One Day He'll be Too Cool for Peek-a-Boo

Thankfully, that time is not yet upon us:

Although, I'm suddenly very aware that too soon that day will come.

GGC

In other, and not so depressing news, I've gone crafty in my quest-for-super-nest and decided to take up sewing. Etsy, here I come?

Congratulations. Your Baby is now the Size of a Donkey's Left Scrotum

Pardon the crudeness of this week's posts, but can we please talk real quick about the Babycenter "this week your baby is the size of a ... (fill in the blank with most obscure vegetable you can think of) ... newsletter"?

Because, uh... This week, my baby is the size of a rutabaga. Which, I mean, a rutabaga? Really? I mean, WHY? And who came up with these randomly obscure to the point of comedy, vegetable/fruit measurement concoctions?

And P.S. does anyone know what "the size of a rutabaga" actually means? I mean, besides the obvious random-wtf re: rutabaga, don't rutabagas differ greatly in size? I mean... Take this trifecta, for instance. Which one looks more like my baby this week?

exhibit A: 25 weeks

The one on the left? Right? The one in the foreground looking to have a threesome with the other two?

Dare I look ahead to twenty-six weeks to read about my baby's size-to-vegetable ratiotics*?

Aha! Just as I suspected!

"Your baby is now the size of (I swear to God, it says this) an English Hothouse Cucumber..." Which apparently is TOTALLY CRAZY DIFFERENT from your basic, garden-variety cucumber. Even though, according to google-images, it looks exactly like every other cucumber I've ever seen:

exhibit B: 26 weeks

Nothing like a giant green phallus to get me excited about my sweet little bundle of joy.

Honestly, and I'm pretty sure I can speak for the majority of all pregnant (and non-pregnant) women when I say this: I'd have a better idea re: the size-to-comparison if this week featured a pair of donkey balls.

Just saying.

GGC

*a made-up word pertaining to vegetable/fruit/fetus ratios.

The Only Bush I Trust... Er, Not Really.

I'm not a fan of hair anywhere but on my head. It's more than just me being not-so-much-a-fan, honestly. I have a bit of a hair-phobia. Too much body hair makes me nervous, which is why I've never waxed anything but my eyebrows in my life -- no way I could wait the necessary time for pits/pubes/leg hair to grow.

photo credit: fashionablygeek.com

I've been shaving my nether regions since the first sight of pubic hair at fourteen and have never experienced a full bush. Ever. That is until my last pregnancy when I couldn't reach or see the southern tip of my torso, thus leading to hair in places I'd never experienced. Luckily I couldn't see what was going on down there so it didn't bother me so much. Even in the mirror my belly covered my downunda and Hal didn't say anything, probably because we were newly dating (eight months) and were still loving on every idiosyncrasy. Or maybe he was just being nice.

This time around, we're mean to each other a lot more comfortable with one another so the other night when I stripped down to nothing, Hal promptly called me out.

"Nice bush, Bec."

"Shut up. Really, omigawd!?"

I ran out of the room, plucked my MAC compact from my makeup bag and went to see for myself. Sure enough, there it was: a hairy downsouth. I almost fainted. Something had to be done. Like, now.

I do realize that hairless vagoos are somewhat controversial around these parts. Many women believe in the power of "the bush" and that's all fine and cool with me. My inability to deal with pubic hair has more to do with the fact I've never had any, not because I want to look like a pre-pubescent or a pornstar.

Growing up my friends and I all shaved our pubes, and not because "boys wanted us to." It was a harmless bonding experience: Sisterhood of the No-pubes-in-our-pants. And as far as I know, none of us ever grew them out again. For me it has always been very comfortable. I shave when I shave my legs and have never dealt with the red-bumps because I'm *usually* very regular with the razor.

Until recently.

Trying to shave ones "south" is no easy task when you have a basketball hanging over your bikini line. I'm not going into details re: how I managed to pull off a quick vagishave. Let's just say, I needed a little assistance and A LOT of bandaids.

Needless to say, anti-bush pregnant woman might want to take a different approach to their pubic region. (Like, say, dishing out the $40 bucks for a Brazilian.)

Meanwhile, I have an Elmo bandaid in my ass-crack.

GGC

And in other news: My wish to give our baby two middle-names was blown to smithereens by Hal and a little something we married folk like to call "compromise."After weeks of negotiations we have settled on ONE middle-name for our babe.

