Posts Tagged ‘Pregnancy’

Exploiting My Meltdown

Thursday, June 4th, 2009

Preggisode: Week 11 from Teresa Strasser on Vimeo.

If I’m going to exploit my baby, why not start now, by exploiting my pregnancy-related emotional problems?

In this video, my husband tapes me freaking out during my first trimester. Someone told us to keep a video diary. Self absorption meets hormone surge and they get along great!

The Mr. is just a regular guy who works for a computer company, which is why he adorably, but unknowingly, shoots right into a mirror. Still, he does a decent job tamping down the tears. I’d like to say we’re kind of Sonny and Cher, but more like Sonny and Overshare.

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Today’s Edition of Good Mommy/Bad Mommy

Monday, June 1st, 2009

When it comes to moms, I don’t really have much to brag about. My stepmother was evil and finally had the good taste to shuffle off her mortal coils, leaving nothing but mounds of debt and a lollipop tin full of ashes. My biological mother’s style was characterized mainly by benign neglect. For that reason, I fantasize about women I wish were my mommy, and sometimes I get psyched when I realize some crazy bitch wasn’t my mommy. Being five and half months pregnant myself, this is a preoccupation. So here is today’s episode of Good Mommy/Bad Mommy.

Bad Mommy

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Yeah, it’s easy to kick around Dr. Laura, what with her intolerant comments about the gays and her idiotic decree that women should never return to work after becoming mothers (except for her, but that’s diff). She just released a new book, In Praise of Stay-at Home Moms, and I say, sure, they should be praised, but pack your bags if you don’t want to leave the work force, cause Dr. Laura is taking you on a long guilt trip. Think you might be valuable on the job? Prepare to tune into your local news one day and see the child you broke with your selfish “employment” picking off college undergrads with an assault rifle from a clock tower because that’s what happens if you don’t listen to Dr. Laura.

I digress.

This feature exists not to point out intolerant people, but simply those from whose vaginas I am happy I did not emerge.

There are times I enjoy her radio show, because she’s a talented broadcaster and it’s kind of fun when Dr. Laura snaps at callers and gets all “bottom line” on them, but when she comes back from commercial breaks and introduces herself as “my kid’s mom,” I get nauseous. Now, I’m pregnant, so I get to enjoy nausea all the time, but this catch phrase allows all of you to experience it with me.

I get it, the idea is to communicate that being a mother is Dr. Laura’s number one job. So, why does the whole forced endeavor seem like so much number two?

It’s one thing to take motherhood seriously, bravo to that, but it’s another thing to turn your grown ass child into your battle cry. Makes me appreciate the checked-out ghost of a woman that was my mother. In short, glad she’s not my mommy.

Good Mommy

On the other hand, how does this sound?

“What does my mom do? Oh, Nothing. Justice on the United States Supreme Court.”

 

<p>good mommy</p>

good mommy

 

For some reason, ever since I first laid eyes on Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s lace collar and tasteful gold button earrings, I felt a surge of longing. I would like nothing more than to crawl into RBG’s lap, have her pet my hair and tell me it’s all going to be okay. After which, she can explain to me what it was like to be the first woman to be on both the Harvard and Columbia law reviews. Ruthie wouldn’t be much for bragging, but after digging our forks into some of her homemade kugel, she would tell me all about her dissenting opinion in the case of Bush v. Gore.

If Ginsburg were my mommy, when things got tough, she would remind me of the time she learned Swedish just so she could co-author a book on judicial procedure in Sweden.

Ruth would be the kind of mommy who wouldn’t lecture, but simply do things like, say, undergo cancer surgery, chemotherapy and radiation without missing a single day on the bench.

My wanna-mamma Ruth just had a second bout with cancer. She was released from the hospital after surgery, and just weeks later returned to work and attended President Obama’s speech before the joint session of Congress on February 24th, 2009.

Her own mother died of cancer just a day before her high school graduation, so Ruth and I would share a special maternal bond.

Her actual kids seem to be doing pretty well, those lucky fuckers. Jane is Professor of Literary and Artistic Property Law at the Columbia Law School while James runs a classical music recording company.

Hope these kids realize that it least from where I sit, it looks like they won the mom lottery. I know I’m old as hell to be saying this, but I want Ruthie to be my mommy.

