Caution (especially men and never been preg. women: read at your own risk.
Being pregnant is the closest thing I can equate to what it must be like at your peak of horrific-ness in middle school. More than ever, I can relate to my students, only I would never share this information with them as it definitely falls under Section XVI of TMI. In laymen’s terms, it would cross some serious lines. Instead, I will just share with you. Some of you asked for the bitter truth, and you know I have a penchant for being brutally, stripped down, honest. So, just in time for Halloween, here is my own laundry list of horrors.
1. I have zits. Like a tween, my skin is unpredictable. One day I am clear, the next day it looks like someone wiped their sweaty foot infested with athlete’s foot across the right side of chin. I even went to a dermatologist JUST to make sure my skin was reacting to my raging, baby making hormones and he said; “Get used to it. This could get worse.” Great. He unfortunately could not prescribe me “the good stuff”, and the smelly, clear fluid that I have been applying to my face is merely just smelly, clear fluid with one refill available.
I don’t think I need to explain how zits relate to middle schoolers.
** I HAD DECENT SKIN IN MIDDLE SCHOOL. It balanced out my fat.
2. My boobs. I go to bed one size and wake up another. Today my bra was so damn tight I felt like I needed CPR, a nebulizer and an inhaler all at once. I have had to purchase 38’s which really pissed me off; no matter what my weight has been, I have always been a 36 MAX, but I have to remember, my body is just spewing the hormone relaxin, so every freaking joint and muscle is literally relaxing in an effort to make room for my growing fetus. This topic will throw me into somewhat of a tangent, as I do not understand why my legs, especially my ankles, need to be more relaxed when this baby is coming out of my vaj. God is definitely a man. Imagine if relaxin flowed through a man’s body, causing his penis to not only expand but lie flaccid, a little to the left?
So how do boobs relate to middle schoolers? When the girls come back from the summer between 7th and 8th grade, you might think they visited a plastic surgeon...
3. My ass. The smell that I release from my body is strong enough to put a small animal to sleep and knock an average size one out for a couple of hours. I am a walking cesspool of filth. My gas rivals a tween boy, and even a good friend of mine who I prefer to use the litter box when he stays over as I fear he will overflow my toilet. Yet, look who’s talking; I think I raped my own toilet bowl the other night as a result of eating fro yo (I am living on the edge as many shun the soft serve style machines while pregnant to avoid listeria. I say eff that….i haven’t had sushi or more importantly alcohol since July. I am eating frozen yogurt.) AND broccoli. Yet luckily for me and those around me, I manage to control myself while at work. It is only when I exit my workplace that the floodgates open. This would be a good time to apologize to the woman in the t-shirt section of Old Navy the other day: I am sorry if you felt faint as a result of being caught in my wake.
So how does my ass relate to middle schoolers? These kids let ‘em rip all of the time!
4. My moods. I am a freakin’ moody bitch. Then, I am sooooo nice. Then, I cry. Then, I imagine punching your face /kneeing you in your balls/ spitting in your face/running you over with my car and I cry again because I cannot believe how off the wall I am. Upon delivery, I have requested a glass of Prosecco to wash down my Effexor.
So how do moods relate to middle schoolers? Have you met one? Were you not once one?
