A bump to remember: a preggo photoshoot

A few weeks back, at 37 weeks pregnant, I decided I wanted to have a maternity photoshoot. Nothing quite like deciding at the last minute, right? Considering I was actually "full term" I was super lucky that the photographer recommended to me by a friend was happy to squeeze me in within a few days of my "DO YOU HAVE ANY SPOTS LEFT I'M JUST ABOUT TO POP" email.

OH! If only we knew then what we know now. Hello 40+6 and still a-cookin'.

The photographer, Michelle at Dainty Stills, asked what type of shoot I would like.

"Nothing too cutesie. I don't want to be holding booties. Nothing too butch though, either. I don't want to be holding a rifle or anything." So basically my brief to her was nothing that could land me on the pages of awkwardfamilyphotos.com. Something plain and simple. 

I just wanted a record of what I looked like pregnant because I don't plan on being up the duff ever again.  But if that record could have nice lighting and a backdrop that doesn't include my wardrobe or the edge of a toilet seat like my selfies do, then that would be tops. 

Aunty Penny was meant to bring her white shirt for me to wear but she forgot. I told her not to worry about it, that I had one of Map Guy's and I would just do my best to rock the whole mens shirt look instead. But that wasn't good enough for Aunty Penny so she dropped in to the shops on the way there and bought me a shirt! We pretended she was my stylist and I was the model which of course meant we left the tags on and returned the shirt after the shoot. I think that means I'm going to fashion hell.

I spent half the time pushing my belly forward to look rounder because it was morning and my bump was one of those small in the morning, massive in the afternoon ones. My core muscles and posture would give out by around lunch time and all of a sudden I'd look a hell of a lot more pregnant than I did a few hours earlier. I certainly don't have to do that now. Now it is just ALL BELLEH, ALL THE TIME. With a waddle to match. Like a big ol' pregnant duck. Quack.

Note the pristine white shirt, worn for 4 minutes then returned.

Tricks was being entertained by Aunty Penny and refused to be part of the shoot. The closest he got was playing cars in the same room, but the second Michelle would turn the camera toward him, he would go shy and run off. To the point where he decided he'd like to play in Michelle's bathroom. As you do.

Despite Michelle being awesome with him and really used to working with kids, no amount of sweet talking was working. He was having a shy day and didn't want anything to do with it.

"You can bring the truck with you. I'm sure a truck would look OK in the photo." -No.

"You can sit on Mum's lap." -No.

"You don't have to smile. You could just give Mum a cuddle." -No.

"You don't have to even look at the camera. Maybe just give Bobbin a kiss?" -No.

I decided to pull out the big guns.

"I'll take you to McDonald's after for a burger!" -Still no. Shit. We resigned ourselves to the fact that this would be a solo photoshoot.

It wasn't until right at the end, after Michelle had put down the camera (of course!) that he ran in, without any warning, and started kissing my belly. Frantically Michelle is lunging for the camera, I'm trying to get him to do it again, Aunty Penny is calling out encouragement, saying what a good boy he is, and he is moving around constantly like a fart in a bottle while Michelle is snapping away hoping for the best.

I am so, so pleased that we got a few that were usable. And I even really like that I'm cracking up laughing in the one on the right - where it kinda looks like I won't let him go because, err, I wouldn't let him go. True to form, after about thirty seconds he ran off and refused to come back. Then started asking for his burger.

I feel incredibly vain for having these done but at the same time I know I would regret it if I didn't do it. I'm couldn't be happier with how they turned out. Proper photos of me and my almost two kids.

Next stop, our first family of four shoot... when Bobbin finally decides to arrive!

Did you get maternity photos taken?

A big FAT mind your own business!

Today I was at my local shopping centre, minding my own business doing my famous duck impersonation (waddling) from one end of the place to the other when I passed one of those temporary stalls in the mall. Actually passing it would have been fine – I tried to, you see, but a man from the stall stood in front of me so that I would have to stop... now I don't like being accosted at the best of times, let alone when I'm 700 weeks pregnant with a dodgy hip that decided today was the day to up the ante in the pain stakes. If you are a mall-seller feel free to offer me a sample, ask if I'm interested or try to wave me over – but if I say no or shake my head politely and you decide to BLOCK MY PATH, you better watch it. I chose to remain calm and gave him a very obviously fake smile, hoping he would see that behind the lip gloss were fangs that could cause him irreparable damage.

