Fear the Pregnant Woman, Not Her Pit Bulls

I had hoped this funk would have passed by now, but the more I read about Maryland’s new stupid poopy law, the bigger the funk becomes.

Mom, why so sad? Just look at me, I iz irresisti-bull

This new stupid poopy law (official term from now on) states that all pit bulls are inherently dangerous. Period, done, no questions asked. If two dogs are in a fight and one is a pit bull, the dangerous nature of the other dog doesn’t even need to be questioned. One is a pit and is immediately at fault.

When the you-know-what hit the fan on Friday, I was grateful that my handsome Fred isn’t even a true pit bull. He is half American bulldog and half mutt, with only .44% of that mutt-ness being pit bull.

I'm a lover, unless you taste like bacon ~ then I might lick you to death

Stupid poopy law states the dog must be at least 1% pit bull. Angel, in all her obedient, sweet glory, falls into this category.

Hide yo' kids, hide yo' wife, because a pit bull is learning a new trick!

Let’s think about that one for a second. I wonder how many black labs are walking around with 5% pit inside them? Or Boston terriers? German shepherds? ANY dog can be a mix of a dozen different breeds. One would think that this little tidbit of information would prove how ludicrous this ruling sounds.

I’m mostly German, does this mean I’m going to open a concentration camp? For my Jewish husband’s sake, I hope not! Are all black men in hoodies a threat to our safety?

If a man breaks into my home, I better hope I shoot him before Angel can get a hold of him. Because if she causes him any harm, I am liable for his injuries and he could sue me. Someone could attempt to rape me, but if my pit bull bites him in the ass, I, as the victim, become the bad guy. The dogs that make me feel safe in my house, when I’m walking after dark, or when Alex isn’t home, just became a liability?

Can we eatz a humanz now?

The first thing we did was cancel our dog walking service. I cried. In my current with-child state (and even before), the dog walker was a huge blessing. I didn’t have to worry about being stuck at work after 5, because I knew the dogs had a mid-day potty break, some play time and even a few treats. They learned how to walk well and behave well with someone else. They were socialized, exercised and tucked safely back in their crates.

Now? We can’t trust anyone with them besides us and a few close friends. The risk is just too great. And to be honest, I don’t trust other dogs. There are several neighbors who think they are above the Maryland leash law and let their dogs roam free. If that dog attacked mine, it wouldn’t matter how dangerous the dog was. Mine is guilty until proven . . . guilty.

Between this and the GOP’s war on women, I find it hard to believe we are living in the year 2012. This law was passed because of one pit bull with an irresponsible owner. Interestingly enough, the incident happened five years ago. Five. Funny, something else happened that year that should have proven that maybe humans are responsible for their animals’ behavior. (Cough-Michael Vick-cough) I want to know when people are going to be held accountable for their Chihuahuas, which are some of the nastiest, nippiest little dogs I have ever encountered.

So to all my neighbors, don’t take it too personally when you try to walk near me and I hightail it across the street. Kids? Don’t ask me if you can pet my dogs. They are great with kids, but I don’t know if your kid is great with dogs. Honestly you could probably punch Angel in the face and she wouldn’t even care. But your kid’s fun at the expense of my dog? I don’t think so.

This new stupid poopy law makez me sad

You shouldn’t be afraid of pit bulls. You should be afraid of the people who own pit bulls and see them come under attack. Add in some hormones and you end up with an angry, indignant pit bull lover. We won’t be silenced until you educate yourselves on what is really dangerous; ignorance, hatred and prejudice.


The Weight Debate

One of the first things you notice when you tell people you’re pregnant is how fascinating your eating habits become. I’ve heard everything:

“Eat whatever you want! It’s the only time you can do it!”

“Does everything taste better?”

“Don’t gain too much weight!”

“What are you craving? Anything good?”

“What are your favorites?”

“Is there anything you can’t stand?”

“I craved ‘fill in the blank with every food imaginable.’”


In the beginning, eating was a challenge. I learned at my first ob appointment that I had lost 5 pounds, and was actually the thinnest I had ever been. Imagine that! The skinniest version of me, and preggers nonetheless.

So when the doctor told me that a healthy weight gain was about 25-30 pounds, I thought, “Pshhh! Bring it on, Doc.” Then he said they expect you to gain 10 pounds in the first TWENTY weeks. That made me gulp a little. But since food and I were still on a hate/hate basis, no sweat!

When I hit the 12 week mark and noticed I had gained 6 pounds, the sweat began to pour. Buckets! 8 weeks to go with only a 4 pound gain?

In case it wasn’t blatantly obvious, that “Don’t gain too much weight!” I threw in there was from my boss, the plastic surgeon. We had a pretty decent talk about health, weight, pregnancy, etc. He did follow his comment with stating he didn’t judge women who gained a lot of weight, and he understood how hard it must be.

What he said next really sunk in. He said, “Most women, in my experience, feel a bit of a sense of loss after the baby comes. Maybe it’s ‘I don’t feel as sexy now, but I’m a mom, so that’s okay.’ But I will tell you, adding 50 pounds that you can’t lose will contribute to that feeling and leave you depressed. And it’s really hard to lose.”