5. My weight. I don’t know what I weigh and unless the doctor gives me a ten pound warning, I am assuming I’m all good. I am an avid reader, yet the one thing I have not purchased books about is pregnancy. A friend of mine gave me a few anyway; I had a terrible dream after reading one, a dream that honed in on one of my fears (faulty feeding-boobs) and I then vowed to stop reading. However, one of the things I read that really pissed me off was regarding exercise. Apparently, t his author believed there was no point in exercising during pregnancy. I would love to see what this chick’s ass looked like when she was knocked up. Listen, I know I am eating more and probably better than I have in a while. I know my ass will probably widen simply because Mother Nature is really a tranny dude, but I am a gym rat. I like to sweat. My psyche needs the workout and no matter what anyone says, EXERCISE IS GOOD FOR YOU ALWAYS as long as you don’t overdue it. The catch with exercise for a prego is that you are not supposed to go above 140 BPMs. Please humor yourself if you are a fellow worker-outer. Put on a heart rate monitor and see how fast you reach 140 BPMs. If you are conditioned, it will take about 3 seconds. I have to believe that when I can go back to my control-freak diet that includes few carbs, little pizza and zone bars, I will lose the weight I have put one when combined with the ability to sweat again. This former fat girl still struggles with the day to day, but I definitely prefer being out of breath from a good cardio session over walking up a flight of stairs with the most resistance coming from fat rolls.
So how does weight relate to middle school? Fat girls getting made fun of, low self esteem, eating disorders….I look in the mirror everyday and remind myself that I am not fat, I am pregnant. Those girls look in the mirror everyday and hopefully don’t remind themselves they are fat because they are pregnant.
6. I just want to get drunk. Seriously. Tweens drink and if they aren’t yet, they want to. Just a little. Research shows that pregnant woman can have a glass of wine here and there without causing harm to the fetus, yet I would have to err on the side of caution and say just put the juice on hold. But I have to tell you, it is hard. This year, my kids are a handful at work. A glass of wine or a gin and tonic (or 6) at the end of the day (3:00) would really make things more bearable. It’s funny. Someone asked me if I have weird cravings and aside from the Chinese sliced pork, it has been wine, not pickles and ice cream.
What’s the relationship between alcohol and middle schoolers? The kids are getting drunk and I am not.
All kidding aside, I cannot complain. Knock on wood, the remainder of my pregnancy (22 weeks) will go smoothly and I will deliver a healthy, happy baby who hopefully will not be as bitchy/dicky as me. If bad gas and the craving for alcohol are my biggest problems, then I consider myself lucky.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Does the Tip Count?
Does the Tip Count?
After a botched attempt at a visit to Long Island’s wine country, the girls and I still managed to drink (I observed) and discuss and one of our favorite topics; If it’s just the tip, then does it count as sex?
The demographics of the women debating the tip encompasses an age range of just under 3o through mid 60’s. Bottom line, most of us agreed that just the tip does not count. This decision was not reached until after we had to explain exactly what the tip was…
Let’s sweeten the deal…What if there is just one thrust? In….Out….to the tune of; “No, I can’t do this!!!”
The jury was split on this. According to some, I didn’t even technically lose my virginity since that is essentially how that session went down, only the soundtrack was Pink Floyd’s record released in 1994. FYI: OPENING NIGHT NERVES!!!
But is that cheating? Just the tip? Just one thrust? YES
What If your husband/boyfriend received a happy ending? The jury was all over the place on this one. I leave this for you to ponder.
After a botched attempt at a visit to Long Island’s wine country, the girls and I still managed to drink (I observed) and discuss and one of our favorite topics; If it’s just the tip, then does it count as sex?
The demographics of the women debating the tip encompasses an age range of just under 3o through mid 60’s. Bottom line, most of us agreed that just the tip does not count. This decision was not reached until after we had to explain exactly what the tip was…
Let’s sweeten the deal…What if there is just one thrust? In….Out….to the tune of; “No, I can’t do this!!!”
The jury was split on this. According to some, I didn’t even technically lose my virginity since that is essentially how that session went down, only the soundtrack was Pink Floyd’s record released in 1994. FYI: OPENING NIGHT NERVES!!!
But is that cheating? Just the tip? Just one thrust? YES
What If your husband/boyfriend received a happy ending? The jury was all over the place on this one. I leave this for you to ponder.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Baby Josh Visits the Doctor
So, the entire nature of a gyno visit changes when you are pregnant. For 9 months, he or she is no longer a gyno, but an ob. For 9 months, your husband also comes to the doctor with you. I actually put off Josh coming with me for about 3 visits. It just felt strange bringing someone along to what has always been a solo visit of a very personal nature.
