What To Expect When Expecting

The Mean Things People Say When You’re Nine Months Pregnant

Well, after nine months, it finally happened – I’m a Mom! Our new little boy Teo was born on March 15th and he’s healthy and happy.

The week before I gave birth I think I hit a breaking point. I felt huge. I only gained 45-50 pounds in total during my pregnancy but I have never been that big in my life so it was a huge adjustment. I was already feeling self-conscious about my size. (I would expect that all pregnant women feel that way – not only are you bigger around the waist, but everything else can swell up too, your hormones are out of whack, and just in general you don’t feel like your usual beautiful self.) And when people starting making fun of me for it, I just couldn't handle it.

For the most part I was pretty lucky as far as not being subjected to too much in the way of insults, but as I got bigger I did start to hear things slip out from people I know and love. In the last couple of months I found out that my baby was below average in size and that I would probably need to be induced to let him out early. When my doctor first told me that the baby was undersized, I asked if I needed to eat more or gain some weight, but he said of course not – he said I was healthy and the baby’s vitals were good, and that babies just sometimes come out small. But when I told my friends and family about this, they kept pestering me to eat more. And it really got to me – I felt like I needed to constantly defend myself and my eating habits, which was the last thing I wanted to be doing.

But there were other things people said to me that really bothered me too. Most of these were said in jest, or casually, with the implication that I “could take it” – but it doesn’t mean I liked it. They included things like:

You’re a monster now who just eats all the time. 

The person said that this was a joke and that they only said it because they knew I could take it. I was fine with it at the time, but this was only the first in a cavalcade of insulting jokes and snide comments.

Wow, I’ve never seen you so fat before, this is great! Let me get a picture.

This person took a picture which ended up on Instagram. It bothered me, but again, I tried to brush it off. After all, I was only a few days away from giving birth.

How does it feel to be a whale?

This hurt, but I realized that this person was only re-purposing words that had come out of my own mouth. The way this made me feel was a harsh reminder that if you’re having body issues, you shouldn’t use hurtful words to describe yourself because then that will make other people think that it’s appropriate to throw those words back in your face.

I don’t want another child with you because you didn’t exercise while you were pregnant.

I’m sure you can guess who said this last – and in his defense, he was grumpy and tired when he said it. My partner has been an amazing support system throughout my pregnancy, during labour and after the birth of young Teo. I couldn’t do any of it without him. But anyone who’s been in a serious relationship will understand that sometimes bad things get said in stressful situations, and when this got said it actually made me cry. It just felt like at that point in my pregnancy everything that was being said around me was really mean or hurtful. The thing was, I was going to AquaFit throughout my pregnancy – which is at least some form of exercise. So it also wasn't entirely fair.

In general, I can take a joke better than most. The things said to me in my state were peanuts compared to the things that some pregnant women have to put up with. But in general as a society I think we need to be more mindful of pregnant women everywhere. Every woman is different, but it just makes sense to be nice and respectful to a woman who is going through the process of making a whole new person inside of her. Anyway, I’ve now given birth and it was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced – the hardest thing I have ever done or ever will do. (Maybe that’s a topic for our next blog post?)

SHOW SOME RESPECT!

-Sarah

When Life Intervenes

About four months ago - it was a few days after Halloween - I slipped trying to change the temperature in the shower. I tried to grab onto the curtain as I fell, but it came down with me, and on the way down my head slammed into the bathroom counter. I didn’t hit my head so hard that I blacked out, but I did hit it fully flush. In the moments afterwards, I immediately thought, “Shit. That’s exactly the kind of innocuous injury that could turn out to have major complications.” My brother and two of my aunts have had significant concussions in the last few years, and it seemed like I was destined to be next on the list. 

After I fell, I felt dazed – not pained, but confused enough that when I sat down to start writing a few minutes later I could tell that something wasn’t right. I went to the doctor, and as the week progressed and I continued to feel discombobulated, I went back to the doctor a week later. She acknowledged that I might have suffered a minor concussion.

Concussion symptoms are weird, and hard to describe to someone who hasn’t gone through them. There was no real pain for me (aside from the very occasional pinch). Mainly there was exhaustion and the feeling of a pounding hole in my head – like my thoughts weren’t completely coherent. That’s not to say I couldn’t formulate sentences or understand things, but rather that there was some kind of a gap in my thought process. I was like a computer that still worked fine in spurts but was incredibly laggy and needed a restart every 2 hours. For about nine days I rested up, mostly avoiding the internet and work. When I did go into work, I wore thick clip-on shades to shut out the industrial lighting at my job, and occasionally earplugs to block out the music, conversation, banging doors and utensils – essentially, all the sounds that inevitably come from working in the kitchen. Once I hit my head, it was like my sensory register was turned up to 11 – all the little sights and sounds that I had spent years learning how to block out were coming at me like they were blaring out of movie theatre speakers.

