MILF Report

by Daniela Syrovy
A newborn is the latest fashion accessory. Gone are the days of being hot and single. The reign of the hot mom has arrived. A woman with babe in stow can get anything she wants. I'm convinced of it. Just the other day as I was cruising the streets with my stroller I witnessed a fellow milf--twenty something, hot and stylish. She had on vintage over sized black studded sunglasses, tight jeans and a funky punk shirt with some great ballet flats. As I'm eyeing her from the bottom up I notice the best part of her outfit—her baby! Sitting comfortably on her hip in a fantastic ring sling is an adorable little baby girl. And she's wearing almost identical vintage black studded sunglasses—baby version! Too cute for words really. Mama is strutting her stuff when she drops her keys on the sidewalk and a man from across the street comes running over –dodging traffic just to help her pick them up! He picks them up and comments about how adorable her little girl is. Oh the power of baby. It's like having a really gorgeous doggie on your leash only much better because you can dress baby up in shades, hats, shoes, and mini skirts without anyone batting an eyelash. Baby coos and smiles and strangers cannot resist giving in to her charms. Absolutely everyone adores a cute baby.

At the grocery store last week I had an overflowing cart and every cashier had a line-up out the door. Just as I was thinking it would take me all afternoon to cash out one of the employees notices my sweet angel and side steps over to my cart. She looks into the infant seat and says, "Ohh my she's adorable. So tiny and so gorgeous." This is followed by a knowing wink and a quiet whisper of, "Come with me. I'll open a new register for you."

This is my dream come true! A packed grocery store and they open a new cash register just so I can be first in line. It's star treatment. I'm instantly brought back to the days of slutty teenagerdom when armed with a fake ID I ached to get to the front of the line at the latest club on Richmond. Bat an eyelash and the bouncer bumps you to the front of the line. When you enter milfdom it's similar experience except there's no need to bat eyelashes, and you're aching to get to the front of the line at the grocery store or bank. With baby in tote it's a cinch!

A few days after the groceries I visited my favourite furniture store and discovered a giant piece of art that I just had to have. It was 3 feet by 3 feet, weighed 30lbs and it was exactly what I needed in the kitchen.
When I got to the cash register to pay for it, I decided to ask if she could offer me a discount just for the hell of it. (Shopping tip of the day: always ask for a discount, be sweet and coy and you might be shocked that you actually get one).
She took one look at my bebe and viola! Twenty five percent off. Minutes later I'm struggling to carry the giant purchase, my stroller and my diaper bag when a total stranger walks up to me, makes small talk about my baby and volunteers to carry the piece all the way home for me.
It gets better. Since busting out with my babe I've enjoyed these perks:

Help carrying the stroller up and down steps
Free cookie
Free Starbucks coffee
Free Second Cup coffee
Free truffle at the organic chocolate shop
Help carrying my groceries

I have to make it clear that I had no idea it would be like this. Not once did I ask for these things. They simply get offered. It starts with light chatter about the baby and then the barista or chocolatier just falls under a spell. When I get to the cash they just say, "It's on the house, have a great day with your baby."
People want to give you the world when you have a baby in your arms.

On top of random strangers approaching you and aching to help you or discount your latest purchase, you get a plethora of 'ohhs' and 'ahhs'. You get smothered in compliments. The latest include, "Your baby is absolutely delicious!" "What an alert, smart looking baby that is!" and my personal favourite, "You only had her 7 weeks ago! Wow! You look incredible!" What woman wouldn't want to hear those things?

Babies are binding. At a friend's wedding recently my hubby and I were sat at a table with three young couples. As I sat there thinking that we have nothing in common with them and that it would be a torturous dinner, one of the women bursts out in excitement, "Oh my goodness how old is your baby?!" This is followed by hours of gleeful conversation about all of our babies. By the end of the night we exchanged numbers with the entire table and are planning play dates. I don't ever remember dating in my single years being that smooth or easy.

Babies also give you instant street cred. We moved into a new neighbourhood a few weeks ago and I can barely walk out my door without making a new friend. The local café, grocery store, furniture stores, boutiques and ice cream shop (where I'm a regular) all welcome me and baby with huge smiles and lovely chit chat. Never mind other parents-- it's stroller city out there. Every woman with a stroller could potentially be my new best friend. The other day I found myself at a swanky moms n' babes pool party in the west end of the city. Hors d'oeuvres, wine, dessert and fashionable new moms were abundant. Everyone was in fab poolside outfits and the young 30 something host was pregnant with her third. There's no question that having a baby is absolutely en vogue. Ladies, if you're on the fence about having one let it be heard: strollers are the new stilettos.

by Daniela Syrovy
Forget silicone. If you’ve ever dreamed of huge, porn star breasts that will turn heads I’ve figured out the surefire way to accomplish it…breastfeeding! 

