It's an annoying New York phenomenon, (among many) - men taking up too much subway seating in order to spread their legs and let the boys breathe. It's aptly referred to as "manspreading" and even the MTA has tried to tackle the issue in its latest ad campaign to promote courtesy and discourage bad habits, including keeping your backpack on when the train is crowded, eating, primping, etc. The campaign was launched earlier this year and since, I don't think I've seen less of any of the above offenses - including manspreading. Let me be clear though - manspreading does not include those who cannot or do not wish to cross their legs and leave a moderate few inches between their knees so they're not touching. Manspreading refers to those who have their legs splayed in a rather obscene and unnecessary fashion, much to the vexation of everyone else around them.
As my belly grows and I wonder how on earth I'm even going to get up and down the subway stairs once I hit the 7 month mark or so, I also find myself wondering how I will react when people fail to give up a seat for me when I am quite noticeably pregnant - and how much more I will resent the ball sprawl epidemic that doesn't seem to be waning.
I'm just about 5 months now, and while I'm definitely showing, I guess I'm not surprised that there might still be an internal debate amongst those sizing me up on the train. I suppose there's a chance that they think I'm just fat - and developing one hell of a beer belly.
That said, I totally don't blame anyone for not wanting to assume I'm pregnant and offer me their seat only to have me angrily refuse. My colleague did this once and to cover it up, she informed the horrified woman that she was simply getting off at the next stop and did so - even though that wasn't her plan. I probably would've done the same thing. I too have occasionally eyeballed someone and wondered... Is she? Better safe than sorry and stay quiet, right? Like I said, I get it.
BUT... there comes a time when it's pretty damn apparent that someone is clearly with child and when it's time to get up off your lazy ass, (if you're not elderly, injured, disabled or pregnant yourself,) and give up your seat. This is also when I have a zero tolerance policy for manspreading - especially for the hardcore offenders... the ones who aren't merely airing out their sweaty sack but those who look as if they're intentionally trying to take up as much space as they possibly can just for shits and giggles.
Look, I know I don't have balls, (the literal kind anyway) and I can only imagine what it must be like to house those things inside boxer briefs and pants on an overly-crowded subway in the summer when it's sticky and disgusting and everyone's in a foul fucking mood and your balls just want some air... but you know what? You don't need a three foot wingspan for that and if someone else needs a seat, (especially the aforementioned elderly, injured, disabled or pregnant), I'm sure your needy 'nads will survive in a slightly more contained space temporarily.
Anyway, lucky for me I'm in my second trimester and not nearly as exhausted as I was before, so I actually don't mind standing for now. In fact, I actually enjoy assessing the tension amongst fellow passengers who wonder what's up when they size me up.
I am guessing that in another couple of months however, I will be doing everything in my power to keep from getting into fistfights if I can't get a seat on my near hour-long commute to and from work. And manspreaders, you'll be my first target. Be warned.
Leigh Hope Fountain
Yep - I knew it. Eating your placenta post-birth is not only disgusting, it's pointless and possibly harmful too.
http://www.ksl.com/?nid=1009&sid=34933022
Not long ago, I was part of a conversation wherein the women I was with asked if I'd be eating mine.
I said, "Um, NO."
They asked why.
I explained that it seemed utterly revolting to me, to which they said, "Well you can take it in pill form."
But why would you? The placenta is there to house your growing baby, provide it with select nutrients and filter out the harmful components. Why would you eat the filter? That CAN'T be good for you.
In any case, I suspected it was a bad idea and as it turns out, I was right, or so finds a group of researchers at Northwestern University anyway.
Just because something is trendy doesn't mean it's good.
Leigh Hope Fountain
As if we pregnant ladies don't have enough B.S. to contend with already:
http://www.cnn.com/2015/05/07/health/mosquito-main-attraction/index.html
Apparently blood type and pregnancy can be two major attractants to the blood-sucking pests, which is very bad news for me.
I was already a mosquito magnet pre-pregnancy. I never knew my blood type before, but suspected I was type O because of how quickly mosquitoes flock to me when summer strikes. Last year, I think I counted about 45 bites in total during the prime months. (No - not all at once, but I'm sure I had at least 20 simultaneously at some point). And, despite my husband's pleading not to scratch, I always do, exacerbating the itchiness and creating giant red welts all over my pasty white skin. Not pretty.
