What Not To Say To A Pregnant Chick


In my last post I mentioned all the reasons why pregnancy isn't my favorite stage. I wrote briefly about my skin and how I look like a raging, hormonal 13 year old. My acne has acne. It's annoying and I'm vain as hell, but not enough to banish myself to a hermit's life and never go out in public. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do and it's Christmas shopping time.

I finally popped which means for the most part people can see that I'm knocked up and they smile (getting it that not every pregnant woman glows the good glow) and leave me be but this total ass clown at the mall today... OOO WEEE! Did I want to rage against that particular man.

I had been putting off buying maternity bras for the longest. I hate shopping. I hate shopping for maternity stuff even more, but the gals are growing so I took one for Team "No Longer an Iddy Biddy Girl" and headed to the mall. The women at Nordstrom were super nice and helpful. They cooed over Ziggy's womb name and laughed with me about my anti-pink stubborness. I left in good spirits; did a wee bit of Christmas shopping, grabbed a delightful ginger-infused juice from Jamba and was heading out of the mall when it happened...

This man working at a lotions and potions kiosk shoved some moisturizer in my face. I politely declined stating that I had to be careful about trying new products being that I was pregnant. (You'd be shocked to learn all the crap that's too toxic for babies to absorb through your skin!) He flippantly waved off my comment and said his products were totally safe for pregnancy (which didn't convince me at all) and then he dropped a stupidity bomb...

He looked right at me and said, "I even have some great products to help out all that bad acne you have on your face." He called it BAD. AND he grimaced when he was looking at it!

Quick side note: Everyone farts. It's a fact of life. What you may not know is pregnant women fart the most cruel, putrid smells known to Planet Earth. They're downright dirty and shocking. I obviously have no shame in my tooting game, but even I, fart obsesser, get a teeny bit self-conscious if I let one of those bad boys slip in mixed company.

Back to the story. I have never wanted to lash a preggo fart on a stranger so bad. Who says that?!  Note this oh clueless ones of the world: There are a plethora of rules out there about what not to say to a knocked up chick. Add this one to your list.

I'm feeling generous and helpful...

'Tis the season to prevent the sleasin' after all.

...Oh how I looooove being pregnant.

Me and all my pregnant acne glory. No filters. It's pregnancy. There's nothing I can do about it right now. But there is something you can do, folks. Don't comment on my skin! I have lethal gas activated and I'm not afraid to use it. 

And Then Pop! It All Changed


It has finally happened. She's popped out and made a belly for herself. 

Sorry readers, I have lagged. It's been awhile since my last confession. Latest: I'm not a fan of pregnancy. 

I swear it seems every woman I talk to who is knocked up is glowing and beaming with happiness, but the memo to soak in bliss never made it to my desk. (I knew it was a bad idea to start working from home full- time!)  Current list of why pregnancy isn't my favorite liminal stage:

  • I'm not a glower unless you count oily, acne-ridden skin. I swear it's like I've hit puberty three times over and the ish is just wrecking shop. You don't know what I would do for some harmful, toxic product that would eradicate every pimple and dark spot I've collected over the last couple of months.
  • I've developed all kinds of issues related to the butt and what comes out of the butt and what shouldn't come out of the butt. Use your imagination. 
  • I've never had weight in my midsection so I don't know how to handle the belly like a boss. I JUST popped and it's still tiny for a five month mama, but it's getting harder to bend over or sit like a normal human being. The bump reminds me on the daily that I no longer have control over my body. It belongs to her. Ziggy, Boss from the Belly. I'm making her cards.
  • I have no energy. Like none. I use to be THE crackhead of joy. I would bounce around and I was active every dang day of the week. Now going up the stairs in my home feels like I've just completed a marathon. I'd give myself a medal, but I don't have the energy to make it.
  • I had a weird ass hormonal moment that I hope never returns. Out of nowhere I started laughing uncontrollably... while Mark was trying to go to sleep. I felt terrible and tried to stop but couldn't which made me start sobbing uncontrollably out of panic. What the?!?! Where does that come from and why?! Stop it!
  • I'm getting super lazy when it comes to acting. Classes, auditions, waiting on avail to find out if I booked the darn thing...it's all weighing on me and I'm bummed that it's suddenly harder. The folks in my class don't get the fatigue I speak of. They also don't understand why I'd need to take off a couple weeks/months once the baby is born. (Who knows if I'll be back to myself and able to sit through four hour classes. Will I be able to breastfeed and therefore tied to Ziggy for however long?) These questions mean nada to folks...I guess I used to be one such clueless gal. The me today forgives the me of then.