That’s right ladies. You don’t even have to give birth - every woman is capable of making breast milk – even those who adopt.  

And voila!  In the span of a week your boobs go from their regular size up three or four sizes. 

Your nipples turn into gigantic cartoon pacifiers and no matter how you try to contain your puppies, your cleavage spills out of every shirt and into the eyeballs of every passerby. 

They get huge—I mean balloon huge. One week after labour every girlfriend I have that visited would start with, “Holy shit! Your boobs are enormous”.  Or the more common “Sorry what were you saying? I can’t concentrate your boobs are just too huge.” So you can imagine the attention you get when you venture out of the house into the real world toting your new Pam Anderson’s. 

I decided to take my little one for a breakfast outing to run a few errands. Instead of stopping at the Tim Hortons that was packed with potential gawkers I opted instead to sit at a quiet German bakery a few doors away. I figured a place that serves liverwurst sandwiches is as good as any to try my hand at my first public feeding. I was relieved to find only two customers in the whole place and both of them over 60. Perfect! 

To my dismay the seemingly nice geriatric couple enjoying their morning toast were both instantly attracted to my giant bazookas.  The man gives me an approving look, while smiling crookedly and raising one eyebrow as if to say, “if only I was 50 years younger I’d hit that.  The woman smiles thinking, “if only I was 50 years younger I’d bitch slap her!” Boob envy!  

Both of them fail to notice the baby snuggled safely in my sling. Then WHAM! I attach baby to breast and the man’s look turns from ‘yeah baby, I’d hit that’ to “run for your lives!” He’s shocked and appalled, and the woman turns away wide eyed. 

Ridiculous. I find it so disgustingly hypocritical that North American society celebrates the breast in movies, in magazines, on the runway, and on television but attach a baby to it and it’s the toughest sell in the world. 

I always joke that the same man or woman who scowls at the breastfeeding mom in public is the same man or woman that goes home to jack off to Internet porn. When are we going to get over it and realize that we’re just animals and as animals it’s normal and natural to feed our babies?  

After the first try I found myself feeding everywhere and anywhere. If a geriatric couple at a German bakery were going to be disturbed by my milk-making melons than I might as well throw caution to the wind and giv’er! Next thing you know we’re breastfeeding at the park, the corner store, the lawyer’s office and even at the bank. As the banker and I talked mortgage, baby was happily sucking away at my boob.  

It became a bit of an addiction. ‘Oh yeah you want to stare at my giant boobs…take this!’ Then I would bust out baby and attach her to the breast. It’s definitely a great way to ward off any nasty men who think they’ve got a shot with you. 

But it wasn’t always this easy, breezy just sashaying into the bank and whipping out my breasts in front of the teller. It took me a week to feel brave enough to go out and publicly feed. Why? Not because I was uncomfortable with people gawking, not because I couldn’t find a big enough bra to contain my boobs (although that was also a challenge). No, the reason it took me a week to go out was because it took me that long to figure the whole damn thing out. For some women I imagine it takes even longer. For others it probably comes naturally, but for me Breastfeeding 101 was tougher than grade 12 Chemistry. 

For the first days of your newborn’s life your breasts do not produce milk they produce pre-milk called colostrum. It’s dubbed ‘liquid gold’ because it’s the perfect meal for your baby packed with loads of nutrients. The only problem is that this pre-milk comes out in tiny dribbles. Take a really firm lemon and squeeze as hard as you can and watch as a tiny droplet of sweat appears on the skin. That’s about as much food baby gets from 30 minutes of suckling. So while you’re trying to get acquainted with your bundle of joy they are sucking as hard as they can suck as if their live depended on it (and it does).  

You’re probably thinking a tiny 8-pound human being is sweet and harmless. Well let me tell you about their sucking powers. Take the most powerful Dirt Devil vacuum you know and place it directly on your nipple. Now do it for 10 hours a day. Cracked, sore, raw and in extreme cases bleeding nipples is what you get.  Through some stroke of luck or perhaps years of having my nipples over-stimulated (ladies get your men to toughen them now), I managed to avoid the cracked, bleeding nipples.  

