Eating for two (dozen)

I came across my maternity book from the first pregnancy and in it I found some disturbing figures.

In 30 weeks of pregnancy (from Week 10 to Week 40), I gained a whopping whaling 30 kgs! Oh. Em. Effin. Gee!!

My weight was recorded at all my midwife or doctor appointments, so I could see the progression of the weight gain, and even during the earlier weeks when baby was quite small, I was piling on the pounds.

And I do know why. I ate like a pig. I was nowhere near as nauseous as sickly as this time around, so I ate  whatever and whenever I wanted, justifying it with the "eating for two" mantra. Although I knew at the time this phrase was actually nonsense, what I didn't know was that the extra amount I needed to eat a day to handle mine and baby's energy needs was the equivalent of 1 to 2 slices of bread. Eek. I was eating at least an extra 1 or 2 loaves of bread, and that is not even an exaggeration.

It took a long and unhappy 4 years to start shedding that weight, and this time around I am determined to be much smarter. Prevention is key, I guess. I keep the old maternity book handy now, and when I feel myself losing the battle of the will, I take a glimpse at those weights *shudder* and try to make a better eating choice.

Don't get me wrong, I will eat cake, so help me God! Except now I schedule a day of the week when I will bake or buy what I am craving the most, and enjoy that with the family.

I know that by carrying this alien, I will get fat. But there's no need to get any fatter than necessary, right?

A hippo's guide to surviving earthquakes

If you have been watching the news like a good citizen should (and if you live in a country where they give a winkling about the tectonic plates in New Zealand) then you may know that there have been some rather significant earthquakes around the Wellington region for the past couple of weeks now.

It has been unnerving each time the tremors hit, trying to locate the little shadow and then proceeding to dive under the unfortunately too-small kitchen table.

What we also came to realise (many, many natural disasters later) is that we have no emergency plan of action, no emergency survival kit, no real reason that we should survive if or when the mother of natural disasters (or the dreaded zombie apocalypse for that matter) hits.

So I've done some thinking, as you do, and have come up with some tips that may help other alien-carriers out there having to put up with frequent quakes:

1. Pee quickly. Unfortunately, the little alien inside you won't stop kicking your bladder or producing all that waste, so when you gotta go, you gotta go. But no more taking the iPad or Property Press in with you. Just do the deed, and get out. Coz if the house collapses around your little ceramic throne, well, gooood luck!
2. Prepare an emergency kit. Fill it with all your favourite non-perishable cravings / snack foods. Then guard it with your life, especially if there are little hands (or big ones too) that keep trying to sneak in to that particular section of the emergency kit. Have none of it!
3. Keep your smartphone charged at all times! This one is important. If food and / or water supplies run out, at least you will be able to Scramble or Candy Crush.
4. Get fit. If you reach full term and there are no major natural disasters where you need to evacuate and hike around the hills of Wellington, you will still have a fully grown alien to push out, and any physical strength will come in handy for pointing (the blame), gripping (to death) your supporters' hands, and then after the birth give yourself a mini-makeover for the all important first photo with baby.

There you have it. Extremely helpful tips that I'm sure you could not do without.

PS. Don't forget to pack your happy pills in the emergency kit!

Aegon

This week I have some fantastic news to share.

I had my halfway point ultrasound, and found out:

1. The alien seemed all anatomically there, i.e. the correct number of limbs, the expected shape, one head, etc
2. We are having a little prince. EEEEEKKKK!!!!

Though the first bullet point was pretty important, the second one is a headliner for sure. My family is a largely female dominated family (by number and by volume ... lol). So naturally, we are pretty darn excited by the knowledge that this little alien is going to be the first grandson ... on both his parents' sides of the family!

We shall name him Aegon. The prince that was promised. His is the song of ice and fire.

Ok, no, we're not really naming him that. I couldn't resist a geeky reference to the Song Of Ice And Fire books ;)

Could you imagine how Samoans would interpret and rearrange the name Aegon? Yea, exactly. I don't wish that on anyone. Let alone the Prince of Toamua himself. Lol.

Now to find out how on earth you change a baby boy's nappies. Eek.

A new low

Just when I thought I had cried at every stupid thing there was to cry at, I discovered today I was wrong when I found myself crying while reading birthday messages on Facebook. On someone else's wall. Because it was someone else's birthday ...

Thank you, hormones. Thank you very, very much.

Te real

I think this week is Maori language / Te Reo week.

Coincidentally, I received a call from a Maori network survey, which ended something like this (copied from my Facebook status):

So I just completed a phone survey for Maori language and media. Why do I feel like I failed? Lol. So I immediately turn on the Maori channel, and the first thing I see is that the news programme is called "Te Kaea". A'e.

I don't know what I was so worried about though. I just remembered that the Shadow speaks enough Maori on our family's behalf. I mean, she can count from tahi to tekau, AND she calls her developing sibling "Bubba".

Kapai, kapai.

We like to partay

That time of year is approaching again ... Lali Lady's birthday. And with it, of course, comes grand ambitions and plans for a party and cake.

Her royal highness had requested a princess themed party. My imagination ran wild, along with my Googling and Pinteresting, and it all started coming together in my mind ...

We would have a princessy bouncy castle. There would be a red carpet or some other royal entrance to the house, where the lounge would have pretty and delicate decorations. I would hire little furniture for the kids' meal and set it up all grand. There would a separate crafts area where they could make crowns or knightly swords. The conservatory would serve as the adults' retreat, where they could relax with some hors d'oeuvres (a.k.a heated sausage rolls from New World) and drinks. The cake would be a two-tier affair, one chocolate tier and one strawberry, made from scratch, not a box-cake in sight. I would learn to create fondant jewels and a tiara as toppers. All would marvel at my creative genius.

Yea right.

That plan has altered somewhat since I was kindly brought down to earth by my down-to-earth husband. The truth is, I will be a fat, nauseous, hormonal, lazy pig by the time the birthday rolls around (ha). Add the pressure of this grand party on top, and I would be a blubbering mess. So it looks like we will most likely settle for a party at an indoor play area, where you pay, turn up, party, go home. The End. So much simpler.

However, there is one survivor from the whole party revamp, and that is the cake. So I am now trialling strawberry cake from scratch, different frosting and piping techniques, etc. Exciting times! Next minute ... single layer "mud cake" from New World. Lol. Watch this space.

The cake my baby wanted, and will not be getting

Are you inertia?

My big baby now knows about the developing baby. We told her last week, when we woke up one morning to find her snuggled in between us instead of in her own bed. She is over the moon. She insisted that she stay home from school that day to await the arrival of her new baby sister or brother. Oh if only it was that quick!

Now that she knows what's up, she does random checks on my discomfort levels.
"Mummy, are you feeling inertia?"
"Yes, I'm feeling a bit nauseous."
"Ok, lie down and I will get Daddy to help you."

That's my big girl. She is relishing the thought of being a big sister. Her first words when she walked into daycare the next day, instead of the usual "Good morning", were "Baby in Mummy's tummy!" I guess she forgot the part where we told her not to tell anyone ...

And here it be. Our little alien.

Baby Tupou