Packing for a Trip for One Child

Tomorrow we are going to the US Virgin Islands for some R and R. Will I really get any, though? I will be watching my 4-year old like a hawk and will not be able to move too fast from a sitting or laying down position on the beach or lawn chair with the swelling belly and lack of exercise. Today I have packed. My daughter has more stuff than I do, but I managed to get our clothes into a carry on bag for the five-day trip. All sundresses for us two. There are ten in the suitcase and we have bathing suits and wraps and flip flops and two pairs of sandals each. Oh, and we each have a cute beach bag. All this in one carry on bag...Not bad, huh?  We each have our backpacks filled with reading materials and snacks and toiletries. Packing for this beach vacation was a semi-easy project. But when the baby is born, the ease will go out the window and major stress will take its place. I don't know how my sister packed her two young kids for their trips. I just recall how hectic it must have been. She owns her own business, so she doesn't have the luxury that I did today to have a full day to get prepared for the trip. Once I go back to work and have the two kids to pack for, the trip preparation procedure is going to be chaotic and anxiety-ridden.  I better enjoy my solitude and simplicity now. I am going to soak it up like the Caribbean sun. I wonder how my makeshift maternity beachwear is going to be received? I plan to look as chic as possible, with makeup and beach jewelry to match.  This is my babymoon trip (the last trip in before reality hits), so I plan to have a good time.  But how good of a time can I have? No drinking. No high heels (at least not for me, with my post-surgery bunion and huge belly threatening to sprain my ankle at every step). No jogging on the beach (for the same reasons). No horseback riding on the beach either. And no snorkeling. O.K...that one has nothing to do with pregnancy. Pregnant or not, I don't snorkel unless I am in two feet of water. FEAR OF SHARKS!! Bon voyage and happy blogging to continue sometime next week!

Entering 25th Week of Pregnancy with Suppressed Joy

The truth us I am holding my breath every day until the baby comes out. I still can't believe I'm pregnant. I look at my gorged belly constantly and feel baby kicking. But I still can't get too excited because I have to see it to believe it. I am not referring to the baby as "it", rather to the concept that I am going to give birth to a human baby in three and a half months. O.K. I can't really get that far ahead. I am taking it one day at a time by thanking a higher power each night for letting this baby grow inside me one more day.  I passed the danger zone but I am still in the proverbial woods. Not letting myself feel joy is a way to keep in check the reality that something could still go wrong. I don't want to think about that. But getting too joyful is getting ahead of myself. I am superstitious. I don't even want to know the sex yet. The baby inside is baby.  I must let baby grow and get in one more day as best as I can. So I keep myself from joy and from fear. I just go about my day, doing my regular errands and chores and busy stuff. Belly gets patted and rubbed very often and songs get sung. But daily life carries on. I am being a realist. I will let the emotions pour out of me at week 32. Watch out because I wear my emotions on my sleeve, and I can't wait to feel/express/enrapture them.

What it Means to Pull off a Birthday Extravagaza Weekend While Pulsatingly Pregnant

It wasn't until after I broke the middle toe on my left foot and started breaking out in welts from invisible mosquitoes on what was one of the most humid days in the history of New York City that I realized how emotionally fatigued I was in hoping to give my daughter the best birthday weekend I could possibly muster.

