<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824</id><updated>2011-09-30T19:18:57.233-07:00</updated><category term='Things I Did While Pregnant With You'/><title type='text'>Body Notes</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>55</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-6708977891773446040</id><published>2009-06-11T11:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T11:32:59.343-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pictures from a Pregnancy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFNlcf5MdI/AAAAAAAABng/DrtlgBUYVrY/s1600-h/photo%284%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFNlcf5MdI/AAAAAAAABng/DrtlgBUYVrY/s320/photo%284%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346139538365952466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFNlIQlmxI/AAAAAAAABnY/rzSPuFpCToU/s1600-h/photo%285%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFNlIQlmxI/AAAAAAAABnY/rzSPuFpCToU/s320/photo%285%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346139532933045010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-6708977891773446040?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/6708977891773446040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=6708977891773446040' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6708977891773446040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6708977891773446040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/06/pictures-from-pregnancy.html' title='Pictures from a Pregnancy'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFNlcf5MdI/AAAAAAAABng/DrtlgBUYVrY/s72-c/photo%284%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-4333653361775429109</id><published>2009-06-11T11:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T11:27:20.877-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The End of the Journey</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFMZyWZevI/AAAAAAAABmc/pOubgW0T_uo/s1600-h/At+Home+2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFMZyWZevI/AAAAAAAABmc/pOubgW0T_uo/s320/At+Home+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346138238561647346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFMaRTdKNI/AAAAAAAABms/kZOwkzs4HFA/s1600-h/At+Home+5.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFMaRTdKNI/AAAAAAAABms/kZOwkzs4HFA/s320/At+Home+5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346138246870804690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFMaHWw8cI/AAAAAAAABmk/ZzQxer7DYdw/s1600-h/At+Home+3.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFMaHWw8cI/AAAAAAAABmk/ZzQxer7DYdw/s320/At+Home+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346138244200329666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" width="288" height="192" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;feat=flashalbum&amp;amp;RGB=0x000000&amp;amp;feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Flauren.e.jost%2Falbumid%2F5346137449709027137%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-4333653361775429109?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/4333653361775429109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=4333653361775429109' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4333653361775429109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4333653361775429109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/06/end-of-journey.html' title='The End of the Journey'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SjFMZyWZevI/AAAAAAAABmc/pOubgW0T_uo/s72-c/At+Home+2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-1058262704376519401</id><published>2009-05-23T07:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-23T07:28:23.695-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I will write a long, detailed post soon about the birth, but for now, please check out &lt;a href="http://teamjost.blogspot.com"&gt;http://teamjost.blogspot.com&lt;/a&gt; for all the latest delights!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-1058262704376519401?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/1058262704376519401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=1058262704376519401' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1058262704376519401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1058262704376519401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-will-write-long-detailed-post-soon.html' title=''/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-1134284644472822436</id><published>2009-05-16T19:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-16T19:54:16.869-07:00</updated><title type='text'>He's Coming...</title><content type='html'>After a week of up-and-down blood pressure tests and another day at the hospital being monitored, our doctor has diagnosed me with mild preeclampsia and recommended inducing delivery.  She wanted to do it tonight, but neither the baby nor I were in any immediate danger, so we decided to come home and have a nice dinner, get a good night's sleep, and go in tomorrow morning to deliver. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so overwhelmed and a little in denial.  It seems impossible that tomorrow (or Monday morning) I will have my son in my arms.  I am a little terrified of having an induced labor, with the potential for intense pain that comes with it, but I know that it will be over soon and will fade quickly into memory once I have that little one here in front of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he will be here soon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to be sad not to be  pregnant anymore.  I've been blessed with a really enjoyable and easy pregnancy, and I found myself looking at my belly several times today and being really sad that it will be gone.  This has been a special time, and I am only just barely beginning to understand that it's almost over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the next part will be better and more amazing than I can yet fathom. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-1134284644472822436?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/1134284644472822436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=1134284644472822436' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1134284644472822436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1134284644472822436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/05/hes-coming.html' title='He&apos;s Coming...'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-8858082451549443613</id><published>2009-05-13T12:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-13T12:51:22.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Expecting</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SgsjaBoWKVI/AAAAAAAABXI/scnaobqqSq8/s1600-h/pregnant.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 279px; height: 356px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SgsjaBoWKVI/AAAAAAAABXI/scnaobqqSq8/s320/pregnant.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335397113571715410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A beautiful illustration by my friend Treasure Frey - google her, her pictures are fabulous.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-8858082451549443613?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/8858082451549443613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=8858082451549443613' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8858082451549443613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8858082451549443613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/05/expecting.html' title='Expecting'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SgsjaBoWKVI/AAAAAAAABXI/scnaobqqSq8/s72-c/pregnant.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-7737885686138280001</id><published>2009-05-11T07:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T07:58:06.894-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Increasing Pressure</title><content type='html'>For the first time, my body is back-firing on me a little bit.  I went in for a check-up on Friday, and my blood pressure was high, which led to many hours at the hospital being monitored.  Baby is doing just fine for right now, but it seems that,  unless my blood pressure goes down on its own, my uterus may not be the most ideal spot for him for much longer.  The doctors have started to talk about inducing labor once I reach 38 weeks, and although it is sort of nice to know that we might be on a more concrete timeline than we had been preparing for, it is also a little sad to think that my body isn't quite up to the task of finishing the job without help.  There's no real reason for gestational hypertension, and no real cure besides rest and delivery, so I pretty much just have to wait and see if it gets worse, or better, and take it from there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sad that it is looking likely that I'll have an induced labor.  I was really hoping to have a natural birth, with all the lovely things that go with it, and now it seems that I'll have to wait til the next time around.  But I am coming to realize that with pregnancy and parenting, very little goes according to plan.  We've spent months and months and months planning for something that is entirely out of our hands, and I'm trying to feel good about just letting go and seeing where it leads. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have another appointment today to check in on everything, and I'll be staying close to home from now on - no more meetings or shows or running around the city.  Except to visit the doctor, of course.  I have to take care of my body so it can continue taking good care of the little body inside of it.  Which is not so simple as it had once seemed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-7737885686138280001?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/7737885686138280001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=7737885686138280001' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7737885686138280001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7737885686138280001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/05/increasing-pressure.html' title='Increasing Pressure'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-2623289263870542506</id><published>2009-05-11T06:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T07:41:15.012-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Almost-Mother's Day</title><content type='html'>I had an incredibly relaxing weekend.  It may be one of my last, so it was particularly sweet.  It involved:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Movies and take-out with Zach&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;An absolutely divine prenatal massage&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Shopping at the Farmers' Market&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;LOTS of sitting in the garden&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Napping&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;A fancy mani-pedi with a dear friend&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Having friends over for dinner/desserts/drinks in the garden&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Flowers and board books&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;A wonderful brunch cooked by a wonderful man&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;A walk (or, rather, a very very slow stroll) through the blooming and bustling park&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Lots and lots of rest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;It was wonderful.  I won't be leaving the house or immediate neighborhood much from here on out, and this weekend was a nice way to wind down and spiral in toward my nest.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-2623289263870542506?