Anyway, given the seemingly endless onslaught of blood tests they run when you manage to get knocked up, my suspicions were confirmed - I have O+ blood. Now that I'm pregnant, I'm guessing hanging out in the backyard might not be such a good idea this year, which is a shame, because not too long ago, we purchased a picnic table and umbrella so that we could actually take advantage of the fact that we have a backyard in Brooklyn.
Fortunately for me, we haven't had a very wet spring, so summer may not be as brutal this year. Unfortunately, we need the rain, so wishing it away is a bit selfish.
I hope the mosquitoes know that messing with a pregnant woman might not be in their best interest.
And here's a random photo that John took of Anna and me that I just feel like sharing:
Leigh Hope Fountain
I suppose it comes as no surprise that I've got a lot of questions related to this whole mommyhood thing. Fortunately, I have a handful of friends who have been inordinately helpful answering my incessant barrage of questions, (however neurotic). Eva, Jen, Dori, Lara, Jacqui - I'm talking about you.
Anyway, there are a few questions that nobody can really answer - like whether or not I'll be a quote, unquote good mommy.
Sure, people tell me I will be - but honestly, who the hell knows? And... what really defines a good mommy anyway?
I never called my own mom, mommy. She was always just mom. I'm not sure if that was her preference or if that was just what I opted to call her. I hope to be called mommy. There's something more endearing about it - and indicative that your child trusts that you will protect and love them, no matter what.
This isn't to say that I didn't love and trust my mom. I absolutely did and do. While she makes me positively crazy sometimes, I adore her. In fact, I think she deserves to be called mommy, but it's a little late for that.
I also didn't always think she was cut out to be a mom - let alone a mommy. In fact, (and she'll probably deny this), over champagne one day, she admitted to wondering whether or not she would have even had children had things been different back then. In other words, children were expected. You got married, you had kids - and that was that.
Given my own hesitation about whether or not to kid, I wholeheartedly respected her admission. Needless to say, I'm glad she opted to kid. But honestly, my mom wasn't what one would call your typical mom - let alone mommy. She didn't dress or behave like other moms. With her bright orange nails and lips, her elegant yet funky and artistic ensembles, her perfectly coiffed hair, her very left-of-center interior design stylings and her addiction to Jaguars, she just wasn't the PTA, brownie-baking, station wagon-driving, soccer-mom type. The fact that she actually participated in a carpool was nothing short of stupefying.
Let me make this abundantly clear. I am not complaining. When I was young, there were moments where I sort-of wished she blended in a bit more and did more mommy things, but what I didn't then realize was that she was her own brand of mommy. Unbeknownst to me, she was teaching me all about having your own identity and not letting others' judgments ruin your day... in essence... marching to the beat of your own drum.
I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Now, as I approach this whole mommyhood business, I can't help but wonder - What will my own little girl think of me? Will I be a good mommy?
I suppose only time will tell. Little does she know, she's definitely not getting the cookie cutter type.
Leigh Hope Fountain
The little girl isn't even close to being here yet and I'm already fraught with worry. Here's what I went through just prior to a week-long business trip to Montreal:
Why aren't my toxoplasmosis results back yet? What if I was exposed during pregnancy?
What if the cord gets tangled around her neck?
What if her widdle bitty heart just stops beating? It's so tiny. How does it even work yet?
Google: No heartbeat 14 weeks
Google: Miscarriage 14 weeks causes
Google: Miscarriage 15 weeks
Google: Missed miscarriage second trimester
Google: When will I feel my baby kick?
Google: At-home fetal heart monitor good bad?
Google: Toxoplasmosis exposure first trimester
Google: Toxoplasmosis exposure pre-pregnancy
Google: Toxoplasmosis symptoms
Google: Goddammit Google! Why can't you just tell me that my baby is going to be just fine and to stop fucking worrying myself (and possibly the baby) to death?
So, after a few days of pointless and unproductive worrying, I finally caved and reached out to my pal and phenomenal phlebologist at my OBGYN's office to see if I could squeeze in another sonogram before my trip to Montreal because...
a) I'm not a good flier and was already nervous enough about that.
b) I wasn't okay with going to Montreal without hearing her heartbeat again.
Fortunately, my insanity is not uncommon, and they had no problem with me coming in for a pre-Montreal sono.
Heartbeat was there... all looked good. THIRD Toxoplasmosis test came back and confirmed that yes, I had toxo at some point or another, (most likely years ago during my pro-cat days... not as hip on cats anymore), but fortunately, it was very much pre-pregnancy.
And then in Montreal, this happened!
Finally - a bit of a bump so I don't just look fat with gigantic boobs and big feet.
