After my last post, my sister sent me a link to CafePress.com where you can search “pregnant” and have over 16 thousand different designs on 284,000 products displayed. If you like shirts with things written on them, this is the place to shop. I don’t agree with every sentiment, but the humor here was much better than the shirts found at Amazon.

There are shirts for expectant dads, expectant grandparents, expectant aunts and uncles, and expectant older siblings. There are shirts for “paper pregnancies” – those awaiting adoption (even expectant paper pregnancy grandparent shirts). There are pro-breastfeeding shirts, pro-homebirth shirts, pro-vegetarian shirts and other pro-whatever lifestyle shirts.

Some of my favorites (not necessarily that I would wear, but that I find amusing):

This Is What Happens When You Party Naked

Do Not Taunt the Cranky Pregnant Woman

Does This Baby Make Me Look Fat?

Yes, Actually, I Did Swallow a Watermelon
Watermelon Smuggler
No words on this one, just a funny graphic

It’s Not Over Until the Fat Lady Screams (for dads)

My Husband Came Home From Afghanistan, and All I Got Was Pregnant
See What Deployment Does

I Am Not a Budda, Do Not Rub My Belly
Back Away From the Bump
Hands Off the Belly

Yes, I’m Pregnant. It’s a Boy/Girl. I’m Due in May/June/July.

Yes, I’m Pregnant Again. Yes, I Know What Causes It. No, I Don’t Have Too Many.

What Happens in Las Vegas Doesn’t Always Stay in Las Vegas

I’m Pregnant…What’s Your Excuse?

Designated Driver (aka Knocked Up)

Cris kindly recommended the Bella Band, an item I think I’m going to have to get for now and for later. It would be nice to have more than, say, two pairs of pants that fit me at any given moment.

While browsing Amazon, they had all sorts of links to maternity t-shirts that just may interest someone who would be buying a Bella Band. Somebody…but not me. Let’s see…

Knocked Up (and the model looks really happy about it too)

Contraception Malfunction (I guess because there’s no way she’d ruin that hot bod willingly)

Oops! I Did It Again (So sorry, world, I didn’t mean to have another baby)

Pregnant (Not Fat) (I do sympathize, but it just seems so vain to have to announce it like that. I prefer having my kids say it – and they do.)

Morning Sickness: Making Hangovers Seem Pleasant (In other words: I’m not fat, I’m pregnant)

Not Pregnant: Just Had a Baby (In other words: I’m not pregnant, I’m fat – I don’t need this one because I think the newborn glued to snuggled at my breast 24/7 says it for me)

Budda Belly: Rub My Belly For Good Luck (But I would like one that says: Warning: Raging hormones may make this pregnant woman slug you in the face if you dare touch any part of her overly sensitive body even if you happen to be 6 years old and flesh of her flesh)

Coming This Fall (This is actually kind of cute, but what if the next baby is due in the spring? Just not very practical.)

Future MILF (I had to look this term up – I’m so behind the times. And I’m really not, uh, crass (?) enough to wear that.)

Sex Ed Dropout (Ooo, and proud of it!)

And my favorite: the mudflap girl (you know, the one you see on tractor-trailers) with a big belly (ye-haw)

Here are a few that I might consider:

Highly Emotional (a nice reminder to that husband is who is so used to your big belly he forgets about those dangerous hormones that threaten your sanity)

Fertile Goddess (but the woman in the photo doesn’t look pregnant, just well endowed)

Made Love Not War (Yes! Need this for my next sit-in!)

And these are too political for me, but I admire the strong women who would dare admit that it takes a man and a woman to have a baby, or that the blob of tissue growing inside is really a boy or a girl.

…than shop for maternity clothes.

I do have some maternity clothes, but they all look so BIG. I’ve been avoiding them. One by one, my regular clothes had either become too small or just looked plain ridiculous on me. So, I would dig into my big purple bin where I store a variety of clothes for every season in sizes ranging from 6 to 16 (because after gaining 45 pounds with every pregnancy, I do wear a size 16, even if it’s only for a month or so) and would pull out another, bigger size (but still not maternity), and would manage for a little bit longer.