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/2623289263870542506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=2623289263870542506' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2623289263870542506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2623289263870542506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/05/almost-mothers-day.html' title='Almost-Mother&apos;s Day'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-8581087894247910261</id><published>2009-05-07T11:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T11:54:04.604-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby is a Carnivore</title><content type='html'>I haven't eaten red meat for 11 years.  Or, I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hadn't&lt;/span&gt; eaten red meat for 11 years.  All of a sudden, steak seems like a fantastic idea.  I mean, a really REALLY fantastic idea.  And on Sunday, on the way home, I made Zach stop at Five Guys and get me a cheeseburger. Not a turkey cheeseburger.  An actual cheeseburger.  And it was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;good&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;feat=flashalbum&amp;amp;RGB=0x000000&amp;amp;feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Flauren.e.jost%2Falbumid%2F5333155928085663729%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26hl%3Den_US" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" width="288" height="192"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What Baby wants, Baby gets.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-8581087894247910261?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/8581087894247910261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=8581087894247910261' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8581087894247910261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8581087894247910261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/05/baby-is-carnivore.html' title='Baby is a Carnivore'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-1504774449864997727</id><published>2009-05-07T07:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T08:04:48.877-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Preparations</title><content type='html'>My body has been experiencing subtle shifts this week that have made me realize that this journey will, sometime soon, come to an end.  A gentle downward pull.  Pressure where there hasn't been any before.  I don't think I'm going to go into labor &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;yet&lt;/span&gt;, but I have realized that I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;am  &lt;/span&gt;going to go into labor at some point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have just over four weeks until my due date, but only one week until I'm considered "full term".  It's a strange place to be, because I am feeling the need to mentally and physically prepare myself for the possibility that the baby could be here as soon as next week, but also the reality that it could be another six full weeks.  This is going to be a real test of my patience and ability to let go of expectations.  I don't want to be caught unprepared, but I also don't want to set myself up for frustration when it doesn't happen as soon as it could.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am spending this time being watchful and aware of the changes happening inside of me.  Zach and I are quietly enjoying the last few weeks of our time alone together and finishing the necessary preparations for our little guy.  We're on our way...we just don't know for how much longer...&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SgL4bi-wmqI/AAAAAAAABU4/hIZRf12ac8E/s1600-h/springtime.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SgL4bi-wmqI/AAAAAAAABU4/hIZRf12ac8E/s320/springtime.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333098060890282658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;springtime mommy-to-be...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-1504774449864997727?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/1504774449864997727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=1504774449864997727' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1504774449864997727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1504774449864997727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/05/preparations.html' title='Preparations'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SgL4bi-wmqI/AAAAAAAABU4/hIZRf12ac8E/s72-c/springtime.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-6644282221099055952</id><published>2009-04-30T07:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T09:12:39.023-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Feet</title><content type='html'>A sudden swelling has come on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first I noticed that my toes were rounder than normal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I noticed that my shoes were tighter than before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yesterday I looked down and realized that my feet as I had known them had disappeared, and in their place were round and puffy appendages I did not recognize.  They still had the rough soles and chipped polish that characterized my old feet, but not one of the veins or tendons or lines I was used to seeing.  Zach has been very attentive, rubbing and holding my swollen feet, helping me rest and easing my discomfort, but nothing can quite make the swelling go down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Yorkers depend our feet to get us where we need to go.  There is no place that I go that doesn't involve a 6 or 7 block walk, even to get to the train or bus.  I walk to work, I walk to the store, I walk to yoga, I walk to see friends. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walking has gotten harder with a bigger belly, a slower gait.  I've had to adjust how long it takes me to get from place to place.  But now, my shoes don't even fit.  Planning my day does not just involve adding a little extra time - it requires planning the shortest route  between any three to five destinations, knowing in advance any stops that might arise, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;strategizing&lt;/span&gt; for spots to sit and rest and possibly even put my feet up for a few minutes.  New York is no place for a woman at the end of her pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought new shoes yesterday, to help me get around.  They still squeeze my swollen feet a little, but I think my days of trekking around the city are numbered.  My feet are telling me that it is time to stay near home.  Time to rest.  I am getting toward the end of this journey, and my body is giving me a very clear sign of what it is I need to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-6644282221099055952?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/6644282221099055952/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=6644282221099055952' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6644282221099055952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6644282221099055952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-feet.html' title='My Feet'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-4914764863560520167</id><published>2009-04-30T07:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T07:21:48.602-07:00</updated><title type='text'>34 Weeks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SfmzhQL1b_I/AAAAAAAABRw/1nrcKKKcTo0/s1600-h/belly+-+April+2009+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 319px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SfmzhQL1b_I/AAAAAAAABRw/1nrcKKKcTo0/s320/belly+-+April+2009+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330489017831354354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm having random strangers stop me to talk about my belly.  "Oh, how far along are you?", and "You're carrying so low!  It must be a boy!", and "Is this your first!?!"  It's sweet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-4914764863560520167?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/4914764863560520167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=4914764863560520167' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4914764863560520167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4914764863560520167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/04/34-weeks.html' title='34 Weeks'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SfmzhQL1b_I/AAAAAAAABRw/1nrcKKKcTo0/s72-c/belly+-+April+2009+002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-8234689810486898641</id><published>2009-04-28T05:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T05:20:03.715-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring in my Step</title><content type='html'>New York is finally in bloom.  Every year, there is one day when the parks suddenly transform from brown to a light misty green and the flower-boxes explode with color.  I left a dull city on Friday and returned on Sunday to find it remade.  Even my dark courtyard has been getting enough warmth to start sprouting shoots of green and yellow and pink.  It is beautiful.  And Brooklyn is filling up with babies.  There are pasty parents and glowing babies emerging from every brownstone, filling up the sidewalks with strollers and smiles.  Soon I'll be among them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The warm breezes and fresh growth makes me feel like a new woman.  The cloud of fatigue that had been hanging over me last month has lifted, and I find myself actually looking forward to running out of the house on errands or to classes.  It is just such a joy to be outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if Baby can feel the warmth and smell the growing things.  Does the sunshine make him want to come out and play, too?  Or does he want to stay tucked up in his dark nest?&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sfb0W9NwtsI/AAAAAAAABRQ/Qiq_bu9X6aM/s1600-h/IMG_0330.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sfb0W9NwtsI/AAAAAAAABRQ/Qiq_bu9X6aM/s320/IMG_0330.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329715884266141378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-8234689810486898641?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/8234689810486898641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=8234689810486898641' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8234689810486898641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8234689810486898641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/04/spring-in-my-step.html' title='Spring in my Step'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sfb0W9NwtsI/AAAAAAAABRQ/Qiq_bu9X6aM/s72-c/IMG_0330.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-2286243912804078714</id><published>2009-04-16T15:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T16:07:09.620-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Discrepancy</title><content type='html'>I have a scale at home and have been watching the numbers spike higher and higher, after many months of staying pretty stable.  I am still within my "overall" range of weight gain, but I had gained almost ten pounds in the last several weeks.  Not surprising given that my belly has popped out to "fully pregnant" mode, and that I hadn't really gained a lot until this point.  But still, I was nervous about going into the doctor and getting lectured about gaining too much too quickly, especially because in my heart of hearts I have to admit that this gain also coincides with the advent of a very powerful sweet tooth.  So, imagine my surprise, when I stepped on the scale this afternoon at the doctors' office, to find I had not only NOT gained 10 lbs, I had actually lost a couple pounds since my last visit!!!!!  I simply can not believe this, but the nurse swore it was right, and the doctor actually said "whatever you're doing, keep doing it!"  She obviously doesn't suspect that what I'm "doing" these days involves a lot of cookies, ice cream, and bagels.  Also, is it weird that my doctor seemed happy I was losing weight without asking me about my diet?  I know she was referring to a slightly high glucose tolerance test that puts me at risk for growing a "too big" baby, and she did measure my fundus to ensure that the little guy was growing at the right rate, but still...being overweight makes me over-analyze every little thing that comes up involving doctors and weigh-ins...