Attack of the 38Ds

Okay, I admit to being ill informed about the symptoms coming so soon. We’ve taken to reading literature on pregnancy together at night and it looks more and more like Katrina is textbook. Unfortunately, all the nasty side effects that they say might happen, ALL happen to Katrina. One that you’d think I’d enjoy, is the breast enlargement. Six weeks in now and Katrina has gone up a whole cup size. To quote Robin, “the Titty Fairy has arrived.”

So it was time to go bra shopping. Me being the all involved husband, I got to go too! I saw Katrina on the computer looking at a New York Magazine website for maternity stores. Before this site tells us we’re going to Saks I thought I’d better interject with a little creative Googling. Turns out, there were two perfectly good maternity stores in our neighborhood of Williamsburg, Brooklyn! Great, I thought, who wants to traipse around Manhattan when it’s 95 degrees out.

We drive over there and realize it’s the Hassidic section. Okay, no problem, I thought. Katrina was already wishing she wasn’t wearing a wife-beater (aka men’s tank top) with a pink bra and a short skirt. When we pull onto Lee Avenue we see a small boy of no more than 3 years with his blankie, sitting outside a 2nd story closed window inside a cube-shaped box of security bars that was meant to hold an air conditioner in place. A ghetto playpen, I thought. There was a good two feet between the window and the bars. Katrina had to be talked down from calling child services.

We get out of the car, plunk a quarter in the meter (it’s a Sunday, but the City is making up for the missing income from the Saturday Sabbath when quarters aren’t required), Katrina makes sure I’m holding her hand so everyone knows we’re married. We literally are the only ones not wearing heavy black clothing. Katrina notices a baby in a carriage with no parents around and gets more nervous. I tell not to worry, that everyone looks out for one another here. Turns out, there’s even a guy who puts quarters in the meters when the cops come. 25 cents to a $55 ticket is a 22,000% increase afterall. For some reason, most of the stores have a “No Baby Carriages” sign in their windows.

The first store we go to is closed….well maybe it was. But it involved going down into a creepy hallway under the stairs of a building and it wasn’t a place that Katrina wanted to take her clothes off in. So we walk to the next one we saw on the web. D’OH! They don’t sell bras. At this point I’m wondering, do Hassidics even wear bras? We get referred to a lingerie store. Makes sense, seeing as how we just need bigger and more comfortable, not necessarily ones with nursing flaps on them – which as it turns out, is super hot. Down boy! I decide it’s best that I don’t enter the lingerie store as we’re getting enough eyes as it is. I instead go next door and buy whitefish salad because, well, why not? I’m in the right neighborhood for it.

As Katrina puts it, there were 30 women shopping in the store but she had 3 women helping her. One can only assume they wanted her to make her purchase quickly. Since it’s against the store’s rules to try on the bras, she gets measured. 38C borderline D, the helper says. “Holy Cow!” Katrina exclaims. The woman helping her (who is holding a baby at the same time) says, “Did you just call yourself a cow? I’m a C and I don’t think I’m a cow!” Katrina assures them it’s just an expression, like Wow. Ahhh, cultural barriers and bra shopping. After insisting on exact change of $20.50, we had to make the trek to the island.

Manhattan Maternity Works on 57th Street. Nursing bras, sleeping bras, combination bras, padded, underwire – this place was Booby Mecca. And changing rooms, thank God! Oooh and “Preggie Pops” (which are lollipops for morning sickness) where have you been all our 6 weeks! Hey look, a Hassidic couple. I guess they didn’t have much luck in Williamsburg either. At one point when I’m handing Katrina one of the many bras through the door, a tan colored one, the kind you saw in your mother's drawer as a kid:

“Ugh, this looks like something a mom would wear,” she groans.
“Well you’re going to be a mom,” I reply.
“Yeah, but I don’t wanna look like one!” she retorts.

There was logic there.

Where's The Baby's Wedding Going To Be?

WHOA! Slow down people. We're not that far into this thing. My mind can only process so much planning. People are telling me that if I want a good kindergarten I need to start now. Hold on, our child is just over 1mm in size and I'm supposed to be thinking of this? The other day, Katrina was handed a flyer which said:

MIDDELTON'S DAY CARE CENTER

FUTURE LAWYERS & LEADERS DIVISION

• A Full Day - 7:00am - 6:00pm - Nursery School thru Kindergarten Academic Program
• Brand New State Of The Art Facilities
• Pre-School, Pre Law Training
• Visits With Judges, State Senators and other officials
• Foreign Language Studies
• Arts and Crafts, Story Time, Music Time, Games and Puzzles

I have visions of my child standing up and saying "The chair would like to yield back to the distinguished gentleman with the chocolate milk, and then we'll take a 15 mintue recess for potty-time."