* I had to remove the photo of Dr. Laura’s vag I posted. It was probably in bad taste and NSFW (just learned that one). Sorry for grossing anyone out. If you still want to see Dr. Laura’s Bush, here ya go.

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Pregnancy Reality Check From the Smoothie Dude

Friday, May 29th, 2009

 

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I order a smoothie and the man doesn’t offer me a free boost.

“Can I get a Vitabek?” I ask.

“Umm. Those aren’t good for pregnant girls.”

And this is the first time someone, totally unprovoked, alludes to the baby. Just from looking at me.

Which makes today one of those times I know for sure that I’m pregnant. (more…)

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21 Weeks: Call Malcolm Gladwell, I’m a Weight Gain Outlier

Monday, May 25th, 2009

Sorry, Heidi

Sorry, Heidi

I gained 16 pounds my first trimester.

To put that in perspective, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” the so-called “pregnancy bible” read by 90% of pregnant women in America, suggests gaining between two and four pounds in the first trimester. Oops. I see your two pounds and raise you 14.

Author Heidi Murkoff delivers this nugget, “Slow and steady doesn’t only win the race – it’s a winner when it comes to pregnancy weight gain, too.”

Heidi and I have broken up a couple of times, but that’s because our relationship is kind of intense. I need Heidi when I have scary bleeding ­­– or jammy discharge after a CVS test – and require Heidi-style hand-holding to be sure everything is normal and not, in fact, a sign of imminent miscarriage. Many a night I’ve clung to Heidi’s comprehensive index (now dog-eared and smeared with Dorito seasoning), looking up spotting, breathing difficulty, hot baths, mood swings, mosquito bites, everything from abscess to zygote. But two to four pounds for the entire first trimester? Is she high? Or just high and mighty?

This is an important, classic and time-tested book, and I acknowledge it is a bible. However like the Bible, it occasionally says some really fucked up shit.

(more…)

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I Need You To Really Think About Your Balls

Monday, May 18th, 2009

 

Testing the tensile strength of Spanx

Testing the tensile strength of Spanx.

I know having “big balls” is prized, at least metaphorically, but guys, imagine if your balls were three times their normal size, swollen, sensitive, hanging heavy and splaying uncomfortably across your thighs. Big, giant balls would get in your way, as awesome as they sound.

I’m now 20 weeks pregnant and two full cup sizes bigger than when I started. And it’s not all that.

 

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I just bought this Spanx bra in a 36C. I hate bras, but this one isn’t so bad, if you’re looking.

I was sitting having coffee with a friend when the front clasp came undone, apropos of nothing, and I just busted out of my brand new C cups. Maybe it was caused by the dangerous mixture of a robust inhale with a moment of slight slouching. Basically, I was sitting there stock-still. I don’t blame the Bra-llelujah, but my boobs are growing so fast they are actually testing the tensile strength of Spanx. (more…)

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How to Make Your Newborn Want to Kill Himself

Saturday, May 16th, 2009

 

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No.

You can buy these clever onesies at a kiosk at a giant upscale outdoor mall called The Grove in Los Angeles. You could. But that would make your taste in onesies a lot like NUMBER TWO

My friend Christy Lemire (also pregnant, see the new C cups in above photo), pointed these out to me while we were on a maternity clothes shopping mission at The Gap yesterday. 

 

<No punsy onesies, please>

Punsy onesie. Not so funsie.

Just because the tyke can’t read, doesn’t mean that on some level, he can’t feel his dignity being snatched away.

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People I Want to Punch II: My Least Popular Opinion

Monday, May 11th, 2009

 

Really?

Really?

 

 

Sometimes, other pregnant women work my nerves.

Mainly, I love them. I am collecting pregnant women right now because together we share what some might call “acquired situational narcissism,” but what I prefer to think of as “it’s all about us!” Who else would even bother pretending to give a crap about sonograms, nuchal fold measurements and leg cramps?

So, I really hate to turn on my own kind, but some of them have made my list of people I want to punch.

It seems kind of petty, I know, but I just want to punch pregnant ladies who get all bent out of shape when people rub their stomachs. Get. Over. Yourselves. It’s not like strangers are walking up to you for an ambush fisting. That would be rude, and unsanitary. No, they are just grazing your shirt.

