I [heart] Davids It helps me to say these things aloud, I think.

At the peak of my pregnancy, I was just shy of 150 pounds. Almost four weeks after the delivery, I seem to be holding steady at 130 pounds.

I used to scoff at the fact that maternity leave was treated as short-term disability. I mean, you’re getting the six weeks to feed, bond with, and otherwise take care of the baby, not because it’s a medical condition, right?

After having been through the birth, however, I think that kind of “pelvic floor trauma” definitely counts as a major medical procedure and weeks of recovery are indeed warranted.

Pregnant? Here’s my advice for you, in no particular order.

Exercise
I was lazy. I coasted by on my current level of fitness, but now I’m seeing that 9 months of sedation isn’t the best way to get you excited about geting back into shape after gaining a good 30 pounds or more. I’m sure I’ll regret not having been more active. Get a basic prenatal exercise plan.

Noppies
Buy a few pairs of Noppies trousers. These are the most comfortable pants! Admittedly, they’re a little high-maintenance (I use the hand-wash cycle and they need to be ironed after drip-drying), but they make me feel like a million bucks. Once you start fitting out of your regular clothes, you’ll pay more to feel good in your maternity clothes. Money spent on nice maternity wear is actually money spent well.

Underwear
Cotton underwear, and you’ll want them in a larger size than you normally wear, I think.

Ch-ch-ch-changes
Avoid the following while you are pregnant

Buying new shoes
With your feet swelling and your bones spreading, now is not the time to get a whole new shoe collection. Granted, you may discover you have no choice after the baby comes if your feet don’t go back to the size they once were. But until you know, don’t invest too much in preggo footwear.

Getting your vision checked/ordering new glasses
Did you know your vision changes during pregnancy? I can definitely tell that. I need to have an annual exam but I’m waiting till after I deliver.

Buying new rings
Again, what with all the swelling, now is not the time to get a ring sized. I’ve given up on everything but my wedding band, which I’m sure I couldn’t get off if I tried.

I know that ‘rents read my blog, so I’m sorry but I’ve just got to say it.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

My trusty, sexy spaceship-navigator glasses broke this morning. The temple just snapped like it was made of spun sugar. They’re about 4 years old, so they’ve certainly seen their share of wear and tear. But there was no indication they were unhappy or had a fault line ready to rip open. Just “pink” and that was it. Honestly, there wasn’t even any noise.

And what lovely timing. 

I have 3 stitches in my thigh from where the Butcher of Boone Trail removed a piece of skin about the size of a pencil eraser.

The biopsies came back from my previous visit to the dermatologist. One of the samples was fine, and the other two showed “architectural” changes. She checked those two sites and felt like she got enough of the mole up that we didn’t need to take any more out. But I had this one other mole that occasionally scabs up. She thought that we should completely remove the mole and the surrounding tissue, so I came home with three stitches (plus a few internal stitches).

Note to self: I need to take the stitches out in 10 days, on 4/26/07.

That is a piece of me, a sample of a mole that my dermatologist sawed off.

Here are all three of the samples she took. She had asked me last summer to come in for a mole check, and I put it off becuase I am lazy. Besides, I was sure that nothing could be wrong with my moles. I needed to have her re-evaluate my acne medicine so I finally made the appointment for the mole check this past Thursday.

It wasn’t a big deal, you get mostly naked and she systematically checks almost every square inch of your body, deciding whether your moles are OK or not.

I was very surprised when she flagged three of my moles as suspicious. She gave me an injection of lidocaine at each mole, then waited about 10 minutes before coming back to slice off a sample at each site. No sweat, though they’re each still a little sensitive today. I’m keeping them covered by band-aids and using neosporin so they heal quickly and don’t get infected.

Have you had your moles checked?

I love getting my hair cut. Honestly, I don’t really care about the hair part, though she does a great job with it. But mostly I love the experience. The fancy salon, my fabulous girl Kim, the cool music, the wine, the conversation.

We only see each other every 10 weeks so there’s always some catching up to do, but words just spill out of me when I go to see Kim. Usually it starts off with funny anecdotes and amusing stories, then about halfway into my glass of wine, it turns to confession time. Last night I asked Kim if she minded, and she said “No, I love it!” Think about how weird that is, hearing some sort of confession 10 times a day. I wonder if there’s any books out there written by hairdressers who have catalogued all of the wacky stories they’ve heard? It does feel good letting them go, as mundane as my little secrets might be.

If you’re looking for a change of pace, try Lux Salon in Raleigh. Ask for Kim Twisdale.

This gave me a chuckle so I had to add:

[16:04] Ruth: Related to your blog post, I heard some people on the radio the other day talking about why people spill their guts to hairdressers. They theorized that because having someone touch your hair is such an intimate experience, it seems natural to open up to them.

[16:04] JeniQ: that’s interesting. and here I thought it was because of the wine. 😉

[16:04] Ruth: One person had divorced her husband because her friend overheard the hairdresser talking about the woman he was cheating with having told her about it.

[16:04] Ruth: most people’s haircuts don’t involve wine 🙂

[16:04] JeniQ: they TOTALLY should

[16:05] Ruth: how do you drink and hold your head still?

[16:05] JeniQ: i have to sneak my sips in when she’s distracted, like hunting for product or unkinking the cord on the hair dryer