Cankles, Sore

Over the weekend, my ankles swelled to the point of inability-to-leave-the-house-for-fear-someone-might-off-themselves-at-the-sight-of-me-syndrome. According to my car's thermostat it was 105 on Friday, 107 on Saturday and a cool 103 on Sunday. I love me some LACMA Boone, let's be clear but there's only so much time one can spend in air-conditioned hallways, pacing the various free-to-roam spaces. (Although, I gotta say, thank God for places like The Treehouse this summer: our home away from home home when Archer's not in summer school.)

Swelling is bad enough to look at but that itch? Oh, that wretched itch! And FUCK! It's only June! And I'm only 25 weeks pregnant! I still have July, August, September and a little bit of October to go! Thank God for gladiator sandals, is all I can say... They're like God's gift to pregnant women! Thanks to gladiators, cankles can go incognito all summer long! Praise Apollo! 

Now, if only I could decide between the two lengths. Hmmm...

Oooh! And these might work, too:

Decisions, decisions...

Archer was born at the end of May, so I only had one shitty month of hotter-than-helldom, but I had an AC unit next to my bed, which under doctor's orders, was where I resided all day every day, minus my daily monitoring appointments at Cedars Sinai. (I had Preeclampsia hence my morbidly obese nose.) 

The silver lining is that this pregnancy, I'll have Fall to lose my baby weight, rather than last pregnancy's 6am wake-up hikes in the dead of summer. (The YMCA doesn't provide daycare for babes under 6 months, so I'm going to do my morning hikes like I did with Arch until the babe is old enough for the Y.)  So that's kind of a relief. 

In the meantime, I'm coming at you live from my parent's abode. There's an ocean close by and a pool in the backyard and San Diego is a good 15 degrees cooler than Los Angeles so my ankles, though not back to their original luster, are okay to look at without turning to stone. 

I have no idea how long we're staying. Until hell freezes over,  I'm thinking, or at the very least, gets back down into the bearable 80's.

The heat has proven to be escapable. Unfortunately, though, in pregnancy, the cankles so are not. I am well aware that regardless of the weather, this is only chapter one of "The Adventures of Cankle and Cankle."

Fifteen more weeks of itchy calf-ankles? Can it seriously be?  I guess I'm going to have to go with these cankle cages sexy little numbers: 

This is NOT what I look like at 25 weeks pregnant.  

A cankle, as they say, can never have too much coverage. 

GGC

Kicking Me From Both Sides

The first time I felt her kicking I was lying in my cousin's guest bed in San Francisco, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. I took this photo the next day, one in my collection of weekly(ish) belly shots I've been taking since week six:

That's my cousin, Erica in the background. Hi, Erica!

I don't remember how far along I was the first time I felt Archer kicking but I feel like it was much later than sixteen/seventeen weeks, or perhaps he had been kicking me for a while and I just assumed it was gas. The second pregnancy you kind of just know more I feel like.

With Archer, my pregnancy was very lonely. I was barely twenty-three, a child, myself. I had no friends with children, had spent little time with babies and knew not what to expect at the end of the nine-month gestation. I wrote Archer letters, asked him questions, played him music, could not imagine his face or how it would feel to hold him in my arms, to watch him grow from tiny dancer to human being. (I have questions for her, too, of course, but this time, they do not come from a place of fear.)

This time, I'm not lonely. I have friends with children and am suddenly surrounded by babies. I have a community of mothers and parents I turn to, reading their words, relating, feeling support from. I have a best friend on the same journey. I have more than a vague idea of what I'm going to experience the moment I meet my new baby for the first time...

...So clearly I remember the moment Archer emerged, covered in guts and was handed to me. Shock and awe.

Awe that grew more and more punch-drunk through the weeks, months, years that followed.

Fall: 2005.

And now, three-years later, never have I been more in awe of him or anyone.

There's something very special about this pregnancy. Something I wasn't prepared for-- the double whammy of feeling the kicks of my unborn baby at the same time I'm wrestling with the one who was. Archer will always be my "baby" of course but he's a big kid, now. Old enough to pick out his clothes in the morning. Old enough to tell me "I'm being mean" when I tell him to put on his shoes before he goes outside. Old enough to ride the helicopter ride at the Del Mar Fair all alone.

The other night, Archer woke up screaming, so we let him come into our bed, sleep between us, like he did in his infancy, on a pillow between Hal and me, his little hands wrapped around my seemingly enormous fingers.

"Cu-doh me, Mommy," Archer said.

He turned his back to my chest and pulled my arm over his waist like a seat belt. And we lied like that until morning, the two of us as close as we could possibly be and yet... separate. Meanwhile, the baby was kicking me from inside, dragging her feet, poking a knee against my abdomen as Archer squirmed in my arms.