He introduced himself to me as Eric and tried to sell me a weigh loss challenge (yes, on the brochure he forgot the 'T' in weight and we all know how much I hate bad spelling – is the spell-check button so hard to find?). For only $49 I could get eight weeks of one on one coaching, a support group and advice on nutrition and food choices that would help me through the pregnancy... when I pointed out I had only four days to go until D-Day (my bump was quite compact this morning) he said “Well it is great for after baby to get rid of all the fat” and started rabbiting on about how his 'ex' struggled with post-baby weight loss and blah blah blah, I stopped paying attention at this point.

I haven't even had the kid yet and already I'm being told I have a time limit to lose the baby weight! At my obstetrician appointment today I was weighed and I have put on 13kg since becoming pregnant – within the normal range, and I was an average size 12-14 before that (I may only have two pairs of pants that actually say size 12 but dammit, it counts!). So lovely Eric, with no idea about my personal history has decided that I need help to shed the kilos. Gee, thanks. I feel so warm and fuzzy inside knowing that you care. If Eric had been a buff guy then his words might have carried a bit more weight (possibly around the bum, maybe the thighs), but instead his gut size rivalled mine – I have a BABY in there, Eric, what's your excuse? Aww a cute little beer baby? What will you call it? Carona if it's a girl or TED if it's a boy, how sweet.

I declined (very politely although my teeth may have been clenched slightly) when Eric offered to start my program right there and then. Without missing a beat he asked for my details so he could call me in a few weeks time to get me started on my very own 'Biggest Loser' challenge (and I really doubt he has permission to use that particular copyrighted catch phrase). I said I'd pass for now and concentrate on just having the kid. He was disappointed to not get a sale (maybe my fake smile was too genuine looking?) and ended with “Good luck, I hope everything goes well. I'd love to know what sex you have” which for a millisecond had me thinking not only was he a beer-bellied path blocker who said I was fat, but that he was also a pervert... hey, you never know with these mall sellers.

Did you feel the pressure to lose the baby weight?

Streeeetch

Striae gravidarum. Do you know what they are? You probably do, but just by a different name. It is the medical terminology for stretch marks caused by pregnancy. And guess who has them, baby? Yep, me.

I expected to get stretch marks because around 75-90% of pregnant women get them to some degree during pregnancy, because I already have a few tiny little ones from growing fast during puberty, and because my mum got them. It doesn't matter how much vitamin E cream or Bio Oil you rub in to your belly, because it's much more dependant on your genetic makeup than any external magic potion.

I've got about a dozen stretch marks that started to pop up around the six month mark and I'm whilst I will stop short of saying I like them, I don't mind them as much as I thought I would. I've heard people refer to them as a badge of honour – I'd prefer an actual badge (a big, shiny, silver one) if I had my way, but I get what they're trying to say.

My own stretch marks have a strange significance to me because they centre around three spots on my lower abdomen – coinciding with three scars I have from laproscopic surgery this time last year. The point of least resistance has been found and exploited! At the moment I look at them and because I don't yet have Tricky in my arms to associate them with, I automatically think of the surgery and it doesn't have the nicest memories attached to it.

You see, the surgery was to remove an ectopic pregnancy. So whenever I see them (actually it is more like whenever I feel them, because I can't see over my bump!) I'm reminded of the scary times spent at the hospital waiting - because at times like that waiting is all you seem to do. Wait for a doctor, wait for test results, wait to be wheeled in to the operating theatre while laying there in a really unattractive hospital gown, wait to find out just how much of your insides they have to remove and wait to find out if you can ever have kids...

Moving away from being melodramatic, it is pretty obvious that the last question was answered with a resounding YES otherwise this blog would not exist. I am one of the lucky ones – even though my fertility has been halved (there was too much damage to the tube and it had to be removed), there is obviously still something working in there! So it turns out my now lopsided-some-bits-missing reproductive system can manage a baby after all, it just took a couple of goes to get the hang of it. Practice makes perfect, apparently.

My bump, my bump, my bump, my lovely baby bump

I was warned this would happen... when I was first told I just laughed, thinking that surely it was a one-off scenario that a friend had encountered and of course it wouldn't happen to me. But today, it did. I went to get in the car and the car next to me was so close (though still in its correct bay) that I couldn't fit in. Oh the humanity!

I've reached a size now where my bump is not just evident, its the first thing people notice about me. It became apparent a about a week ago when walking through a shopping centre - people were no longer looking at my face when they passed me. All eyes on the tummy. They look slightly worried too, as if they think I'm going to pop any minute “thar she blows” style.