I'm back from Montreal - and just had the first anatomy scan. Little G is looking fabulous. Saw her hiccup and saw her widdle bitty hands and foots and everything!
Feeling pretty celebratory today.
Leigh Hope Fountain
I've never had great feet. At 5'2", I'm a size 8, (large considering I'm vertically challenged) and my feet are flat and wide. As such, I live in heels. They add height, they give me an arch, they hide the excess foot length/width to some extent and they're just plain pretty. Also, I'm well-trained. I can practically jog in them - even in New York City.
Alas, I think those days will soon be behind me - at least for the duration of my baby-baking days.
At only 4-months pregnant, my feet are already turning against me. They're definitely quite swollen and I believe they're already a 1/2 size bigger. Now remember, they were too big for me to begin with - now it's just getting comical.
I am starting to resemble a hobbit, sans foot fur, though who knows what lay ahead?
I thought it might have been water retention or a blood pressure issue, but nope. Everything is clear. I'm healthy - blood pressure is totally in check, (110/70) I haven't put on more weight than I should have by now, (about 7 or 8 lbs.) I'm following a low sodium diet and drinking plenty of fluids - mostly water. Apparently, there's not much I can do to control this. I'm doomed. I hear whispers of crocs and flip-flops and my face forms a frown. Seriously, the thought of flats or anything that isn't flattering to my already-too-large feet depresses the living hell out of me.
I know I shouldn't be bitching, (after all, I didn't even have morning sickness), but seriously my feet have always been a problem and I'm sick of it. I've broken three toes on separate occasions,(shattered the big toe which I would advise avoiding if you can) and just last year had surgery to repair a hammertoe that was so painful I could barely wear shoes, heels or not. So, I'm sort of feeling a slight sense of entitlement in terms of hosting my own little bitch-fest about my feet, now that I'm plagued by yet another podiatry problem.
While my husband has affectionately called me his "Little Midget" since one of our first dates, I'm thinking that that might have to change as I quickly morph into a creature that Tolkien himself probably didn't think existed in real life. "Little Hobbit" seems redundant. Just call me Hobbit.
Leigh Hope Fountain
Let me preface this post, (i.e. rant) by saying that I LOVE our neighborhood. Park Slope is pretty spectacular. The parks, the brownstones, the restaurants, the shops... you name it - there's a LOT to love. Perhaps that's why it has grown to be one of the most popular neighborhoods in Brooklyn - particularly for young families. What I am not a fan of however, are the typical Park Slope parents. Here's a brief overview of what drives me batshit insane about them - and a reasonable rationale for why we will likely be moving when our lease is up:
1. Taking up the entire sidewalk. I'm talking about parents and who walk in walls of three or more and/or entire families congregating together in herds disabling anyone from passing without stepping into the street. In the 'wall' scenario, usually one or both parents are texting while the kid haphazardly darts from one side to another, not even allowing for someone to pass on either side.
2. Kids on scooters. I cannot even tell you how often I see kids nearly run over innocent pedestrians' feet. I understand that Park Slope is a very kid-friendly environment, which is lovely and adorable even - but if your kid is on scooter racing down the sidewalk at breakneck speeds, please ensure that they know to look out for other human beings and to avoid hitting them AT ALL COSTS. They do not own the sidewalk, despite what you've led them to believe.
3. Kids in bars. I'm sorry - but a dimly lit bar is NO PLACE for a child. I don't care if it's Sunday at noon. Your kid doesn't belong in a bar where there are no tables for brunching and where the only food that is served is done so to cushion the blow of the massive amounts of booze hitting the stomachs of the mostly childless patrons. There are PLENTY of family friendly establishments all over Park Slope where you can order your child an appropriate breakfast, brunch or lunch and where you might even be able to imbibe something not so kid-friendly yourself.
4. Strollers the size of Mini Coopers. Seriously - when did it become not only acceptable but encouraged to wheel around a "stroller" that is larger than most people's bathrooms in NYC? Restaurants and boutiques are limited on space here, so parking one of these veritable vehicles inside of a busy restaurant is downright inconsiderate. They don't fold up, they are not, (by stroller standards) compact - and patrons and staff cannot maneuver around these things and nor should they have to. Taking up standing room for six on a crowded subway with one of these is also not acceptable, especially if you're carting around just ONE child.
5. An apparent and questionable hatred of ice cream. No, I'm not kidding. Pick your battles people and learn how to say NO.
Leigh Hope Fountain
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