Ode to iceberg

Pickles it ain't. And I can't stomach anything sweet. And please don't put me anywhere near greasy fast food or things will definitely get ugly. Salt is good, but I usually get it in the form of all-I-can-keep-down-right-now saltines. I do require protein, mostly of the egg variety, which I have to eat first thing in the morning or forever hold my peace. But what is my big craving?

Iceberg. That's right. Underappreciated, vitamin deficient, flavor-impaired, iceberg lettuce.



In the early days, plain iceberg would do just fine. I'd nibble it, leaf by leaf, like a little baby bunny. Then I came to love those quarter-head wedges with blue cheese dressing drizzle and real bacon bits (no, not BacOs) sprinkled on top. About that time, Bill got into it too and started eating what he dubbed White Trash Salads with me. You know, iceberg, Thousand Island dressing and store-bought, stale-from-the-box croutons. Yummy. He and I both ate these almost every night. Then the day came when hand-in-hand, we went dark on iceberg. Probably because I started feeling a little better.

But now, now that I'm back to being sick three times a day, iceberg has regained its esteemed position in my prenatal diet.

That's right. The White Trash Salad has returned.

I can hear now the voices of all the people out there who think they know what's good for a pregnant woman without ever having been pregnant. These people want to chime in on the benefits of a healthy diet for the expecting mom. One particularly annoying, health-nazi ex-boyfriend comes to mind (in all his flatulence-inducing foaming green shit smoothie glory), because he used to make off-hand judgments about other people's food choices on a regular basis. He still does, I'm sure, I just don't have to listen anymore. The thing is, I believe in a healthy diet. And while I don't think that mamas should indulge in pure Big Mac gluttony or drown their unborn babes in soda, there's something to be said about seeking out food that you can actually keep down. Yeah, for sure, cravings are real. And on a whole different level, so is hankering for food, any food, that you know you'll be able to eat without becoming a heaving, teary mess over the toilet. Whether they're one in the same probably depends on the person. But I, for one, think a little lee-way is in order.

So, all you expecting mommies out there, especially if you're sick, find what you love and eat up.

The quiet span of days

In the quiet span of days lately, I think about the fact that the difficult will be beautiful in retrospect.

Photo: Idie Atencio

What Not to Say: 101

I've shared that I'm pregnant. I've also shared that, because of nine months of enduring sickness and nausea, it has been the hardest thing that I have ever done in my life. Now let me share a few words of wisdom. Here is a quick review, just a few suggestions, of what not to say to a pregnant woman.

What Not to Say 101:

"You won't remember how hard it's been after she's born."
I won't? And with those words, you in your all-knowingness, have just relieved me of all intellect and long-term memory. Yes, I will love my baby and cherish her and revel in her miracleness, but I'm sorry, I will not "forget" how very hard it's been to vomit nearly every day for nine months straight.

"You'll want another one, you just wait."
Oh, really? You're so sure about this that you can don your condescending tone and tell me how it's gonna be? First of all, if my husband and I do choose to have another child, that's our decision, not yours. And if that is the decision that we make, we, as two very intelligent people, will go in knowing how challenging this pregnancy has been for me and how the next may very well be similar. Your assumption is not only a divination of the distant future (a divination that is not yours to make), it is a highly unlikely proposal at this point. Basically, my friend, you don't know what the hell you're talking about.

"I LOVE being pregnant! If I could be four months pregnant all the time, I would!"
Good for you, you daisy-dancing freak of nature. But if you want to live to see another day, whether you're pregnant or not, shut the f*ck up.

"It's all in your head."
I don't even know what to say to this one. And yes, someone said it.

"I know that everyone is different, but my wife ran on the trails (nothing technical, of course) until she was eight months pregnant."
Yes. Everyone is different. But your telling me this does not give me credit for being different. I wish I could trail run. Hell, I wish I could walk without feeling like I was going to hurl. I really do wish my pregnancy was like your wife's — that it was easy, that I could go out and get after it like I love to do. I want nothing more than to hit the trails for an easy jog with my fully blossomed belly out in front of me saying "I'm such a badass, active mommy" to everyone I see. But, unfortunately, I have to work really hard to get through the day, every day, without puking. Just know, proud husband and father, that the difference between your pregnant wife and pregnant me is not a difference of will. It's a difference of not sick and sick.

"Your sickness will be over after your first trimester.”
They told me this. So I counted down. I could do three months. But after three months, I was still sick. Then they said: “no more than 16 weeks for sure.” So again, I counted down. And I was still vomiting. Then they said 20 weeks. Well, I’m now 35 weeks pregnant and I’m still throwing up and all I want is to not be sick anymore and they don’t know what it’s like so they should keep their well-meaning mouths closed. That’s what I think.

“Oh, you think you’re ready to be done being pregnant. Just wait until the baby comes. Then the real fun starts.”
Ah nice. I usually hear this from men. Probably because birth is the time when "the real fun" does start for men. Yes, Mr. Headupyourass, I know it will be hard. Yes, I know it will be a huge change. I’m not an idiot. All I have to say is that I would greatly appreciate your putting yourself in my shoes for one second before speaking. Yes, you try throwing up multiple times a day for 9 months and then tell me you’re not ready for it to be over too. Just a thought.

"So how much weight have you gained?"
My dad asked me this on the phone yesterday (he hasn't seen me since August). He used to ask me this same question my first year in college when he was obviously terrified of the "Freshman 15" and the horrifying effect it would have on my almost 6', very athletic frame. I told him that I have gained 35 pounds. I'm fine with this. This is healthy. In fact, knowing that I am an athlete and sensitive about my weight, my midwife makes a point to tell me how well I'm doing. But my dad, who unfortunately has never been around a pregnant woman in his life (my brother and I are adopted) hears only that I have gained 35 pounds — quite a bit of weight for a non-pregnant woman. In a moment of severe insensitivity, he chose to respond: "Jesus, Mare. Being sick obviously hasn't kept you from packing on the pounds. You better get on that."

Ah, yes. If I were to grade that remark, I would give it a sound and non-negotiable F minus. Dad.

That's it for our fist day of class. I hope you find this little summary helpful. If you have any questions, I'm available during office hours and would be happy to discuss.