But I failed miserably to pull the birthday weekend extravaganza off like I had intended.  First off, for a child whose birthday falls on a Saturday, it is incumbent upon the parents to provide a birthday weekend, which starts Thursday night and ends Monday morning. I was already starting to get nervous about this weekend two months ago. Too many details to possibly sort out as I had already promised her a school birthday party, which is a parental must at the pre-school she attends. And I had promised her a real birthday party on her actual birthday, the lovely Saturday, August 21st. I knew I was now in for more than I could/should/wanted to/needed to handle.  Also, we had to squeeze in our traditional outing to dinner in the Little Italy neighborhood for spaghetti and gelato.  Really...what was I thinking? You know that invincible feeling you get when you take something on you think would be a great idea at the time, only to approach the obligation with trepidation, fear, and anxiety? Why do we do that to ourselves? And I am uncomfortably laden with burgeoning pregnancy in a NYC heat wave. I guess I just couldn't resist granting my daughter what she was going to experience over her birthday weekend...sheer pleasure.
Thursday night we made the Dora castle cake, as you may have read about. We busily readied for the school party. We filmed her frosting the cake. Her presents had already been wrapped that day and hidden under a sheet she didn't notice. We read countless books and let her stay up a little longer. After all, it was the eve of the eve of her birthday, so it was official and celebratory.
Friday was her big day at school. It also happened to be the school's annual summer BBQ. A multitude of details had to be worked in a matter of minutes with three overwhelmed teachers to carve out my daughter's turn and time in the spotlight. It had to be special because the precedent already established by the previous moms who laid out fabulous spreads for the their child's turn at the birthday celebration was astronomical.
My heart was beating wildly and I broke into a sweat. Her thirty minutes of fame went well, it turned out, even though the lead teacher rushed the children through their cakes to stay on schedule for naps. Like anyone was going to sleep after the sugar they'd just consumed from cake, pink-purple frosting, and chocolate ice cream.  The hand-painted gift bags were distributed. Were there enough? Did everyone get theirs? Was my daughter able to make her exit from school in great fashion? Off to the the 99 cents store to let her pick out two helium birthday balloons she'd had her eye on for months. Now, the evening of the eve of her birthday approached and we packed her in the car to take her to her restaurant outing. Later, back at home, she was allowed to open a box of presents from one of her grandmothers.  Was she ever going to go to sleep?
Saturday morning...the big day. She was sung to and got to open a present in bed. Phone calls started coming in for her. Next, her favorite cereal for breakfast in her favorite outfit. Then to the neighborhood pool for swimming. Back at the house, I quickly put all the birthday party belongings together. Not only had I promised her a birthday party on her birthday, but I was having it at my friend's house who practically lives on the Hudson River...not easy to get to. Again, what was I thinking? My friend convinced me her courtyard was the best place. I schlepped food, drinks, balloons, gift bags, and decorations across the Williamsburg bridge and across Manhattan. Thank goodness we owned a car. When we got there I realized I had forgotten the children's Cd's and really anything for the kids to do.  I was mortified. To top it off, one of the boys let my daughter's helium balloons float into the sky. She broke out into a cry with giant tears rolling down her face. The grill wasn't working. Quick, Dad, go buy another balloon and fix the gas line while I entertain everyone by telling the joys of being hugely pregnant at 46 in 90 degree heat. Good thing another boy's dad brought three squirt guns and the courtyard had a hose. The kids and adults all enjoyed soaking each other for the next hour while corn, turkey hot dogs, hamburgers and chicken made their way off the grill. The cupcakes then came out to populate the table. Everyone was happy. One neighborhood girl showed up and we were a gift bag short. Humiliating. But the party took its course and people began to leave. I sat exhausted in my friend's apartment. My daughter played until 11 PM. I had tried my hardest. Nothing else to do except eat more cupcakes!
You think it's over? No. The birthday morphed into Sunday. The "I am Four Years Old" button remained on. The balloon-adorned scooter was paraded on the sidewalk. Two more birthday presents were delivered. A playdate was scheduled.  O.k. 7PM. "Honey, did you have a wonderful birthday?"  Time to get ready for bed. You can play with your new presents for an hour.
Monday morning, today:  A new purple outfit and lots of singing and skipping on the way to school, new purple purse in hand and purple barrettes and flowers in hair. "I am really four years old!"
Is it terrible to say that now that I am back at home and the wrapping paper,  presents, leftover cupcakes, new clothes, birthday cards, and other general mayhem have all been put in proper place, I can let out a shriek of relief that it is over and I can move on with my life?  My lesson? While pregnant in your forties, keep it simple!

Rebecca Horne Photography: Lipstick final

Rebecca Horne Photography: Lipstick final

All At Once

We've already talked about theses issues: summer heat, bending over and knocking the baby with the knees, worry, multi-tasking, and feeling like a heifer.Well, all these things conspired to hit me all at once today.