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-2286243912804078714?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/2286243912804078714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=2286243912804078714' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2286243912804078714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2286243912804078714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/04/discrepancy.html' title='Discrepancy'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-6604263938109451075</id><published>2009-04-09T16:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T16:51:45.552-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Slowing Down</title><content type='html'>The last couple weeks, I have been feeling the need to slow down.  Sometimes, my body doesn't give me a choice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Twice in the last week I took a spill, the sprawling, bag-flying, shoe-losing, full-body kind of sidewalk tumble that is sure to get you concerned comments from walkers-by, especially when they realize you are pregnant.  I managed to avoid landing on my expansive midsection both times, but I did bang up my hand and knee pretty well.  I guess I must have been walking too fast, or my balance is off, or something.  Either way, I was pretty shaken up, especially after the second time.  I just started crying right there in the middle of the street and I called Zach and made him come pick me up and he took me home and made me a cup of tea and put me to bed.  I don't know what I would do without him here to take care of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost immediately following this episode I came down with a cold.  This marks the first time that I've been sick since I got pregnant (besides morning sickness, of course), so I can't complain too much.  I had already been realizing that I might be pushing myself a little bit, in terms of my schedule, so when I started feeling sick I canceled all my classes and stayed home for three days straight.  Almost a little self-imposed bed-rest.  It felt really good to be quiet, to be alone, and to take care of myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still 8 weeks away from my due date, and it seems like way too soon to stop working, but I'm trying to be better about spacing out my schedule a little bit.  It's hard to admit that I can't do as much as I used to, and it's hard to say no when I get asked to take something on.  It's hard to admit that I'm not as tough as other women who keep working right up until their due date.  But I just can't do it.  Even on good days, I get tired very easily.  And if I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; push myself too hard one day, it takes twice as long as usual for me to catch up.  So it's time to slow down.  And soon it is going to be time to stop all together.  That time is getting closer every week.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-6604263938109451075?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/6604263938109451075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=6604263938109451075' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6604263938109451075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6604263938109451075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/04/slowing-down.html' title='Slowing Down'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-8565866114373585123</id><published>2009-04-07T19:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T19:47:40.823-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Auntie Lauren and Amelia - 30 Weeks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SdwQE0SAtTI/AAAAAAAABLQ/yoAsdpo12DI/s1600-h/IMG_5921.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SdwQE0SAtTI/AAAAAAAABLQ/yoAsdpo12DI/s320/IMG_5921.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322146534584792370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One of us has a ball under her shirt.  The other has a cousin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-8565866114373585123?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/8565866114373585123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=8565866114373585123' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8565866114373585123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8565866114373585123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/04/auntie-lauren-and-amelia-30-weeks.html' title='Auntie Lauren and Amelia - 30 Weeks'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SdwQE0SAtTI/AAAAAAAABLQ/yoAsdpo12DI/s72-c/IMG_5921.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-7195380932234596231</id><published>2009-04-02T17:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T17:57:35.562-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sharing</title><content type='html'>When you are pregnant, you are never alone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everywhere I go, I have a little being with me who hears what I hear, tastes what I eat, feels when I'm stressed, and taps me to remind me that he's still in there.  As if I could forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carrying someone inside of you is possibly the most intimate experience that I can imagine, but this intimacy is being shared with a stranger.  Someone I haven't yet met.  I think that maybe it would be better if we could do it in reverse.  Meet our child, fall in love with him, know that I love him more than anything else, and THEN be able to tuck him inside of me and carry him around and take perfect care of him.  But I don't get it that way.  Instead I am sharing the most generous, giving, nurturing, supportive thing I will ever do with someone I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been thinking about what it will be like when he isn't inside of me anymore.  I think I will miss him, even though he'll be right here on the outside.  But I won't have the constant companion that I've had this year, I won't feel him turning and kicking and dancing inside of me.  I wonder if I'll be lonely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-7195380932234596231?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/7195380932234596231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=7195380932234596231' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7195380932234596231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7195380932234596231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/04/sharing.html' title='Sharing'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-5775355950869728997</id><published>2009-03-18T12:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T13:23:27.571-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Napping</title><content type='html'>I have taken a nap every afternoon this week so far.  I've been teaching in the mornings, and I just can't quite make it through the day as easily any more without laying down to recharge.  I come home, I make myself an avocado sandwich, and I curl up with the cats for at least 40 minutes. They are enjoying this almost as much as I am.  I think that maybe my body is preparing me for having a napping newborn around who also needs to crash out in the afternoons. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so tired after teaching today, and carrying a bag of groceries home from the store was what pushed me over the edge.  I think that I have to accept that there are no more full days in my schedule - only half days.  I don't know how all the other women out there do it.  I don't know, maybe it would be easier if I only had one job instead of three that I'm patching together.  Even though I'm not working full-time hours, it takes a lot of effort to make sure that I'm not dropping any balls.  Naps are the linchpin holding it together.  I'm lucky I've been able to come home and take them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-5775355950869728997?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/5775355950869728997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=5775355950869728997' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/5775355950869728997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/5775355950869728997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/03/napping.html' title='Napping'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-7118196006277939292</id><published>2009-03-13T15:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T16:01:59.621-07:00</updated><title type='text'>28 Weeks</title><content type='html'>Today is the first day of my third trimester.  I'm entering the beginning of the end.  I celebrated by going to prenatal yoga with my dear friend Victoria, who is REALLY beginning the end, as she is going to give birth any day now.  I was in class with several women who were at 37, 38, 39 weeks and who probably won't be in class next week because they'll have their babies.  It made me feel like I'm still very far away from that stage, but all assure me that I'm much closer than I think and that this trimester will fly by much quicker than the first two did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have felt very very lucky to have girlfriends (and a sister!) who are sharing pregnancy-times with me, and I am particularly grateful for the community of women I've met through my yoga classes.  Even though I may never see most of them outside of class, it has really been special to gather together and talk about what is going on each week and really appreciate how unique and different each pregnancy is.  Best of luck to Victoria as she leaves the land of pregnant women and enters the land of mothers!!!  I'm not too far behind!&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sbrk3GEJ8QI/AAAAAAAABKA/r3RR0jjN2hg/s1600-h/photo%285%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sbrk3GEJ8QI/AAAAAAAABKA/r3RR0jjN2hg/s320/photo%285%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312810345608900866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So, here's a little picture of me at 6 months and Victoria at 9 as we left yoga this morning...I'm feeling pretty good, but I'm in the middle of a growth spurt that is giving me some extra strain.  I'm sure I'll adjust soon.  And as Zach says, "Of course it's going to hurt a little - you're 6 months pregnant."  Yes, I am.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-7118196006277939292?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/7118196006277939292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=7118196006277939292' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7118196006277939292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7118196006277939292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/03/28-weeks.html' title='28 Weeks'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sbrk3GEJ8QI/AAAAAAAABKA/r3RR0jjN2hg/s72-c/photo%285%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-7934470510458576038</id><published>2009-03-11T15:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T15:46:25.834-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Preparing</title><content type='html'>We had our first Childbirth Ed class last night, and Z and I were bombarded with pictures of effaced cervixes, mucus plugs, birth canals, and stretched perineums.  I would be lying if I didn't say there was a moment when I thought, "Umm...thanks, but I think I'll pass."  I am on a one-way train here, folks, and there is no getting off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That being said, it is kind of amazing and inspiring to think about all the things my body knows how to do without me knowing how to do a thing.  It can grow a placenta, it can make my uterus expand to 40x its regular size, it can decide when contractions need to start and, completely without my help, it will push a fully-grown human being out.  We didn't really do anything except sprinkle in some fertilizer.  All those cells have split, all those organs have developed, all those brain synapses have formed, all those muscles have stretched without me doing a thing except eat and trying not to stress out too badly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-7934470510458576038?