Such moments produce feelings I will most likely never experience again: holding such loved life in my arms and my body, Archer's hands pulling on mine on the outside, as foot-taps on the inside become familiar.

I'm getting to know you by the way you move inside me.

Week twenty-four

Clearly I am most excited about this pregnancy because of Archer. Because he was once kicking the same walls she is. And now, three and a half years later I have this perfect little person by my side, bouncing in my lap, rocking my world, loving me back, which can only mean that very soon, she will be too. And preparing to fall in love all over again?

Love on horseback.

I can't begin to imagine something better in all of life.

GGC

Expressing Motherhood, Expressing Pregnancy Symptoms

totally unrelated billboard with graffiti: a true urban period piece. 

A quick announcement for any of my Los Angeles based readers. I will be one of about a dozen artists, writers and  performers "expressing motherhood" at The Electric Lounge, Venice Beach, this weekend. (I'll be reading from my book, Rockabye.) Tickets are $20 at the door and show times are:

Friday, June 20th: 8:00pm

Saturday, June 21st:  7:00pm

About a dozen mothers (of all ages and stages) will be performing, reading and sharing their/our experiences as mothers. Come on down! 

For more information on the show, click here. 

GGC

In Other News: What are/were your strangest pregnancy symptoms? Mine so far: Itchy toes, intellectual fatigue and an inability to engage in sexual activity. Come on ova and share your weird or wonderful preggo-sympts, here. 

All I Could Ask For

Riding ponies at the Del Mar Fair, Father's Day

"Mommy?" 

"Yes, baby?"

"Happy Boo-tay tooooo you. Happy Boo-tay tooooo you. Happy Boo-tay dear MOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY. Happy Boo-tay toooooo you."

It's amazing how something so simple could quite possibly be the best birthday present ever. 

Boys on an elephant: Father's Day

Of course, I'll most likely spending the remainder of my 27th boo-tay sitting through hours of VBACs and homebirths and C-sections, disgruntled birthing mothers and tears of happiness: 

"Come on, Cindy! Push! I know you can do it! I can see the head crowning! One more! You got it, girlfriend. PUSSSSSHHHHHH. There you go. And... OH MY GOD! .... It's a boy! It's a brand new baby.... Whoa! You're cutting the cord yourself? Hardcore, Cindy. You are hardcore!"

Oh, if the Bec of yesteryear could see me now. 

GGC

I'd also like to say, on this historical day, how proud I am of California for its recognition of same-sex marriage, A victorious day for human-rights and human beings and all who seek matrimony. 

To All the Men Who Love Him

Happy Father's Day...

And Grandfather's Day

And Great-Grandfather's Day.

(Thank you all for loving him like you do.)

xo

Bec

And because it's the last year I can link father-son videos on Father's Day. Here.

Chic of the Week

Burpcloths and headbands from LouandLee on Etsy.  All pieces are hand-sewn by this here fine lady. And check out the onesies. To die... LouandLee also takes custom-orders for those who inquire. 

GGC

............................

For those interested, I'm featured in  "Supernanny" Jo Frost's June Newsletter. Check out my Q&A action, here. 

Oh, L.A. You So Crazy!

Gratuitous Archer on a parachute photo. (Mod tee by Ben Sherman kids.)

Only in Los Angeles (New York, too, I bet) does one tune in to watch a television show and find that it takes place in her OBGYN's office.  More on that story, here.  

GGC

Music Lessons

In the righteous words of Nietzsche, "without music, life would be a mistake." 

Indeed this is true. 

GGC

Tattoos Stretching During Pregnancy: True or False?

I remember the first thing I thought when I found out, my teenage friend "Jen" was pregnant was "Oh my God, her tattoo is going to get so weird." She was fifteen and that was all I could think about because she had just gotten this tattoo of a sun around her belly-button (Hello, 90's!) and fuck, if that thing wasn't going to look like some Dali-esque melting clock post-baby. 

My old friend ended up moving far away that summer so I never got to see firsthand how her body recovered from that pregnancy (let alone her teenage years) but I heard through a friend that her tattoo looked totally normal six-months after giving birth to her daughter. 

Still, ever since I started getting tattoos I was warned of the perils of tattoos on or around the belly area. I was told they would warp, stretch and fade. Of course, because I'm not easily phased by warnings (and because, like, omigawd, Jen totally got away with hers!) I got two. One on my very lower abdomen and one around the left side of my hip/waist.  

In the comments of my last post I was asked whether or not my tattoos stretched at all during pregnancy and the answer (so far) has been no. Neither of my tattoos so much as faded after my last pregnancy and I assume they will be unscathed this time around, too. Because -- well -- there is no way I can be any more enormous than I was with Archer that 9th month. 

