The Bladder as a Speedbag: My Continued Adventures in Gestatin'


Well, it's been a month since my last Art Vandelay update and things are still moving along swimmingly. I can't complain. No, that's not right. I shouldn't complain. I CAN complain. And I will. You bet I will.


Just because things are going really well doesn't mean I have to relinquish my right to bitch and moan about the stuff that makes this whole process just a little bit icky. That's something I've had to work pretty hard to convince myself of. You see, I'm sort of wired to be stiff-upper-lip about everything and there are few things I love more than being a good patient. I am a trouper. The other night, I was whimpering to The Robeau about unrelenting heartburn and foot cramps and lamenting the fact that I wasn't getting any of the sympathy I felt I so richly deserved. Why was no one patting me on the head or telling me how tough I am? It was then I realized, I did this to myself. Let's call it..."troupergate". It's become pretty obvious that if she doesn't vent every once in a while this little trouper might just blow. So, in that spirit, there are a few things I need to get off my chest.


I spend roughly 90 minutes a day on the subway getting to and from work. The Toronto Transit Commission is a joke. Not a funny joke either. The TTC is like something Jay Leno would have read off an index card at the Correspondent's Dinner. The subway is crowded, slow and delayed almost daily. My fellow commuters are smelly, rude and just plain stupid. Old Tracey took most of this in stride and even laughed off the pushy woman shoving her on the escalator, the drugged out guy falling asleep on her shoulder at 9:30 AM and the perv grabbing her boob. New Gestatin' Tracey CANNOT STAND ANY OF IT. It takes me at least half an hour to phych myself up in the morning and at the end of the work day to even set foot on the train and another good hour to wind down once I get home, without, need I even mention, the aid of red wine. I hate it so much it's almost enough to make me understand people who move to soulless desolate communities in the suburbs. The worst part? I know it's going to get worse before it gets better.


Feel compelled to tell the pregnant lady how crazed and sleep deprived she's going to be in a few months? Shut it. Tempted to condescend to her about about fat ankles, time management or child rearing? Shut it. Unsolicited advice of any kind? Shut. It. How about YOU enjoy yourself while you still can, Jackhole? The most interesting part of this little phenomenon is that the loudest and most irritating of the lot are the childless. I've noticed that most mothers I know have gained enough wisdom (no doubt after being patronized to by human megaphones themselves) to know when to shut it.


Sometimes my back hurts. Not to mention, round ligament pain isn't for punks. And? Oy, the heartburn. Please, let's not talk about the hormones. I might cry. And then yell at you. And then cry.


By far the coolest development so far is being able to feel Art move around. I started to feel the "flutters" they tell you about at about 14 weeks but honest to goodness kicking, flipping and turning commenced about two weeks ago. Now that the sneaky fetus is weighing in at 2lbs we can feel the kicks on the outside and even see them. Which is one part awesome, one part totally creepy and a daily reminder that Holy Shit, There's A Baby In There. In fact, don't take my word for it, check out this video that a nice lady posted on the internet of her 24 week pregnant belly moving around. You've got to know I'm not going to be videotaping my belly anytime soon, but I am grateful to the nice ladies out there on the internet that have the gumption to do just that. If they do it, I don't have to.


The other moments of proof are pretty cool. Getting to hear the heartbeat at the midwives and the ultrasounds. We had another ultrasound last week and while our technician had to be the MOST non-committal ultrasound tech in the known universe (She will admit to nothing! We think she's been sued.) What she showed us sure looked like girl bits. Or, you know, a hamburger. But she will not commit! The only thing she will commit to is the fact that it is "really hard to find VHS tapes these days" and "none of us had ultrasounds before we were born and we turned out fine", which begs the question...why are you in this line of work?! Anyway, she's a character. Here's some of her handiwork:

Oooohhhhh....soooo creeeeeepy.

Seriously. Pretty cute, right? Just LOOK at that round head!


I've had a few requests for a belly pic. I was reluctant, but I figured since you asked nicely...

You're welcome, blogosphere.


  1. That's a pretty awesome belly.

  2. Odds are you and the Robeau will be waking the Kid up to watch Conan on TBS.

  3. I went into labour on the TTC and still couldn't get a seat!

    Once you're closer to the due date you might want to consider staying above ground in case of transit delay. You wouldn't want to have a "movie of the week" delivery.

  4. Troupergate, hahah!

    that is so cool you can feel him moving around!

  5. I was fine...And now I'm scared...


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