Sugar Rush!

Sugar really does affect children, even those in utero.

I thought that was an old wives tales invented by my parents to keep me away from the good stuff so I "didn't ruin my dinner". If I'd known then that sugar can induce an Energizer-Bunny-Styled high, I would've taken advantage of that sweet fact before my sixth birthday!

And it seems the smaller you are the more you are affected, as I found out last night with Little One. Who is only about 28cm tall. 

All it took was a mini sized bottle of lemonade (150ml at most) and a handful of wine gums (a small handful). Granted it was at 22:00. And just before bedtime. But needless to say Little One was on a sugary buzz for what seemed like forever! Moving his arms and legs about, sometimes in unison, like a little starfish. At one point I think he actually headbutted me. And he didn't take to lightly to Ryan poking him in the foot. It just made him kick harder. 

He eventually settled down an hour or so later, but only after I'd worried myself to sleep thinking I'd caused irreversible damage. Similar to the Liquorice Allsorts Debacle in Italy back in May (long story short: I ate my body weight in Liquorice Allsorts, one of those weird things I craved while travelling, only to discover that consuming large quantities of the stuff, while pregnant, can make your baby stupid...I exaggerate, I ate 75g of the stuff but reading that little nugget made me feel like the worst mother-to-be this side of the equator). 

Anyway, last night the valuable lesson was; your parents always know best. So our rule will be, if you are less than one meter tall - no sugar after 4pm and 6pm if you are one meter or taller. 

But always remember to take your parents advice with a pinch of salt. I'm typing this entry with my opposable thumbs firmly attached - it appears they didn't fall off, like my folks said they would, after the constant years of thumb-sucking. If they'd just told me I'd end up with Bugs Bunny teeth instead, I never would've started in the first place!

Pregnancy: what I've learnt so far...

1. I identify with wildlife more...particularly the Hippo

Why the hippo? Because I know why they spend 96% of their lives in water and I wish I could too. Obviously I'm packing on the pounds being pregnant - I'd be worried if I didn't. It wasn't until I found myself in a body of water (i.e. the pool at the spa) that I became acutely aware of how much weight I'd actually gained. Getting out of the pool required (a lot) of effort. 

2. Home pedicures have become obsolete

This used to be a part of my routine every second weekend, why pay £25 when I can do it at home for free and not have people laugh at my web toes (granted it's mostly Ryan that finds my web toes hysterical). Having grown a belly means that I can no longer bend in two to reach said toes. I've tried. And cut off my air supply. So I can't paint my toes or put on strappy sandals. Ryan has mastered this. The sandals, not the nail polish "because of the fumes."

3. Lady-like poses are a thing of the past

I think I passed this stage when I (over) shared about my issues with granny like flatulence. However having a belly means I can't cross my legs any longer, it's like trying not to squash a water-filled-ballon that's been placed neatly between my thighs. It 'aint happening!

4. Sleep deprivation starts looooong before you actually have a child 

I feel I speak for Ryan with this one too because there is no way he sleeps through my tossing and turning as I try, unsuccessfully, to find a comfortable position. The weight of said belly means that rolling over without waking up is impossible and I have to swap sides because at some stage I lose all feeling in one side so rolling over is mandatory. Don't get me started on the trips to the loo either. I'm now trying to co-ordinate my pee breaks with my position change. 

5. It takes 15min longer to get ready...this is because of all the cream!    

I started using stretch-mark cream the week I found out I was pregnant. I've now have leg/foot cream to help reduce the puffiness. And boob cream because I'm sure if anything is going to get stretched, it's these babies. Going from a 34B to a 38C is not normal. Then I still have my normal routine of applying body butter and moisturiser.  

6. Other people have claimed our baby as theirs 

It started at work. Little One is called 'Team Baby' and it snowballed from there. The ladies in the canteen at work (and lets face it, I spend more time there then behind my desk), love nothing more than giving my tummy a rub and asking "how's my baby boy doing today?". My friend Carol calls him "her child" and will often tell me off if I'm behaving inappropriately around "her child". I'm pretty sure when Little One is born it will be her voice he will be most familiar with. Carol is my unofficial Doula and dishes out great parental advice which often has me on the floor in stitches trying not to wet myself. 

7. I'm overtaken by the elderly when walking...anywhere

I can't walk as fast as I used to. This has become more noticeable each week when we do our Saturday shop because we now pay for an hour instead of our usual thirty minutes. And stairs? Well lets just say that there is a small lift that can fit two people at our local tube station and more often than not, I'm one of the two people in there. I generally share it with Dot, an 86yr woman from up the road. 

8. Talking to myself means I'm less weird now

If I'm working from home I could have a full conversation with Little One during the day. I talk about what we should have for dinner or perhaps something that I've found funny. When he kicks and moves about, I provide the running commentary about what he could possibly be doing in there. I used to talk to myself before I was pregnant, well, I'd mostly pretend I was being interviewed on Oprah as she interviewed me for her book club and we'd compare who should play me in a movie about my life. Doesn't everyone do that? 