Let's just hope that Music Time doesn't consist of "Let The Eagles Soar" by John Ashcroft. It's almost tempting to let our child attend this school so he/she can dismantle it from the inside. Hold rallies and ask the policticians about universal health care.

Absent-Minded Moments of the Week: Missing a subway stop. Forgetting to put the top on the blender before making a protein shake.

Psychosomatic or Symptomatic

We're only five days in and Katrina is already experiencing a galaxy of symptoms. Some are hereditary, like the chronic heartburn -- her mother had that too. What’s the most interesting one so far is the heightened sense of smell and how it can dictate your appetite, or loss thereof. We decided to go into Manhattan for dinner because I had an appointment at 8pm that was going to last about 5 minutes. That, and the organic Cornish hen in the refrigerator no longer kept any interest for the ever-changing appetite.

As we’re going over the Williamsburg Bridge, it’s all about meat. Meat, meat, meat. I don’t recommend any restaurants yet because I have a feeling that after my appointment, meat will no longer be on the menu. I try to be careful about hard turns and potholes – I mean, why help the nausea right?

On the way up 6th Avenue we pass a Victoria’s Secret right next to a maternity clothes store. “Boy, that’s just mean,” Katrina comments.

I get out of my appointment and oddly enough, the casting person tells me I should try out for Dad roles. Interesting because not only had I never heard that before, but he didn’t even know of the forthcoming bundle.

So we settle on Peep downtown. A Thai place. Named so because of the one-way mirrors in the bathroom. You can see the people eating while peeing, but they can’t see you. This is one of those places that has the open kitchen where you can hear, see, and more importantly for this story, smell everything they’re making. This waft hit Katrina like a brick. I was busy procuring my free matchbook and pen, because...well, they were there. Then the nausea set in and the cravings were long gone. The bathroom wasn’t to be far from this moment. During my horseradish ceasar salad appetizer, Katrina was in the bathroom. “I probably shouldn’t sip her ginger ale,” I thought, “she needs it, and besides, she can probably see me through the one-way mirror.”

She forced down the entrée, and we were out of there.

Now, I thought these kinds of symptoms came later in the pregnancy. I’ve already heard the “My breasts feel swollen and bigger. Are they bigger?” question. Quick, get the cocoa butter. It prevents stretch marks. Yeah right. You walk around smelling like a fudgcicle though, which can be pleasant. But alas, only knowingly pregnant for less than a week and we’ve already got heartburn, fatigue, dry heaves, breast swelling, and cravings. “I didn’t know pregnancy was going to be this hard,” she says. “I want to skip to nine months from now.” These sentiments were, chronologically, very close to the sweet utterings of “Ethan, I want a baby.” Now I hear “This is all your fault.” Ha Ha! We’re progressing very quickly.

A Softball Game? or You Ate What?

A Softball Game? A Softball Game? Yes, Katrina is playing softball today for her hospital's company outing. Good lord! I have images of some nitwit sliding into second base and cleting my unborn child! Not everyone at the hospital knows yet. We want to wait until at least her first doctor's appointment.

I have slowly but surely started taking on the role of the Food Nazi. Well, maybe not Nazi, but certainly Supreme Allied Food Commander. No nitrates, no antibiotics, no caffeine, nothing overtly artificial, no sushi, no soft cheese, no seafood (Mercury bad for baby brains!), no undercooked meats, no charcoal grilled food (Carcinogens and Mercury! Yikes!).

Of course, on Friday night Katrina wanted to "celebrate" by going to Crif Dogs -- a hot dog joint that serves bizarre concoctions like bacon wrapped dogs with avocado and sour cream on top (The Chihuahua). Bacon!? Nooooo, bacon. There be nitrates in there. Hot dogs?! BAH, no lips and assholes for my child.

So, I get the call from the softball game that she's been dry heaving and has had two hamburgers from a CHARCOAL GRILL. D'OH. Good lord! Were they cooked enough at least?! Hmmm, it's hard being a Supreme Allied Food Commander when my First goes ahead and approaches the front without proper intelligence.

I go and see Revenge of the Sith at the Ziegfeld with my friend Adam, because he hasn't seen it and my initial viewing was disappointing. I like it when the sound makes my seat rumble, you see. On the subway, I notice a father carrying a stroller up the stairs to transfer to the G train. Adam sees me focusing on this moment and says, "Oh God. I hadn't thought of that." Something tells me I'm going to be saying the same thing a lot over the next nine months.

Telling the Parents

Every parent has a markedly different reaction to the news. We sent the picture and talked them either on the phone or via IM while they were looking at it.

Carole: (Mother-in-law, first grandchild) - Screams and cries, says "I'm gonna have a baby!"