I figured the whole "your tattoos with get all jacked after pregnancy" thing was just an old wives' tale, written by the mothers of the world to to scare their daughters out of getting belly/waist/lower front torso tattoos. But then my lovely ladyfriend (and fellow preggo) kittenpie explained that she had postpartum issues with her hip tattoo after her first pregnancy. 

Aha! So it is true! Sometimes.

Tattoo stretching on pregnant women seems to be case by case, however, so I turn to any and all of you with abdominal/hip/waist body-art and ask whether or not your tattoos changed during/after pregnancy and if so, how? 

The minds they do inquire...

GGC

More Pregnanter

Being pregnant is weird. I mean, it's a fantastic experience, sure. And I've been really lucky with both pregnancies so far. No morning sickness, vomiting, painful symptoms (beside my batshit emotions the first trimester). I have gas, sure, but that's because I'm not supposed to eat cheese (and man, do I love me some cheese!) so I can't blame the pregnancy on that one. I can, however, blame the dogs.  

But yeah, being pregnant is weird. And even though I kind of enjoy it (when it's not 200 degrees and I'm not 200 pounds) it's sort of like purgatory in terms of getting anything done.

Twenty-two weeks pregnant and lazy as a muthafucka.

When I was pregnant with Archer my entire creative self was put on hold. Far too busy was I sitting on my ass reading US Weekly when I wasn't working to pay the bills, muttering to myself incoherently about Who Wore it Best. 

I'm starting to feel the pull toward nothingness. I told myself I would finish my pilot-script and new book proposal by the time the baby came, which isn't actually that tough of a goal. Script is almost finished and book proposal is, well -- I have a title started it. 

It's just that suddenly I'm having a hard time concentrating on my work.  My usual five-hour days at the coffee shop have in the last few weeks, whittled themselves down to two.

Two hours working at the coffee shop and all I want to do is go home and stare at the ceiling fan or my chipped toenail polish or the television. Seriously, though. How can one possibly get her work done when there's HGTV!? It's like porn for pregnant chicks! People nesting 24/7 --What more could I possibly want for my girl-boner? 

Of course, by the time Archer comes home from school I'm wrecked and totally exhausted from my two-hours of work that I can't possibly imagine doing anything but sleep. Unfortunately, Archer has other plans for us. And they don't involve HGTV or trashy magazines. Bummer. 

Of course, I should be enjoying every minute of my two-hour-work-day life while it still even exists. When this baby comes, I'm pretty sure it's going to be near impossible to get much of anything done. As for Archer-Mommy quality time? This is it for us and that's enough to get me off my tired ass for late-afternoon field trips but man if I don't collapse on the couch after tucking Archer in bed, ready to rock out with What You Get For the Money.

I'm sort of like a ticking time bomb, except instead of hauling ass to get my shit together before I explode, I'm, well, not hauling ass to get my shit together before I explode. 

But man if it doesn't feel good. 

........................

In other news, how the hell does one explain to a child how to tell boys from girls at this age? And I don't mean "boys have penises and girls have vaginas" because at Archer's school, as I assume it is with most schools these days, everyone wears clothes.  Seriously, I dare you to try to differentiate boys from girls without sounding sexist. I mean, shit, I totally can't. 

GGC

The Short List: Baby Name Edition

Now that we have a chosen a name for our baby human,  I'd like to cordially invite you, friends and colleagues to have at the following names we have decided against. Take 'em or leave 'em. Love 'em or hate 'em, this is who I am people. These names are my friends...

********

Boys:

Caspian: this was our for-sure boy name until Narnia reared its cinematic head and I cried because I thought, Caspian and Archer sounded so fabulous together. One by land and one by sea! Ahoy! My tears led to Hal's "I hate to break it to you, Bec, but you aren't original" which is actually quite true. I'm not original. None of us are but sofuckingwhat, I love this name.  Anyway, so long Caspian. Thanks for being my "other name" for the past three years and then falling off the boat and into the vastness of your own sea. 

Rex: This is Hal's favorite name, but only because he claims his parents were going to name him Rex so he has this sort of dreamy-love-thing going on. I do agree that Rex is one awesome name, it's just a little (oh, I dunno!?) too... REXY for a first name. As a middle it could have worked, though.

Miller: After my hero, this was what I wanted to name Archer but I big time lost. This time around, I begged Hal to gimme Miller for a middle name. He said, no, but he would have eventually caved, I know it. 