It was a busy day...my daughter's school bbq and her birthday party. The parents have raised the bar and I knew I needed a stellar presentation for her cake ceremony. The cake we made last night, the Dora princess castle, remained intact overnite, thank goodness. The gift bags were all lined up ready to go. The decorations and party favors were sitting in a large shopping bag ready to go by the door. My daughter needed to look her best, almost as if she were attending her first communion or coming of age party. Her hair needed to be special. Jewelry, birthday accessories, and finger nail polish all intact? Check. The dress? We had one dress that hadn't been worn this summer, stuck to the side because it has pineapples and oranges on the front. It is yellow, orange and green in color. Not my daughter's favorite colors. She has been avoiding it for a very long time. I had to muster all my negotiating skills to get her to wear it. Everything else was dirty. I guess I had forgotten that detail called...doing the laundry.

Indeed, it was truly a miracle that by 8:40AM the fruit dress was donned and my daughter had all her paraphanalia in place. Off we went to school. Later I had to double back and make a salad I had volunteered to bring to the bbq. The day was quickly reaching 90 degrees. Luckily we live two blocks from the school. I still managed to work up a sweat and start waddling like the oversized goose I had become.

Oops, we were moving the cake celebration to before the lunch as things were way behind. Back home to fetch the cake and ice cream. But before that I had to quickly get the table ready. Two teacher's aides came to my rescue and had it decorated fit for a professional party in no time. I blew up six balloons and taped them to the table and dashed (I mean waddled) home for the goods. Oh, the cake was heavy and I had to get it rapidly into the air conditioned classroom before the spires melted off.  Bending down to take pictures got my baby hit by my knees and crunched in two a few times. No good. I had to stand straight. Might as well have a piece of cake and a scoop of ice cream.  Another scoop.  Oh no, here comes the heifer. Is my baby all right after all that running around?  I've got to clean this mess up then get my daughter home for a much needed nap. But, wait, she had her heart set on two helium princess balloons that I promised she could get. This one last task before we could both collapse for naps required us to walk in the heat to the 99 cents store and cross a busy intersection. I could do it. And I salute all pregnant 40-something moms before me and with me who walk that walk.

Multi-Tasking

If you are pregnant and have another child, you are going to become a multi-tasker, like it or not. Of course, everyone is a multi-tasker in the literal sense. We take care of ourselves, while keeping a house and going to a job and enhancing our relationships. Add in to that mix children, and the multi-tasking just expanded. Add a pregnancy, and it just ballooned. Tomorrow I will be blowing up balloons for my daughter's school birthday party. Tonight, I made a cake, a Dora castle cake. It was no easy task, because my cat was getting in the way. My daughter helped at every stage of the process, but I spent most of the time making sure she didn't spill, drop, or knock over anything. I also needed to get dinner on the table and finish up her gift bags. Needless to say, a lot frosting ended up on the our legs, the floor, and in our hair. During those moments, the feeling of being overwhelmed crept in. For a second, I really thought I was going to lose it. Thank goodness the phone didn't ring and the doorbell didn't sound. I would have flipped out, likely. At one point, I dropped a cupcake and yelled out in exasperation. It was my daughter who told me to calm down. So getting ready for a birthday for one child while pregnant with another isn't as easy as I thought it would be. And I only have one other child? What about those women with several children all within 15 months of each other? You don't hear about them slowly losing it as tasks need to be done while children require their attention. Is it because at 46 I was used to having things go relatively smoothly and I now cannot handle the multi-tasking that comes along with child-rearing? Those women didn't complain and certainly didn't blog about it. Here I am doing just that. I had to share my multi-tasking experience tonight. I had better get used to it because once child number two arrives, I will be in for some major MT'ing. Frosting on the floor, dishes piled in the sink, and a four-year old tugging at my skirt are going to be nothing compared to what's in store for me. I had better save my energy as best I can because 46 year-olds start losing their energy even in any best case scenario. Having a baby at 46 with a four-year old by my side is going to be one big exercise in strength, patience, perseverance, creativity, and pacing. I think patience and physical strength will lead the pack of character features that are going to be asked of me in four months. The multi-tasking required by mothers without housekeepers or nannies far exceeds anything seen in the professional world. Mothers' natural course of action should be to become CEO's because their multi-tasking skills will have been perfected by the time their youngest one reaches five years of age.  Hmmmm, food for thought. Watch out, Gerber's chief.