Engorgement on the other hand was another story. About the third or fourth day after labour as your milk comes in, your boobs swell to gigantic proportions and turn rock hard. When I say rock hard I mean hammerhead hard. You could seriously put an eye out with them, except you don’t want to because they’re on fire and you’re in pain. Milk is coming in fast, hard and hot and you need to empty the load. If baby is not suckling enough the rock hard, white-hot massive boulders could last up to two days. During this time I got my creative juices flowing in an attempt to find ways to cool off the volcanoes. Here’s the tip of the day: Should your breasts engorge and over heat, grab some cabbage, stick it in the fridge to let it cool. Then take the giant cabbage leaves and place them on your bare breasts. The first time I did this I almost had an orgasm. My husband began asking me if I was going to leave him for cabbage. It feels that good. I’m in the process of designing the first ever cabbage bra. I’m thinking of calling it the Cabbra.  

Day four I found myself getting in more of a groove with feeding but I was shocked to find how mental baby gets over breast milk. You’re feeding for what seems like 20 hours a day (literally every couple of hours for roughly 30 minutes), and if you don’t get to baby fast enough things can get ugly. When your adorable little angel first starts showing signs of hunger the trick is to get to her quick. At first she sounds like a little Gremlin --but a nice Gremlin.  

By the time you get to the crib Gizmo is turning into one of the bad Gremlins and she’s not very happy. Before you know it she’s beginning to lose her mind—you’re in 28 Days Later and she’s infected. She’s a vampire in need of blood. When you finally get to picking her up she’s completely rabid. I mean head bopping, foaming at the mouth, flaying arms rabid dog!  It’s like having a little heroin addict in the house and when she needs her hit - damn it she needs it now! It you don’t act fast by the time the baby is on the breast her little fists are punching your breast and she’s hungrily and hysterically trying to latch on.  Then the calm comes and before you know it baby is happily filling her belly with the good stuff. 

The most amazing thing about breastfeeding is how empowering it is. It’s been a few weeks and my little girl has gained an entire pound. When I found this out I almost cried. I know it sounds ridiculous but you feed the little sucker and you feed it and then one day she grows up right before your eyes. The pound she gained came out of my boobs! And while she’s gaining pounds, you’re losing them. I was overjoyed to find that breastfeeding burns 700 calories a day. That’s like an intense spinning session! And all because of milk that naturally comes out of my breasts. 

My body produces everything she needs to grow for the next couple of months - it really is an amazing thing.  Plus breast milk is super powered. The midwives were kind enough to inform me that breast milk is a magical potion. Cut yourself in the kitchen? Just express some breast milk on the cut and you will be healed in a day! Have an eye infection? Pour some breast milk right into your eye and the infection will heal before you can say, “Milk: it does a body good”.  Breast milk has crazy antiseptic powers. All natural, packed with nutrients and antibodies. I’m tempted to roam the streets spraying everything in sight with the good stuff. Milk jetting out of my tits landing in every passerby’s face, flowers blooming as the milk hits it, strangers jumping through the air, hopping around in joy, thanking me for the great healing liquid streaming out of my giant love guns. But first I’ll start with feeding my baby every two hours. 

by Daniela Syrovy
I have to confess that I’m a bit of a dirty hippie and the day I found out I was pregnant I set my sights on a natural home birth.  The idea of going to a hospital to bring a life into this world just grosses me out. Hospitals are for the sick and the dying, not for the pregnant and the newly born. As bull headed as I am, 7 hours into labour I was seriously considering giving up and giving in—thoughts of the dreamy, numbing epidural floating through my head. Here’s how it went down. 

It’s 2am and I wake up with the most excruciating pain I have ever felt. The feeling is similar to crippling menstrual cramps. Except these aren’t your ordinary cramps. These cramps are in overdrive-- they are the Schwarzenegger and Stallone of cramps.

The midwives tell me this is called Early Labour. Early Labour?!! Panic sets in. “Early” suggests there is something beyond that is ‘late’ labour or Labour: Part Two.

Labour: The Really Bad Sequel is all I’m thinking. 

Turns out there is more than just a sequel—this is a quadrilogy. Labour has four stages!

1 )Early Labour – For first time moms this can last up to 48 hours in advance. What you’re supposed to feel here is ‘mild’ cramps (read face-cringing contractions).