Noble: This was, after Caspian, my first runner-up boy babyname. I think it's strong and bold and special. And it sounds well with Archer and Archer/Hal's last name. 

Bastian: What can I say? I loved Neverending Story. 

Zephyr:  I don't care what anyone says. Zephyr Miller is a badass name. And Zephyr is one of my all-time favorite words so naturally...

Other boy names we/I really liked that didn't make the shortlist: Cyprus, Dashiell, Gideon and Merrick.

photocredit: bLaugh.com

Girls:

 

Salome: Salome is probably my all time favorite name ever. Unfortunately my family talked Hal out of it because of the whole John the Baptist in the Bible thing. And so what if Oscar Wilde has a famous play based on said story? Aubrey Beardsley made the whole beheading thing seem so chic! Yes, Salome was a bit of a murderous slut in the Bible but, pulease, it was such a phase. Salome also happens to be a variant of Shalom and means "peace" in Hebrew. 

Paisley: It sounds like Daisy and I adore the name, Daisy, I think mainly because of the song, Daisy Bell, which is what I sing to Archer, and my mother sang to me. (One of my dogs is named, Zadie because of its similarity to Daisy.) I also think Paisley is a sweet, eccentric, beautiful name. 

Bijou: Bijou is one of those great french names that make me happy. Like GiGi and Coco and Cherie! It's sweet and chic and Bi (Bee) is cute for short (Bijou means Jewel) but my mom turned me off when she told me it reminded her of a frou-frou dog. Fucking moms screwing with my babynames, man!

Lyric: I adore this as a name even though its a somewhat recent phenomenon. I think it's feminine and perfect. And not to sound totally cheese, but I liked the idea of mixing the love of music (Hal) with (my) love of words and getting... Lyric. 

Mirabelle: It's a lovely, feminine name. Pretty as a picture. 

Chloe: This was one of those names I grew up adoring and yes, it's popular, I do realize but still, I do adore it. It's a perfect girl's name and Hal and I had it on our short list since the beginning. The name will live on in memory, however. After all, I named each and every one of my broken-legged Breyer horses, Chloe, when I was a girl. 

Luella: This name means, "girl warrior" which kind of matches the whole Archer "bowman" thing we got going. Luella came closest to becoming our first choice for girl name (after the Salome debacle)... I still adore it as a name. It's feminine, strong and sounds like wind when you say it aloud. 

Other names I liked that didn't make the shortlist: Zelda, Indigo, Tabitha and Muse. 

Edited to add: Daisy and Tallulah were also fierce contenders. So were Lucca and Persephone. I love these names. Hal wasn't so much a fan and, well, it's gotta be a compromised effort...

*********

What about you? What names were/are on your babyname shortlist? And if you are planning on having more kids, would you use any of your shortlist names next time or does your taste in names vary from child to child? 

GGC

GGC Reviews Sex

For all of you wondering whether or not it's worth it to stand in line for an hour to see the new Sex and the City movie I have this to say: I was beyond disappointed. The characters in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants were more evolved than the Sex women. Even the fashion was mediocre. (Patchwork Louis Vuitton? Really?)  

The (above) Vivienne Westwood wedding dress was to die for. Everything else? Was just dead. 

The music was downright horrible! Made cheesy and forced moments a thousand times more cheesy and forced.  (Bad R&B for the ENTIRE movie? What is this 1996? I mean... Really?) But worst of all, was the message these characters were sending the women who worship them: run away from your problems and eventually everything will just work out. (Really?) 

The script was dreadfully painful:

(a teary) Carrie: "You gave me my life back."

(an equally as teary) Louise: "And you gave me..." (sniff) "... Louis Vuitton."

Uh... Really? 

It's predictability was unparalleled. It's plot was pointless on the verge of laughable. It's characters were unlikable, the performances were forced and everything about the film just felt very uncomfortable. 

For someone who bought tickets two weeks in advance and stood in line for over an hour yesterday (to get good seats), excited out of my mind, I was pissed. And sad. And thoroughly disappointed. And absolutely despising Carrie Bradshaw, she who I once loved. 

My advice? Take your girlfriends to see Zohan or something that's supposed to be bad. 

Anyone else see the movie?  Would you agree or disagree with me? I'd love to hear your reviews, ladies and gentlefriends. 

GGC

Meanwhile...

*Check out my unborn daughter's first dress and if you have any good ETSY links to adorable handmade dresses, jumpers, etc please list them here. As always, I'm collecting tips at the door. 

**I'd also like to thank Hot Wheel Hacienda for nominating this post for a Perfect Post Award. Thank you! Thank you! 

photo credit: people.com