I basically spent a week in bed with the lights out. About nine or ten days after my initial concussion, I got up and tried to take a walk around the neighbourhood at about 9 in the evening. To my surprise, it went well. I wore the shades to shut out car headlights, but other than that I had no real difficulty handling the sights and sounds that come with being in the city at night. It felt good to finally leave my bedroom and experience the world again. Over the following week, I gradually worked myself up to full speed again. By the end of November I felt essentially normal. I still carried the shades to work, but I didn’t wear them. I could watch basketball games without any concern about aggravating my brain. And most of all, I could write again.

Feeling fully recovered, I started to ramp up my workload. I started writing for a Raptors site. I wrote a number of articles in a row for a clickbait site, in order to get a payout reward for writing so many in such a short span. After that, I began hunting around for more writing work. I was focused on building my resume up, all while working four days a week at my restaurant job. I felt newly refreshed, and I put pressure on myself to try to achieve as much as I possibly could as a writer in the shortest possible time frame. And it worked for a while. I learned how to handle multiple assignments a week. I planned my time around writing. I’ve never been a particularly organized person, but my weekly schedule became more regimented.

But then one day about three weeks ago I got to a Thursday morning (which was my first shift of the week – I work in an industry where Thurs-Sun shifts are the norm). I realized that I was feeling more tired than usual. I turned my girlfriend and said, “I’m exhausted. I think I really need to take it easy this weekend.” She pointed out that if I was serious about taking it easy, I shouldn’t be working. I shrugged the comment off, figuring that doing my best to not overly strain myself that weekend would be sufficient. I could rest on Monday. I got through my four days, but by Sunday I was absolutely burnt out. I was asked to stay a couple of hours extra on Sunday to close the store, and I realized I simply couldn’t do it. My head was getting all muddled up. I was too tired to do anything – even the most basic tasks at work. I started making mistakes on the line – little mistakes, like skipping a burger or missing a modification on an order. The other supervisor agreed to close for me and I left early – still thinking that a bit of rest was all I needed.

I rested for three days, but by Wednesday I knew something was wrong – I couldn’t go into work. So it was back to the doctor, and another week spent resting, almost as if the concussion had returned full force. My head began throbbing in exactly the same way it had when I had my initial concussion – just waves of exhaustion and confusion pouring over me. At one point we ordered food for delivery and the trip from the couch to the front door to collect the food was so exhausting that by the time I got back to the living room I needed to lie down. Staring at a computer screen for longer than 5 minutes was overwhelming. After a week, I still felt messed up, so I returned to the doctor and explained my situation. She agreed that I’d been overdoing it, and simply needed to stop working so hard. In short, she told me that I would need to choose between my writing work and the restaurant job that pays the bills, at least in the short term.

Since that doctor visit, I’m feeling a lot better. I’m starting to watch my basketball games instead of listen to them again. I can check the internet when I need to. I’m no longer curled on the couch with my head in my hands. In other words, I’m functional. But I’m still not normal. I still get home from work at 2 AM and sleep till noon. I still need to take fifteen minutes to relax every few hours. I haven’t watched a single movie in probably a month. Going forward, I’ve scaled back my writing commitments – informing two of the sites that I was writing for that I needed to take an indefinite hiatus. Another site I plan to return to tomorrow, but only with a very reduced workload. If there’s anything I’ve learned from the past few months, it’s that head injuries are nothing to take lightly.

Between Sarah’s baby, and my head injury, the progress on this book certainly isn’t what either of us expected it to be a year ago – or even six months ago. Life comes at you fast. Goals are great, but sometimes real life gets in the way, and between both of our physical situations, I don’t think either of us are in a position to push as hard as we’d like on this book right now. But Sleeping With The Material World is our child and it will persevere even if its parents neglect it. We will get this book finished…eventually.

-Simon

Pregnancy Update Vlog: Ready To Pop

Dating Diary: Just Friends

As soon as class guy walked into his first class a few minutes late I was hooked. This guy was sexy, with a great body and beautiful hair and skin. Once I got to know him a little more I was all in. He was only 20, so about ten years younger than me (which made me feel like a bit of a cradle robber) but in every other way he seemed perfect. He was funny, highly intelligent, and a gentleman. He had a good job and home, great friends, and a sense of style. We started hanging out outside of class and it seemed like he liked the same music and food as me. Things were going somewhere.

But as things progressed, I started sleeping over at his house a lot and we still didn’t do the deed. I started wondering if there was something wrong. Finally, on one of my visits, we tried. And I have to say that either the guy had a problem getting up or he was on roids or something, because it didn’t go well. I wondered if maybe he just wasn’t attracted to me.