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/7934470510458576038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=7934470510458576038' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7934470510458576038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7934470510458576038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/03/preparing.html' title='Preparing'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-5234041429623438868</id><published>2009-03-02T20:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T15:29:32.027-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Laugh Button</title><content type='html'>When I laugh, my belly button pops out.  I think it's hillarious.  Zach thinks it is a little creepy.  Pretty soon, though, it will just pop out all the time.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sbg7JcC4ALI/AAAAAAAABJ4/uLoHwkWMBlY/s1600-h/photo%284%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sbg7JcC4ALI/AAAAAAAABJ4/uLoHwkWMBlY/s320/photo%284%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312060793816613042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Believe it or not, it feels even funnier than it looks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-5234041429623438868?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/5234041429623438868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=5234041429623438868' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/5234041429623438868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/5234041429623438868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/03/laugh-button.html' title='Laugh Button'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/Sbg7JcC4ALI/AAAAAAAABJ4/uLoHwkWMBlY/s72-c/photo%284%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-6400022788028104710</id><published>2009-02-21T14:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T14:45:26.098-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Snuggle</title><content type='html'>Early this morning I rolled over to cuddle with Zach, and as we spooned my belly perfectly fit into the small of his back, and we nestled in for a couple hours more of sleep.  A little "tap, tap, tap" came from my belly, over and over again for several minutes, our little boy letting us know that he was cuddling up too, pressing on my belly and his daddy's back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait til he's here with us where we can see him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-6400022788028104710?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/6400022788028104710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=6400022788028104710' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6400022788028104710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6400022788028104710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/02/snuggle.html' title='Snuggle'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-1393482846609794171</id><published>2009-02-21T09:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T09:33:30.217-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Glow</title><content type='html'>My skin is glowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hair is glowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My smile is glowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I often feel like my belly is glowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is a wonderful feeling to know that this is what my body is meant to do.  I feel strong and healthy and beautiful and every day the little presence inside me makes himself more and more known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure I have weeks and weeks of discomfort ahead of me, but for now I have to say, pregnancy suits my body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't (yet) suffered from many of the common problems of pregnancy - cramps and headaches and heartburn and constipation and digestive problems.  All I suffer from is occasional shortness of breath and one or two days a week of back pain.  Generally, I feel great.  I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, because this is a delight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It feels good to show off my body and see my belly expanding and hear that other people can see how good I feel.  It feels good to be doing what comes naturally.  Pregnancy is finally, after months of feeling miserable, turning into what I imagined it would be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-1393482846609794171?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/1393482846609794171/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=1393482846609794171' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1393482846609794171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1393482846609794171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/02/glow.html' title='Glow'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-7913672454074248438</id><published>2009-02-12T19:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-12T19:14:58.902-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Things I Did While Pregnant With You'/><title type='text'>Things I Did While Pregnant With You (Part 3)</title><content type='html'>I was teaching theatre workshops while I was pregnant with you, and you were a big hit with my students, especially the 9&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; graders I worked with all year.  Every week they would ask me about you, what I was going to name you, how far along I was, whether I was married.  You helped me out a lot in those classes.  I would say things like, "If I can stand up and play this game, you can &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; stand up too," and "Don't make me shout over your voices because I don't want my child to think I have an angry voice," and "Please don't say words like b***h or f**k or n****r around my baby."  I even told them that if they behaved I might let them name you (don't worry - I'm sure they knew I was kidding).  Thank you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-7913672454074248438?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/7913672454074248438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=7913672454074248438' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7913672454074248438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7913672454074248438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/02/things-i-did-while-pregnant-with-you.html' title='Things I Did While Pregnant With You (Part 3)'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-2069945041772818330</id><published>2009-02-09T10:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T11:12:12.165-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hungry</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Hungry&lt;br /&gt;Hungry&lt;br /&gt;Hungry&lt;br /&gt;Hungry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love food! There is almost NOTHING that doesn't sound good to eat right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What used to serve as a meal is now just an opening snack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yay for food! Yay for food!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite foods (right now):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;whole wheat pancakes with blueberries and syrup&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;french fries of any sort or variety or quantity (except small)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;turkey burgers with provolone and avocado&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;CHEESE!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;big, huge ceasar salads with crunchy croutons&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;buckets of yogurt&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;chocolate milk&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;pretty much anything crunchy and salty dipped into anything creamy and salty&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;cookies - but only soft and chewy cookies, not crunchy and crumbly cookies (only salty things should be crunchy)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;pasta...with cheese&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I'm hungry &lt;em&gt;all the time&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300877104860045682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SZB_pEEvIXI/AAAAAAAABHQ/ODbJMGGdpk0/s320/fries.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p&gt;"A Pregnant Lady's Fantasy" &lt;em&gt;taken while out to dinner with friends. The fries (clockwise: waffle, zucchini with melted mozzarella, shoestring, and pesto-garlic) were ostensibly to be shared for a party of four. Not pictured: giant turkey burger with provolone and avocado.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-2069945041772818330?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/2069945041772818330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=2069945041772818330' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2069945041772818330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2069945041772818330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/02/hungry.html' title='Hungry'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SZB_pEEvIXI/AAAAAAAABHQ/ODbJMGGdpk0/s72-c/fries.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-3280815421385060794</id><published>2009-02-06T07:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T07:41:47.299-08:00</updated><title type='text'>22 Weeks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SYxYRPJP80I/AAAAAAAABHI/nVvaiiJTWk4/s1600-h/belly+22+weeks.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299707914654577474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 171px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SYxYRPJP80I/AAAAAAAABHI/nVvaiiJTWk4/s320/belly+22+weeks.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This was taken at 22 Weeks (although I'm at 23 weeks now) and shows off the growth spurt I've just gone through.  I've got a little bump, and although it hasn't netted me any seats on the subway yet, I have gotten some hillarious comments from students. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think this is the golden period - I am feeling pretty good and have a cute little bump, but I can still tie my shoes and fit into my favorite clothes.  And I get to feel my little man flipping and kicking and wriggling away, but I'm not getting jabbed in the ribs to the point I can't sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel good.  I think pregnancy suits me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-3280815421385060794?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/3280815421385060794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=3280815421385060794' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/3280815421385060794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/3280815421385060794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/02/22-weeks.html' title='22 Weeks'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SYxYRPJP80I/AAAAAAAABHI/nVvaiiJTWk4/s72-c/belly+22+weeks.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-9145798976011869541</id><published>2009-01-30T10:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T10:57:13.178-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Expansion</title><content type='html'>As my yoga instructor always says, pregnancy is about expansion.  Surging hormones work to expand my bones, my ligaments, my uterine walls, all to support the expanding baby growing within me.  Weight gain is a natural part of that expansion, too.  I am proud to watch my growing belly, but that doesn't make it easy to watch the scale inch upwards.  