Susan: (My mother, has a grandchild from my sister) - "F***! Wow! Oh my God! Boy, Ethan you better get a job!"

Jeff: (My stepfather) - Woo Hoo! YAY! Wooooo! (he's a woo-hoo kind of guy)

Richard: (My father, seems fixated on other things) IM transcript below.

Richard says: OK, now I know what it is. Does it indicate a positive and do I, perchance, know the testee?
Ethan says: All of the above
Richard says: Wow! When?
Ethan says: Why would I send you a picture of a dud?
Richard says: Due, I mean.
Ethan says: Well, that's unknown. This picture is about 6 hours old.
Ethan says: Assuming it's right....Feb, March
Richard says: Has she been to a doctor yet?
Ethan says: She found out 6 HOURS ago
Richard says: Cool.
Ethan says: She has an appt in two weeks
Richard says: And how do you feel about this?
Ethan says: Most doctors won't see you until 8 weeks anyway.
Ethan says: Freaked out, excited.
Richard says: Good.
Richard says: Change of subject........
Ethan says: ooooookay...
Richard says: When I went up to the dome to see what kind of wedding ceremony John and Ruth wanted (I'm doing the ceremony), I found they were both on the South Beach Diet.
Richard says: I checked it out online.
Richard says: I signed up and got the cookbook.
Richard says: You would love this.
Richard says: There's not enough hours in the day to eat all the food you're allowed to eat.
Richard says: I am in the most restrictive two weeks and last night we had salmon with creamy lemon sauce.

Yes, so they're all happy. But it's interesting to see how their minds work.

6:45am - June 16th

6:45am - June 16th - What was the weather like? I really have no idea. I wake up to "Ethan, wake up I'm pregnant." My half asleep response? "How'd that happen?" Well of course I know HOW it happened. And we were kinda sorta maybe partially a little bit trying. Ideally we wanted to move to an apt that is closer to the ground or with an elevator and a little less pricey first. But okay, here we go!

Surprisingly Katrina throws the pregnancy test away as she prepares to go to work. The decision to actually go to work took a moment, of course. "Aren't you going to save that," I said. I mean, this is someone who saves just about everything from Chrstmas cards to bracelets made of string. I later retreived it from the garbage so I could take digital photos of it. The pregnancy test photos prove as a fun way to IM friends.

Ironically, I set out to the unemployment office for this manual orientation where you learn things you already know -- like, posting your resume online is a GOOD thing. I do crosswords.

Most of the day is spent going online and starting to learn what Trina can take to prevent my child from having three eyes or one arm. FOLIC ACID is the key to everything apparently. Every site I go to, it's all about Folic Acid, Vitamin D, and for God's Sake not too much Vitamin A! MSN.com family and parenting website seems very helpful. Lots of questions answered there, if you pay for them. Though they do show you the long list of questions they answer:

Can I eat deli meat?
Can I use a dildo?

So we're assuming she's around 4 weeks pregnant at this point. But we don't know for sure until we go to a doctor. She took that pregnancy test with the sheer power of female ESP. She wasn't late, she wasn't puking, she just knew. It helps that she's surrounded at work by many women who have been through this recently. Apparently, her extreme fatigue this week got the gaggle of girls talking. And Katrina loves taking pregnancy tests. Well, doesn't love it, but does take them more often than most women, I believe. 1 day late? EPT run, Walgreens STAT!

Last time I was buying an EPT for her they were in a locked box next to a new product, Male Fertility Test. Hmmmm, interesting. A plastic stick with 5 holes in it which I assume you, ugh, fill. FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY, it says on the package. Well, yeah, what the hell do they think I'm going to do with this thing?

Back to day one. I go to the store to buy the essentials:

Organic milk and cottage cheese -- Calcium! Or your baby won't have bones! -- Organic! We don't want the child to come out like me, 9 lbs. Roids!

Pulpy Orange Juice -- Vitamin C! Couldn't hurt, right? Pulpy makes it less acidic, Katrina is having chronic heartburn from her new family way.

Prenatal vitamins -- Organic! Make sure there's not too much Vitamin A! Flipper babies! And in my absentmindedness, I pay for them and leave them on the counter. I make it all the way into our apt before I realize. This turns out to be one of many events that prove my mind is currently elsewhere.

Pickles & Ice Cream, and Red Roses -- Because it's funny and true, and women go awwwwwww when she tells them.

When Katrina gets home I whip out the video camera to record her reaction to the display of items on the table. As I do my Paul Thomas Anderson tracking shot in one take, I accidentally step on our cat. She lets out a scream and I say, "Well, I guess this is the beginning of us ignoring our pets."

The Test