Still a miracle, even if it makes me miserable

My co-worker, who is 41 weeks pregnant and scheduled to be induced tomorrow, gave me a copy of Pregnancy Sucks: When Your Miracle Makes You Miserable last week. Because it is my wont to semi-obsessively research every major purchase/event in my life, I tore into it over the weekend. Overall, it's pretty good -- similar in content to The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy, but a bit more, I don't know, mature in tone. (I don't know if anyone else reacted similarly, but I found the Girlfriends' Guide to be a little, well, silly. And full of some bad advice, such as not worrying about exercising because you might hurt the baby and you're going to gain so much weight that you might as well give up. But anyway.)

Now, perhaps it is because I am in the "honeymoon" of my pregnancy (so they say), or maybe it's the whole infertility thing, but I'm having a hard time being truly miserable about anything this pregnancy has thrown my way. Even when I was bleeding during the first tri, and yes, even when we lost the twin (which was terrible), I have been so incredibly grateful. And usually hopeful. And endlessly fascinated by the things my body is doing.

Don't get me wrong -- I will continue to make fun of my giant knockers and the fact that my thighs are rubbing together and that I have sex dreams about Sacha Baron Cohen and that I am GROWING LONG, DARK HAIR ON MY BELLY. But I'm totally not miserable. So I think I'll keep to reading the book at home, lest anyone spotting me on the train think that I am a pregnancy ingrate.

Now watch me gain 37 pounds in my third trimester. Then I guess we'll have to revisit the topic of misery.

Waxing not-so-nostalgic

There are many traits I would love for my daughter to inherit from her parents. Athletic ability, musicality, acne-free skin and math smarts are all on the list. However, if there is one thing I hope she is spared, it's this:

My eyebrows.

My thick, unruly, "Oh, you waxed me? Let me sprout back forth in record time!" eyebrows.

I went to get an eyebrow wax today, and while I was having hot wax slathered and then ripped off my face, I reflected back on my long and illustrious eyebrow-waxing history. Some fun facts:

--I've been regularly waxing my brows since high school. If you figure I've averaged a wax a month since then (more frequently these days, less so in college when my very limited disposable income was more likely to go towards beer and *gasp* fake tanning), that's 192 delightful dates on the waxing table. So, I've probably spent somewhere around $3K getting hair ripped off my face.

--I play a little game of over/under each time I go in. How long will it take the waxer to say "My, what thick eyebrows you have!" or some variation thereof? It's not a question of if. It always happens. My favorite variation: "Your eyebrows are like tree trunks!" No shit!

--It is a big, giant, liar-liar-pants-on-fire myth that waxing hurts less the more you do it. If anything, it hurts MORE. Particularly when a cocktail of IVF drugs is running through your veins. (Hey, I may be infertile, but I wasn't about to add the indignity of a unibrow to my list of woes.)

I know, I know, I should be happy that I'll never have to use an eyebrow pencil to draw brows on. And the thick eyebrows come with nice things like thick hair (which, unfortunately, grows EVERYWHERE and creates a variety of other grooming dilemmas). But I hope that 16 years from now, I'm not giving my daughter the old "Oh, honey, it won't hurt at all after the first time" line. At least not about waxing!

The upside of the day is that I did get myself a fine pedicure, the results of which can be seen at right. So it wasn't all bad.

Now excuse me while I go put a bag of frozen peas on my throbbing forehead.

Melt my heart, why dontcha?

Earlier this week, I was in my favorite place -- the pool. More specifically, in the locker room after finishing my swim, when I probably feel physically better than any other time of the day/week.

I had just finished up a swim that was pretty special. For most of the time I was doing laps, I could feel the chicklette burbling around in there, kind of like we were swimming together. So I was already in wistful mode as I was heading towards my locker.

Right next to me were a mom and her 3-ish year old daugther, getting dressed. The mom was doing her hair and makeup, and the little girl was sitting on a bench, swinging her legs and quietly watching every move. Suddenly, she says:

"Mommy? I loooove you."

After a few days of trying to picture what having a daughter would look like for me, this scene totally brought it home, and gave me a little glimpse into the future.

Unless, of course, my daughter hates me. But I'm hoping that won't happen until she's at least 12.

Is it ICLW again?

Apparently it's ICLW once again! I'm not sure if it's arriving more quickly, or if my brain has just further deteriorated. I'm betting on the latter.

So, for newcomers, welcome to Barefootland. As you can probably glean from the title of my blog, I am pregnant. 19 weeks pregnant, in fact. It took 2.5 years, a bunch of Clomid, a bunch of tears and an IVF cycle to get here, but we're thrilled. And we're having a girl, which I hope to reflect more completely in my toenail color when I go for a pedi this weekend.