The Five Month Appointment

I have been looking forward to this day for the past four weeks; well, since my last doctor's appointment.  I am now 24 weeks along. My doctor checked the baby's heartbeat. It gave off a loud, steady thump. Always a good sign. I breathed a sigh of relief. Relief is a word a pregnant 46-year old needs a lot of throughout her pregnancy. I now feel a little more relieved. You see "nerve-wracking" is a feeling a pregnant 46-year old feels everyday to this point until the five month check-up can make the nerve-wrackedness subside a bit if the ob/gyn says, "Everything looks good."
I asked, "But is it ok to think that nothing that terrible could go wrong at this point?" The answer I wanted was, "You're completely home-free.". Instead, I got..."Hey, you're looking good."  All right.I will take that. The last thing I wanted to hear is more risks associated with my high-risk pregnancy because I am 46. I got pregnant, didn't I? Why am I classified as "high risk" just because I'm 46? It's a label I guess I will have to endure until baby is born. But my ob/gyn is my ob/gyn because he is wonderfully optimistic and soft-spoken. He doesn't say much.  So that's good, right? Or is he hiding something? No, he couldn't be, could he? No, the baby is kicking me right now, as a matter of fact. I'm huge. I don't fit into my bras anymore. What more proof do I need? Well, a sonogram everyday would put me in a state of utter non-worry.  But that is impossible and against all laws of my insurance company. So, I will have to worry to some degree (and let's hope the degree of my worry stays under control so that I can have some fun in my life) until my next sonogram in six weeks. The sonogram lets you see the baby, so you know there is a baby in there and it is not just a figment of your imagination. Celine Dion has one done every few days, I heard, to keep her worry level in check. Until I have her money, I will just have to deal with my worry as best I can...by biting my nails and eating peanut butter on whole grain bread at 11PM every night.   

Housecleaning

Even though we live in a 1.5 bedroom apartment in New York, there is still a lot of housework to do. Especially with a cat. I vacuum everyday. I dust everyday. Buildings here are old and get dirty fast. I don't know why that necessarily explains the need to clean everyday, but I am finding myself in this pregnancy bending down a lot picking up stuff off the floor. And now I've decided to literally scrub my floors. So on my knees I go. On NYC sidewalks, shoes pick up a lot of disgusting debris. Imagine walking around your floors with those shoes. As much as I insist, there are still way too many times shoes are worn inside. I'm guilty of it too. Then when I am barefoot in the house, at bedtime I notice the bottoms of my and my daughter's feet are completely dirty. I take a wet washcloth and wash our feet before we touch the beds. In the morning, I start frustratingly scrubbing, vacuuming and dusting. It's a never-ending cycle of cleaning and getting dirty.  Where does the pregnant belly come into play? Well, the bending over, picking things up off the floor, knee positions don't bode well with the sack that is attached to my stomach. I wonder what the baby must be thinking? I know at least I am burning calories. But the amazing thing to me is that my apartment never really looks that clean. I better remind myself to empty out the vacuum sack because it's got to be filled to the brim with cat hair by now. The floors need to be mopped everyday. I feel like I live in Costa Rica. There it is imperative to mop the floors daily because of the steady stream of dirt coming through the screened windows, the heat, and heavy foot traffic, plus insects. But in America I have to mop everyday? My budget won't allow for a housekeeper or cleaning person, either. I am not complaining that I have to do it myself. I've always cleaned, for the most part. I am simply astounded at how much of my time I spend doing it and how much harder it is to do it with a five month protrusion of a pregnant belly in the constant way.

