Put your hand up if you know the feeling: You’re pregnant, and maybe you’re pretty uncomfortable, but you don’t yet have the tell-tale baby bump. So instead of snagging that seat on the subway and accepting congratulations from strangers, you just get mistaken for someone who’s put on a few pounds. It can feel like an undignified in-between phase for someone who’s actually creating the miracle of new life!
Well, it turns out Japanese women actually have a solution to this problem: Some choose to wear badges that announce their pregnancy to strangers. The blog Tokyo Urban Baby has a peek into what such badges look like—they’re pretty cute—and how to use them as effectively as possible to score a place to sit on public transportation. It’s a pretty brilliant idea right?
Maybe so. But according to a recent government study cited in The Japan Times—and this might not surprise you—nearly 60 percent of men in that country are totally clueless as to what these badges are or signify. (Womp womp.)
Nevertheless, at least in theory, I think Japanese mamas-to-be are onto something. And here’s another similar idea whose time I think has equally come: Let’s consider a socially recognizable badge that identifies a new mom who is actually not pregnant anymore… so don’t you dare ask when she’s due!
Want to know for sure if you’re expecting? Take our quiz to see if it’s time to get that pregnancy test. And don’t forget to like Everything Pregnancy on Facebook to keep up with the latest in pregnancy-related news.
Photo courtesy of Shutterstock
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The day I delivered my babies is both completely blurry and seared indelibly into memory.
After a long, surreal lead-up to my scheduled c-section, there was nothing left to do but deliver some twins. On July 22, at 38 weeks, we were actually sleeping when the alarm sounded at 4 a.m. For the last time, I peeled my enormously pregnant body from the bed and got in the shower, following with my full hair and makeup routine. My husband, David, couldn’t understand why I would bother, but of course I knew 1) there would be pictures! And 2) it might be a very long time before I managed such a feat again.
For the last time as a family of two, we left the house with our bags packed. It was a warm, beautiful early morning, and we snapped a picture of the moon over our house. Minutes later, we arrived at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center where we had our pick of prime parking spaces at 5 a.m. — a dream for a Los Angeleno, and an auspicious beginning to a big day! I noticed a sign that advertised discounted parking at a weekly rate, and as I shuffled into the hospital, I asked the parking attendant how to get the weekly pass, which would save us $10 over the course of our four-day stay. David couldn’t believe I found the energy to focus on such a pursuit, but I reminded him that every dollar counts with two babies on the way! And I’m nothing if not a hustler for a great bargain.
We made our way inside to check in for labor and delivery, at the same desk we had seen on our maternity ward tour when the reality of this day seemed infinitely far off — as if it were actually on another planet instead of just weeks away. This time, it was we who were checking into the hospital to deliver babies, and it was still too enormous to process.
We met our wonderful nurse, Griselda, who would be with us for 14 hours that day. She got us all prepared, running my IV line and strapping on two fetal monitors, one in blue and one in pink. She’d be my guardian angel — among many — during our stay.
Eventually, it was off to the operating room, where TLC’s “No Scrubs” was playing; the anesthesiologist had apparently honored my preference for ’90s hip-hop when he selected the Pandora station. I remember registering the neat play on hospital scrubs as the terror set in. I was most worried about this part of the day: David would have to stay outside in the hall as the team administered my spinal. It was the only time we’d have to be separated. As I sat sideways on the operating table with my legs dangling and my back exposed, Griselda squeezed my hands as she leaned into me, forehead to forehead. I’ll always remember her caring support.
Soon, the anesthesia began to take effect, and I didn’t like the feeling one bit — the feeling that my body had vanished from the boobs down, and there was no guarantee I’d be able to feel it again. I panicked.
The team let David come in early, and they also ran Propofol into my IV for the anxiety. David used the tools in his tool box to calm me: He rattled off a list of words that corresponded to my favorite images and memories. “Our first dance… Bora Bora honeymoon… scuba diving Belize… the beach in Rio…” He named as many of my favorite things he could think of in the moment, before, owing to his own nerves, he just repeated the list.
I heard my obstetrician say, “We’re down to the uterus now,” but I was less concerned about the progress of the surgery and more eager to feel my body again. Soon, I heard the cry: My son was out in the world. David’s face was hovering just over mine, and though his mouth was covered with a green hospital mask, I could see that his eyes exploded with emotion. Our son.
Someone announced the weight: six pounds, six ounces. Then another cry and another weight: five pounds, 12 ounces. My daughter was on the outside too. Both were whisked to the other side of what felt like a very big room for their initial medical attention. I heard someone tell David, “…other than that, she’s great.” I called out to try to understand what that meant. It turned out my daughter’s body temperature was low, but she was quickly warmed up. And beyond that, they were perfect. I felt rhythmic tugging as the doc stitched me all up. And then someone (was it David?) brought the babies over to my chest so I could hold them for the first time, one nestled under each arm. We’re a family of four now — imagine that.