People are fascinated by it. They all want to touch it – its seems like it is public property now. I don't mind my friends touching my belly, even without asking – it makes me feel special that they are drawn to it. But strangers on the other hand, now that is a different story. Luckily I have had only one stranger grope me – but then she made it worse by encouraging her children to do the same. I wasn't too sure what to do, she was trying to be nice... so I just put my hands protectively over my bump so that there was no space left for anyone else, stepped back slightly and changed the topic. I'm not a touchy-feely person at the best of times, I don't generally hug hello and goodbye unless I'm really close to the person and have been so for years. But with the belly it feels different somehow. Maybe because deep inside I'm an exhibitionist and know this is the last time I'll ever be the centre of attention? Because as soon as Tricky arrives I'll be relegated to the back-burner and everyone will want to see him, not me – not that I blame them. I'd prefer to see a cute little infant over a hormonal woman any day.

Hubby now can't keep his hands off the little Trickster, and is always giving my belly a rub, seeing if he can feel him move. It is still quite unusual for anyone to be able to feel Tricky move as I have an anterior placenta (meaning its on the front wall, right where you'd put your hand) and its acting like a massive shock absorber, so all the kicks and punches that feel huge to me, can barely be felt by anyone else (this is also why I failed the Malteaser challenge). Part of me feels disappointed that I can't readily share the experience with others while the other part relishes the fact that this is all mine, my little secret bonding time. Because only Hubby can keep his hands there long enough to be able to discern what is my breathing and what is Tricky... no one else is that patient or that interested.

The other thing an anterior placenta brings is the inability to distinguish Tricky's body parts. When a baby moves insides it's mother''s belly you can sometimes see a foot, an elbow etc and can confirm it with your hands, having a feel around. But for me not being able to tell is a good thing. I've seen the videos (if you want to see click here) and it kinda freaks me out! I've always referred to pregnancy as being 'in the John Hurt way' but this stuff makes it look just like the movie! For the uninitiated, the John Hurt scene from Alien is on YouTube, too – don't watch it if you don't like blood, aliens or late '70s hairstyles.

Did people rub your belly like you were a lucky Buddha statue? Did you mind?

Antenatal or Anti-natal?

On Wednesday, Hubby and I went to our first antenatal class at the hospital that Tricky will be born in (assuming that is that he doesn't shoot out in the back seat of the car on the way there). There were 14 couples in total and we all looked extremely nervous and the women all held their hands protectively over their bellies. We ranged from 27 to 33 weeks pregnant with one set of twins in the group! It was very interesting to see the difference in sizes of everyone – some of the people who I thought were so tiny were the furthest along.

All but one of the men seemed keen to be there, and it was their job to introduce the women and say how far along we were and who the obstetrician was. Every man who tried got it right or was only a week off, which impressed me no end. I asked Hubby how he remembered how many weeks I was and his response was “I just counted back from the due date”... so he only got half points for the weeks, but at least he remembered the all important LIFE AS YOU KNOW IT ENDS NOW date. Who could forget?

The class was run by a lovely midwife, Gay, who told us about the three P's: Pelvis (those boney bits), Passenger (Tricky) and Powers (contractions). It might just be me but I thought it strange that a gimmick be needed to remember only three things – and those things are unlikely to be forgotten in a hurry. “So I've got a kid in me and I'm having contractions... any minute now he'll pop out my belly button” No sorry, even stupid people realise the impossible bending of the laws of physics that is about to take place.

Gay had a baby doll with an umbilical cord (dressing gown rope) attached to a placenta (knitted woollen ball) that she was pushing through a toy pelvis. She was squishing the doll around and shoving him in all sorts of positions, explaining the difference between posterior and breech and so forth. It I wasn't pregnant I wouldn't have thought twice, but I found myself thinking “ooh be careful of the baby!”. At that point Gay put the doll in a plastic bag to simulate the amniotic sac and I had to restrain myself from getting up and showing her that the bag had written on “NOT A TOY. KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN”. She could have at least started the demonstration with a “Do not try this at home” warning. I will, of course, blame hormones on my need to protect an inanimate object that didn't look at all like a real baby. Hormones are my fall guy.