The Bike Ride

Okay, so yesterday I had this brilliant idea to go on a family bike ride. I would ride a bike by myself, and daughter and dad would go in the kiddie seat big bike. It all started out fine. The first two blocks, that is. Then fatigue set in quickly and my back immediately started to hurt as I realized my bike seat was set too high. I pulled over and adjusted my seat accordingly. Easy enough. Getting back on the bike was not as simple. I had to practically position the bike so that it was parallel to the ground in order to straddle it without disrupting the big bulge of mine. No matter how low I had manipulated the bike, the belly still got a leg thrust into it. I decided I had better not make too many stops on this ride. Getting on was proving to be more than a nuisance. Further down on the ride, I realized that now that the seat was lower, my back was doing better, but my poor pregnant belly was getting more than an ever-so-slight bang each time the two knees came up for their rotation. I decided to coast as much as possible. Except there were no hills. I could coast maybe 20 yards at a time. Somewhat of a respite to the battered belly, but not enough. In fact, a hill was coming up I'd have to climb. Uggh, It was hard. Daughter and dad had long before realized I was failing on the ride, as they'd have to double back every 800 feet or so. At least they were concerned for me. Now my hands were getting raw holding the handle bars and my neck was getting strained from being slightly down so that my hands could grasp the handle bars correctly. I was now switching between clasping them with the fingers only and with the whole hand. Each switch forced my neck to be elevated or downward. This wasn't good. On top of that my bottom was becoming increasingly sore. Now I don't know if that had to do with the fact that it (my bottom) was now being smooshed with more weight as a result of expanding pregnancy, or if it had to do with the fact that I am a far too infrequent bike rider. My only thought was, "how in the world do those long distance bike riders avoid bone crushing derriere pain as they sit on tiny seats?"  I had to pullover. Dad and daughter were already prepared because I had now fallen back more than a quarter of a mile. The first thing my daughter said to me when I caught up to them was, "Mom, you're slow". My three-year old is criticizing my bike riding abilities. I needed water.  There was still a mile to get home. The knee-jerked belly, the sore bottom, the chaffed hands, and strained neck were combining to turn the family bike ride into a family crisis..."Get me home on a a stretcher!" my head was silently screaming. But my daughter's daring look for me to carry on was too much. I do have pride, you know. Back on the bike I went and finished the last mile with clenched teeth and utter determination. Dismounting at the door of the apartment was the last difficult thing I'd have to conquer. The poor, battered belly got one last punding as my tired right leg came swinging over.  I practically pushed the bike into the hands of Dad to get it back down into the basement. I don't want to see that thing again until next spring. My biking days are over for now. I will have to think of another physical outdoor activity for next weekend. The moral of my story?: Five month pregnant 46 year-olds with huge bellies shouldn't ride a bike. 

Gravity

Gravity is a subject I may touch on several times throughout my pregnancy blogging because it's omnipresent. I hope I don't bore anyone, but it must be voiced on paper every so often. What am I talking about? This ever-expanding belly is creating a gravitational force on my body, causing me to waddle, huff and puff after a one-block walk, and feel like a hippopatumus. And I am only four and a half months pregnant. What am I going to do, how am I going to feel in one month, let alone nine months into it? There isn't much more room for my belly to house an ever-growing babe, three square meals and three snacks a day. Yet I have four and a half more months to go. Where will my stomach go...into the stratosphere? I will be so top heavy that I will be unable to move forward. It will be physically impossible to take a step forward, unless I do lunges. And that will be even more impossible to perform, as my leg muscles are slowly atrophying from lack of exercise. It's a vicious circle. I can't exercise the way I want to because I'm so gravitationally helpless. It will be like an overloaded cart that flops over.  The gravity will take over with such merciless force, I will be a prisoner to it. Getting my daughter to school and back on the four-block round trip requires so much energy, I have little left for the rest of the day. Coupled with the recnt two-month heat wave, I am a useless overgrown heifer. There's no other way to describe me. The huge ball of my pregnant and nutrition-laden stomach, which precedes my every step, is met with the laws of gravity more and more each day. I am sinking in mud, and soon, just like a Nile hippo, I will be nesting myself there to stay cool and gravity free forever.