But last week, my choices were diminishing in the summer fashions. Even Bill’s clothes were too tight in the waist (why did I fall in love with a skinny man?) or too big in the shoulder making me look like…I was wearing my husband’s clothes. If it were fall, I think I could go another month or so, but with lightweight clothing, I was left with a stack of maternity clothes that I just couldn’t bear to wear yet.

Besides being too big, they are old, too. I don’t think any of them were bought new by me. And I’ve had most of them with every pregnancy, so I estimated that they are mostly at least ten years old. I’m not big into following the latest fashions and hottest trends, but…I do like to look decent. I really do want to avoid looking dowdy.

Bill came home at a reasonable hour on Friday, and I took advantage of this to head to the mall alone. I think I tried on every outfit in the store. First, I put on a pair of khaki capri pants and a maroon, empire waist knit top (the kind even non-pregnant women seem to be wearing nowadays). I looked in the mirror and with a depressed and exasperated internal voice remarked that I just.looked.so.pregnant.

To which the intelligent, practical, common-sense woman buried deep within that prideful, vain, emotional basket case staring at the mirror responded, “Duh! You are pregnant!”

And then I laughed at myself and stopped focusing on not looking pregnant and instead on looking attractive.

You know, like a well-dressed hippo.

Most ludicrous is the bald-faced lie these stores tell pregnant women: buy your pre-pregnancy size. Yeah, right. Most first-time moms probably go shopping when they are barely showing. They put that tiny pillow under the clothes and think they look so cute. They go home with a nice collection of things that will work for that season. By the time the weather changes, those clothes are getting really tight and uncomfortable, but it doesn’t matter because they need new things for the new season anyway.

I bought size mediums, which is basically what I would be wearing if I weren’t pregnant. But I know that by August, they will be stretched to the max. That’s OK. I’ve got those BIG clothes just waiting for me. I’m set.

And as if to prove that new clothing “makes” a woman, an old friend drove down on Saturday morning from Pennsylvania to spend the weekend. Her kids came into the house, but she was loitering at the car collecting a few necessities. I walked out to greet her, and when she turned around, she looked surprised. “Oh, you look so skinny! I thought you’d be bigger by now!”

Dear, dear friend, I can’t wait to see you again next month!

Last week, I tried to go to my first OB appointment. I called and asked for an appointment with the same midwife who cared for me with my last pregnancy. Reason for the appointment? they asked. I’m pregnant, I said. First appointment? they asked. Yes, I said. They gave me a date and time.

I went. The midwife wasn’t there. They had scheduled me for a paperwork appointment. First day of last period? How many pregnancies? How many births? Any complications? Any allergies? Planned pregnancy? How do you feel about it?

I was mad – not about the pregnancy…about the appointment. Had the appointment-person told me she was doing this I would have asked to do both the paperwork and actual exams on the same day. I do need to find childcare for five children each time I go.

Today I did see my midwife. She asked if it was okay if a nursing student did my exam. I was really pretty happy with this. My midwife happens to be my next door neighbor – ah, army living! She is very professional, but still, living next door to the woman who does your pap smear is a bit…awkward. She spoke with me long enough to ask me when I intended to go down and get my blood drawn, since the paperwork lady put in my referral to the lab, and I didn’t go. I hemmed, hawed, dodged and evaded answering as best as I could and basically put the discussion off until next time. I have no intention of having my blood drawn before I move to Kansas. I’m a difficult patient. And a big wimp. I don’t give up my blood easily. I know I need to have an antibody screen in July, so I’d rather get ALL bloodwork done at once.

The nursing student was a really nice lady. She had to ask me all those obligatory questions: I can’t get mad at her for them. There’s a test called the AFP Screen…? No, thank you, I said. Because of your…age…you could go to Bethesda for a level 2 ultrasound and have an amnio if you’d like…? No, thank you, I said. One happy moment was when she was listening to my heart and observed that I obviously exercise – do you run? she asked. As a matter of fact, I do, I said.