I have heard things like; “I am not comfortable with you having a male doctor touch you down there” from Josh. After witnessing the “magic wand” with it’s special eye getting stuck up my nether-region, Josh now realizes that there is nothing sexual, nor glamorous about a visit to the ob-gyn WHATSOEVER!
But enough about my chooch. Let’s get down to the real nitty gritty of this entry. Taking Josh to the doctor is like a field trip. It is very stressful. In fact, I wonder if I am going to receive a bill in the mail for damages caused by our last visit there. I ran out of the room to use the ladies room for 2 minutes and Josh informed me that he thought he broke a lamp in the examination room. NO, it was not a desk lamp, rather, it was a lamp with a very long, flexible neck, about vaj-high used to get a closer look…
No, Josh, it is not additional room lighting.
Of course, Josh has to try on the rubber gloves (his father is a doctor for God’s sake) and sit on the rolly chair used by the doctor and say “spread ‘em”, a line NEVER used by my doctor…FYI.
Josh has to open every drawer and question the size of cotton swabs and ask why there are pipe cleaners in a gyno’s office.
JOSH: “Why are there pipe cleaners in a gyno’s office?”
ME: “Those are not pipe cleaners. They are inserted into your
vagina as an avenue to swab the innards of my lady parts as
per a PAP smear.”
JOSH: “I think I might vomit.”
Quickly, the drawer is slammed closed. I expect a bill for broken hinges.
Despite Josh’s introduction to the PAP stick, he still has to push it and open the next drawer. He is like a kid on Christmas, eagerly ripping away the wrapping paper to see what is next.
But much to Josh’s surprise, the next drawer is LOADED with tampons and maxi pads.
JOSH: “EWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
ME: “What did you expect? We are at a gyno’s office???.”
JOSH: “I think I might vomit.”
ME: “Next time, wait in the waiting room . When the fetus
is being shown on the sono, we can call you in. You are
worse than a child. "
This is a temporary situation. Soon, my privates will have their privacy back.
So, the entire nature of a gyno visit changes when you are pregnant. For 9 months, he or she is no longer a gyno, but an ob. For 9 months, your husband also comes to the doctor with you. I actually put off Josh coming with me for about 3 visits. It just felt strange bringing someone along to what has always been a solo visit of a very personal nature.
I have heard things like; “I am not comfortable with you having a male doctor touch you down there” from Josh. After witnessing the “magic wand” with it’s special eye getting stuck up my nether-region, Josh now realizes that there is nothing sexual, nor glamorous about a visit to the ob-gyn WHATSOEVER!
But enough about my chooch. Let’s get down to the real nitty gritty of this entry. Taking Josh to the doctor is like a field trip. It is very stressful. In fact, I wonder if I am going to receive a bill in the mail for damages caused by our last visit there. I ran out of the room to use the ladies room for 2 minutes and Josh informed me that he thought he broke a lamp in the examination room. NO, it was not a desk lamp, rather, it was a lamp with a very long, flexible neck, about vaj-high used to get a closer look…
No, Josh, it is not additional room lighting.
Of course, Josh has to try on the rubber gloves (his father is a doctor for God’s sake) and sit on the rolly chair used by the doctor and say “spread ‘em”, a line NEVER used by my doctor…FYI.
Josh has to open every drawer and question the size of cotton swabs and ask why there are pipe cleaners in a gyno’s office.
JOSH: “Why are there pipe cleaners in a gyno’s office?”
ME: “Those are not pipe cleaners. They are inserted into your
vagina as an avenue to swab the innards of my lady parts as
per a PAP smear.”
JOSH: “I think I might vomit.”
Quickly, the drawer is slammed closed. I expect a bill for broken hinges.