No matter how much I can tell myself that weight gain is healthy right now, I am still battling against 20 years of internal and external &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;admonitions&lt;/span&gt; that gaining weight is not good at all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been overweight for years, but in the last couple years I've really focused on eating healthy, keeping lots of fiber and fresh vegetables and calcium in my body, being active and making sure that my blood pressure, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cholesterol&lt;/span&gt; and heart are in good shape.  I am never going to have a "normal" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;BMI&lt;/span&gt;, I'm never going to be a size 6, and I kind of stopped beating myself up over it.  After several years in my early 20s of gaining a lot of weight, I had stopped gaining and even lost a little bit, and even though I might sometimes wish to be smaller and feel jealous of my slender friends, I really think that I am mostly healthy and have a pretty good body image. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I am already overweight, I shouldn't gain as much as most women would during a pregnancy - I already having all the padding I need.  So I've been keeping an eye on it, knowing that gaining too much could put me at risk for high blood pressure and other complications.  And I'm proud to say that I'm right on track - gaining in all the right places and not getting too carried away by the "eating for two" and french fry cravings.  A modest 15-20lbs is all I'm shooting for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But despite the good body image, despite the healthy habits, despite the realistic goals and totally healthy gaining rate, I was still somewhat bummed today to see the scale reach a mark that I haven't seen it hit in a long, long time.  You can't completely undo 20 years of brainwashing.  I know, I know, this is all normal and totally fine.  I am thrilled to take it as a sign that my little guy is growing and expanding and getting ready for life on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;outside&lt;/span&gt;.  But I just needed to take a moment and let myself sigh, and tell you all that sometimes changing one's body is easier than changing one's brain.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-9145798976011869541?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/9145798976011869541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=9145798976011869541' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/9145798976011869541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/9145798976011869541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/expansion.html' title='Expansion'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-3368719875582520825</id><published>2009-01-26T19:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T19:57:45.880-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Squirmy</title><content type='html'>Little Guy has been dancing and kickboxing and wriggling and karate-chopping all over my lower abdomen, and I am not the only one who has felt him.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ZPJ&lt;/span&gt; finally got a couple solid kicks over the weekend, which he takes as proof that there &lt;em&gt;is&lt;/em&gt; in fact an alien living inside me and that the alien is mad at him and wants to kick him.  I think that Baby Boy just wanted to give his dad a high five. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was kind of magical to finally have that moment that the three of us were communicating with each other right here on the couch.  I know that a time is coming when it will seem that he has always been with us, but for now I crave any sign of him, especially the ones I can share.  Unfortunately, it might still be a little while before anyone other than ZPJ gets to feel him kick - he's sitting so low that you have to pretty much stick your hands down my pants to feel where he's at.  I know that a couple of you out there might be willing to take that on, but be patient with me...there will be plenty of kicks to come.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-3368719875582520825?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/3368719875582520825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=3368719875582520825' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/3368719875582520825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/3368719875582520825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/squirmy.html' title='Squirmy'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-603385332804117640</id><published>2009-01-16T11:52:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T12:03:32.246-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He's a "he"!</title><content type='html'>I don't typically put much stock in intuition or superstition, but I've been having very strong feelings that my little bean was a boy, right from the start.  And two nights ago, I dreamt that I met him and he smiled at me and grabbed my finger and I saw the proof that he was a boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yesterday I shouldn't have been surprised when the sonographer said "its a boy!" and showed us his parts, but I was.  I was surprised that my intuition was right, that I could actually trust what I had been passing off as a hunch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to have a son!  A little boy who, if he and I are very lucky, will resemble his father and uncles and grandfathers in sweetness and smarts.  If genetics combined with gender are any influence on personality, he'll be funny and inquisitive and perceptive and probably a little stubborn.  And he will love his Mama!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so pleased and excited to have this small insight into who the stranger inside of me is growing into.  I can't wait to meet him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-603385332804117640?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/603385332804117640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=603385332804117640' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/603385332804117640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/603385332804117640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/hes.html' title='He&apos;s a &quot;he&quot;!'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-7195090168846137401</id><published>2009-01-14T12:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T12:50:11.304-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Things I Did While Pregnant With You'/><title type='text'>Things I Did While Pregnant With You (Part 2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I got to meet Meryl Streep when she came to my theatre to help us with fundraising campaign. She was filming a video to encourage people to support the theatre's school programs and, after she finished, our director wanted to give her a book to thank her. He had a copy of &lt;em&gt;Fahrenheit 451&lt;/em&gt; by Ray Bradbury, which inspired our campaign, and all of us kissed it for good luck. I went a step further, though. I grabbed the book and rubbed it against you in my belly before it got handed to Meryl Streep, and you can see that book in the picture below. It was a silly thing to do, but I wanted you to be a part of our efforts to help the theatre raise money to help other kids, and I wanted you to have a part in that special moment of getting to meet one of the greatest actresses alive. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291254456755201362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SW5P5OcYpVI/AAAAAAAABEg/sJy05306258/s320/Meryl.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-7195090168846137401?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/7195090168846137401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=7195090168846137401' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7195090168846137401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7195090168846137401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/things-i-did-while-pregnant-with-you.html' title='Things I Did While Pregnant With You (Part 2)'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SW5P5OcYpVI/AAAAAAAABEg/sJy05306258/s72-c/Meryl.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-4291753977564778998</id><published>2009-01-13T19:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T19:52:55.006-08:00</updated><title type='text'>20 Weeks</title><content type='html'>Friday marks my half-way point. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby is complete with all organs, fingers and toes.  Even fingerprints and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;toe prints&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby can suck its thumb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby kicks me all day long to let me know its in there and having a good time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby can hear now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby can recognize the sound of my voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My baby is as big as my hand and is beginning to develop its sense of taste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some researchers even think that my baby can dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this is only half way.  I still have 20 weeks to go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-4291753977564778998?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/4291753977564778998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=4291753977564778998' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4291753977564778998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4291753977564778998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/20-weeks.html' title='20 Weeks'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-7614178156150259487</id><published>2009-01-07T14:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T15:02:01.568-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreams</title><content type='html'>Next week we find out Baby's gender (hopefully) and I am so excited.  Last night I had the first dream where Baby was outside of me instead of inside of me - a little girl born very early - but she was beautiful and I dreamt about breastfeeding her and bringing her to my parents.  All my intuition until now (and the opinions of many family and friends) seem to lean heavily toward "BOY" but in this last week I'm second guessing myself.  Next week we'll know for (almost) sure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-7614178156150259487?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/7614178156150259487/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=7614178156150259487' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7614178156150259487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7614178156150259487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/dreams.html' title='Dreams'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-4358866579493617544</id><published>2009-01-02T22:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T23:00:27.983-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2009</title><content type='html'>The year of the birth of my first-born.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shortly before midnight on New Years Eve, while laughing and sipping my tonic and lime, I stopped mid-sentence and my eyes popped wide.  There it was, unmistakable.  My baby, tap-tap-tapping away inside me.  A new year's "hello" from the little stranger who has yet to make her/himself known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am blown away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-4358866579493617544?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/4358866579493617544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=4358866579493617544' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4358866579493617544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4358866579493617544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/2009.html' title='2009'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-9104748348882101446</id><published>2009-01-02T22:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T22:55:34.337-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In two weeks it has grown from a shadowy dream to a fully-present fact. There are curves pressing outward, shapes changing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks ago I had a secret I could keep to myself. Now it is out there for anyone to see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't stop touching myself to prove that it is real, that it is really happening.  