Baby on Board

When I discovered I was pregnant, I assumed that my body would suffer, but certainly not my mind. Not this brain, that averages a book a week and can solve an easy crossword puzzle, and has never lost to my husband in Scattergories. (He doesn’t think that’s worth bragging about, either.) But then, there I was, three months pregnant, blinking at baristas when I couldn’t remember “decaf iced Americano, please” and dreading deadlines because whatever part of me used to write with ease had rededicated itself to the creation of life.

Finding out that the brain starts to jam up even before the kid is out was . . . alarming. And responsible, in part, for why it took me so long to figure out how to navigate being a pregnant lady in this city. My millenial sensibilities assumed some fecund hipster enclave would spot my bump at a coffee shop and welcome me into their group. They’d know all the best studios for pregnancy yoga and have a shared Google doc with thoughts on doulas vs.midwives, Lamaze vs. All the Drugs, and which organic vitamin shops carried prenatal vitamins with DHA.

If they’re out there, they never found me.

And so I had to create my own little network to figure things out. I even had to pick up the phone and call a few places. It turns out that most people love pregnant ladies, and were happy to help. This came as a surprise to me because I generally don’t like people—much less two people in one—but, fortunately, I’m the minority.

Here are a few things I’ve learned in my 21 weeks of gestation, either from asking people who know better, or from assuming I know best and then being shocked when I’m proved wrong.

Some yoga studios have pregnancy yoga, and some say they do on their sites, but actually do not. For us city gals, Charm City Yoga has it on Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons in Midtown, and Thursdays after work in Fells Point. Classes are also offered in the Towson, Pikesville, and Severna Park studios, but I’m not sure I love my kid enough yet to fight 97 traffic to make it down there.

I learned from the gal at Whole Foods and from my mother-in-law that you want to look for vitamins with the least extra ingredients, and that DHA is a supplement not often found in traditional prenatals, so you have to take it separately. Try Rainbow Light brand from the Vitamin Shoppe in Canton, and Spectrum DHA from Whole Foods. I also learned from my own gag reflex that I was not built to swallow pills the size of June bugs, so I crush mine up and eat it with low fat Greek yogurt. Except I really eat them with ice cream.

I’ve learned that 99-percent of hospitals offer birth classes where you and your partner can go sit in horror in the name of education and self-advocacy. Given its proximity to our home and its en-suite hot tub situation, we’re going to Mercy for the blessed event, so it made sense to also take our birth classes there. If you’re planning a home birth or want a more alternative option, check out Informed Birth Choices in Catonsville. Apparently these living nightmares are super popular, so ask your doctor early on when and where you should sign up and if the instructors provide fainting couches or if you should bring your own.

These classes are also a good opportunity to meet other expectant parents. This is important, because you need pregnant friends. Non-pregnants quickly grow weary of talking stretch-mark cream and exhaustion, but pregnant people will be delighted to hear, again, about how hormonal you felt yesterday. I assumed I’d make friends at yoga, but it turns out it’s more about fishtail-braided top knots and concentrating on goddess pose and less about forming a sisterhood of traveling yoga pants. So get to know your hospital, find out what’s going to come out of you, and then make some buddies.

And finally, so far, I’ve learned that a pregnant lady without a snack is like a Real Housewives reunion episode: Someone is getting slapped. Always, always have something within arm’s reach to eat. I’ve found that apples and bananas fit nicely in my purse, and bananas get bonus points for coming in their own adorably speckled case. The day will come when you leave the house without a snack, and that will be the day you run out of gas in a field or get stuck in a meeting with your boss that won’t end. Your blood sugar levels will plummet, and you’ll shrivel up to conserve energy while relying on your memory of food to float you until your next meal.

Just pack a damn snack. It’s good practice for when that person you’re growing becomes a toddler, anyway.

Megan Isennock is a freelance writer and content producer for Shine Creative. Her baby boy is due in October.