All in all; we're now 14 weeks away from becoming parents and each day I'm filled more with excitement than I am with dread at how our lives are going to change. Everyone goes through their very own personal journey when they're pregnant and I'm a little sad that I've only got 14 weeks to go because, all in all, it's been magical and miraculous so far. 

Little One, Mommy and Daddy can't wait to meet you.  

What's in a name...

A lot. Apparently. 

It's really hard naming your future kin. It really is. Making a human-being isn't hard. Naming him is! Because it's for life. It's our entire identity. I was going to be called Shannon and Kerry was actually Bianca for two days until our folks changed it. No one actually calls me Sharon; it's Shaz, Sharrie or Shazza.

And I know our child will need a name that can have a nickname or be abbreviated in some way.  

The upside of my job is that I get to spend a lot of time with all sorts of people from all over the globe. So I've been exposed to a lot of different names. I'm also exposed to a lot of unsolicited advice but one golden nugget came from a gentlemen, who shall remain nameless and in a pretty senior post in our company, upon finding out we are having a boy advised "...just make sure you don't give him some earth-friendly, tree hugging name, like Aspen, people will need to take him seriously one day in 30yrs time when he starts working, so don't make him sound like a prat, unless he does actually end up working for Greenpeace, then he's covered.".

So that's Aspen off the list then. 

I relay this conversation to Ryan about making sure that our future man child needs to have a name that will demonstrate strength of character and command respect. I think that's when the pressure mounted. And obviously we're not capable of making this decision on our own so we enlist the help of family and friends when we see them and gauge their reaction to our short list of baby boy names. This is often met with blank stares, suggestions of their own or sometimes just outright ridicule.

I've become very friendly with another pregnant woman at work and we've had the baby-naming conversation: she and her husband have nailed it "we know what we want to call our son, we're just not telling anyone until he's actually here." kudos to them, that's how we should've played it. 

But alas the baby-naming boat has sailed. 

We acquired some library books in our quest to navigate our way around the task - thanks to Angelique. The last time we ventured into Southfields library was to vote in the Summer of 2012. It's great knowing that we're having a boy as we were able to move through the alphabet in one sitting but while we were in bed, so naturally I fell asleep after ten minutes. By dawn Ryan had a shortlist. Along with some really insightful knowledge; we can't have a complicated first name as our child would go through life having to spell both this and his surname. 

So that's Sebastian, Bartholomew and Zachariah shelved.   

We're lucky that his surname will obviously be Smethurst because we'll never have to worry about creating a social faux pas like Neil Dunn, Justin Case, Rick O'Shea or Willie Seawell. 

So as I head into my 27th week of pregnancy we have around thirteen weeks to shorten our shortlist and test run a couple of names. Ryan and I both agree that we'll also wait until he arrives to see which name suits him best. 

For now he remains Little One. 

Another year older...

When you're little you live for two things; your Birthday and Christmas. And you count the amount of sleeps between the two. I always felt very sorry for friends who had birthdays so close to Christmas - you had to wait so loooong until it rolled around again. 

When Kerry and I were younger we'd play this little game the night before our birthdays, it went something along the lines of; "today is the last day you will have breakfast being 8yrs old"..."this is the last night you will be sweet sixteen"...and so on. 

Well yesterday brought back all those memories and so many people mentioned it when wishing me a Happy Birthday. My birthday next year is going to be very different. This will be my last as not a mother. My Dad's comment hit the spot though; "...in future you'll have to eat all the wonderful things that are made, especially for you, on your birthday..." chuckle chuckle chuckle. Thanks Dad. 

So I was no Master Chef in the kitchen at 6yrs old. 

Time really does fly though, I remember my birthday parties at Rita's Place, the nursery school I went to in SA. Having a birthday in August sucked as none of the kids liked hanging around outside to eat cake and sweets and play in the winter sunshine. I also used to live, not only for my birthday party but for my cousin Sean's too; he used to have the most amazing parties growing up; pony rides up and down the street, weird magicians and jumping castles. Granted the jumping castle was at his 18th birthday party but no matter. 

I remember my little brother Steven's first birthday - he'd just learnt how to walk and we'd made the move from Jo'burg to Knysna a few days before. He now stands just over 6ft tall and turns 19 in December! As if I didn't feel old already. 

Ryan has often told me; as one of three growing up, all of whom were popular kids, when it came to going to birthday parties, Desray would pack them off with a card that had a R10.00 note in it and a big slab of chocolate. Now a Smethurst tradition with added inflation. 

But without a birthday, none of us would be here. They are definitely worth celebrating. Even if it means sitting back and taking stock of your life so far and never admitting your actual age. 