This is followed by

2) Active Labour where the real fun starts. Active Labour lasted about 12 hours for me and this is when moms-to-be are supposed to feel regular, strong contractions (read: sledge hammer pounding your uterine walls to a Nickelback song).

Then bam! Out of nowhere you’re in

3) Transition—this is the shortest of the stages but the most out of control. I always picture my menstrual cramps as an evil gnome inside of me punching, squeezing and hammering at my insides. During Transition—this little gnome—this little f*%*ker, he’s brought his friends with him. There are a hundred evil gnomes and they’re all on steroids. The evil things are inside of you stabbing and killing all of your organs to the point where you think you’ll die.

And finally

4) Pushing –We’ve all seen a delivery on television or in a film. Forget what you’ve seen. In tvland the scenario goes:

Wife: “Honey my water broke—I think it’s time.” (Big smiles, excitement and sheer joy all around)

Husband: “Oh dear I better get the car ready.” (Anxious but collected).

Fast forward to the hospital

Doctors: “Push Peggy Sue, Push.”

Moments later the wife huffs and puffs and soon we hear the wail of the child. It appears that pushing takes only a few minutes.

Real life equivalent:

Wife: “Holy S*&t, motherf*&^*$%, when will these contractions end?” (Excruciating pain and exhaustion, sounds erringly similar to a wild beast or other large animal in heat)

Husband: “Stay calm babe. I’m here for you” (Totally shocked at his wife’s animalistic behaviour and instincts).

24 to 48 hours later…

Midwifes: “Ok now pretend as if you are going to take a massive dump. Yup right there, bear down and feel as if you’re going to deliver your baby through your anus. Stretch your perineum” (For those of you who don’t know what your perineum is my advice is to become well acquainted with it before you get knocked up).

Then the midwives continue: “That’s it. Good job. We’re almost there.”

“Almost there” means you push through a contraction as hard as you can and the baby comes forward and then retreats until the next contraction. Two steps forward, one step back and eventually a tiny corner of your baby’s head appears.

Pushing for first timers can take up to two full hours. At this point you’re feeling a serious ring of fire down there and all of your organs are migrating to other parts of your body.

It took me what felt like an eternity to get to the pushing stage.

Despite my determination to have a natural home birth, ten hours into hard labour I was on the verge of giving up. Between cow like wails and bizarre rhythmic squats, between fits of rage and moans of desperation I had fallen asleep twice (my husband told me this the following day-I had no recollection of the sleep). I was truly exhausted and things weren’t looking good.

It was at this point the midwives gave me my options.

“Daniela you’ve been up for over 24 hours, your body is spent, we need your contractions to get longer, stronger and closer together and you need to get your shit together—otherwise we have to move you into the hospital. You won’t have enough energy to get through it. Now eat a damn fuzzy peach.”

They had been offering me fuzzy peaches and other candies for hours but the thought of putting something into my mouth made me want to vomit violently. 

All I could think was “I’m dying!! I don’t want a fuzzy peach to be my last meal!”

I was convinced I was dying. I mean I absolutely believed with everything in me that this was the end of me. Clearly I wasn’t having a baby. There was no way I was having a baby. This was actually somebody’s idea of a sick joke. I was being punished for eating too many burgers. My belly was bloated and now the punishment was death. Death by burgers! There’s no baby –I’m just dying.

As it turns out this was the key to getting through labour. The golden ticket. Once I truly gave into the thought that I was on my deathbed only then could I give into the pain and allow myself to go the distance. I thought if I’m dying anyways I might as well allow the pain to swallow me and finally start listening to what my midwives were saying. Go out with a bang!

In a sadomasochistic trance I kicked it into gear. My adrenaline racing, I popped fuzzy peaches like they were going out of style.

Fuzzy peaches bring it on! Big Feet you got nothing on me! Ginger cookies you’re pathetic! Ha ha ha I’m dying. I’m dying is all I could think and now the joke was deliriously hilarious in my head. I even popped two disgusting chocolate covered coffee beans and swallowed them down with some Gatorade. All of the vomit worthy tips the midwives gave me that I had previously rejected I was now embracing. After all what does it matter if you vomit when you’re dying? 

The next thing I know I’m on the bed and my husband is whispering in my ear “You did it, the baby is coming, all you have to do is push.”

