Why I'll Miss Being Pregnant

I have been pregnant for 255 days. I know, it feels like much longer to me, too. With about 25 days to go, I've officially hit that point in my pregnancy when people stop looking at me like I am just another pregnant woman, and start looking at me like I'm a liability. They stare at my huge belly with a mixture of discomfort and terror, worried, I think, that I'll give birth right in front of them. I'm hoping this does not happen.

I'll be the first to admit that I was ill-prepared for this pregnancy thing. While I've never questioned our timing on actually having a child, I didn't realize how difficult it would be for me to adjust to having my body taken over by the miracle of life. Hormones are a powerful thing, and I underestimated them. I'm sorry for that, hormones. It will not happen again.

In fact, it took me about 20 weeks to really come to terms with the fact that there was a baby growing inside of me and that I better get used to it. I complained about my bad mood. I complained about not feeling well. I complained about all the pounds I was gaining. But now, 255 days into this thing, I've realized that I'm going to actually really miss being pregnant. I was standing in the kitchen at work the other day pouring my decaf coffee, and it occurred to me that in about a month I would no longer be pregnant. And it made me sad. Why, you ask? Well here are 4 reasons:

1. People love the bump. I was not prepared for the amount of goodwill that my massive belly would generate. I've gotten more smiles these past 9 months than the previous 31 years combined. Strangers come up to me to congratulate me and strike up conversations about motherhood. They stare at my bump with such glee that I feel like they can actually see my baby in there waving back at them. I also think it doesn't hurt that there is something innately appealing about a pregnant woman -- especially one who is 9 months pregnant -- waddling down the street. It must be like seeing a hippo in the wild. 
2. People encourage me to have two servings of cake. Let me preface this by pointing out that I realize that pregnancy is not an excuse to binge eat. And, for the most part, I think I've done a pretty good job of providing my baby with all the necessary nutrition to ensure she is as healthy as can be. However, I've found that all judging stops when a pregnant woman is indulging in something delicious. Just last night we stopped for ice cream at J.P. Licks and as I was frantically trying to combat the slow melting of my huge ice cream cone, a woman in line asked me what flavor the baby had demanded. The baby! Those babies are demanding little creatures. Always needing huge ice cream cones and two slices of cake. It will be a sad day when I can't blame my ice cream consumption on the baby. 
3. Very little is expected of me. I know a lot of women have a tough time coming to grips with the limitations of pregnancy. No heavy lifting, no horseback riding, no full contact sports, no hang gliding. I am not one of these women. It is a huge relief when someone offers me their seat, because, man, standing is tough when you are pregnant. And when my husband stopped asking me if I'd like to take Oscar out for his last pee of the night it was a momentous and glorious occasion. Going down two flights of stairs is tough when you are pregnant. Heck, just hoisting my massive body off the couch is tough when you are pregnant. So I'm totally on board with these lowered expectations of me. I love that when people see me slowly lumbering down the street on one of our family walks they are thinking, "Wow, good for that huge pregnant lady!" instead of, "Speed it up, fatty!"
4. Our baby will never be so safe again. Everything changed for me when I felt our baby move. And even though she spends most of her time now jabbing me in the ribs with one tiny body part or another, there is something so wonderful about knowing she is completely safe and secure in my gigantic belly. I don't have to worry about her being hungry, or wet, or lonely. I don't have to worry about where she is or what she's doing. For the last time, she is as close to me as she ever will be and there is something really sad about letting her into this big world knowing that she'll never be so well protected again. Just thinking about dropping her off at daycare is giving me hives. 

Six Ways Baby Training Has Transformed Me

All you high school heroes remember the agony of two-a-day workouts. Whether you played football, soccer, basketball, volleyball, or field hockey (lately, I love women's sports), you gutted out two tough sessions in the same day for several weeks. You ran. You lifted. You scrimmaged. You sweat. Basically, you pushed yourself beyond your limits.

I'm adopted that same mentality for baby training.

Baby training, especially during the past two months, has really started to transform me in significant ways. Yes, I'm stockpiling workouts (63 of the last 64 days, according to my Lift app on my iPhone) because I know I won't be able to exercise as much, but the training is about much more than physical activity. I've selected six scenarios, some slightly exagerrated for effect, to show how I've started to change. Using Old Mike and New Mike as the format will help make the comparisons easier. Here goes:

Scenario 1: I wake up after a bad night of restless sleep.

