Kids

God-awful realities of the First Trimester

Soooo, I’ve been MIA lately.

I’m not going to blame it all on the pregnancy, but there is a fetus draining my energy, so there’s that. Oh, yeah, I’m pregnant! 

Sorry, no cutesy announcements since finding out was such a shock that I had everything else but that on my mind.

With my first trimester ending, I wanted to type out a couple of realities of being pregnant. Mind you, this is written by a highly hormonal pregnant lady, so take it with a grain of salt, but I hope another equally anxious, excited, nauseous and petrified pregnant woman finds this post helpful.

Below are my findings for the first trimester:

Being pregnant means you don’t know who you are anymore

The hormonal roller-coaster your body makes you go through is insane. Honesty, the hormones rule my life.

  • I cry watching reality TV shows.
  • I get so “hangry” I am ready to drive around and frequent 3 drive-thrus to get all the fast food my body is craving, as I am coming down with a case of severe road rage and yell at everybody on the road.
  • I come home and fall asleep on the couch at 7 pm. I have no energy to do anything, and no will to go anywhere.
  • My brain is either solely occupied by thoughts of food or thoughts of self-pity as I go through hours of nausea which normally (how appropriate) is the worst when I am at work.

Being pregnant means you have to lie to everyone

This one is though. Sure, usually you share the news with close family, but until you hit that 12-week mark and all the testing is done, you must lie about not being pregnant. In my case, I specially didn’t want them to find out at work.

  • I had to come up with creative ways as to why I wasn’t drinking alcohol at company events.
  • I had to lie about how I was feeling fantastic and how I, in fact, did want to hear everything about the work issues we were having, even though my only though was how to get home asap and sleep. I went to work every day, keeping my head down in my depressing little cube and counted the hours until I got home.
  • I made sure everyone saw me drinking lots of water to justify the amount of times I had to go to the bathroom.
  • I made sure people saw me grabbing chocolates from the candy jar even though the though of sweet food made me nauseous to justify the weight gain.

Being pregnant means everyone has an opinion about your unborn baby

As I started sharing the news of our life-changing event, I learned very quickly that every parent and a friend has an opinion on your unborn baby and how you should do things, what you should buy and essentially follow their advice, otherwise you are a terrible parent. Look, just because I’m a first-time parent doesn’t mean I don’t know how to pick up a book or consult a doctor on topics that are important to me and the baby.

Being pregnant means you forget everything and you drop everything

 I’ve never been this clumsy and messy in my entire life. I think I should start wearing a bib as I somehow manage to get food on my shirt with every meal. Salsa sauce, salad dressing, even regular potatoes end up in my lap.

I also don’t remember anything. I know, they coined a phrase “Mommy brain” I just never believed it was true, until I realized my short-term memory is essentially going to be worthless throughout my pregnancy and I should start relying on a pen and paper if I want to keep my job, and my husband. Poor David, he tells me so many things and I just forget them all.

Being pregnant means you stop caring

It’s quite liberating, really.

When most of my energy is used up to get myself in that increasingly tight work clothing, I realized that caring -about anything at all- is an exquisite, delicate and highly valuable feeling that doesn’t come along much.

  • I stopped caring that my legs looked like little hedgehogs in my gym clothing, or that I let one rip while picking myself up at the gym. (On a side note, flatulence and pregnancy go hand in hand so no need to feel in any way, shape or form less of a lady when your trumpet goes off).
  • I stopped caring about family drama, gossip or other petty life situations my life would usually be inundated with.
  • I stopped yelling at David for not picking up his pants of the floor, or for leaving the dishes in the sink. Heck, I joined him. When I get home, I take all my clothing off and leave it on the floor. It is addictively liberating.

I decided to care just about the things I truly, truly have the energy to deal with.

With all that happens to you while you are pregnant, there is a light, well, more so a high frequency sound wave that makes your heart sing with joy. Seeing your growing baby on the screen is just about the highlight of all the misery you are going through.

Now about you, dear reader. What have your experiences been? Write them in the comment section below! 😊

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Medals are NOT for everyone

Imagine watching the Oscars; everyone is dressed to the nines, looking stunning and hungry. Next up: Best supporting actor category. They read out the names, and then… they announce the winner. The actor walks on stage and shares a sob story.  He kisses his Oscar. He won! The camera turns towards the other best supporting actor nominees and hey, guess what, they are also holding up their Oscars- you know, they should get an Oscar just for their nomination.

Now, how ridiculous is that?

America is turning into a nation of wussies. Everyone is being rewarded these days. For effort, not results. Just last night I saw pictures of my friends running in a 5K. And you know what was hanging around their necks? Medals. Freaking medals. They didn’t come in first, second or third. They weren’t anywhere near top 100. But they got medals. For what? For participating. It makes me vomit, dear fellow Americans.