Despite Josh’s introduction to the PAP stick, he still has to push it and open the next drawer. He is like a kid on Christmas, eagerly ripping away the wrapping paper to see what is next.
But much to Josh’s surprise, the next drawer is LOADED with tampons and maxi pads.
JOSH: “EWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
ME: “What did you expect? We are at a gyno’s office???.”
JOSH: “I think I might vomit.”
ME: “Next time, wait in the waiting room . When the fetus
is being shown on the sono, we can call you in. You are
worse than a child. "
This is a temporary situation. Soon, my privates will have their privacy back.
Monday, October 11, 2010
The 3000 Pound Elephant in the Room
Crickets. Giggles. Stares. Awkward. Those are the sounds and feelings you find yourself simmering in after telling 11 and 12 year olds that you are pregnant. Why? Because they are old enough to know that a stork doesn’t just deliver babies to mommies and daddies. Mommies and daddies have sex. My students know that I DID IT!!!!
I suppose that when I told my students my news, I didn’t expect them to jump up and down and weep with joy over this new life being brought into the world coupled with my subsequent 6 week absence. I didn’t expect to blush either, nor did I expect to be shocked at how few kids said congratulations. The whole congrats notion is simply a matter of manners, one of my favorite topics when discussing the ills of our culture.
I think my news made me the 3000 pound pink elephant in the room. However, I don’t really care. I spend so much of my time feeling guilty about taking a mental health day off or even getting sick and having to stay home. I’m finally seeing another side of teaching which is I can still be dedicated to my students and their families, but I don’t have to take my job home with me. So what if my students know that I had S-E-X; they are old enough not to completely live in a bubble. So what if they rejoice when I leave because my hormones are literally eating all of us up alive? I’m moving on in my life and that is a good thing. And now, more than ever, I can really relate to my students considering I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old and I am literally as hormonally chaotic as my students; like the girls, even my chest size is changing. And what is this mysterious break out on my chin??
Crickets. Giggles. Stares. Awkward. Pregnancy or middle school?
I suppose that when I told my students my news, I didn’t expect them to jump up and down and weep with joy over this new life being brought into the world coupled with my subsequent 6 week absence. I didn’t expect to blush either, nor did I expect to be shocked at how few kids said congratulations. The whole congrats notion is simply a matter of manners, one of my favorite topics when discussing the ills of our culture.
I think my news made me the 3000 pound pink elephant in the room. However, I don’t really care. I spend so much of my time feeling guilty about taking a mental health day off or even getting sick and having to stay home. I’m finally seeing another side of teaching which is I can still be dedicated to my students and their families, but I don’t have to take my job home with me. So what if my students know that I had S-E-X; they are old enough not to completely live in a bubble. So what if they rejoice when I leave because my hormones are literally eating all of us up alive? I’m moving on in my life and that is a good thing. And now, more than ever, I can really relate to my students considering I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old and I am literally as hormonally chaotic as my students; like the girls, even my chest size is changing. And what is this mysterious break out on my chin??
Crickets. Giggles. Stares. Awkward. Pregnancy or middle school?
Our Day on the B-List
This past Saturday, Robyn and I attended a Bat Mitzvah of a former student from last year. We definitely got a little slack for going; however, we felt that this student was an exception. Somehow, we really connected with her and her family. So, we RSVP’ d YES. Had we not done this, we would not have experienced life on the B list.
The day began with a temple service. Robyn and I decided that we would like to become Reformed Jews. Despite the same amount of up and down standing as our fellow Conservative tribesmen, there was a ton of English and the beloved organ. Oh—and the service was less than 2 hours door to door. When we arrived, our host, noticing our entrance from her throne on the bema, pointed us out to her parents seated in the front row. They turned around and waved. Soon some tween girls we knew began shuffling in behind our row, all giggles, stage whispers and hair-did.