My hands press into tissue that recently was soft but now is tight and round.  I'm not the only one touching, either.  My girlfriends, sisters, mothers reach toward me with loving hands and press their eager ears to my belly.  Nothing to hear, yet, but we still listen closely...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-9104748348882101446?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/9104748348882101446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=9104748348882101446' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/9104748348882101446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/9104748348882101446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/in-two-weeks-it-has-grown-from-shadowy.html' title=''/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-693702665698514178</id><published>2009-01-02T22:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T22:45:48.553-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Upgrade</title><content type='html'>When I was a freshman in college, I emerged out of a grunge-inspired, baggy-shirted high school haze to realize that I was, in fact, a girl and that I did, emphatically, have breasts.  Every girl grows up wanting big ta-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tas&lt;/span&gt;, but I very quickly realized that being a D-cup, and then a DD-cup, and finally a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;DDD&lt;/span&gt;-cup was not all it was cracked up to be.  My breasts themselves are not outrageously large, but paired with a relatively narrow rib-cage they are nearly impossible to support.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple times a year, for the last ten years, I have ventured out into the world in search of bras.  This experience is always frustrating, sometimes traumatic, and frequently tear-inducing, and after hours of trying on dozens of bras, I leave the dressing room with a couple barely-adequate &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;substitutes&lt;/span&gt; for support.  A couple years ago I finally came across a particular model that has worked pretty well for me - its was not what you might call sexy, nor was it perfect, but it worked better than any I had found so far, and since that time I have purchased upwards of 10 or 12 of those bras rather than try to find anything better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In September, however, things changed for the bigger and better, and my breasts were the first to grow.  They have been steadily expanding and show no signs of stopping.  I don't fit into any of the nursing bras at the maternity store, and I was becoming a little panicky when I thought of the inevitable day when I will fill up with milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend of mine, responding to my panic, pointed me towards a specialty store which has bras of all sizes, even strange ones like mine, as well as nursing bras.  I went today, and it is as if I suddenly entered the world that my C-cup friends have been living in all along.  I got measured, and within minutes a nice girl brought me not one but &lt;em&gt;three &lt;/em&gt;perfectly fitting bras.  Like they were made for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For years I've been feeling like a freak.  I felt like I had a body that just didn't fit with &lt;em&gt;any&lt;/em&gt; bra I had ever tried on.  I don't fell like I look so unusual, so why couldn't I find anything?  Turns out, I was just going to the wrong stores.  I will never go back.  From now on, only the stores that don't even blink when they measure you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the scary thing, though:  two of the bras I bought are 38G, and the third is a 38H.  How much bigger am I going to get?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-693702665698514178?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/693702665698514178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=693702665698514178' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/693702665698514178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/693702665698514178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2009/01/upgrade.html' title='Upgrade'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-5260984172427079535</id><published>2008-12-02T07:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T07:37:11.188-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Changes</title><content type='html'>I'm definately not so tired as I was the last couple months, but I still feel slightly withdrawn. I am less inclined to go out in the evenings, having a harder time getting motivated at work. I know that many women change in some way when they become mothers, and I've been wondering a lot lately, how will I change? Will I lose the drive and ambition that has always been such a strong part of who I am? Will I gain a new calmness? Will I become a homebody, a nester? I don't know. That change is as hidden from me as the child who will bring it on. I can see the shadow of outlines, but no distinct shape or direction. I can only speculate on what these short glimpses could turn into. And wait.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-5260984172427079535?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/5260984172427079535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=5260984172427079535' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/5260984172427079535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/5260984172427079535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/12/changes.html' title='Changes'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-9108931629366809902</id><published>2008-11-26T12:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T07:36:17.886-08:00</updated><title type='text'>13 weeks down, 27 to go...</title><content type='html'>Baby keeps getting bigger and bigger, but I'm still not showing... We went in for a fancy-schmancy high resolution ultrasound last week to screen for Down Syndrome. Everything looks good, and Baby has a big brain and little pug nose. Also, Baby isn't eager to perform tricks for us. The sonographer had real trouble getting s/he to roll over - Baby prefers to chill out and take it easy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SS230NP6S-I/AAAAAAAABDI/N1OCX7QMC1k/s1600-h/Lauren015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273072846258195426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 246px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SS230NP6S-I/AAAAAAAABDI/N1OCX7QMC1k/s320/Lauren015.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The fancy machine also did 3-D projections, which were more scary than anything. In this picture, you can kind of make out the side of an upside-down face and a scrawny little arm, which confirmed Zach's suspicion that I am giving birth to an alien.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SS23zjU-Q2I/AAAAAAAABDA/iH02cNw42EY/s1600-h/Lauren014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273072835005137762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SS23zjU-Q2I/AAAAAAAABDA/iH02cNw42EY/s320/Lauren014.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I've been feeling so much better lately, physically speaking, but I'm still battling mood-swings. It seems that everything makes me want to cry these days. Not even bad crying, usually, more it's-just-all-so...so...beautiful-crying. Movies, music, my cats...the tears are a-flowin'.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-9108931629366809902?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/9108931629366809902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=9108931629366809902' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/9108931629366809902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/9108931629366809902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/11/13-weeks-down-27-to-go.html' title='13 weeks down, 27 to go...'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SS230NP6S-I/AAAAAAAABDI/N1OCX7QMC1k/s72-c/Lauren015.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-1335579223834689366</id><published>2008-11-20T07:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T07:24:50.099-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Womb With a View</title><content type='html'>We just had our 12-week doctors appointment. Everyone is healthy and happy and looking good. I successfully managed not to gain too much weight in my first trimester. Baby's heartbeat is strong, but the little one really likes to lounge around - we could hardly get him/her to move, but s/he was waving their little arms around. Still too soon to tell if its a boy or a girl, but we think it might be part mermaid...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SSV_ZQ-wLcI/AAAAAAAABCg/-azsI_v2IJQ/s1600-h/Little+Bit+Bigger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SSV_ZQ-wLcI/AAAAAAAABCg/-azsI_v2IJQ/s320/Little+Bit+Bigger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270759010938662338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The head is on the left - you can see the profile of the face.  Head to rump is 2.5 inches, which doesn't sound that big until you look at a ruler and then imagine something that size in your belly, which isn't getting any bigger at all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-1335579223834689366?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/1335579223834689366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=1335579223834689366' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1335579223834689366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1335579223834689366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/11/womb-with-view.html' title='A Womb With a View'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SSV_ZQ-wLcI/AAAAAAAABCg/-azsI_v2IJQ/s72-c/Little+Bit+Bigger.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-1559938976249379079</id><published>2008-11-13T12:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T07:03:11.703-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Things I Did While Pregnant With You'/><title type='text'>Things I Did While Pregnant With You (Part I)</title><content type='html'>Your father and grandfather and I hiked along a ridge on Mt. Baker on a beautiful day in September. We had just found out about you and I was a little dizzy, but it was worth it. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268527923173614578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SR2SO3X9Y_I/AAAAAAAABCQ/tHwnLDHrT9A/s320/Carolyn%27s+Wedding+081.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SR2RAX5D7TI/AAAAAAAABCI/DEiAcDJWWlU/s1600-h/z551967-R1-053-25.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268526574692724018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 216px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SR2RAX5D7TI/AAAAAAAABCI/DEiAcDJWWlU/s320/z551967-R1-053-25.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SR2Q_1WiHlI/AAAAAAAABCA/7WiwIMl1myM/s1600-h/z551967-R1-039-18.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-1559938976249379079?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/1559938976249379079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=1559938976249379079' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1559938976249379079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1559938976249379079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/11/things-i-did-while-pregnant-with-you.html' title='Things I Did While Pregnant With You (Part I)'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SR2SO3X9Y_I/AAAAAAAABCQ/tHwnLDHrT9A/s72-c/Carolyn%27s+Wedding+081.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-8063145190771852127</id><published>2008-11-06T14:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T15:22:50.321-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Struggles or...?