Rebel Rebel

Paris, 2010

Maybe it's because I live where I live, but I haven't experienced much criticism for what I eat or imbibe while pregnant. If anything, people seem to be coaxing me to bend the rules. "What's the big deal about lunch meat/charcuterie/cheese/sushi/one glass of wine?" they say. And I mostly agree (even if I subsequently ignore them and generally do as my doctor tells me.) Interestingly enough, the only times I've been chided were in the Virgin Islands, when one waitress suggested I shouldn't have coffee, and another woman told me I shouldn't be carrying my carry on bag myself.


My big rebellions so far? Caffeine and peanut butter (and maybe an inch of wine a few times a week with a meal.) My one latte or earl grey tea a day is still within the bounds of recommendations, and cutting it out absolutely seems extreme. Some people say expecting mothers should skip peanut butter to avoid allergies in their children, but there's no history of major allergies in either of our families and I feel like I could use the protein. 


Still, although I mostly abide by the guidelines I'm given, I do think fear over every little chemical is terrible for my emotional state. Just when I am feeling good that I, say, don't wear makeup (which may contain chemicals that can be harmful to fetuses), I remember that I live in a huge metropolis surrounded by construction, pollution, and who knows what else and have a freak out about it all. My computer is probably zapping me with toxic waves as we speak. Overthinking it is paralyzing. 


This train of thought was a little worse for me in the first trimester, when pregnancy felt so new. Now I feel a little more confident in my instincts. No, I'm not going to eat rare street meat. But nor am I going to look at every meal (or every possibly toxic breath I take) as a hurdle.


P.S. Marie Baca wrote an interesting piece on the subject of her pregnancy rebellion in Salon. I especially liked this quote from the comments on the story: "People don't realize that it's hurting us and our children to look at life as a series of accidents that you can avoid if you just plan enough ahead and follow a certain list of rules. Life is dangerous and filled with risk, there are some reasonable things we can do to minimize some risks and there are times where we just need to lead our lives and see what happens."

Vice Squad

Paris, 2010

I was reading one of those addictive baby boards today, and an expecting woman wrote that a Starbucks barista refused to serve her a chai latte because of the caffeine.

So far, I haven't had anyone pounce on me in that way. In fact, it's been quite the opposite.

Earlier this spring, my father in law (who lives in Europe) informed me that Will's mother drank through all four of her pregnancies. He seemed to think my teetotaling was some nutty and brand new American fad.

At dinner with French friends on Friday, my female host poured me a glass of Champagne and, when I had a few sips, seemed practically triumphant. On Saturday, another friend, who has lived off and on in South America, kept informing me I could have a glass of wine if I wanted, all the while eyeing up my glass of water somewhat disapprovingly. Then there's the acquaintance who tells you her friend/sister/college roommate was backpacking through India/surfing big waves in Hawaii/running marathons at 8 months pregnant.

I seem to be surrounded by friends prompting me to taste a little charcuterie, try a little unpasteurized cheese, or hit the ski slopes, even when I say I don't really mind giving those things a pass temporarily. I'm glad they think I'm not a fragile creature and can make my own rational decisions.

But though I will happily taste an inch of wine with a meal and drink a small latte or cup of earl grey every day, I have mixed feelings about flouting doctor's orders. It's a little juggling act I do every day. Have I had any fruit today? Protein? Enough sleep, water, sun? Am I getting jittery from that coffee? If a medical professional tells me to avoid something, I generally do my best.

So next time you feel like telling a pregnant woman what she can or can't eat or drink, maybe reconsider. Unless she's swigging Jack Daniels or bungee jumping or has cut herself off from society to live in a germ-free bubble she's made from Saran wrap, chances are she's given her choices considerable thought and scolding (from either side) just isn't necessary.

First Trimester

Cultural cramming at The British Museum, January 2012

Depending upon which pregnancy manual I am obsessively reading at the moment, I am either in the beginning of my second trimester or it begins this Thursday.

Either way, it seems about time for a catalog of the strange and not-so-strange symptoms I've been experiencing.

1) I haven't been able to find much about this online, so I am uncertain if it's a pregnancy symptom at all or just another weird "thing" I attribute to this odd journey that is reproduction. The week before I took a positive pregnancy test, my bottom teeth were incredibly sensitive, and all I wanted to eat was potato and leek soup.

2) Weight gained thus far: -2 lbs. Although I had a great deal of patience for anything pasta or bread-and-butter-based in these last few months, overall my appetite was really off. One evening I attempted to make lasagne but was hit with a giant wave of exhaustion mid-way through and went to bed at approximately 8:30 p.m. after eating a Fuji apple for dinner.

Impossible to say no... Nevis, December 2011

3) It wasn't at all difficult to give up alcohol. Though I had a Red Stripe in the Caribbean at around 5 weeks pregnant, and a mimosa on Christmas Day at around 8 weeks, I have really lost my taste for alcohol. The few sips I've stolen here and there from Will along the way have tasted really acidic to me, the way I remember wine tasting when I was about 14 and I couldn't fathom why adults liked the stuff.

4) I've been extremely winded. I noticed it first around Thanksgiving, before I knew I was pregnant, when we were out on a 4 mile walk and every hill seemed like K2. I'm relatively fit, but the huffing and puffing has been noticeable any time I hike up stairs or get my heart rate going at all.

5) My dreams have been spectacularly vivid, and spectacularly weird. I've never done acid, but I imagine it feels like this. Mostly they've been benign, occasionally sexual, and always very very detailed. In one a platypus tried to mate with me. I wake up nearly every day bemused and perplexed.

6) I'm sure I'm not alone in this, but I have a hugely unhealthy obsession with reading the birth month club message boards on sites like Babycenter and The Bump. Half the time this is reassuring, as in, "Okay, that stitch in my groin is most likely round ligament pain and not a fatal blood clot." The other half of the time, the posts send me into a tailspin. "This woman just found out her baby has a club foot. I must look up horrible pictures of club feet on Web MD immediately."

7) I have a strong urge to do as many cultural, vaguely improving things as I can (hence the picture, above, of the British Museum, which I went to solo in January.) It's not that I imagine these places will be shut to me come August. It's just that I'm conscious of taking advantage of my freedom and not spending it all watching absurd episodes of Kathie Lee and Hoda.

8) In pursuit of #7, Will and I went to see Richard III at BAM this past weekend. It was over 3 hours long, and I spent much of the second act convinced I was getting deep vein thrombosis for sitting still for so long (see #6.)

9) I've been eating fairly well, working out with my trainer twice a week, and going to pre-natal yoga at Kula Yoga, drinking a very virtuous beet, ginger, and apple juice after class. I am also craving plenty of things with absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever: sour patch kids, wine gums, Haribo anything.

10) "Bump" pictures to come. I swear. In the mornings I can't tell the difference at all. By 8 p.m., I am convinced I am expecting triplets.