Swimwear Struggles

It's bad enough to wear a swimming suit at age 46 if you're the least bit concerned about not having a hard body, but when you're four a half months pregnant, the concern turns into exasperation. O.K. I have to have a maternity bathing suit for an upcoming trip to St. John's. Trouble is, the ones online all have poor reviews. The women state mostly that there is no support in the top part. Also, I looked at three websites and all the maternity swimsuits were downright unappealing. I simply couldn't imagine myself wear them, especially the floral print ones. Or else they were downright expensive. I'm not paying $139 for a suit I'll wear for five days.  Celebrity pregnant moms don't bat an eyelash at forking out 3 or 4-figure pricetags for something they'll wear only occasionally. We non-famous mortals have to really look at the price tag. So off I went to Loehmann's. The floor plan read that swimwear was on the 4th floor. Up I went. No bathing suits in site. I asked a clerk and she said swimwear is in the clearance section. Well, it is August. Retailers are smart. People need to get their bathing wear before summer, not in the last third of it. So down to the second floor clearance section I headed. Only I couldn't see any suits. Another clerk helped me search and search until we finally found a rack in the middle where one side of it was an odd assortment of what you might describe as beachwear. Nothing was coordinated or in order. Nothing was maternity. So I looked for XL, hoping that might do the trick. All I found were some bottoms and some tops that didn't match. Now, I already have a bathing suit at home that is hopelessly stretched out. I bought it in Hawaii a few years ago, and it got worn thin over three years of ocean, lake, and pool swimming. That's why most people, such as my three sisters, have more than one bathing suit. Is it embarrassing to admit I have one suit and it's three years old? The retailers would consider me their most sad type of customer. Why haven't I been on the ball and purchased a suit a season? The Hawaiian suit must be ancient by smart shoppers' standards. It fits me superbly now, so it worked out after all. Yet up close, you can see through it as the material is so worn. I can't take it to St. John's, I realized the other day. I may be booted off the beach. I will offend the beautiful people. Enormously pregnant belly covered by an out-of-style, worn sorry excuse for a suit. Anyway, all I could find at Loehmann's was a bottom piece, turquoise, extra large. At least it's Calvin Klein. It was $14.99. I will make it work with a tube top I have that's also turquoise and comes with a matching head scarf. That will make me look somewhat fashionable at the Westin. I have two cover ups from Hawaii that should get by. I know my sister will be bringing a suit a day. I will have to wear some sundresses and just walk the beach. Not sunbathing or going in the water. Now that I think about it, I have an outfit from my salsa dancing days that might double as a quasi swim suit. My belly will show, but the outfit is red and sexy. It stretches. Yes, I can wear that! I thought my quest for a maternity swim suit or two would be easy as pie. Not so. If you're pregnant and in your forties and want to look good on the beach, I hope you're more prepared than I am. I'm sure Old Navy and Pea in the Pod will have slim pickings by now. I'm not going to bother with them.  I will have to improvise in St. John's and hope for the best!

Counting the Days til Fall

I know I've overwritten on the topic of summer heat, but I just can't help myself. This is getting ridiculous. I didn't feel this uncomfortable at age 42 with my first baby. And she was born in the heat of August. That was 2006 and I do recall it being a sweltering summer as well. It must be my four extra years. Can it be? However my healthy non-pregnant 38-year old friend just told me she nearly passed out in the subway platform. But she had had a workout and some saki beforehand. Still, though, it makes me realize that my age and the summer heat are playing a joke on me. I am literally waddling around and huffing and puffing. Yes, I went to the City today and had to pace my breathing walking on the subway platform. And at home our apartment doesn't have central air, which 90% of apartments in New York lack, so it's not a shock we're without. Our apartment is railroad style, it's called. It's long and skinny. The ac unit is on one end and the heat is sitting on the other end. Needless to say, I spend most of my indoor time at one end of my apartment. I have my books, computer, cell phone charger, snacks and pillows there. It's as if I've moved permanently to one end of my apartment and only visit the other side for the bathroom breaks and raiding the refrigerator. The other side has become a little foreign to me. I forgot what's there. Each time I lunge for a snack (if you can picture that), I notice a knick knack I had completely forgotten about. My cat lies on the coolest spot of linoleum floor space she can find. My electric bill is going to be monstrous this month. Better to be penny-pinching than be miserable. I need a cantaloupe a day, and lots of other cold fruit, to keep me nourished. One good thing is I don't crave junk food or chocolate. I only want cold, preferably, cold liquids, going down my throat. Ice water is about all I'm drinking these days, and fruit smoothies with the fruit that's gone bad. I have never been so focused on the weather in my life. But if I put on the news tonight and learn that another 90 degree day is in store for tomorrow, I will let out an unpleasant-sounding groan that may be heard throughout my building. I am literally counting the days until fall. Summer is great and all, but enough is enough!