Medals symbolize something extraordinary- extraordinary time or achievement, sometimes service to the country. They do not symbolize participation, or an effort or getting of a couch to walk a 5K. America, what are you doing? Event organizers, what are you doing? By giving out medals, albeit fake, you are devaluing the value of winners. The winners who trained hard to be the fastest. They woke up every day and trained. Trained to be better, to improve results, to be the best. Not average. The best. They woke up sore, they woke up tired and they put years in training. They sweat tears, they sweat ambition and they sweat dedication. They deserve to get something unique. Because if we stop awarding those who push the boundaries, we acknowledge average… and average will never achieve extraordinary.

Five different Titanic love stories

I’ve probably seen Titanic too many times. So have you. Don’t deny it. We’ve all sobbed, cursing the guy who didn’t spot the iceberg on time and blamed the vain, fame-seeking captain. We’ve all cried our eyes out when Rose was letting go of Jack, and felt a sense of strength and hope when she blew on that high-pitched whistle to alert people she was still alive.

I watch Titanic every so often; the story, as cheesy as it is, still appeals to me. It is the good kind of romance, the good kind of passion and the good kind of how something changes your life forever. However, I noticed that as I age, so does the way I view the love story changes.

AGE

15-ish- As any teen, I above all believed in love. The obsession they felt for each other, how they secretly met up and stole kisses and enamored glances, how they lied about Rose’s slip. It was more than romantic, it was what life was all about. Finding that one person… He was there to save her, and he ultimately saved her in the end. Love conquers all, and heartbroken Rose will forever be devoted to him, despite him laying at the bottom of the ocean. Oh, and I got a little embarrassed by the sex scene.

19ish- Starting college in my real life, I wondered how did Rose know he was the one. I had yet to meet someone so special that I would run away with and leave everything behind. The question became how can I meet the one? Is Jake the one because he is the one or because he is the only one that turns her world inside out and based on that she thinks he is the one?

24ish-  What will they do when the passion fades away? Is Rose really equipped to survive in Jack’s world? I, for one, would not leave her world just so I could wear those beautiful dresses. OK, OK, just kidding. I get it that she’s crazy in love, but having had a guy or two at that point I learned passion is not the same as love.

28ish- Marrying a rich guy who seems to want to make her happy doesn’t sound so bad. He is not even that horrendously bad-looking. He could provide for her if only she accepted him. Aren’t arranged marriages known to be very successful? People learn how to love one another and Rose should probably learn how to love the rich guy. Instead, she is messing around with the “artist” who can kind of provide for himself but could never provide for her…. And omg, is there really a future with someone who is an artist? Can’t he get a real job?

32ish- I miss the simple view of their love that I had when I was 15. Even if it was just passion and reckless thinking, for them at the time it felt like it was real. More real than imaginable. When was the last time I met somebody so special I wanted to run away with them? When was the last time I looked at something with pink, and not realistic glasses?

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The beautiful “beached whale” ballerina

She was gracious, elegant and beautiful. Her hands moved in harmony with the hands of other girls. Her strong legs did grand jetés, pas de deuxs, pirouettes, plies with elegance of a butterfly. She had confidence and one could tell she loved ballet more than anything.

As I excitedly watched my niece’s beautiful ballet recital, giggles interrupted the enjoyment of the performance. “My goodness, that girl looks like a whale.” More giggles. Parents in the crowd were mocking the poor 10-year old girl on stage. She obviously stood out among the freakishly skinny, lean, and bony co-ballerinas. Her jumps might have been heard louder since gravity hit the stage with more force, but her dancing wasn’t worse for it.

“That’s probably why Mrs. April put her in the back row,” the other woman commented. “Poor girl, she looks horrible in that costume.” With a loud “shhhh” I tried to tone down their obnoxious gossiping, but it was too late as they already ruined the night.

Grown women criticizing a young girl for her weight. I couldn’t believe it. After the show, as I waited for my niece, the young girl passed me by. I tapped her on the shoulder. She looked back at me; her make-up was still intact and she looked happy. “Your looked great out there,” I said. “Don’t ever quit ballet.” She smiled widely, mumbled “thanks” and joined her friends. I spent the rest of the day thinking what is wrong with this world.

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When kids think H20 means Coke

Nobody else in the world understands and can possibly grasp the American obsession with soft drinks, nobody.

It’s almost a phenomenon. Europeans would get a heart attack at the thought of drinking Coke on a normal day that’s not birthday or some other type of celebration, and would possibly die at the thought of drinking Diet Coke (since it’s artificial and contains all those E’s!!)
Even though Coca-Cola is not moving as much as it used to, Americans still love their Diet-Coke, Coke, or whatever else soft drink. Pop. Soda....I know people who cringe at the thought of drinking water. Cringe! They prefer to go a whole day thirsty than drink water.

It’s a sad situation because even with the rise of bottled water consumption, customers buy flavored water which is just another soft drink (only with a different label). Heck, it’s produced by the same companies. Who do you think makes Dasani Plus? 

It’s a sad world we live in. Water has become too boring to consume and kids are drinking every artificial drink out there… without realizing that water is the best drink in the world.

What do you think, readers? Comment, like, dislike, share…. :))

P.S: Thanks for reading my blog! 

P.S2: Check out my book on Amazon! 🙂

Coca-Cola Sales Slide Article

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