As a warning for those of you who might not want to read about pregnancy-type things, this blog is these days mostly about being pregnant. But I'm still an infertile, and that is touching this journey in more ways than I ever could have imagined.

For those of you thinking about or embarking on an IVF cycle, there are a slew of posts in March and April detailing that exciting rollercoaster ride.

Welcome to the blog, and happy ICLW!

Beware the overheated preggo

I learned something today:  102 degrees + 19 weeks pregnant = cranky.  Actually, beyond cranky. Maybe a little bit hostile.

Don't get me wrong, it could be much worse. I could be my friend S, who is due in two weeks and roughly the size of Danny DeVito (but in a very cute way).  But. It's hot. So very hot. And I am so very cranky.

I would like to apologize to the salesperson in Sephora, at whom I semi-yelled when they were out of my Medium Beige Bare Minerals foundation. I would also like to apologize to the salesperson in Pea in a Pod -- it is not your fault that I've grown from a 36DD to a 38E in the last three weeks. And finally, I would like to apologize to my dear husband, who gamely followed me from shop to shop all afternoon, and witnessed some pretty bad behavior.

I hope that everyone else in hot weather is staying cool -- physically as well as mentally!

Bring on the pink!

'Cause the Barefoot family is having a girl.

I'm shocked -- I totally thought I saw a pee-pee on the screen this morning, but I guess this is why we pay other people to read our ultrasounds.

Everything looked great, although they want us back in 3 weeks because they couldn't see all they wanted to see of the heart because it's early (18w).  I'm a little nervous about that, but if it means we get another peek in 3 weeks, I'm not going to complain.

Oh, and I already caved and bought two pink outfits. This little chicklet (chicklette?) is going to be spoiled rotten.

In case anyone's wondering.....

Adam (Lambert) was AMAZING last night.

And now with nothing other than work to distract me, I am sliding into a major case of the nerves for our big anatomy scan on Wednesday. I think I've been feeling some movement, but it's still pretty subtle -- kind of like heart palpitations in my lower abdomen. And then I worry that my belly's not getting big enough fast enough -- but what the heck do I have to compare it to? Oh, and I'm actually feeling good -- I've been exercising and eating better, and just generally feeling like a normal human being -- which OF COURSE is cause for concern. Sigh.

We made the mistake of telling the family that we're hopefully finding out the sex on Wednesday, so already the "so, what time exactly are you going to call me?" questions are coming in from the grandparents, the great-grandparents, the sisters, and pretty much everyone else. I'm getting a feeling that there is going to be an avalanche of pink or blue gear landing on our doorstep very soon. Not that I'm complaining.....

....but I sure hope we have good news to report.

FabFooFri: A Loaf in the Oven

Now that I seem to be past the "hangover without the cocktails" phase of this pregnancy, I'm actually getting kind of fired up about food again. And not just food that comes via a drive-thru, which counted for a much greater percentage of my first trimester intake than I care to fully disclose. But all sorts of healthy stuff -- protein, veggies, things with calcium in them -- that are supposed to be good for the kiddo now actually taste good.

Earlier today, I tried to replicate one of my favorite meals discovered on a recent business trip -- basically, a mixed green salad with meatloaf on it. I know it sounds gross, but this little takeout place near my LA office makes the most delicious mixed green salad with carrots, cukes, hearts of palm and strips of turkey meatloaf, tossed in a lemony vinagrette. And the meatloaf is WARM. Yum.

So, today I rustled up some meatloaf leftovers (recipe below), cut it into fat strips (kind of like the size of chicken strips on a chicken caesar salad), and tossed them in the microwave for a couple of minutes. Then I took a bag of mixed greens and shredded carrots (didn't have any hearts of palm on hand, sadly), tossed those with some balsamic, EVOO, salt, pepper and oregano, and then laid that nice warm meatloaf on top. And sprinkled a little parmesan on top for good measure.

Oh, it was so good. I'm totally making bigger meatloaves from now on.

Wishing everyone a weekend of good eats!

Barefoot's Meatloaf

1 lb ground beef or turkey (I usually go super-lean, but it obviously tastes better with more fat in it)

1 large egg

1 cup (or so) of breadcrumbs

1/2 cup (or so) grated parmesan or romano cheese

1 clove garlic, minced

1 T dried parsley

1 T dried oregano

1 pinch red pepper flakes

Salt and pepper to taste (you don't need much salt with the cheese in there)

Preheat oven to 375. Mix all ingredients together, adding bread crumbs until mixture is just barely moist. Form into a loaf, place in loaf pan, and bake 35-45 minutes until cooked through. I usually leave beef meatloaf a little pink in the center, not so much with the turkey. (Of course, I cook everything until it's a briquette these days, under the watchful, nagging eye of the Mr.)

Sometimes, if I'm feeling like a juicier loaf, I'll add another egg and a bit more cheese and breadcrumb. Meatloaf is a very subjective thing! 