And generally, it is not some belly molesting evil-doer trying to attack you, but rather a well-meaning and curious person experiencing the magnetic pull of your irresistible, giant bump. If you don’t see why that mesmerizes people, you just don’t understand the miracle of childbirth. Have you not seen TLC lately? C’mon. A baby grows in your stomach and comes out of your vagina and then goes to nursery school and becomes a full-fledged human being. If you think about it as if for the first time, and I don’t suggest you do this high, it’s mind blowing.

I get it. You don’t think people should invade your body bubble just because you’re pregnant. Yes, your body is still your own, absolutely. I just don’t quite grasp the near religious fervor that seems to screech, “Don’t touch me, because I’m so special that if your grubby hand goes anywhere near my Jesus child, I’m going to get regular people cooties!”

Do you really need the righteously indignant and borderline sanctimonious “Hands Off My Bump” maternity t-shirts and others like it available online and also in hell, where ironic maternity t-shirts are very popular? Talk about literally wearing your aggression and smugness on your sleeve.

If you want to hear a chorus of pregnant women shout “Hallelujah,” just start going off about strangers or even relatives touching your stomach, which is why I really wish I could relate or at least fake agree; I’d love that chorus behind me and I think it’s patently obvious I need validation like my fetus needs fucking Folic Acid. I just can’t.

I understand the pregnancy anger and discomfort and hormonal moods – I’m sitting here chugging Mylanta out of the bottle as I type this – but it’s really not the worst thing that’s ever happened. My specialty is whining about high quality problems, and this annoys even me. So kindly endure the four seconds of bad touch on your stomach or I’ll secretly fantasize about coming after your face.

 

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Why Julia Roberts’ Ass Has Cultural Significance

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009

Julia Roberts Has a New Tattoo

Julia Roberts Has a New Tattoo

I do whatever Julia Roberts does. Except, you know, succeed and stuff.

Here is a photo of her latest tattoo featuring the names of her three kids, which just made the cover of the New York Post. The cover. Slow news day or important new cultural trend?

I don’t have any tattoos, mainly because I naturally look a bit trashy and I don’t have the skank wiggle room unless I want to give up short dresses and black eyeliner, which I don’t. Still, just because I can’t really pull it off, I’m not mad at the idea of maternal ink.

(more…)

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My Chemical Romance: I Miss You, Toxins

Thursday, April 30th, 2009

 

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Mmmm, chemicals

 

Even someone like me who isn’t particularly good with babies, who looks at them and says things like “Hey, buddy. Look at your little face,” before resorting to peek-a-boo and than running of out material, even I try to err on the side of caution when it comes to most chemicals. After years of wondering if I was cut out to be a mother, I’m relieved that the instinct to protect this baby is so strong, or at least the image of me smoking a Camel while sipping a Jameson’s as hair dye sets in and self-tanner absorbs is so shameful, that I figure all of my favorite chemicals can wait.

And I really love chemicals. I had no idea how much I took them for granted until now. I miss you, toxins.

Being pregnant has made me feel toward booze and Xanax and Retin-A the way Emily from “Our Town” felt about food, new ironed dresses, hot baths and milk delivered to your door. She didn’t appreciate the simple things in life until she returned as a ghost to Grover’s Corners, lived one day as her 12 year old self, and asked the question all pre-teen girls agonize over while performing Emily’s big monologue at theatre camp: “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it?”

What I mean is that I never appreciated safe and guilt-free drug use until it was gone. Did I just compare not using Klonopin to dying? Is that overblown? Someone get me to Samuel French because I’m feeling dramatic.

I knew nicotine was bad. I quit smoking my two after-dinner puffy treats at 10 weeks or so. Though I was never John Wayne with the smokes, we went way back together, and I always thought letting go of one or two cigarettes would be easy.

 

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Right now, I don’t want to smoke just a couple.

I want to sit in bed and chain-smoke high on half a Vicodin and watch a couple of documentaries from Netflix like I used to do on a Friday night when the mood struck. If smoking calms nerves, I’ve never been more nervous than I am about this baby, how he’s doing in there, how he is going to get out, when I’m going to ascertain the meaning of the word “layette” or make myself care about the best brand of disposable nipple pads. However, it’s comforting to know my first maternal instincts outweigh nicotine addiction and habit and several bassinets full of anxiety. (more…)

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