sad dog eyes

Sheltie in elizabethan collar

Meet Mac.

Mac hates wearing elizabethan collars.

When you force one on him, he’ll sit and gaze ever so forlornly at you… with those sad, but hopeful eyes… trusting that you’ll free him from the confines of the collar…

And then when he realizes that you aren’t going to remove it anytime soon, he’ll pad around a little, knock into pieces of furniture, and then come right back to your feet… and…

Just sit… and gaze… and blink those forlorn eyes… until you feel… so… bad…

Yup, we never seem to be able to leave it on him for more than an hour each time – those eyes do their job too well.

wish me luck, please

Starting the 36th week of pregnancy now.

Of late, I’ve been really preoccupied. By what, I can’t say for sure. All I know is, I can’t seem to put my mind to something – anything – and focus.

I’d sit in front of the TV and feel compelled to be surfing the web, editing photos, and daydreaming all at the same time.

I’d be playing a game on my husband’s smartphone (I still only own a dumbphone) and my mind will be racing 10 feet ahead of me, having imaginary conversations with imaginary people, while I unseeingly poke at the screen.

I’d think that I have to make a reservation at a restaurant now before it books out, and 2 minutes later find myself eating a cookie and reading a book, and having absolutely no recollection of that urgent thought.

So preoccupied.

Nine-tenths of the time, I’m not here.

Is this common to expectant mothers in their third trimesters? Or is it just me slowly losing my grip on the here and now?

I’m starting to think it’s really because I’m sub-consciously getting nervier and nervier as delivery-date approaches, and this total lack of focus is my mind’s way of shutting down in what might be very mildly described as terror.

I say sub-consciously, because I generally feel calm, but I’ve realized that more often than not these days, I find my shoulders stiff. And by stiff, I mean they’re so rock-hard, they would make a steroid-guzzling, iron-pumping gym-rat weep with jealousy. Either that’s some pregnancy-water-retention-type phenomenon, or (and I think this is more likely) I am more nervous than I know.

Didn’t think I’d be this jumpy. I mean, motherhood? Phhhhhff! We women are tough creatures who just roll with the punches, right?


Anyhow, it’s just 4 weeks more to the expected delivery date. (FOUR WEEKS!! Where did the time go?)

My strategy (if you can call it that) is to expect the worst (preemie; emergency caesarean; colicky baby; inability to breastfeed; etc), and hope for something less than the worst. :)

Pessimistic, perhaps, but I figure it’s better than expecting flowers and blue skies and then getting my hopes crushed when it turns out to be less than sunny all round, right? (Then again, maybe that’s why I’m nervous – because I’m expecting the worst? Hmmm…)

Wish me luck.

Meanwhile, I’m going to try staying present as much as possible, or at the very least, force myself not to multi-task. Let’s see how that goes. :)

p.s.: As I write this, Sophie’s having a good kick-around inside. She fidgets through the day (and night) now, only napping/resting in blocks of an hour or so.

(Photo from Sweethoots on Etsy. Aren’t the dog and four-leaf clover dog hat crazy cute? The dog hat’s available here.)

on wednesday, i…

1. Had a delicious, slow lunch with a view;

Delicious Italian lunch

2. Squished myself into the only swim-wear I can still fit into;

3. Pretended to be a hotel guest in order to chill out in my favourite hotel pool;

4. Spent a couple hours staring at the sky;

5. Went for a pedicure.

Ah… bliss.

Yep, I’m shoveling in as much relaxation as possible, while I still can.


Have a great weekend!

i’m not fat, i’m pregnant

It’s odd, really, the number of times I’ve heard the phrase “wow, you’re fat” and its cousin “wow, you’ve put on a lot of weight, haven’t you?” over the past few months of pregnancy.

Related phrases also include “gosh why do you walk in such an ugly way? I didn’t walk that way when I was pregnant,” and random comments about thunder-thighs, double-chins, and fat feet.

I mean, don’t get me wrong – I know that no harm is actually meant by what’s said. It’s all said in good humour, and people all mean well.

Yes, I’m well aware that I’m a good 15kgs heftier than I’ve ever been. I’m also well aware that I walk like Grimace. (Heck, I even look a lot like him now.) I’m even aware that being constantly clad in my husband’s largest t-shirts (no, I can’t even fit into his nice ones), or ill-fitting hand-me-down maternity clothes (which I’m thankful for because I sure can’t afford to buy any) don’t do anything for me in the looks department. And that the swelling in my ankles, the angry purple stretch marks, and the huge green veins snaking their way across my chest make being sexy a long, long, looooooong stretch.

Yup. Pregnancy-related body changes suck. I’m all too aware. Which pregnant woman would not be?

I didn’t think it was anything too bad. I didn’t even think the weight gain was THAT noticeable (okay, so maybe I’ve been a little too preoccupied with, you know, growing a baby to notice), or if it was, that it was anything to feel bad about. After all, it’s all part of pregnancy, right? Right?

But when you hear these phrases week after week, no harm meant or not, gosh, it gets to you!

I mean, here I am, feeling anxious about childbirth and about becoming a mother. Perhaps also more than a little stressed about the changes that have happened and the changes ahead. And don’t even get me started on the crazy hormones and their effects on my moods.

In short, impending motherhood has made me superlatively neurotic. As if I wasn’t neurotic enough already before pregnancy.

And yet, instead of trying to help a neurotic, stressed-out mother-to-be feel great about herself and to celebrate the pregnancy by accentuating the positive (“hey your skin looks great!” or “wow there’s an amazing little human being growing inside of you” or even “hellooooo boobies!”), various (well-meaning) people have seemed compelled to point out the negative instead.

Strange, no?

And the strangest thing is, the closer the person, the more they say these things – I suppose because there’s license to do so due to familiarity.

And so here I am, neurotic enough about impending motherhood as it is, and now, also struggling to come to terms with how my body has changed. When really this should be a time of excitement and joyful anticipation, changes to my body be damned.

So here’s what I propose. For the next month, every time someone says something negative to me, I’ll do my best imitation of a pit-bull growl, go straight for the jugular, and then smile sweetly and offer the explanation that I’m pregnant and that my hormones make me do things I may or may not approve of.

And then I’m going to eat chocolate and ice cream.

Lots of it.