Is an unplanned pregnancy a mistake? Well, that all depends on how you look at it.

To quote Roseanne, the mother of all mothers, "A mistake is something you wouldn't do over again if given the chance, but a surprise is something you didn't even know you wanted until you got it."