What was slightly disappointing about the class, seeing that it was run by a midwife, was that it was very much directed towards having a caesarian. Every few moments we were reminded of all the things that can go wrong – at no point did she mention that women all over the world since the beginning of time have managed to push out their babies with a minimal of fuss, when surrounded by people who are encouraging them. Its still medically safer to have a baby “naturally” yet everywhere I turn I'm encouraged to have Tricky cut out as if he is a tumour. I at least want to try. I trust that my body instinctively knows what to do – evolution may have screwed up with the 10cm diameter in which to get him out through, but hey, the kid has a mouldable head! Phew – go you fontanelles!

Next week we will learn all about pain relief... so I'm preparing myself now for all the lame jokes about sharing the gas with Hubby.

Did you have a planned c-section or an emergency one? Or were you encouraged to trust your body?

Hippo-critical

I'm looking very much more pregnant these days. In the mornings I have a small, compact bump but by about lunch time all my abdominal (or is that abominable) muscles have given up and Tricky kinda sticks out in to the world as if to say “Here I am!”. The problem with this is I never know from one minute to the next how big I am and when trying to squeeze past people on the train I end up brushing against them – if my belly button decides to pop out one day when this happens I'll be charged with indecent assault for sure.

But there is one completely awesome part that I'm pointing out to anyone within earshot: for the first, and most likely only time in my life, I have rock hard abs, baby!

At my most recent obstetrician appointment Tricky was measured and is one week bigger than average in size and weighs just over one kilo. Considering I was a massive heifer of a thing weighing in at just under 4.5kg (9lb 6oz) I'm starting to worry this sucker is gonna be HUGE! I've put on 5kg since being pregnant and on average the last trimester you load on another 5-7kg as all the bub is doing right now is piling on fat to get that gorgeous Michelin Man look.

I've been looking up weight distribution in pregnancy and less than 30% is baby. Which in my mind means there is 70% pure fat. But that's not true, even if my thighs do tell me differently. The average weight gain is 14.5kg and is distributed thus:

3.5kg baby

1kg placenta

2kg increased fluid volume (currently pooling to create beautiful 'cankles')

1kg uterus

1kg breast tissue (hello boys!)

2kg extra blood volume

3kg maternal fat stores (half on each thigh and bum cheek I think)

1kg amniotic fluid

Average is such an attractive prospect. This is one of those times when being above average is not really what you want. Its fine on school reports, lovely on IQ tests, and bloody brilliant on wage slips, but put it on birth weight and *shock horror* head circumference, it quickly loses its appeal. I'm sorry, that monstrous “thing” is meant to come out of where?! An elective caesarian section is looking more attractive by the day.

Bump Envy

There is something strange going on around here. And I'm not referring to the hot one day, raining the next weather. What I am talking about is my disappearing reappearing bump. Here one minute, gone the next.

I was so excited to be getting a bump because as I've mentioned previously I've been looking like I just piled on a few kilos and when affectionately rubbing my own belly I'd look like I was deciding on what to devour next for lunch. Other than not looking like I was about to pounce on whichever small animal may walk past next, getting bigger has meant all the pregnancy perks have started coming in – people actually stood up and offered their seats to me on the train, opened doors and gave me right of way in narrow spaces immediately bringing to an end the dreaded 'dance of the hallway'.

But then... gone. At first glance you would be excused for thinking Tricky had migrated from my belly to my butt, judging by its increasing girth, and I'm still not entirely convinced this isn't true. I go from looking like a proper preggo one day and then the next I look like one of those girls who buy their pants in the size they want to be, rather than the size they actually are. I actually have one of those T-shirts that says “Hands off the bump” and am tempted to wear it daily as a form of insurance against looking like a blob.

Where is Tricky going? He is fast running out of room and I'm not one of those tall willowy types that are so long in the torso they look flat as a pancake right up until they pop. Or is that his normal position meaning that when I look nice and round he is actually just sticking out his tiny little butt? Taking after his father already, no doubt.

I'd heard that subsequent pregnancies 'show' a lot sooner than first timers due to the abdominal muscles being stretched and relaxed already – and a friend one week ahead of me is already, in her own words, the size of a house. I wouldn't have gone that far – more like a small cottage or granny flat. But whether or not she looks like a housing establishment, the point is she looks lovely and I'm a little bit jealous. Admittedly I have even stuck out my belly further, just to look how I think I should look, in the same way I used to suck it in if I was going to a club.

Friends laugh at me for sticking it out and those with children already assure me that in a few weeks, when the waddle starts to kick in, I'll be wishing that I wasn't so big. But until then I reserve the right to continue to stick out my belly and ignore the fact that it makes my bum look even bigger due to the massively concave back.