At noon, the service was over and with an hour to spare before the party, Robyn and I saw the time as a shop-ortunity. We power spent our way through Express (brushed gold hoops on sale for me, shirt and scarves for her) and Victoria’s Secret (PINK sweats for me and 2 new bras to accommodate my expanding maternal bosom).
We arrived fashionably late and secured our spots at the bar. Seltzer, Diet Coke, cheese and veggies accompanied our people watching and by people watching we were scoping out our students’ outfits. There was definitely an assortment of appropriate, to prom circa ’84 to slutty. Basically, the kids were dressed consistently with the way the dress for school. From time to time, kids would approach and say hello, but they drew the line at when we were sitting to eat. We were literally social pariahs at that moment. However, it was not until the candle lighting ceremony that Robyn and I reached B-list celebrity status, even higher than Kathy Griffin!
It was candle number 7 that changed the tide. After a brief intro, the Shapiro-Levys were called to the center of the room. We nervously helped light the candle and smiled for the camera. Suddenly, adults wanted to speak to us. They took an interest in what we taught and even gave us tips on where to find the “best pour” in alcoholic beverages for after work! Kids began initiating even more conversation, even requesting that we pose with them in those pictures where you choose your background, such as the sunset beach scene we beamed proudly in.
The whole Shapiro-Levy comment was not lost on either one of us, however. When we said our good byes, posing again with the parental hosts for a professional photog shot, we even told them how we wondered if people thought we were not just teachers, but a couple expecting their first baby together. Laughter and Mazel Tovs all around.
Overall, Robyn and I felt honored to be a part of this milestone day; having had our Bat Mitzvahs, we know that it is a day that we still remember. How great it was for us, B-List and all, to be part of this. In a thankless job, this was a huge thank you. Shalom.
The day began with a temple service. Robyn and I decided that we would like to become Reformed Jews. Despite the same amount of up and down standing as our fellow Conservative tribesmen, there was a ton of English and the beloved organ. Oh—and the service was less than 2 hours door to door. When we arrived, our host, noticing our entrance from her throne on the bema, pointed us out to her parents seated in the front row. They turned around and waved. Soon some tween girls we knew began shuffling in behind our row, all giggles, stage whispers and hair-did.
At noon, the service was over and with an hour to spare before the party, Robyn and I saw the time as a shop-ortunity. We power spent our way through Express (brushed gold hoops on sale for me, shirt and scarves for her) and Victoria’s Secret (PINK sweats for me and 2 new bras to accommodate my expanding maternal bosom).
We arrived fashionably late and secured our spots at the bar. Seltzer, Diet Coke, cheese and veggies accompanied our people watching and by people watching we were scoping out our students’ outfits. There was definitely an assortment of appropriate, to prom circa ’84 to slutty. Basically, the kids were dressed consistently with the way the dress for school. From time to time, kids would approach and say hello, but they drew the line at when we were sitting to eat. We were literally social pariahs at that moment. However, it was not until the candle lighting ceremony that Robyn and I reached B-list celebrity status, even higher than Kathy Griffin!
It was candle number 7 that changed the tide. After a brief intro, the Shapiro-Levys were called to the center of the room. We nervously helped light the candle and smiled for the camera. Suddenly, adults wanted to speak to us. They took an interest in what we taught and even gave us tips on where to find the “best pour” in alcoholic beverages for after work! Kids began initiating even more conversation, even requesting that we pose with them in those pictures where you choose your background, such as the sunset beach scene we beamed proudly in.
The whole Shapiro-Levy comment was not lost on either one of us, however. When we said our good byes, posing again with the parental hosts for a professional photog shot, we even told them how we wondered if people thought we were not just teachers, but a couple expecting their first baby together. Laughter and Mazel Tovs all around.
Overall, Robyn and I felt honored to be a part of this milestone day; having had our Bat Mitzvahs, we know that it is a day that we still remember. How great it was for us, B-List and all, to be part of this. In a thankless job, this was a huge thank you. Shalom.
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