I turned 35 yesterday. At 25 I was thinking in another 5yrs and I'd be 30 (!!!). At 15 I met Richard whose remained a close friend. At 5 I had the most amazing Snow White and Seven Dwarf cake that my Mom made from scratch as she did with all our cakes growing up (until it became 'uncool'). A lot can happen in ten years and having lived just three and half decades, so far, I know that there is so much more to come.

Next year both Ryan and I will celebrate our birthdays very differently - we'll be parents. And although the concept of gift giving will be completely lost on Little One, I'm sure he's bound to get us something delightful...and non-edible. 

Me on my third birthday (I think?) with my little owl cake made by Mom 

Me on my first birth-day with my big sister Kerry...I'm the one in the crib!

  

Never take yourself too seriously, it causes wrinkles

Anyone who knows me and knows me well, will know that I’m not easily embarrassed. Which is a good thing.

I don’t mind admitting when I’m lost or have said something completely inappropriate. I will leave the house in my PJ’s to take out the garbage and recycling. I drop Ryan off at the tube station; no make-up and wet hair. I may even venture into the corner shop to buy milk without my face on. I don’t mind. I’m not entirely sure when this side of me came in to being? Perhaps, being the skinny kid, with buck teeth and a boys haircut, who was constantly teased growing up has provided me with a thick outer crust. I know I’m being judged by passers-by at least one hundred times a day, because I do the exact same thing. It’s human nature. I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin.

Almost a year ago, for my birthday in fact, Kerry decided that I should have a birthday experience rather than a birthday present.  In true big sister fashion she let her little sister pick said experience. 

I think she was secretly hoping I’d opt for a spa day. Alas, I did not.

I picked a couple of hours in Battersea Park with a performing circus school. Here, in a matter of hours, one would master the art of acrobatics. High up on a trapeze we’d learn how to fly and completely trust the upside-down stranger dangling from a swing on the other end, to catch us as we flew through the air.  I was so excited that we arrived early! Sensing my excitement our trainer picked me when the rest of group arrived to demonstrate, on the ground, what we’d be expected to do in the air. 

This entailed a lot of moves that I had mastered on the playground jungle-gym about 30yrs previously. I’d forgotten that I was about 50kgs heaver and my thighs no longer contracted in a way that they used to, which made it difficult, nay, impossible, to throw my legs over the bar, let alone lift my own body weight. 

As our trainer, who had by now enlisted the help of another acrobat, to lift me into position on the bar, I let out what can only be described as one of the loudest and longest farts I’d ever heard. It took me about 4 seconds to realise the noise had not only come from my body, but had been created by my lady-like bowel as well.

I. Was. Mortified. 

But suddenly hanging upside down in front of this group of complete and utter strangers, bar one who, let’s face it, had seen me do worse things, I couldn’t hang onto the embarrassment for long. S**t happens. And in my case, quite literally!

I’m glad I learnt that lesson then because being pregnant means that basic dignity disappears around the 5 month mark. I have to make sure my bladder is empty before I attempt to sneeze. And for someone who suffers from hayfever, who has also developed the thirst of a camel and downsized to a plum sized bladder; this is no mean feat! Flatulence is the least of my worries. It’s become second nature that I’ve stopped blushing.

But I’ll still say “excuse me” if I’m around anyone else other than Ryan. Oh yes my friends, I now happily pass wind in whoevers company I happen to be in at the time. I’m too fat and too bloated to care.

I still want to find out who ‘they’ are and pummel them a little; because ‘they’ say that by your second trimester you start feeling like your old self again, your energy levels return and you start feeling more normal.

Bullocks.

There is nothing normal about carrying, what feels like, a 6kg beach ball strapped to my belly. Or the fact that wearing heels around the office is no longer an option, not because I might fall but because my feet get so bloated that it takes a team of podiatry engineers to remove them at the end of the day. My energy levels are the same as a 96yr old man as I have a 45min cat-nap, both ways, during my commute. 

Normal? If it is then it’s no normal I’ve ever known! I’m in the last month of my second trimester, with three weeks to go before I enter the third and the magical normality unicorn has not paid me a visit.

Perhaps this is my ‘new normal’ my body is getting ready to embrace this next chapter of sleepless nights and downgraded wardrobe of flat shoes and maternity t-shirts. And I better learn to love it…like a fat kid loves cake! I didn’t master the art of acrobats and learn to do a somersault on that trapeze a year ago. My big sister did though. And I watched her proudly from the ground as she flew through the air, looking as if she’d been doing it for years.

The most important lesson that we’ll all teach Little One is that; taking part is necessary, having fun is optional and not being embarrassed to be yourself is absolutely compulsory. 

(I didn't Google that little pearl of wisdom, it's common sense.)

And a valuable lesson to learn early on in your life Kiddo, as it will save you years of insecurity.

For my friend Janine, taken this evening 24wks / 3days