I admit I’m a vain person when it comes to taking photos. I even have a side I must take pictures on.  If I can’t take the photo from that angle, I opt out.  Snobby I know, but I don’t like to be captured in time looking like a disaster.  Who does? At least if people see me in person looking like a hot mess, which is a lot by the way, their memory of me will soon fade. Pictures however last for-ev-er; and with all the social media and sharing sites out there your photos can reach thousands of people in seconds.

To quickly elaborate on the origin of my bad-picture phobia: I grew up in the South, we don’t even go to the gas station unless you are dolled up.  That’s the way it is. When you look your best, you feel your best. Even nine years as a Chicagoan, I still never leave the house without mascara and lip gloss on. Those I am taking to the grave with me.  I know I will get some hate mail saying pregnant women are beautiful and I shouldn’t be such a diva. I agree with you and admitted I am a vain b*tch when it comes to photos. Other pregnant women are beautiful and even if I was one of those other women, I feel far from sexy when pregnant.  There is nothing wrong with that, and I am sure I am not alone. If you feel amazing and sexy while pregnant, I commend you and secretly hate you. Truth.

When deciding on whether or not to take pregnancy photos I thought long and hard.  Do I want people to see me looking like an Umpa Lumpa?  Do I want people to see my belly button all stretched out like a bad yoga pose?  Do I want people to see my enormous boobs?  Ultimately I decided to take them because I didn’t take pictures with my first pregnancy and have regretted not doing so.  Back then I was working sixty-plus hours a week and there was always tomorrow. Well, tomorrow came and went and suddenly my baby was here. I missed an opportunity I can never get back.

This time around I wanted to capture the moment- swollen face and all. Ultimately the idea of pregnancy is – beautiful. I loved the outcome and am so glad I took the time, and put aside my southern princess roots, to capture baby Alex in the womb.

I posted them on Pinterest under pregnancy photo ideas and they have received a lot of re-pins. This led me to share with all of you.  My husband took these with our camera, a Nikon D60.  Then I used iPhoto on my laptop to soften them up and add some filters.  Photo shoots and prints are expensive so this was a great, free alternative.  Here’s to women and their baby makers.

Every night I share a bed with a giant, a toddler, a pregnant belly and a dog. As of late, I share my sleep cycle with snoring, bathroom breaks, leg cramps, hip numbness, and baby number two holding a rave dance party in my belly. Ah, the joys of pregnancy.

I’m curious if this is the universe trying to prepare me for the long, truly sleepless, nights I will be graciously given once baby Alex arrives. Either way, I am tired and there is no end in sight.

This is a typical night in my house as illustrated by me. Sometimes pictures do more justice than words. Enjoy.

By 9:30 we head upstairs to wind down.

Thirty minutes later my husband is in a deep sleep ALREADY! How does he clear his mind and fall asleep so fast? His snoring is full-force and I usually poke him several times a night to give me a few minutes of quiet. By this time, my eight pound Chihuahua has nestled in his favorite spot – my crotch.

By 11 p.m., I have already been to the bathroom twice. Each time I come back, I lose more of my bed space… and the blanket. My legs start to go numb and each time I turn, my hips pop.

Now, here I am at 1:30 am. The kid has made his way into our bed and I am almost on the nightstand. The dog is in my crotch, my legs hurt, I am cold and my son has his feet in my ribs. The kid in my belly is also still fist pumping.

It’s 5:30 am and my last bathroom break before the alarm goes off. My son, a.k.a., the wind-mill, has managed to creep on top of me.

When the alarm goes off everyone is well rested, except me. Now it is time to be mom.

Here’s to another sleepless night. Hoping yours is much better than mine. – Holly

Truth be told, I am quite upset with my baby maker these days. Why is being a woman so difficult? I spent my entire youth trying not to get pregnant, only to be on a desperate baby rampage in my thirties.  Trying to get pregnant is a sensitive subject, I get it, but I am not afraid to speak about it.

Many women keep quiet about the trials and tribulations of getting pregnant, either out of embarrassment, pride, etc, so when difficulties happen with you, YOU start to feel like the problem. Why me? What is wrong with me? How are all these b*tches around me getting pregnant? Why is MY baby maker on strike?  These are my actual thoughts right now as a sit in Starbucks next to some pregnant chick.  B*itch.

The whole ‘trying for a baby‘ process is like a bad dream.   Scratch that, more like a freakin’ nightmare. Each month I jump on the crazy baby train begging to be dropped off in pregnant-ville, yet the a**hole conductor has yet to let me off. So here I am almost a year later holding my first class ticket without my glass of champagne.  This first class is complete rubbish.

When we first started trying, we were told to have sex every day after my period.  Then we were told doing this would only lower sperm counts, so we need to have sex every other day instead.  Then came my thyroid problem, so I was put on medication.  Then I was told my progesterone was low, which explained why my eggs were not able to attach to the uterine wall, resulting in a miscarriage. Next my doctor suggested I quit my job, because the stress was too much. Lastly, she told me I am getting old and only have a certain amount of eggs left.  Awesome!  Defending my eggs I blurted out, “But I still feel so young! Women have babies into their forties for Christ sake! I am only thirty -five, just turned thirty-five.”  My sensitive doctor replied, “But you are still thirty-five, let’s call it what it is.” She told me to get ovulation kits and try a couple more months before we had to meet again.

Equipped with all this information, I went to CVS to buy ovulation and pregnancy tests.  After I filed bankruptcy from my CVS bill, I downloaded the app, AESOP Fertility. This app tracks my monthly cycle.  It shows a green dot when my eggs are ready, and a red dot when I should be prepared for another month of heartache. Once my cycle starts, I have to rub progesterone cream on my hands nightly.  When the green dot finally shows, it was go time.

My husband doesn’t mind the beginning of ‘go time’, but wants to kill me by the end.  I constantly boss him around, “No, this way.  No, that way!”  After the deed I have to lay with my legs in the air and a pillow under my hips for twenty minutes.  TWENTY MINUTES.  Way to kill the fun. The worst part is when you stand up after those twenty minutes to go to the bathroom. Ladies you know what I am talking about. Vomit. 

The next few weeks are always a blur.  Any little hot flash, dizzy spell, hunger pain, twinge of the uterus I immediately think, I’m pregnant! When the time comes to take a test, it always shows negative.  From there the denial sets in.  Maybe it’s too early.  This test is wrong. I know I am pregnant! Then I take another test, negative again. I wait. A few days later the spotting starts.  Maybe the egg is implanting, I read you spot sometimes during this process. I wait.  The real bleeding starts. I then realize I am not pregnant, I just wasted all that money on those stupid pregnancy tests, and I cry.  I cry because my plan didn’t work. I cry because there is no baby. Finally, I cry because I know next month I will have to do this all over again.

If we don’t get pregnant soon, I have to take a pill which helps you ovulate, however increases your chances of multiples.  Great, just what I needed.  Sorry Kate, but ‘Holly Plus Eight’ doesn’t work for me. If that magic pill doesn’t work, I’ll have to start seeing a fertility specialist. Any specialist scares me.

Everyone always says, “At least you already have your son.” Which is true, but I long for a bigger family and not getting pregnant hurts just as much, regardless of what number kid it is.  Plus, my son needs a sibling to keep him occupied while I write all these blog posts for you ladies!

Please send your good vibes and baby making mantras, as I can’t take many more months of this vicious cycle – sober, at least.

Much Love,

Holly