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Elle over at Baby Bunts wrote an amazing post earlier this week that pretty much sums up everything I've been feeling about this blog's transition from infertility to pregnancy blog. I've been thinking for a while now about how this blog has changed, and how I feel about that change. I mean, obviously I'm happy about the underlying reason, but there are other emotions there too -- sorrow (for those who are still fighting), discomfort (at not knowing what heck I'm talking about), suspicion (that I'm jinxing everything by talking about it), and guilt (that it only took me 2.5 years and 1 IVF cycle to get knocked up).

It's that last emotion -- guilt -- that makes me realize just how connected I still feel to the IF community. I mean (and I'm borrowing another thought from Elle here) who else but an infertile would think that 30-ish failed cycles, endless tests, needles, thousands of dollars of drugs and monitoring, and a miscarried twin would be getting off easy?!? But I do know how lucky I am, and that in the grand scheme of things, anxiety over change is a very very small problem to have. I would take every single step all over again in a heartbeat. And I probably will!

Anyway, sorry to deviate from my regularly scheduled programming of making fun of my boobs, drooling over Adam Lambert, and relating my journey from relatively in-shape woman to small sea vessel. Change has just been on my mind.

Now, back to scrounging through my desk drawers for a cookie.

In praise of the pool

I know I'm not exactly breaking ground with this proclamation, but swimming when you're pregnant ROCKS. My doctor told me as much, but she's kind of bossy so I don't listen to her all that much.

On Sunday I headed around the corner to our local Y, which has the most fabulous outdoor heated pool. I've been trying to swim a couple of times a week, but because of travel and whatnot it had been about 3 weeks since my last excursion. My back has been sore, my calves have been tight, and I tell ya, they both feel effing great right now. 

Swimming also has the added benefit of not making me feel like a giant cow (when I'm in the pool, anyway -- the thigh-jiggling trip from the locker room to the pool is another matter).  And most of the people who swim in my pool are, shall we say, of an older generation, so I feel like Michael Phelps. 

There was one hitch in the day. Because it's been a while since I talked about my giant knockers, and I know you're all just dying for an update, let me tell you that they seem to be on yet another growth spurt. My halter-style non-maternity bathing suit popped open mid-stroke not once, but TWICE.  And you know what? Cold-ish streaming water and hyper-sensitive nips do not mix. I hope at least the teenage lifeguard enjoyed the view.

I think it might be time for a new suit. 

Notes from a great weekend

I am seriously bummed to go back to work tomorrow -- it's been that great of a weekend. Weekend, how have I loved thee? Let me count the ways:

1. Perfect weather. Mid-80s, breezy, perfect for walks and shopping. Of which we've done plenty.

2. 4th of July. I love this holiday. Fireworks, barbecue, cupcakes, Barry Manilow singing some shmaltzy America song on TV -- does it get any better? OK, a beer would have made it better, but anyway.

3. Cute baby gear, purchased by my mother-in-law. We haven't been able to bring ourselves to break the shopping seal quite yet, but were perfectly happy to let someone else do it. And really, baby needed his/her first San Francisco Giants hat, don't you think?

4. Maternity Spanx. And the wonderful man who was willing to amuse himself in Motherhood Maternity while I perused and purchased. 

And finally.....

5. FRONT ROW TICKETS TO AMERICAN IDOLS LIVE. Purchased yesterday. For next weekend. Not front-row floor (I don't think I could handle that right now), but front row of the first seated section and OMG I'M GOING TO SEE ADAM LAMBERT AND HAVE INAPPROPRIATE THOUGHTS. Sitting next to my mother.

Next weekend's shaping up to be pretty good, too! Let's hope I can make it through my first 5-day workweek in about a month.

The dogs, they are barking

The feet you see to your right are not happy. Yes, they were nicely pedicured just yesterday, so they look quite lovely (if I do say so myself), but they are in revolt. Revolt against high heels.

I love heels for so many reasons. They turn an ordinary outfit into something special, they make me look thinner (OK, maybe not so much now, but they make my legs look good and my legs are the only thing I've got going for me right now, unless you're into gargantuan boobs), and they are just so pretty.

But my feets, they are hating the heels. I had a work event on Tuesday night, and I could feel them throbbing, and radiating pain up my legs. And then they were swollen for two days after that. I've taken to wearing flat sandals or flip flops to work, and then changing, but that routine is starting to make me feel like someone out of Working Girl.

So, today I went shopping -- outlet shopping, no less! -- to try and find some sensible-yet-stylish low-ish heels. But I could not find any. NONE. I had money to spend and nowhere to spend it. And all of the gorgeous 4-inch heels in summer colors were taunting me. TAUNTING.

Help! Anyone have any suggestions? My tootsies will be forever grateful.