We stayed up late that night and the next day I was working a double shift at work and his friend was coming from out of town to visit him. Since we were both busy, we didn’t talk – which is fine. I don’t necessarily need to talk to a guy I’m seeing casually every day. (But at the same time, when he didn’t call me I felt like he wasn’t that into me; it would have been nice for him to let me know he had a great time.) By the following day I had decided that I didn’t want to sleep with him again, so I would just call him and say that I just wanted to be friends. 

But I was awkward about the sexual problems and I didn’t want to bring them up, so I came up with what I thought was a smooth way to wriggle out of it. I figured I’d use him not calling the next day as an excuse. In the end, it was a stupid decision – it just made me look crazy. He wasn’t even mad about being just friends, but he kept trying to explain why he was too busy to call. The thing was, I didn’t actually care, so I told him not to worry about it – we’d just hang out next time we saw each other in class. The class rolled around, and we left together as usual. As we were walking, he turned to me.

“I just wanted to explain why I didn’t call. I knew you were working all day, and I was going to that show with my friend. I knew we’d talk to each other again…”

“Look,” I finally said. “That wasn’t the real reason. I don’t really care if a guy calls me the next day. The reason I told you that is because I didn’t enjoy the sex the other night.”

“Oh,” he said.

“So, just friends?”

“Just friends, okay.”

He didn’t ask any more questions and we went our separate ways. A few days later, I started wondering if I’d made a mistake. The guy seemed perfect in every way except in the sack. I messaged him saying I wanted to give it one more shot. Maybe our problems that first night had been a one-off, and there was more to him than that. He said he wasn’t really interested, that he’d moved onto seeing other people. I told him so had I, and we left it at that.

The most awkward thing was seeing him in class afterwards. We totally stopped hanging out as friends and for a while he avoided me like the plague. It made class super weird and made me realize why they say it’s not a good idea to hook up with anyone you’ll have to see every day afterwards if it fucks up. The weirdest thing of all is that after the class ended he started texting me looking for a quick fuck. I kept turning him down, but he kept asking even as I went through other boyfriends and changed phone numbers. Finally I told him I was pregnant and he backed off.

I don’t know what the lesson is here – maybe it’s to be careful what you ask for. Just because someone seems great at first doesn't mean they're right for you.

Working The Long Game

I’ve always wanted to write books. At some point in the last few years I came across a scrap paper that I must have filled out when I was about 6 years old. Under the category asking what job I wanted to do, I put something like, “firefighter or author.” I honestly have no idea where I came up with the idea that I wanted to be a firefighter (is that just a universal little kid thing?), but I definitely knew all along that I wanted to be a writer. As a kid, my nose was always buried in a book. Some of them were literary books passed down from my university-educated parents, but a lot of them weren’t. They were Scholastic books, adventurous stories about kids like The Boxcar Children, The Hardy Boys, and later the Animorphs. Basically, it was all serialized fiction which eschewed the literary bent for adventure and simplicity. Later, in university, when I found myself trying to be super-literary, I had to remind myself that my formative years were spent reading a lot of pulp fantasy and mystery, and not the (capital-C) Classics.

My first attempt to write a book came when I was about 10. I wrote about 30 pages of a crime thriller about a little kid and his friend who were somehow tasked with investigating a mysterious accident. It didn’t get very far – at some point I think I realized that I didn’t really have any idea what the kids were going to find, and the story was quickly abandoned. That pattern followed through much of high school, as time and time again I would start a story only to leave it abandoned after a chapter or two. Usually there was some sense that I’d run out of ideas and didn’t know how to drive the story to a sweeping conclusion, but I also had a tendency to agonize over the sections that were already written and either compulsively edit them or just give up, feeling like they exemplified my failure as a writer. I felt incapable of finishing anything. In the end, I would get stuck and move onto a new idea that seemed more tantalizing.

Follow-through is really important in being successful in any aspect of life. One of the first things one of my teachers preached in writing school was to work on finishing things, because history is littered with writers swimming in half-finished manuscripts who never went anywhere. I’ve gotten a bit better at completing projects since university, but not much – I’m still very much a work in progress, and stories without deadlines tend to hang in eternal limbo. It‘s with this history firmly in my mind that in the past few months I’ve been forced to set this project – at least the nitty-gritty work of writing and editing – a little bit to the side. This time, it wasn’t simply out of a loss of interest or feeling stuck. I felt like I was absolutely capable of continuing to work on the book and between Sarah’s original manuscript and my detailed notes, I have a very strong notion on how to complete the book. But I also knew that if we were going to sell this story to editors and publishers, they needed to know that we were capable writers. They needed to know that putting a book in our hands was the responsible thing to do. So I put the manuscript aside and set out to, in so many words, make a name for myself. While I knew that I had to keep my expectations in check and not expect to get big-time gigs immediately, I also knew my portfolio lacked the punch to get noticed in a slush pile and that any decent credentials would be better than what I had. If getting a book published is the end goal, getting a shorter article published in a mid-level magazine is a means to that end. It’s been a moderate success so far. While nothing I’ve written has made me an overnight success, my name is significantly more Googleable than it used to be and I’ve had a few articles that have seen widespread circulation or received some outside praise.