August Weekends in New York

Getting through hot summer weekends in August in New York is an exercise in creativity and timing. If you have a child and you're not one of the many who flock to the shore, and you find yourself stuck in the City on a 90 degree day wondering what you're going to do for the next 52 hours, you're not alone.  O.k, so we were able to go swimming in a swimming pool at the Sheraton Hotel in Times Square. Forget laying out by the pool deck...it was too hot and my ever-expanding pregnant belly wasn't too comfortable in the lawn chair. I stayed in the pool with my daughter. She was so happy those two hours. But what were we going to do next? We had to get on a subway, with a stroller, not an east feat in itself, let alone being 46 and pregnant. But there will always be someone who will help carry the stroller down the two sets of stairs. Subway elevators? Very rare occurrences. We were headed to a hopefully air-conditioned children's museum in Soho. Oops, got there too late. Closing time already. The only thing to do was to find a shady playground. I had to grab some more water. I had to sit. Daughter played an hour, but wanted me to join her on the playset. I said maybe not, but there were fathers on there, she pointed out. I stood and played with her. Then we had a ten-block walk to the subway home. It was trudgery, but we made it back. We put the AC unit on immediately and watched a Sesame Street video. What were we going to do the next day, Sunday? Back to the museum. Luckily we got there early and it was beautifully air-conditioned and where we spent three glorious hours.  Dad then took her on a bike ride and it was supper time when they got back. We made it through another hot summer weekend, when things in NYC either shut down or are packed to the gill. And heat is everywhere outside and in the subway platforms. So planning is a must.  Otherwise, if you're pregnant and 46, you may be stuck with no bench to sit on and water fountains that don't work.

Fifth Day of Blog - Summer Challenges

I know I've been mentioning the heat a lot the last five days since I started the blog. Perhaps the whole country is going through a heat wave. It must be global warming. Today I wore anon-maternity stretch sports top, sleeveless. I just had to beat the heat. Even my maternity jean skirt, which goes above the knee, is way too suffocating on the 90 degree days. The stretch top is made of cotton, all I can wear right now. But, boy, was it stretched out. All my pregnancy glory was showing for all the world to see. Thank goodness I didn't venture too far from my neighborhood. I don't quite have the maternity wardrobe that, say, Tori Spelling has.  If I could buy a mod dress for every day of my pregnancy, I would. But as it stands now, my maternity clothes consist of the ones I wore during my 2006 pregnancy with my daughter, plus a few add-ons that aren't really maternity clothes. I have a cotton Indian top that's XL. It works. And a wrap around skirt, which will work as long as there isn't a strong wind on the days I wear it. (That wouldn't be a pretty sight if there were a gust.) Then there are those cotton stretch shirts made for casual, sporty situations. The stretch is essential...stretched right over a huge pregnant belly.  Finding something to wear on the bottom quite a challenge.That is going to be a topic for another day.
With the heat, it's hard to want to look good. Sweating the second your feet touch the pavement is not really conducive to fine clothing wear, hairstyles and makeup. In fact, just getting the hair up in a ponytail or a in bobby pins is as much effort as I can put in. On those really steamy days, I just go the two blocks and back to take my daughter to summer pre-school and back.  The stretch tops and make shift maternity clothes will have to do. Although I'm sure her teachers would appreciate a little more style and pizzaz, pregnant or not.  At night, I switch into men's boxer shorts and a stretchy pajama top with support for the breast so I can rid myself of my hot, constricting, perspiration-soaked bra.  Freedom!  And feet up.The AC does the rest.  Stepping out of my apartment requires real effort to at least look somewhat presentable on a daily basis in this boiling NYC summer. My suggestion again: Get pregnant in September to avoid pregnancy in the hot summer months!

Pregnant in the Summer

It is not easy to be pregnant in 90 degree humid weather in a big city when you're 46 and waiting for the subway. At least there are benches on the platforms. And at least someone always gives up their seat for me on the train when they see my big belly coming towards them.  It's not like you can necessarily plan for these things when you're over 45, but try to orchestrate avoiding summer pregnancy in humid climates! And doctors appointments that are a little hike from the subway with the full sun on you as you walk to the office are not walks in the park yet they are unavoidable. Getting into the air conditioning and taking the load off the feet is one of the best feelings in the world! I stay longer than I need to. I also go to my daughter's school and hang out in the beautiful air conditioning. In New York you have to install your own window air conditioning unit. Central air? Nearly unheard of here. Waddling around in sizzling hot weather with an ever-expanding tummy, ugly but comfortable sandals, and unattractive maternity clothing is what I get for being pregnant in the summer.