</title><content type='html'>I did not see this coming.  I knew a lot about what pregnancy and childbirth would mean for my body, but I did not fully appreciate just how hard the first part would be.  I haven't started showing yet - no one would know I am pregnant if I didn't tell them - and yet every day my body is slammed with the impact of this change like a load of bricks.  I have been tired and queasy everyday for almost two months - I never get enough sleep - I never feel like I'm eating the right food or enough of it -I can't concentrate on anything - I cry at the slightest things - my brain and my body are in a permanent haze. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep telling myself that I only have a few more weeks to go before I am out of this particular patch.  All the people who write helpful pregnancy books and websites assure me that I'll adjust to these new hormones and start to feel normal again when I get past the third month, but this raises a really critical question of what "normal" means, exactly, when you have something growing inside of you that doubles in size every other week.  I might get past most of the fatigue and nausea, but I'll just be moving on to new complaints of cramps, shortness of breath, a changing figure.  I don't think that there will every be such thing as "normal" again.  Even after the baby arrives, everything will change again - in a big way - and not just for my body, but for my whole life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to find a center in which to place these changes.  I need to find a way to own them and embrace them and not be dragged down.  I've never been the martyr-type.  I have never believed that a woman should guard her trials like a secret and bear her struggles with silence.  I want to be honest about what I'm going through and demystify - even &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;deromanticize&lt;/span&gt; - this great feminine experience.  But I have noticed that the more I talk about what I'm going through and share my struggles, the more negative my perspective becomes.  I don't want to have a negative pregnancy.  I want to be happy and filled with that warm, romanticized glow that pregnant women always have.  Maybe that will come in the next trimester as I begin to see and feel the baby inside me.  But I need to find a way to guard against stopping complaining about this phase only to begin complaining about the next phase.  I need to get my brain on board with all these changes and deal with them with a little more grace than I have been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do I find a center when everything is shifting?  How do I prepare myself for the surprise of these struggles?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You, my friends!  Help me keep a positive perspective and don't let me become too dragged down.  For my part, I'll try to get more sleep and keep myself healthy.  I am amazed, beyond belief, that millions of women do this every year and somehow manage to keep working and loving and being their wonderful selves though it.  It gives me hope that I'll be able to get through this without completely self-destructing as well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-8063145190771852127?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/8063145190771852127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=8063145190771852127' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8063145190771852127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8063145190771852127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/11/struggles-or.html' title='Struggles or...?'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-6254388872256512339</id><published>2008-11-03T19:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T19:38:02.654-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Name</title><content type='html'>My brother has started referring to me as "Jost Host."   That makes me laugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-6254388872256512339?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/6254388872256512339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=6254388872256512339' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6254388872256512339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6254388872256512339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/11/new-name.html' title='New Name'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-4225697872777320504</id><published>2008-10-29T08:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-29T08:51:30.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coming Soon:  June 3, 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SQiGaJGqIhI/AAAAAAAABBQ/KIrssXxDDo0/s1600-h/bean.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SQiGaJGqIhI/AAAAAAAABBQ/KIrssXxDDo0/s320/bean.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262603948260991506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think you call all agree that this is the cutest picture ever taken.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-4225697872777320504?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/4225697872777320504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=4225697872777320504' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4225697872777320504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4225697872777320504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/10/coming-soon-june-3-2009.html' title='Coming Soon:  June 3, 2009'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Y9j3OBLe4WM/SQiGaJGqIhI/AAAAAAAABBQ/KIrssXxDDo0/s72-c/bean.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-6028249520561314432</id><published>2008-10-28T19:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T19:28:49.710-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>When we were talking about getting pregnant, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ZPJ&lt;/span&gt; would ask, "What if we need to move?  What about your job?  Will you be able to do everything that needs to be done?"  And I would tell him, "Women have been having babies for millions of years.  Women have had babies while working in the fields.  Women had babies on the Oregon Trail.  It will be fine."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that I'm so tired and sickly that even sitting at my desk for a day is a small, no HUGE, triumph, I'm even more in awe of the women who came before me and daunted by the task ahead of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I am excited to report that I just travelled down my own personal Oregon Trail this week in the form of the annual conference that I coordinate. There are 100 presenters and over 500 attendees and dozens of volunteers and a mountain of LCD projectors, and I made it all happen!  This is a trial every year, but this year I am even more proud of myself than usual because I did it all with extreme fatigue and morning sickness.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Yay&lt;/span&gt; me! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm tucking myself in bed, because I have to get up at 7:00am.  Nothing in this world could induce me to get up that early after such a long week other than one thing - our first sonogram!  I am half-terrified, half-thrilled - I have been feeling for a long time like this whole experiment won't really be real until I see that little heart beating on the monitor and know that everything is going exactly how it should be.  Wish me luck.  I'll post pictures when I have them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-6028249520561314432?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/6028249520561314432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=6028249520561314432' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6028249520561314432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6028249520561314432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/10/when-we-were-talking-about-getting.html' title=''/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-2191767915521451774</id><published>2008-10-21T18:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T18:49:02.582-07:00</updated><title type='text'>8 Weeks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.firstconcern.net/assets/images/08weeks.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.firstconcern.net/assets/images/08weeks.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This picture has been kind of blowing my mind this week. There are FINGERS. Last week there were fins. This week there are FINGERS.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-2191767915521451774?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/2191767915521451774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=2191767915521451774' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2191767915521451774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2191767915521451774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/10/8-weeks.html' title='8 Weeks'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-4384464217971164480</id><published>2008-10-19T19:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T19:54:00.392-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Whole</title><content type='html'>With each passing week I feel more and more confident about the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;surety&lt;/span&gt; of this new journey I'm on.  In the beginning I felt like I was holding on by a thin string that could snap at any moment, but now the rope is thickening and I am really grasping on tightly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The days are passing deadly slow.  I'm impatient to reach the milestones ahead and I'm struggling to appreciate the moments I'm in.  I'm sure I'll look back fondly on these last weeks before my body balloons and clothes stop fitting, but right now I am desperate to fast forward into the months ahead.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-4384464217971164480?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/4384464217971164480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=4384464217971164480' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4384464217971164480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/4384464217971164480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/10/whole.html' title='Whole'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-8008678797531093150</id><published>2008-10-13T20:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T20:51:01.502-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pacing</title><content type='html'>The nausea hit last week and I have been doing very little other than staring at the computer screen and wishing I were in bed.  I can't think very well, and I don't move very fast, and even on the days that the nausea subsides, the fatigue kicks back in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep catching myself saying, "I don't have time to be sick.  I'm a busy woman.  I have a lot of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;commitments&lt;/span&gt;.  I need my body to keep up with my life."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it hit me this week that its not just my body that's changing.  My life is going to have to change, too.  I'm not ever going to be able to work as hard as I have been the last several years.  Well, I'll be working, for sure, and working hard.  But it won't just be my job.  I'm going to have to get ready to be working around the clock, and this month is just the first step of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still have another 7 months of working on my own schedule, and I can't afford to pull back on things I've already committed to, but pretty soon I'm going to start having to say 'no'.  That isn't something I've ever been very good at.  Wish me luck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-8008678797531093150?