Life isn’t fair. I get that.

But really, Jamie King? I mean…


I ate a chocolate chip cookie the size of my head for breakfast. Seriously. It weighed at least 3 pounds. And now I have to see this?


If you need me, I’ll be out walking it off… and looking every bit as pissed about it as a pregnant Kate Winslet currently does.


I know, Kate.


How far along? 21 weeks <– LESS than half way to go. Holy. Freaking. Moly.

How big is baby? 3/4lb and 10.5 inches long. Grow, Charlie girl, grow!

Total weight gain/loss: A lady never kisses binge eats and tells

Workouts for the week: Lots of elliptical and puppy walking

Maternity clothes? Ugh. I’m in such an awkward phase right now. Most of my work-appropriate shirts don’t fit anymore, but I don’t want to buy any more summer clothes since we live in New England and it’ll probably snow by Labor Day. I’m hoping I can hold out until fall with some creative wardrobe decisions.

Sleep: The vivid dreams continue, although they’ve taken on a theme over the past few weeks: FOOD… particularly baked goods. Best dream to date? The one where someone baked me a cake filled with chocolate donuts on the inside. I mean, wouldn’t you want that!?


Best moment this week: We’ve made a lot of progress on the nursery! By “we”, I mean Sean. The bead board walls are up and crib is assembled! I couldn’t resist putting the bumper and crib skirt on even though we don’t have a mattress (or baby) yet. #firsttimeparentproblems


Movement: So many kicks! We’ve got a karate kid in there. I saw movement from the outside for the first time this week, which was incredibly creepy and awesome at the same time.

Food cravings: See Chocolate Donut Cake Above.

Food Aversions: Anything that is not chocolate or donut related

Gender: sugar and spice and everything nice!

Labor Signs: I think I felt my first Braxton Hicks over the weekend. “They” say you can feel them starting around 17 weeks, but I was surprised nonetheless. Apparently dehydration can be a cause, so I chugged a bunch of water and the feeling went away.

Pregnancy Symptoms: My first reaction is to say none, really. And then I remember crying Saturday night because I was SURE Sean had developed cancer of some sort and I’d have to sell our house, move in with my parents (Hi, Mom and Dad!) and raise our baby alone. Totally normal, right?


What I miss: Booze. Beer, red wine, white wine, cocktails, tequila shots…I’ll even chug some cough syrup at this point.


What I am looking forward to: We have our first mini-shower coming up at the end of the month, along with a cloth diapering class (I know guys, try not to be jealous).

Upcoming appointments/events: No appointments until August 2nd and it’s just a boring old checkup. Can’t wait for the next ultrasound in seven agonizingly long weeks to see if this placenta has taken a hike.

Milestones: I’ve gone 7 days without ice cream and lived to tell the tale. However, with temps in the 90s all week, I foresee copious amounts in my immediate future.

Obligatory Bump Photos: 


 Does Instagram make a photo filter for under eye bags?


Notice the fancy bead board behind me now? Thanks, dear!


It’s hard to believe my first post on running while pregnant was only 5 weeks ago since so much has changed since then. Mainly:


I’m actually going to birth a torpedo instead of a baby. Either that or a cone head. What’s going on in there, kiddo?

Exercise has been happening in spurts for me. I’ll have several fantastic days followed by a week a few super lazy ones. Recovery time isn’t as quick as usual and I find myself exhausted the day after a solid workout. One lifesaver I’ve found so far is a maternity support belt. It seemed a little silly to be using it so early on, but it makes a huge difference. I ordered the Gabriella brand and yes, it’s as undeniably attractive in person as it looks on here. My support belt brings all the boys to the yard.


Watching the clock tick slower and slower on the Garmin has been both humbling and challenging, but as people reminded me when I posted a complaint on Instagram via the photo below  - speed is all relative.  It’s also temporary. Now is not the time to be racking up major mileage and PRs, and I should just be grateful I’m able to get out there. Sooooo basically: Marie, quit yer bitchin’ and chill the eff out. Duly noted


After the placenta previa diagnosis at my last ultrasound, I’ve been instructed to keep my exercise efforts to a minimum. My midwife’s exact words were, “I wouldn’t go running a marathon or anything”. Errrr, thanks? She cleared me to continue my current routine of elliptical and running, but asked that I keep the mileage low (around 3 miles is my max at the moment). As a result, I’m basically in maintenance mode. I’m eating like a horse lately, so I see these  cardio sessions as an opportunity to clear room for the next baked good I’ll be devouring. 30 minutes on the treadmill? Hellooooo, cupcake.

On the bright side, I’m actually sticking with my arm weight routine and have even upgraded to the big girl weights…


if you consider 8 and 12 lb weights to be “big”. But seriously, I’m doing awesome at them. I can even pat myself on the back thanks to my new muscles.

On a final note, I simply must pass along a brilliant piece of maternity advice I stumbled across via this strange, small world of blogging. After spending a few weeks browsing $70 maternity running pants (I mean, are you kidding me?!), I googled “maternity running clothes” and an archived post from the only other person named Marie I’ve ever met known stalked on the Internet was in the top results. Marie recommended buying the cheapest running shorts possible from Marshalls/TJ Maxx/etc and cutting the waistband out.


Sweaty, swamp belly not included

Uhhhhhh. Duh. Why didn’t I think of that?

I wasn’t sure they’d stay up once the elastic was cut, but apparently this seemingly innocent little bump is pretty effective as a belt. $7.99 for maternity clothes? Eat that, Motherhood Maternity.