From the operating room, we moved to the post-op recovery room, where my parents came with pink and blue balloons and held the babes. We shared their names for the first time: Maya Zoe and Jordan Oscar. Jordan was platinum blonde like me at birth, and Maya had dark hair — something she got from her dad that I never expected. They were devastating in their sweetness, too precious for words. How improbable and magical that we actually made them and I carried them inside!
From there, we moved to what was supposed to be our room for the next four days. It turned out, we’d move again.
As the team of nurses was transferring me from the gurney to the hospital bed, I noticed a lot of blood. I said, “That’s normal, right…?” There was some focused silence and then a second nurse said to Griselda, “It’s just that I’ve never seen a clot that big.” Quickly, the babies vanished out of the room on their way to the nursery, and our tiny room filled with people. David said he counted nine in addition to us. One of the doctors was really young and I called him Doogie Howser. I was high on Propofol. And I was hemmorhaging: My uterus had been so distended from carrying 12 pounds and two ounces of baby to full term that, like an overstretched rubber band, it could not contract.
In another far-off era, or in another part of the world, that might have been the end of me. But with access to such quality health care and thanks to modern medicine, I didn’t worry about my mortality. I did however, feel anxious for the team to resolve the situation, and I thought the thermometer bouncing up and down in my mouth was a physical manifestation of my anxiety. In reality, I’d later learn, the shaking was just a standard side effect of narcotic drugs.
Griselda pressed repeatedly on my post-op stomach; it’s not the relaxing spa-like treatment I’d pictured when she’d said she was going to periodically “massage the uterus.” Doogie Howser administered a bunch of drugs including Pitocin. And within a few tense hours, my bleeding issue was resolved.
For the first night, we moved to an acute care wing of the hospital, instead of the standard labor and delivery ward, and the babies rejoined us, sleeping serenely most of that first day — hazy, as it was, for all of us. Apparently, my situation warranted some attention, with the head nurse coming to check on me as the first stop on her shift later that evening. I told her she was stunning and looked like Nia Long because I was still high on Morphine and Propofol, and was, apparently, without filters. (And because she was and did.)
Outside the window, I could see that night was finally falling on what was, without any question, the most intense and wondrous and magical day of my life: the day my twin miracles came into the world.
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Photo: Courtesy of Alesandra Dubin
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It looks like Liv Tyler’s going to be a mom again! The Leftovers and Lord of the Rings star announced that she’s expecting her second child, with boyfriend Dave Gardner, a sports agent. (Her older son, Milo, is from her previous marriage with Royston Langdon.)
And that means legendary rocker Steven Tyler of Aerosmith (recently a judge on American Idol), is about to become a grandpa again! (He’s Liv’s dad.)
Congrats to the family on this great news!
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Image: Liv Tyler by JStone / Shutterstock.com
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Telling your mate that you’re pregnant is a really big deal—and lots of us like to do it up in style. But when Gwen Stefani discovered she was expecting her third child, baby Apollo, her method of sharing the news with hubby Gavin Rossdale was a little more unconventional.
As Us Weekly reports, in an appearance on Howard Stern’s radio show yesterday, Gavin spilled the beans on how Gwen told him. “I got this email on the road, from Gwen, and the title was in capitals, ‘LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO ME NOW.’ I was like, ‘What is this?’ My blood pressure went through the roof. And I opened the e-mail, and it was the pregnancy stick.’”
It wasn’t exactly the most romantic way to share the big news, but I’m thinking it’s kind of like how your oldest child gets the completely filled in baby book and thousands of pictures of every milestone along they way, while the second and third kids kind of get the short shaft. For instance, we made three photo books documenting my oldest daughter’s arrival, while there’s one slim volume for my youngest.
Tell us: How did you tell your mate that you were expecting? Did your announcements get a little less elaborate with each additional pregnancy?
Not sure if you’re expecting? Take our quiz to see if it’s time to get that pregnancy test. And don’t forget to like Everything Pregnancy on Facebook to keep up with the latest in pregnancy-related news.
Image: Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale, by DFree / Shutterstock.com
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Sara Gilbert is expecting again! The actress announced her pregnancy live on her show The Talk, when she backed out of a dare that involved lying on a bed of nails and having a cinder block broken over her belly. (Neither thing would be especially good for baby, am I right?) This will be the third baby for Sara, who has a daughter, Sawyer, and a son, Levi, from a previous relationship. (Sara’s currently married to rocker Linda Perry.)
And it looks like Shakira and her fiancé, FC Barcelona footballer Gerard Piqué, are having a boy again! As People.com reports, in an interview with Hola! magazine, the pop singer’s parents spilled the beans that it’s another boy to join big brother Milan.
Congrats to both couples! (And I can’t wait to see what baby names they pick—as both made some intriguing choices the first times around.)
If you’re expecting, sign up for our pregnancy newsletters to give you the inside scoop, every step of the way. And don’t forget to like Everything Pregnancy to keep up with the very latest in pregnancy news.
Image: Sara Gilbert and Linda Perry by s_bukley / Shutterstock.com
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