Day Three and Still Feeling Great

It's a scorcher outside in New York. I think I'll stay in and enjoy my air conditioner. The baby is kicking a lot today. That's always a good sign, especially when you're 46. In fact every day I check my pregnancy thoroughly just to make sure. Make sure of what? That I'm still pregnant. I won't believe it until I am holding the baby in my arms at the hospital. My doctor told me I am considered high risk because of my age. That's a little disconcerting, I'd say. I have four stacks of pregnancy books. I skip through the sections on the risks as fast as I can because I really don't want to know what could go wrong. Is that wrong? I'm a little superstitious. I can't even wish for a certain sex. It would be like putting a spell on the baby. So I feel for the kicks, make sure my breasts are still tender, and look at my swelling belly to make sure that, indeed, I'm still pregnant. Then I go about my business like any other pregnant person in her twenties or thirties.  I line up with them on the subway platform waiting or the train. We're all in the same boat...we're pregnant. I'm just like them, they're just like me. Except deep down I know I'm a little different. I'm probably twice their age in many cases. But with sunglasses flip flops, and a sundress on, who can tell?!

Day Two of Blog

This morning the baby is kicking around quite a bit. Sometimes I mistake those kicks for hunger pains. It's so exciting to feel this little life in my 46 year-old body. But by the afternoon I know I will be losing steam. Meaning I have to sit down. My daughter puts pillows on the floor for me so we can play her dollhouse together. But we're in the city anyway, so she doesn't expect me to run laps with her outside. Although, I do sit on the stoop and watch her ride her trike up and down the sidewalk. I need that stoop. Maybe I'll bring out my University of Wisconsin chair tonite. The stoop doesn't have any back support!
Yes, I feel part young woman, part old woman. The pregnancy in the summer heat brings out the old woman feeling in me, as if I'm truly boggled down with this extra sack on me. Even going up steps is a challenge, especially the subway. The other day, I had to climb three flights of stairs from the uptown B train to the street. I was behind a family of four that had a spring in their step. I felt 85 years old. At least the heat had subsided. New York had the second hottest July on record. Plus I looked dorkey with a stretchy skirt and black New Balance tennis shoes. Not the look you want to achieve in Manhattan...I'll write more about pregnany fashion because every morning I struggle with what to put on to avoid scoring high on the dorkiness scale.

Day One of New Blog

Hi. It's August 2nd and I'm four and a half months pregnant with my second child. I decided to share my experiences having babies in my forties, all the challenges and all the joys of it.


My first, a girl, I had at 42 and half years old. I am now 46 and a half. When this baby is born, I will be only 5 weeks short of my 47th birthday.

I certainly didn't imagine I would have children in my forties. My life's plan, as I had it figured out in high school, was to be be married in my twenties, with a successful career, then four kids by the time I was thirty. None of those events transpired. They didn't even happen in my thirties!! But I wasn't giving up on my dream to be a mother. I got blessed with these two pregnancies at 41 and 46. I have a healthy almost four-year old and one on the way, due the first week of December, if all goes well!

So far so good, half way through to my nine months. I feel surprisingly fine this morning. We'll see what tomorrow brings!

Having Babies in Your Forties

Hi. It's August 2nd and I'm four and a half months pregnant with my second child. I decided to share my experiences having babies in my forties, all the challenges and all the joy of it.

My first, a girl, I had at 42 and half years old. I am now 46 and a half.  When this baby is born, I will be only 5 weeks short of my 47th birthday.

I certainly didn't imagine I would have children in my forties. My life's plan, as I had it figured out in high school, was to be be married in my twenties, with a successful career, then four kids by the time I was thirty. None of those events transpired. They didn't even happen in my thirties!! But I wasn't giving up on my dream to be a mother. I got blessed with these two pregnancies at 41 and 46. I have a healthy almost four-year old and one on the way, due the first week of December, if all goes well!

So far so good, half way through to my nine months. I feel surprisingly fine this morning