The other day, for the first time in my life, I pitched two major magazines with a story I’ve been independently researching. In response, I received two generally complimentary rejection emails. The first email was from an editor I have worked with before who suggested that the story was interesting, but not newsworthy enough for his publication. The other editor thanked me for the pitch but stated that the story was “not quite right at this time.” In my reading up on how to get published in the magazine industry, I have come under the impression that “not quite right at this time” often means that the story pitched was too big for the writer’s credentials – that it may have been a workable story but not one that an editor was willing to trust in the hands of an unknown. I have no idea if that was the true underpinning of my response note – perhaps there was another reason, or several, why it didn’t fit into their criteria for publication – but it seems like an entirely reasonable read on the situation. The article I was (and still am) hoping to write is a long-form piece, but it’s a long-form piece that might top out at a couple thousand words. Sleeping With The Material World is a long-form piece that will be running 100,000 words – and as such, an editor is going to need that much more faith in the writer handling the project.

Writing is hard. The more research I do, the more articles I come up with that are just disgruntled writers writing about writing, or preachy articles about how to get stuff rejected. More and more, it seems there are more people writing stuff than reading it, which is kind of a sad reality of our modern world. Between writing, working at my full-time job, and having Netflix readily available, I’m almost embarrassed to admit how many books I read these days – and that’s as a writer! I certainly make the effort to always be working on a novel, but there are certainly weeks where I barely read anything offline. But that's not the point. Really, being a productive writer is about pitching and getting work done. Reading is intellectually stimulating and important on various levels, but ultimately unproductive.

Of course, while I’m over here trying to get some smaller work published, the Sleeping With The Material World manuscript sits idly by, not getting nearly as much work or love as it should. Between Sarah’s pregnancy and my writing work elsewhere, along with both of us having full-time jobs to pay the bills, it’s become a little like an older brother who feels neglected because the new baby has everyone’s attention. And honestly, we haven’t had as much time to work on the manuscript in the last few months as we would like. But it’s not abandonment, at least not in the way I used to abandon my stories. It’s about working the long game.

-Simon

Exercising With Other Moms-To-Be

When I got pregnant, I was doing a martial arts class a couple of times a week and working out on top of that. My class was in Jeet Kune Do, a type of martial arts which involves a lot of takedowns, kicks, punches, and sometimes sticks and knives. I would often come home with bruises on my legs and arms. So when I got pregnant, my OB told me I couldn’t do Jeet Kune Do anymore, because the contact was risky for the baby. Around the time I stopped, I generally became extremely tired and seemingly lost all motivation to work out. I was working a lot of hours at work and I was just blah. I began to fall into a rut where I wasn’t participating in any physical activity at all.

The fact that my partner could still go to class and I couldn’t grated on me. I started to get depressed, and jealousy and hormones took over. I realized that I needed to be doing something – just lying at home feeling pathetic wasn’t my thing. One of my pregnant girlfriends told me she was doing Aquafit and I was welcome to join her for a class. I wasn’t convinced at first, but I figured I’d try one class and see what it was all about.

The first half hour of my first class was just a discussion about pregnancy and after-birth topics, and I learned a lot about what to think about when a baby is coming into your life. After the talk we all headed downstairs to the pool and spent an hour doing some exercises. Afterwards, I felt relieved and like I’d accomplished something. Because the whole class was geared towards pregnancy and after birth, I learned a lot. Being around other pregnant women who could understand what I was going through was such a nice change from my everyday life, and pretty soon I was a regular at the class.

Of course, as my body grew, my two-piece bathing suit kept shrinking. Fortunately, I’m small enough that I didn’t grow out of it entirely, It just started to look a little weird – I didn’t have to go out and buy a pregnancy bathing suit (maternity clothes are expensive!).

Whether it’s Aquafit or something slightly different, I’d recommend some kind of communal exercise like this to all moms-to-be. There are lots of reasons for that, but here are just a few:

1. It’s nice to be around other women experiencing the same thing as you 
2. You can make friends 
3. It’s good for you physically 
4. It’s good for you mentally
5. Learning how other moms-to-be are planning ahead can help you make your own choices when it comes to the baby 
6. It’s a refreshing break from work and home life 
7. It’s a time to spend bonding with the baby, even though it’s still growing inside of you 

Being pregnant slows you down a lot – you’re literally carrying around a huge weight inside of you, after all. But while that may be an easy excuse to do nothing, that doesn’t mean that it’s healthy to just lie around the house. Staying physically active is important for a pregnant body.