And then: You’re too far along to use an ultrasound for dating the pregnancy (I don’t need to have the pregnancy dated, I thought), but if you’d like to have a peek at the baby, we could do that…? No, thank you, I said. For that, I got raised eyebrows. I do want to see the baby, actually, but I had the kids with a friend, I would have to walk down the hall to another room, it would take more time…and I’m not 100% sure that ultrasounds are perfectly safe and don’t want to frivolously subject my child to them…did I mention that besides being a difficult patient, I am a firm believer in a minimalistic approach to healthcare? Sick people go to the doctor, you know. Healthy people stay away from doctors and their technologies. It’s just a theory…

But finally, finally, we listened to the very strong heartbeat, and that was enough. Yes, those flutters I feel are tiny kicks and not the gurgling of digestive juices. Yes, that hard lump I feel when I lie back and press on my stomach is a growing baby. Soon that lump will be even bigger, and I’ll be forced to dig the maternity clothes out of the bin. And soon the kicks will be stronger and my children will share in my excitement that comes from actually feeling a tiny new life develop in the womb.

And sooner than I think, I’ll be waiting, probably just as impatiently as Cris, for that tiny new life to join us here in this world.

Don’t you know about birth control?

For those of you who didn’t catch my first hint or my second, I am about eleven weeks pregnant. This fact was one topic of conversation at our friend Doug’s welcome home party yesterday. I got the birth control question. Someone else asked my husband if he didn’t happen to know what caused that sort of thing. Bill politely laughed and said he knew it was the water, and henceforth he would only be drinking beer.

I wonder what sort of response these people expected?

Do they really want to hear about how much we love our children? Would they possibly understand how awestruck I am whenever I hold a newborn? How fascinated I am by their sweet smells and ultra soft skin?

Or would they rather hear of my love of the Church and my trust in her wisdom? How being open to new life with every procreative act has deepened my intimacy with my husband? How my respect for myself and my sexuality (and also my respect for the dignity of all people) has matured through the use of NFP? How I have discovered that in all the world the only institution that has stood solidly and consistently for centuries against behavior that hurts both the individual and society is the Catholic Church and that to ignore her teachings on human relations is foolish and destructive?

Or do they want to learn about how I love my vocation of motherhood? How with every child I become less selfish and self-centered? How I have learned to surrender all my thoughts, words, desires and actions to do what is best for the family (and by extension, all of society) not just me?

Would the woman who asked me if I knew about birth control really want to hear that this child was intentionally conceived? Although I’ve had plenty of not-quite-planned pregnancies, this one particular one was quite deliberate. And even if it had not been planned, would she understand the difference between unplanned and unwanted? Never, never have I had an unwanted pregnancy.

The negative comments I get don’t really get me angry. I’m not surprised or shocked or upset or bothered. At least not in the sense that my blood pressure rises, and I get red in the face. It’s a bit silly to react that way when I’ve been hearing similar things since my third pregnancy in three years.

But at the same time, I am upset in a cool, logical sort of way. I think it’s outrageous that someone would say something like that. Really. The woman who asked about birth control is open about having her tubes tied. I’m sure she would consider it offensive if I told her she was foolish for doing that. I would never say such a thing. She’s obviously quite happy and comfortable with her decision…what purpose does it serve to make her feel badly? It’s not as though she could wave a magic wand and reverse her tubal ligation.

Just like I can’t wave a magic wand and change my pregnancy. Would these nosy commenters prefer to see me break down into tears, saying that I was overwhelmed with my five kids and couldn’t handle another? Would they counsel me to have an abortion? Or are they just trying to “help” me for next time? Point me in the direction of the pill or an IUD?

Is it that I look unhappy with my life or simply that they cannot imagine anyone truly being happy with a large family? I am not thrilled to have wrinkle lines beginning to form on my face, but I am pleased with this: the wrinkles are forming around my eyes and mouth from where I smile. And the “worry” lines on my forehead are mainly from squinting against the sun (curse these sensitive blue eyes), not from truly being anxious or even scowling. Perhaps when my kids hit their teen years, less pleasant wrinkles will begin to develop, but for now my life is more joyous than anything. And I know this feeling of contentment is projected to others because I get those “good mother” compliments all the time (not that I think I’m so good, but that I have that calm that comes after years of successfully outwitting and outmaneuvering the younger crowd).

And so today, since it’s a Sunday and the popular thing seems to be to relax our Lenten resolutions a bit on that day of the week, I’m opening comments. Tell me how thrilled you are that I’m having a baby. I need to hear from happy people.

Addendum: I know that lots of people don’t blog on Sundays – spending time with their family, blahblahblah – so I’ll leave the comments open through mid-week.