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/8008678797531093150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=8008678797531093150' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8008678797531093150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8008678797531093150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/10/pacing.html' title='Pacing'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-8933525506584754973</id><published>2008-10-07T17:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T17:07:12.848-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The only words I ever use to describe myself these days are "hungry" and "tired".  It is getting monotonous.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-8933525506584754973?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/8933525506584754973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=8933525506584754973' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8933525506584754973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/8933525506584754973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/10/only-words-i-ever-use-to-describe.html' title=''/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-125328678068270447</id><published>2008-10-02T04:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T04:13:37.341-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hard Work</title><content type='html'>My breasts are swelling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart is pumping faster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My blood is flowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The small button of life inside me has tripled in size in the last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm exhausted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-125328678068270447?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/125328678068270447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=125328678068270447' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/125328678068270447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/125328678068270447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/10/hard-work.html' title='Hard Work'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-3783794759688589908</id><published>2008-09-22T18:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T18:23:39.141-07:00</updated><title type='text'>YES+</title><content type='html'>An unexpected word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This month I tried so hard not to over-analyze my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bodysigns&lt;/span&gt;. I was too successful, perhaps, because I did not anticipate the change that was occurring within me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I hardly trust the news, quick to grab each pinch and pull as a sign that my body isn't up to this new job it has been given.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can this be real? I hesitate to let years of expectation find release. Surely it is too soon to know for sure. Surely it is too soon to be real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the word on the stick &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;belies&lt;/span&gt; the signs from my body.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-3783794759688589908?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/3783794759688589908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=3783794759688589908' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/3783794759688589908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/3783794759688589908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/09/yes.html' title='YES+'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-1292754323773851426</id><published>2008-09-07T14:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T15:43:33.981-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Purpose</title><content type='html'>As a young woman, I looked at my body and found lots to criticize.  Hips too full, a belly too round, breasts too big. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at my body and told myself "this is a body built for babies" but I didn't want babies.  I wanted a body built for seduction and coolness and life.  My heart didn't match my body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now my heart is ready.  I assumed that my body had just been waiting for the "go", for the window of opportunity, to do what it was built to do.  But now, again, my body and my mind are at odds. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How long before they align?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-1292754323773851426?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/1292754323773851426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=1292754323773851426' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1292754323773851426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1292754323773851426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/09/purpose.html' title='Purpose'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-7926318925797318227</id><published>2008-09-03T15:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T15:23:08.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Ears</title><content type='html'>...were peirced when I was seven, the magic number that meant that I was old enough to have my godmother take me out to the mall for that rite of passage. But I took the earrings out that night anyway and had to submit to my dad forcefully repierceing them in the spare room at my grandma's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...had the dreams of my mother whispered into them when I was a baby and couldn't understand her words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...had the admonitions and disappointment of my mother shouted into them when I was a teenager and couldn't understand her any better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-7926318925797318227?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/7926318925797318227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=7926318925797318227' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7926318925797318227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/7926318925797318227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-ears.html' title='My Ears'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-3271271246819732738</id><published>2008-08-28T21:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-28T21:15:17.667-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I can usually read my body like a book, but I don't recognize the signs right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-3271271246819732738?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/3271271246819732738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=3271271246819732738' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/3271271246819732738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/3271271246819732738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-can-usually-read-my-body-like-book.html' title=''/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-1954890688438658808</id><published>2008-08-26T18:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T19:01:56.251-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Signs</title><content type='html'>I've been analyzing every signal my body gives me, waiting for a clue or sign that will tell me which road I have been walking down for the past two weeks.  Every twinge and cramp warrants inspection and classification.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do my breasts feel larger?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that more saliva than normal?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I nauseated, or just anxious?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel tired for no reason.  I feel worn thin.  I feel unable to face day-to-day challenges.  If these are signs of the normal changes my body makes, rather than a new one, it is unfair that at such an unbalanced time I will need to balance my emotions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was trying not to get my heart set on something I couldn't control, but the moment of truth is getting closer and I am questioning if I am strong enough to deal with disappointment.  Patience has never been my virtue, and it feels especially far away from me now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-1954890688438658808?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/1954890688438658808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=1954890688438658808' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1954890688438658808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/1954890688438658808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/08/signs.html' title='Signs'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-489155758112690313</id><published>2008-08-24T09:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T10:26:24.879-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A New Idea</title><content type='html'>I'm dipping my foot in the water, testing out a new idea. I'm trying it on for size.  Reading some books, changing some habits. I'm trying to decide if I'm ready for this, but in truth my body has already decided for me.  My body knows if change is coming or if we'll continue on in the same old way.  My body knows, but it's not ready to fill me in yet.  I have just a little more time to keep pretending and experimenting with an idea before that idea becomes a very real, very present part of my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-489155758112690313?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/489155758112690313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=489155758112690313' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/489155758112690313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/489155758112690313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/08/new-idea.html' title='A New Idea'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-6013195452676877411</id><published>2008-02-26T16:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-26T16:50:38.305-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Back</title><content type='html'>...wants to bend downward&lt;br /&gt;...doesn't want to hold up my front&lt;br /&gt;...is stronger that it seems&lt;br /&gt;...should be tickled gently every night before I go to bed&lt;br /&gt;...rolls&lt;br /&gt;...hurts&lt;br /&gt;...crunches&lt;br /&gt;...keeps my secrets&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-6013195452676877411?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/6013195452676877411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=6013195452676877411' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6013195452676877411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/6013195452676877411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-back.html' title='My Back'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8314011688180304824.post-2983357609137833027</id><published>2008-02-26T16:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-26T16:35:33.629-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Beginning</title><content type='html'>We experience our world through our bodies.  This project is a way to look at experience through parts of our bodies, through details and texture and movement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please contribute.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8314011688180304824-2983357609137833027?l=bodynotes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/feeds/2983357609137833027/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8314011688180304824&amp;postID=2983357609137833027' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2983357609137833027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8314011688180304824/posts/default/2983357609137833027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bodynotes.blogspot.com/2008/02/beginning.html' title='Beginning'/><author><name>laurenj</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10216481075409054490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4075/3582/320/horse.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