Now that we’ve surpassed the half-way mark in this pregnancy (YAHOO!), I know it’s only going to be more challenging from here so I’m taking running on a case by case basis. If I get to the point where I feel like my hips/bladder/lower back/knees might actually explode, I’ll stop and stick with the elliptical for the rest of the time. Maybe I’ll even zen out, light some candles, and take pre-natal yoga (doubtful).

Ultimately, I’m praying the placenta previa doesn’t cause any further complications and I can continue my current routine right until delivery. Otherwise, I might be forced to consider the foods I’m eating and cut back. Sorry, but that’s just not happening. You can take away my long runs, but you’ll never take my ice cream sundaes.


I know, Mel….I know.

A little over a month ago, we announced that Baby G is a girl and will be named Charlotte. The name was a no-brainer for us. We wanted something classic and timeless that isn’t completely overused and our name discussion lasted all of 5 seconds:

Me: What about Charlotte if it’s a girl? 

Sean: Love it. 

Me: Me too. Was it really that easy? 

Sean: Yep. 

Done and done.

……until that effing Princess Kate threw a wrench in our plans. British bookies have been placing bets on what this little heir(ess) will be named and Charlotte is currently a front-runner with 6 to 1 odds. Royal Baby, you are a royal pain in my ass.

I did not get up early to watch the wedding. I did not run out to buy a knockoff sapphire engagement ring.  I do not have any British paraphernalia (and I even lived in London). I’ll admit, the girl gets a fantastic blow-out and her legs are just straight-up unfair, but I have no aspirations to be more like her. I certainly do not want my child named after hers.


If Kate and William name their daughter Charlotte, that means every rabid Royal fangirl is going to do the same thing. Our beloved name will go from being something special to one of thousands over the next year. My worst fear? People assuming I named our daughter after the Royal Baby.


Or even worse – referring to her as our “Little Princess”.



Commence vomiting immediately.

Could we change her name? Well, of course. Kind of. I may or may not have ordered some monogrammed clothes already. Errrr…….any other “C” names out there?


This is where the foot-stomping, clenched fist tantrum ensues. But…but… I don’t waaaaannnnaaa change our name.

Saner minds need to prevail. First of all, hello #FirstWorldProblem. Secondly, it’s not even confirmed she’s having a girl, let alone naming her Charlotte. Logically, I realize this. Emotionally? I’m ready to fly to England and bitch slap a Princess or two.

Let’s just blame it on the hormones, okay?

It’s no secret that I’m a control freak I like to be “actively involved” in the decision-making process of just about everything. Poor Sean can’t pick out a pair of underwear without me chiming in to offer my opinion.

Since the beginning of this little adventure, I’ve been trying to combat pregnancy’s natural urge to take over your life. I vowed I’d never be one of those girls to post pictures of my uterus on Facebook, and you’ll never see me dedicate a status to my unborn child. I promise. That being said, they don’t call pregnancy a life-altering event for nothing. Being the stubborn-headed, control demon that I am, I haven’t always taken these unexpected pregnancy-induced changes in stride. Sure, I happily embraced the additional 300 calories a day (and then some…have YOU ever had french fries and nutella?!)…

but there’s a flip side to everything and this week, pregnancy stood right up and slapped me across the face. Okay, okay, fiiiiiiiiine. At 19 weeks, I concede. I can’t control it all.

After a particularly stressful week with some sad family news and annoying anatomy scan results, I found myself in tears Saturday morning. For the past few months, I’ve been trying to keep up with my usual routine, particularly in our social life. I may not be able to booze like I used to, but I can still be part of the party, goddamnit. Except I can’t. Not always. I have to realize that sometimes it’s okay to pull the pregnancy card and say, “You know what? I’m tired, I’m fat, I’m swollen and the beer on your breath makes me want to simultaneously vomit and lick you just to get some. I simply can’t make any more small talk with you right now because I’m going home to put on my sweatpants and browse ‘newborn photos’ on Pinterest“.

At this point, I need to loosen the reigns a little bit. We had our big 20 Week anatomy scan ultrasound on Friday and while we got a relatively clean bill of health, I’ve been put on an altered routine for the next 10 weeks to ensure I don’t encounter any serious bleeding or complications due to placenta previa. WOMP WOMP. They also found a (very commonly occurring) cyst in Charlotte’s brain fluid – it affects 1 in 50 fetuses in the 2nd trimester and usually disappears by 3rd trimester. The ultrasound tech and doctor compared it to being left-handed – some people just are. While I did my very best not to absolutely freak out as the words brain and cyst being used in the same sentence, I didn’t leave the appointment with the wave of relief I was hoping for.

After a minor (bah ha ha understatement of the year) meltdown, I’ve come through with a much better outlook on everything. As much as I’d love to, and I mean LOVE to, I can’t control everything. Even if I miraculously did something to fix this placenta previa, I could still need a c-section for a hundred other reasons, so what exactly is the point in stressing myself out now – 20 weeks away? Silly pregnant girl.

It’s often said that when you make plans, God laughs. Touché then, good sir, touché. Break out the size XL  sweatpants and hide Dr. Google, because I’ve got some care-free living to attend to.

P.S. Does this new attitude about “letting go” mean I don’t have to do laundry or dishes anymore? Sean?Because that’d be a really awesome pregnancy symptom. Just sayin’…