Two hours of anus ripping pushing and bam! Literally bam! I looked out the window and fireworks were going off. My little girl was born on Victoria Day and just as she emerged a wicked showcase of fireworks went off outside. Glorious. Perfect. In an instant you forget the quadrilogy of hell you just went through. In an instant you’re completely madly in love and the whole thing is the most surreal experience you’ve ever encountered. There truly are no words to adequately describe the experience and nothing can prepare you for the pain and beauty of it. For nine months you carry this unknown creature in your belly and one day he/she comes into the world tearing up your vagina! I mean there is nothing more fascinating and beautiful. There is nothing more empowering either. I am now of the opinion that if I could do that, I could do anything! I could climb any mountain; I could whip anybody’s ass. Becoming a mom is akin to becoming a super hero. I absolutely must start brainstorming my new superhero name. All suggestions are welcome.

Maybe superhero is not a strong enough or powerful enough word. The following night in my dreams I dreamt that a random acquaintance came up to me while I was shoe shopping and said, ‘Hey D, what have you been up to lately? What’d you do last night?” and my response was, “Oh you know…not much. Just built a human being inside of me for nine months and then delivered it through my vagina.”

And it dawned on me in the morning that I had actually created life! I Super D Extraordinaire (ok so I’ve got to work on my name) created a human being! This coming from a girl who has trouble creating scrambled eggs.

Superhero and power are not the words—I’m practically God.

Now all God has to do is figure out how to breast feed. Stay tuned…  

***I know I’ve traumatized any women considering having a baby but trust me when I tell you that all the hell is completely worth it once you see the tiny mini human you created.  It’s a mini-me—I mean what narcissist wouldn’t love that? *** 

by Daniela Syrovy
I’m one day away from my due date and looking back on my pregnancy these are the things I learned.

1. Sometimes you just don’t know.
I’m at the bank running an errand. When I first walk in I feel like it’s a bit warm inside. I take off a layer of clothing. As I wait for the five people ahead of me to get their banking done my temperature rises just a little bit and I’m thinking they’ve really cranked the heat at the bank.

The next thing I know I’m laying on the bank floor passed out and when I come to the ambulance is already there and EMS workers are asking: are you diabetic? (no), have you eaten today? (yes), do you have any idea why you fainted? (no), do you have a heart condition? (not that I know of). I’m rushed to the hospital on the thought that I have some serious heart condition. My blood pressure is low, my heart is barely beating and I’m under 30 years old. Hours later in the emergency room the doctor comes gliding into my room and says, “Congratulations” and shimmies out.
Congratulations! Congratulations what? Congratulations I’m alive? Congratulations my heart is still pumping?
20 minutes later he returns and after I accost him he says, “Oh you didn’t know?! You’re pregnant! Congratulations.”

What the %*#@?! I’m thinking ok ok I must be a day pregnant; I must be a week pregnant. How could this be? Turns out I’m 11 weeks pregnant.
Instantly my mind races to all the bad things I’ve done in the last 11 weeks. Heavy drinking, smoking, debauchery. Check, check and check. Only nine weeks prior I had been working the Toronto Film Festival as a publicist running around like a chicken with my head cut off and just a few weeks earlier I’d gone on an indulgent camping trip. Now I was going to be a ‘mom’. For all the gals wondering I did get my monthly visitor—so when it comes to pregnancy anything is possible.
Poof! One plus one equals three!

2. A midwife is not a woman that does your husband during your pregnancy.
She’s a fully trained and certified practitioner that does everything your doctor or OB can do when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth. The difference being that a midwife believes childbirth is a natural process that has gone on since the beginning of time and a doctor sees it as a medical procedure. My doctors’ appointments (pre-midwife) lasted 5 minutes maximum—my appointments with my midwife can last up to an hour long. They answer all of your questions and let you make informed decisions about how you’d like to proceed during pregnancy and labour. They also stay with your for weeks after the birth and check up on the baby. All of this is covered by OHIP! There is no extra cost to have a midwife.

3.You become the main character in the movie Memento
Everyone talks about nausea, vomiting, and fainting as the most common symptoms of pregnancy when what they should really be talking about is how you lose your mind! A few months in I found myself literally forgetting absolutely everything. I could walk away from a dinner party to go to the washroom only to return to the room to find I couldn’t remember what I was doing there.

I began meticulously writing it all down. I wrote down whom I had just spoken to on the phone, where I needed to be, where I stashed my black stilettos. When I asked my midwife about it she responded very nonchalantly, “oh yeah that’s completely normal-your baby is taking all your memory juices away to build their own”
Normal? So beware of the Memento Syndrome during pregnancy and take precautions. You can take omega fish oil supplements and this will help combat the brain drain. Start now ladies!