Old Mike: "This is going to to be the worst day of my life. (Sometimes Old Mike was dramatic.) I'm going to be inefficient at work and tired all day. I hate everything."

New Mike: "Yes! An opportunity to show that I can get things done with very little sleep! I'm going to have to get used to this. I'm going for a run!"

Scenario 2: A baby is crying in the apartment next door.

Old Mike: "Hey, good luck with that." (Slams window.)

New Mike: "Bridget, come listen! Do you think the baby is tired or hungry? That sounds like a tired cry to me. Can you believe we have only five weeks to go?"

Scenario 3: A baby is crying in a restaurant.

Old Mike: "Ugh. Seriously? They thought it was a good idea to come to this restaurant right now? Is Burger King closed? Awful."

New Mike: "Isn't that baby cute, hun? How old do you think she is? I wonder if our baby will like pasta. You know, I just read this interesting article about a baby's diet ..."

Scenario 4: We go to visit a friend's baby.

Old Mike: "I guess I'll hold him. I mean, will I break it? I mean him. I'm not really good at babysitting. What if he poops or something? Do I just give him back to you really quickly?"

New Mike: "Let's see if I can get him to stop crying. I really feel like I'm getting the hang of ... what do you mean other people want to hold him?"

Scenario 5: Oscar (our dog) stares at the stove with a tilted head.

Old Mike: "Get out of the way, Oscar."

New Mike: "Oscar, this is called a stove. S-t-o-v-e. Stove. A stove is a hot thing that cooks our food. Never, ever touch it because it's really, really hot. Ouch."

Scenario 6: A quarter mile from home, Bridget says, "I might be a little cold without a sweater."

Old Mike: "You might be? Do you know when you'll know for sure? Why didn't you think about this five minutes ago? Fine. I'll be right back.

New Mike: "Sure thing, sweetie. Do you need anything else? Are you sure you don't want a little snack? Watch how fast I can run."

Will New Mike stick around? I sure hope so. (I think everyone else does, too.)



Our Baby's Name ...

A couple years ago, I met my friend, Rebecca, in Faneuil Hall for a cocktail after work. Instead of a white wine, however, she was drinking water and had big news: She and her husband, Chris, were having a baby! Like anyone would, I extended my congratulations and gave her a big hug. Then, like anyone, I asked about the baby's name.

"Oh, we're not talking about that," she said, in a uncharacteristically sharp tone.

Hmmm, I thought. That's odd. Rebecca is usually so kind and sweet. When my wife is pregnant with a baby, I'm going to tell everyone the name and get all sorts of opinions and feedback. 

As it turns out, as usual, Rebecca was much wiser than me.

When we started our baby journey back in December, Bridget and I jumped into the name conversation with both feet. Why wouldn't we? All of a sudden, you have this enormous privilege and responsibility to name another human being. You could pick something safe, like Michael, John, or Jennifer. Or something bizarre, like Apple, Suri, or North. (Honestly, is there anything worse than the Kardashians? Just go away.)

Before we knew if we were having a she or a he, we developed a short list of six male names and six female names. That, in itself, was a challenge. It's amazing how many associations people (including me) have with names. We had about 40 conversations that went like this:

Bridget: "What about Stephanie?"
Mike: "Nah, I dated a Stephanie."
Bridget: "If we can't use the name of girls you've dated, we won't have many choices!"
Mike: "This is fun. How about Ryan?"
Bridget: "No. There was a really annoying kid named Ryan in one of my English classes in college. How about Adele?"
Mike: "No, I'll just always think about that singer ..."

And on it went. Hours of this. But we finally settled on 12 names we both really liked. We then shared this list with our families.

Bad idea.

There were eye rolls. There were quizzical looks. There were snorts. There were quiet, almost inaudible noises. And there were comments:

• "Gray? You mean the color?"
• "You can't name it Natalie! I'm going to name my kid Natalie!"
• "How about Kathleen? That's a nice name." (Both our moms are named Kathleen, so this comment was shared no less than 314 times. In fact, Kathleen Kathleen Briddon was an actual suggestion.)

So when we found out we were having a baby girl in early April, we put the lid on the baby conversation with anyone outside of me, Bridget, and our dog, Oscar. (We trust him to stay quiet on the name we think is perfect and we'll share with everyone on our daughter's day of birth.) Actually, "put the lid" is not quite right. We slammed the lid. 

"Oh, we're not talking about that," we told our family and friends in an uncharacteristically sharp tone. 

That Rebecca. She's always right.