Don't get it twisted, though...

All that said, I'm excited as can be to pop this little one out and have her in the world. I think this is why I've never heard mothers speak of pregnancy crap. It's like we're judged for saying it sucks sometimes. Now that I'm sharing symptoms I'm amazed at the amount of women who are stepping forward and sharing just how much they hated pregnancy, too. 

I would say more, but the kid is currently rolling like the homies...a hint that it's time to eat. It's also a reminder that even though this is uncomfortable, scary and weird it's temporary and results in a swell perk. Man, is this what they call growing up?!

The Most Beautiful...

Mark told me the other day that the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed was watching me grow a baby. I felt the most beautiful I had ever felt in my life at that moment. I'm not the most feminine of gals. Pink and dresses aren't my thug thizzle, but I definitely still have a strong female presence that goes beyond all the superficial.

The power women possess...the strength and the emotions...well, they're just sort of magical. When I feel beautiful in my skin it's like I'm sharing a moment with the Universe; humbling myself in front of The Big Guy Upstairs...accepting that the Universe's work isn't mine to judge...I'm thankful I have skin to feel good in.

I may rock men's clothes; delight in a pair of chucks and squirm at the sight of a pair of pumps, but I am so proud to be a woman right now.

I have to remind myself to thank Ziggy when she's old enough to understand. She made her mama feel like a woman. Not even Shania Twain or Beyoncé could do that!

Strong Women. Lots of Respect. Ellen and Anne You Rock.


I was watching my pretend wife  (That's Ellen folks...come on.) on the tele yesterday and was touched by Anne Hathaway's confession about cyber bullying. Two very strong and lovely women just sitting in chairs talking their truths. I LIVE for those moments.

It really resonated. I thought I'd share if you needed some wholesome woman power on this fine Friday.

Happy Friday, Folks. 

Da Bump (Chicago Style)


Please tell me you said the title of this post with the correct accent. If you didn't do this then we need to talk.

I know I said I'd write more and by golly I have been a writing fool when it comes to my journal, but alas I still don't have much to report on in regards to the super public stuff other than I lack da bump.

I'm now four months in (still sick as a seasick crocodile..which is green so I'm obviously maintaining some delight.) with a little growth above my belly button that I call a bump. Everyone else scoffs at it and says I look like someone who's just eaten a cheeseburger. I can hide it no longer. I am actually having a food baby.

The weird thing is I feel like I'm so knocked up I should be waddling. Sleeping is uncomfortable. Clothes are uncomfortable. How can one little cheeseburger cause so much discomfort? It's the phantom belly phenomenon...

Yesterday I went for my four-month checkup and it was the first time we really heard Ziggy's heartbeat for a long period of time. The last time we went in I had too much poop blocking the sound. (You didn't think you'd read through my entire pregnancy without hearing about poop, right?! You did! Ha! You silly mortal...)  This time I successfully cleared a path and there in that glorious room we heard the little swishing sounds and I melted. Healthy baby whose heart beats like a pro!

She's not even small for her stage or anything... I like to think I'm just a spacious caravan for a fetus' delight; lots of room in that torso area for stretching out like a G. So now I've stopped worrying my morning sickness is starving her to death. Home girl is doing good. I'm doing as well as a weird chick with phantom belly issues could be doing. It's all good.

Have I changed? Yeah probably. I'm going to auditions and reading child birthing techniques in the waiting area and I'm watching baby documentaries like it's nobody's business. Oh yeah, and I'm looking up other peoples' baby bumps to see if my cheeseburger is normal. Usually the internet is dangerous, but it's been helping me a lot. I wouldn't have been able to share the below picture of Octomom without such late night stalkings. 

Actual bump

What I feel like my bump is...

My Ankh Tattoo

Without fail this happens...

I'll be in an elevator. (My hair is up so my tattoo is showing.) Someone walks in and stands behind me. I feel the eyeballs burrow into my neck and then the question comes...

"Um, so what's your tattoo? Is that a cross?" (uncomfortable laughter)

"It's an ankh. It's an Egyptian hieroglyph that means eternal life."

They usually will nod their heads and say they thought that's what it meant and go back to silence... while I secretly giggle because I know a lot are simply relieved I'm not rocking some sort of devil worshipper sign.

Nope...not praying to the Dark One. When I was in 6th grade I got really into Egyptian history and the idea of the ankh. I vowed some day I would get a tattoo of the symbol and then put my children's names near it; my take on eternal life. (Heavy stuff for a 6th grader, I know.)