4.Buying a stroller is harder than buying a car
I never thought dropping the dough for junior’s wheels could be so complicated. Umbrella, jogger, 5 point harness, all-terrain wheels, mommy tray, travel system, canopy, bassinet, pram, window, tandem, swivel wheels, reversible handles—this is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to stroller lingo. My advice is to forgo spending a small fortune on the latest model bugaboo (this is a high end brand of stroller that costs more than twice some peoples rent) and go second hand if you can. Once the baby can walk the stroller is redundant. Don’t get lost in stroller land-steer clear of the smarmy sales reps at the baby stores.

5. People care…sometimes a little too much
The second you have a visible bump, every stranger walking down the street wants to touch it. They want to ask you how far along you are. They want to know if it’s a boy or a girl. They want to help you, they want to give you free decaf at Starbucks, and they want to give up their seat on the subway for you.
They also want to tell you that ‘oh my god you totally shouldn’t be eating sushi-you’re pregnant!” They want to scoff at you when you casually take a sip of wine from your partners’ glass. They want to lecture you about the benefits of eating spinach and about how you should be resting. They look on in disgust when you order a Caesar at the bar. I must say this was the most ridiculous part of pregnancy. People are very concerned with what a woman, drinks, eats and say when she’s pregnant, but as soon as the baby is out—it’s mass exodus. You could feed the child and yourself booze and McDonalds all day long and no one will bat an eye.

6. Exercise is essential and sex is great
I just don’t buy the, “I’m pregnant so I have to sit on the couch and get fat” theory. In my fourth month of pregnancy I did a fitness bootcamp. Ladies get off your asses and do something. It feels good and it’s great for baby who also gets a mini workout every time you move your body.
With sex you have to get creative but it’s fantastic once you figure out how to work around the watermelon attached to your mid section.

7. The name game
The instant you reveal your possible baby names to those asking get ready for a barrage of questions and concerned looks. I’m currently in a battle with my aunt over naming the baby after an Egyptian goddess. Auntie: “Are you insane?! She was a hideous goddess! There is no way you can name a little girl THAT! I will not speak to you if you name the baby that!”

Whatever you do when you’re pregnant and you’ve thought about your names—don’t reveal them to anyone. The names will be judged and scrutinized.
Once the baby is out no one will have a choice and no one will have a thing to say about what you chose to name the baby.

8. There’s more than one reason to eat your veggies
Not only do you need all the nutrients from veggies to sustain your body during the nine months you’re building a super human inside of you, it’s also good for the baby’s taste buds. If you want to avoid a picky eater eat a variety of stuff –even the nasty brussel sprouts you said you wouldn’t touch. If you avoid certain foods don’t be surprised when junior decides he’s not touching his veggies with a ten-foot pole. If you’re binging on Dairy Queen Oreo, Skor blizzards don’t be shocked when the little one throws tantrums for the sweet stuff as soon as he/she can talk.

9. An alien takes over your body
Stretch marks, bloated boobs, leaking nipples, thunder thighs and Sasquatch ankles are all a part of the experience. Somehow I thought I would be immune to these things. I refused to buy maternity clothes, I didn’t slather on the belly jelly. Until one day I looked down and couldn’t see my vagina. A huge belly was in the way and the stretch marks were fast approaching. There’s no avoiding the inevitable. So I gave into the lotioning and potioning. I’m still standing firm on the ‘no maternity clothes’ rule. Instead I shop in my hubby’s closet and in the clearance sections of boutiques searching for the XXL sizes.
I did splurge on a fashionable diaper bag because a girls’s got to treat herself once in a while, especially when she feels like Sigourney Weaver in the movie Alien.

10. Pregnancy is amazing and a beautiful labour is possible
After all the talk I hear of horrible pregnancies, no sleep, vomiting, sore muscles and mood swings, I found that none of that was true for me.
I had an amazing nine months. The hormones evened me out—I felt calm, zen, centred and ready to take on the world. It’s like being permanently stoned.
Through my prenatal ED classes I also heard about tons of women who had natural amazing births. Everyone concentrates on the pain and the horror of delivering, but there is an army of women with incredible birthing experiences.
I’ve already been visualizing my own big day as calm, beautiful and perfect.
Of course I’ve never done it so what do I know.
Check back with me in a week’s time and I’ll probably be cursing the whole 9 months and the labour.