Rub My Belly!
Dogs love a good belly rub—any time, any place, any person—but apparently humans do NOT. People have asked me a lot of the same questions over the past few months. When are you due? Do you know the gender? Do you have a name picked out? How much longer? In addition to these generics, people are also highly interested in whether strangers have rubbed my belly yet. Everyone seems to know about this phenomenon. Even single guys, who I would normally assume are “unschooled” in the ways of pregnancy and babies. And from everyone who asks me this, NO ONE thinks it’s okay (somebody does though, because it’s happening to someone out there to cause all this hubbub.) And a lot of people don’t think it’s cool for anyone (outside of their hubby and maybe their mother) to do it. I’ve often heard, “Um, hello! That’s my belly! Personal space, anyone?!” Us Americans, we like our personal space.

Now, I am not a super touchy person myself, but the topic really does not raise the ire in my heart as it seems to amongst my peers. Admittedly, I have not had any perfect strangers try this. I might feel differently if the UPS man abandoned his “not getting any smaller” comments for a mid-day belly rub. But when it comes to people I know – anyone I consider a friend – go for it! Give it a rub. And I love the smile on their face when they do. It’s their way of showing affection for a baby that they already love and care about so much. It’s an experience of wonderment and awe at the miracle that is baby-growing. And that’s just cool. Sometimes I can tell people want to, but they’re showing restraint (which I appreciate - it IS nice to ask first), so I extend the invitation. When I do, their hand is on my belly faster than you can say “midnight Taco Bell run.” (Whoa, where’d that come from? We haven’t made one, but I’ve promised Andy I’ll demand it at least once before the baby comes. If I don’t, he might.)

I’m cool with the fact that not everyone enjoys it, so we should all keep up a modicum of manners and at least ask your friend first. Trust me, if they don’t want you to, they’ll tell you. To avoid the awkward pause that will inevitably follow after they’ve shot you down in the middle of Wal-mart, just ask the mama-to-be where she is registered. Leave it to potential presents to make her quickly forget you wanted to cross the invisible barrier!

Eating for Two, Michael Phelps Style
Thoughts from Week 23
One of the most sound, realistic bits of advice I have been given, which completely shuns popular thought is this: No, you’re not eating for two. You’re eating for yourself and one itty, bitty baby.

Technically, yes, that is two, although a common understanding is two full-grown adults. So not true. And yet, infinitely more times than I have heard this practical advice, I have heard the devil on my left shoulder – in the form of friends, coworkers and family – practically admonish me when I try show restraint over eating some sweet or going for seconds, “But you’re eating for two!” I have no doubt I have done this to other pregnant women in the past. And what with all the cravings and constant hunger pangs hitting me from the front and the back, it’s really not helping the “don’t blow up into a cow” cause.

It all brings up an interesting subject of body image during pregnancy. Before ever becoming pregnant, there was nothing cuter to me than a chubby pregnant woman with a big round belly. I rolled my eyes at those who would say, “I’m sure sitting next to me makes you feel great, since I’m as big as house right now!” Actually, never once did a woman who was growing another human being inside of her, EVER make me feel better for my own flabby belly or cellulite infused thighs. Please. For every pregnant woman who complained about her size, I had a placating smile and pat on the arm ready to go. “But you’re pregnant. You look adorable, really.” I fully expected to eagerly welcome my own pregnant body. I admit it, I have even been known to stuff a pillow or two up my shirt in my day – just to imagine what pregnant Julie might look like. (Stop judging – you know you did it, too.) I just couldn’t wait, and I looked forward to nine full months of not worrying about every little thing I ate and how it made me look in my jeans.

But in all honesty, embracing my new body image was a much harder challenge than I ever would have expected. People, including my husband at the top of the list, looove to tell me how cute I am, now that I’m pregnant. I would confidently say that people lavish more compliments on your appearance while pregnant than at ANY other time in your life. So, I’m not lacking for encouragement, that’s for sure. But for every compliment, there’s always a doubt – am I showing too soon? Should my arms really be this fat? They’re not carrying the baby! Are my ankles swollen under the pressure of my girth, or because it’s hot out and I consumed too much sodium today?

It’s a self-image challenge that I am dealing with day-by-day. I can happily tell you that I am thrilled to be pregnant, glow when people tell me I look great, and generally feel loved and happy about my so-far healthy pregnancy. But let’s just say, I now fully appreciate what it’s like on this side of the stretchy panelled jeans.

08.08.08
The most amazing thing in the whole world just happened. This is the kind of thing you get in email forward and you think - that really happened?

The company I work for, Cre8tive Group, is having a big party tonight to celebrate 08/08/08. Thanks to our name, the 8 is pretty important around here. With this momentous date falling on a Friday, in the middle of the summer, and with the Olympics starting tonight, a party was pretty much in order. It's going to be chinese-themed (thank you China for your food, no thanks for Communism), we're broadcasting the opening ceremonies on a big screen outside, having Olympic-themed games, etc. It's gonna be great.

Well, Amy, my boss's wife, just called me.

Amy: You have to get over here, right away.
Me: Is anything wrong? You need me right now?
Amy: Just come over right now.

I hang up and brainstorm the whole way over there, trying to imagine what it could possibly be. As I walked into the house, I remembered that I had ordered the cake for the party tonight two days ago and Amy's dad was going to pick it up today. I ordered a FULL sheet cake (that's a big cake, people) with the Olympic rings prominently displayed in the middle. I thought my instructions were pretty clear.

Everyone smirking, they ushered me over to the cake, where I see in large red writing down the middle:

("Olympics Rings")

Yes, the parentheses and quotation marks are also ON THE CAKE. I laughed and laughed, while Chad snapped picture after picture - of the cake, of Amy being mad about the cake, of Amy on the phone with the bakery looking really mad about the cake. Needless to say, they are making us a whole new cake. But, never fear, the original will still be there, for everyone's immense enjoyment.



Fantastic blog, and not just because our cake made it on there: Cake Wrecks.