So yeah, I got the tattoo years ago and now that I'm pregnant I'm reminded of that little 6th grader with all the philosophical plans for her and her children.
I've experienced losing a parent at an early age so I've always done morbidly sweet things so that any future children would know their mother just in cases.

I've kept a journal since 1st grade. It started out as a place where I'd rant about homework and unibrow interventions but later morphed into words for my children to read. It felt good knowing there would be a record of who I was... a record of my truths...pages that would carry my spirit. Sadly, my father left nothing. I have a handful of stories from family and that's it. Having so little of him has always bothered me. What I wouldn't give for some of that man's writings! A home video...SOMETHING!

It's why I've always related to people's need to mark where they've been. Some folks graffiti. I wrote. But then I stopped blogging simply because I ran out of things I felt like sharing publically.

For today at least my need to write is back. I was watching one of Oprah's Where Are They Nows and it featured a follow-up on one of my favorite Oprah moments of all time. There was this father/husband who created a youtube love letter to his wife for her birthday. That video and that man's story drove me to download Train's Mary Me and weep like a mad woman every time it came on. I've always wondered about the family and how they were. Then today I found out he had sadly past away. His wife and their two sons updated Oprah on their lives and while they're doing well I couldn't help but weep for the little boys who lost their daddy.

Kris wrote a blog for his sons...love letters of remembrance for them in later years and it totally inspired me to come back to my computer and try again. We always write for a particular audience. We always have someone in mind. I've got my daughter and a husband who I thank God for on the daily. So consider this my jump back into the water...for them...for posterity.

Picking the pen back up...

Little Sheroes: Potty-mouthed Princesses Rule

Have you seen the potty-mouthed princesses yet? It's no secret among my friends and family that I'm super down with raising a strong, confident and intelligent little girl. (Oh, we're having a little girl bee tee dubs.)

Being that I'm scouring the interwebs for tiny feminism tees and hoodies you can imagine how much my butt twitches when some well-meaning spirit comes along and refers to my Ziggy as a little princess. Stop! Stop right there! PLEASE don't call her that! And PLEASE don't shove unnecessary image issues down her throat...she's just learning how to suckle right now for gosh sakes....it's only week 15.

I was sooo happy to see the potty-mouthed princess video yesterday. It warmed my heart and gave me fresh hope. This is THE best thing in the world. May not be suitable for work or small little ears, but the best messages never are xo...

Great Expectations: Our Itsy Bitsy


Yep, we're expecting a little itsy bitsy April 2015!

Current thoughts: I'm a self-proclaimed tomboy...suddenly doing something uber girly. This ish is WEIRD! I've been super duper sick...like you can't imagine the hell that morning sickness truly is until you experience it. I swear I thought it was like a petite little puke in the morning and then I'd be fine...that I'd go about my day working and doing the stuff I see women doing while pregnant on tv. Wasn't my reality. Complete opposite, actually. How do women film movies in their first trimester?!!?! How do women work, period?!?! It's madness! Madness I say!

Speaking of movies and actors...I'm a wannabe actor with a huge dream...The first thing that shifted was my outlook on my dream. It's not that I've forgotten or want it any less, but I seriously had no problems pausing. I told my agent I needed to get through the morning sickness because auditions and headshot shoots were grueling. I didn't even cry typing her the email. It's weird how I've still managed to hold on to the essence of me and the person I want to be, yet still make room for a tiny. I was scared I'd be one of those self-absorbed mamas who blames her kids for her ruined dreams...or worse--a woman who forgets her dreams and takes on the title of motherhood like it's her new and only skin. Like I said...all kinds of thoughts happen; especially when all you do is lie on a couch willing the nausea away.

Life's gonna be so much more interesting with a little in the picture. Before I learned I was expecting I reached out to women I admire in the industry. The women were super kind and honest and positive. It was perfect timing...like I knew it would happen soon and I'd need to make sure my head was screwed on straight...that I was going in, eyes wide open. I can do this.

I'm feeling lucky I got Mark as a partner in crime. Dude's been super duper helpful. He is the family stone right now...making sure everything keeps moving since I ain't moving much at all.

...And if you were wondering about future writing...Pretty sure I'm not gonna be a mommy blogger. I'm not funny or girly enough to pull it off, but I can see myself checking in occasionally to write out all the feelings of being a mom and a dreamer.

Officially Scared Shitless,

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