Darn those doctors for always being so smart! I must admit, part of me wondered if this was a threat in disguise. “Don’t come back to work looking fat and gross!” Gulp, again.

The moment of insanity passed and I knew he was right, and even further, he was just looking out for me. We’ve worked together for over 3 years, and he knows I try to eat healthy (mostly) and I am pretty active with my husband and two dogs.

See? Look how active we are!

But a few weeks ago, my eating habits were just bad. Exercise had become too much of a chore, and I justified my choices because at least I was eating. However, I was choosing to eat more chocolate and less veggies, instead of finding the healthy balance.

Balance. *shakes-fist* I hate that word. I think I’ve always hated it, because I’ve always struggled with it. The cup is either all full or all empty, the sun is either shining brightly or hiding, depressed.

I met with a therapist for a few weeks, and she helped with the concept of balance. I was struggling with family relationships, and she taught me to look at the situation like a car window. You can roll it down just a little, in order to let someone in, but you don’t have to completely roll it down and let them manipulate or take over.

Eating while pregnant is like that car window. When I want chocolate, darn it, I’m going to have it. But a Snickers bar every day is probably not the best idea. Or, if it’s another “Give me a Snickers now if you value your life” situation, I need to make sure I eat a few cucumbers (yes, whole – whole cucumbers) to help make up for it. Last night, I went for a long walk with Hubs and Dogs, chopped up a bunch of veggies for snacks, made myself a big salad for lunch, and took one more bite of the brownie I hadn’t been able to resist.

The truth of the matter is, some women are just naturals at being pregnant. They glow, they feel great the entire time, they radiate with happiness, and their life revolves around the growing child. I am clearly not one of those women. While I want my child to have the best life possible and I will strive to be the best parent possible, I do worry that I will feel that sense of loss. The least I can do (for me and the baby) is not let myself get to a place of being overweight, unhealthy and depressed.

Whether you’re pregnant or not, a balanced life applies. So raise a glass of milk with me (while I pretend there’s Kahlua mixed in) and let’s all stop beating ourselves up. That’s the baby’s job!

The Good, the Bad and the Pregnant!

In case you don’t religiously follow me on Facebook (and why wouldn’t you?!) I am 13 weeks pregnant. I know I’ve been a little quiet lately, but as the world leader in “Worst Poker Face Ever,” I didn’t feel capable of posting without giving away my little secret. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been avoiding friends-in-real-life in order to not spill the beans.

But now the beans have been spilled! And all I want to write about is my various symptoms, expanding waistline and growing terror. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled and excited to be a mom. I’m just not sure my developing child would choose me from a conveyor belt of potential parents.

All that being said, I’ve been thinking a lot about how interesting pregnancy is. It amazes me that every woman experiences this differently, even when she herself has multiple children. So here is my fun-filled list of how much pregnancy changes a woman; good, bad and mind-numbingly-confusing.

  • By the third or fourth trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night, you start to wonder if you’re secretly growing a prostate instead of a baby.
  • Stairs? Forget it. Just have one of those old-people-chair-escalator-things installed and invite your friends over. You may even get away with charging for rides, and let’s face it, you could really use the cash.
  • You cry at everything and nothing. The only reason I even suspected I was pregnant was from sobbing uncontrollably to an episode of “House.”
  • Every woman in your life asks if your breasts have gotten larger. This may not apply if you’re already blessed in that area. In my case, people are pretty darn excited for me.
  • The foods you used to love have now become “Get me a Snickers bar now if you value your life” serious.
  • Pickles and ice cream really are incredibly fantastic. No, not at the same time.
  • You have an overwhelming desire to start a support group for single moms.
  • If you’re lucky enough to be as severely afflicted with road rage as I am, prepare yourself! All logic goes out the window. You want to get out of your car and scream that people are not only endangering your life but the life of your unborn child. (Logic does not, however, tell you that you should now, more than ever, not be getting out of your car and screaming at complete strangers.)
  • Those little irritants of life are now full-blown conspiracies. Everyone is out to get you, everyone is trying to piss you off and yes, everyone sucks.
  • All the baby experts (people, books, websites) admit that morning sickness is total crap. Nausea happens all day, every day, and even when you’re also hungry. Even if you aren’t physically getting sick often, it’s pretty much all you can think about. Other than Snickers bars.
  • Your skin may start to hate you and cry out in rebellion. I had my eyebrows waxed two weeks ago and my forehead is still angry.
  • You start to panic about everything you need to buy. We need a crib! We need to paint! We don’t know if it’s a boy or girl, but clearly we need to buy clothes!
  • You aren’t even showing yet but you’re terrified for the inevitable belly touching. You start researching witty and sarcastic comments to make sure people never touch you again.
  • You question everything. Should I tell the names I have picked out? Will people like them? Who cares? Aren’t they going to judge me on everything else anyway?

I hope the baby doesn’t inherit my sarcasm or obsession with Snickers bars.