All this talk about cozy sweats and you are probably wondering how I can spin this into a fashion tip, but you have to know that even sweats are important.  You cannot go running around in some ratty old things circa 1990 or worse yet, you Pregnant Girls know who you are, wearing your husband’s sweats as yours get a little tighter in places you would prefer to deny.

Not to worry, I have a solution for my fashionable pregnant friends.  Nuka maternity’s Julie Noik is the new it designerfor comfortable and cozy maternity essentials.  She designed a v-neck short sleeve hoodie (pictured) that is a complete life saver.  You can layer it over a long sleeve tee for extra warmth or wear alone and pair with your favorite maternity denim.  The options are endless and every piece in her collection is this fabulous and versatile.  Best of all, the extra soft fabrics will hug your belly for a most flattering fit.  Her pieces are all hand dyed so each item looks special and brings that much more style to her comfortable and easy to wear designs.  So much multi-tasking from one amazing designer.  Of course she is a woman, who else could pull all that off and still have time to be mom.

This week we are giving away a NukaPullover Hoodie and Loop Terry Pants.  That way you can have your own set of stylish sweats to wear day and night.  The giveaway includes the look pictured in the first image and seen on Nuka’s website.  Each piece is made from super soft modal and can be machine washed.

I know you are just itching to win and it is so easy, we just want to get to know our readers.  Are you pregnant, trying, how did you find us and what can we do on Hormones to keep you coming back?  Please leave a comment and forward our blog to just one friend who might enjoy it as much as you do (that one is on the honor system).  Winner announced next Thursday, November 19.

Once a lady actually said do you want my opinion to which I said no thank you and you know she went right on and told me why I should start trying to have kids today.  She was adamant I should have 3 kids spaced 2 years apart each and on and on her opinions went.  I am sure she even chose my non-existent child’s college, but by that time I had swallowed an entire glass of wine in one gulp and was off to flag down the cocktail waitress.

Five years later and against all odds my 30-something year old eggs did the unthinkable and I am part of some kind of new club where moms welcome me with a different degree of acceptance.  Like instead of playing for the I put kids on hold for my career team I now play for being a mom is the only reason to live team and that means all kinds of moms like me.  This is actually great because to be honest this first trimester has me too damn tired to root for any team.  Apparently exhaustion has made me somewhat of a people pleaser.  So I’m in this club where the membership is free and like the mafia this is a once you’re in you can’t ever get out kind of organization.  I was just starting to enjoy my new status when the biggest unsolicited advice hit me like a mack truck. 

In casual conversation I mentioned that I had enjoyed a leisurely jog that morning and all of the sudden I got a look, daggers and all, that would have a person thinking I pulled a gun and robbed a bank while I was on my jog that very morning and was now a Pregnant Girl on the run.  But no, all I said was I am a Pregnant Girl who runs.  If I could have been kicked out of the mom’s club by this one woman who I happen to call mom then that would have been it.  The advice started flowing and it sure didn’t matter that I had read articles and talked to my doctor.  For every article I had she had one back.  For every reason I gave she gave one back.  We have been circling this way for the past two weeks and I just want to call it a grey area and move on.

The thing about grey areas is that they are always there, add in pregnancy and suddenly life is grey.  It starts in the morning with a cup of coffee then continues to lunch with the deli meat decision and ends with your roots growing wildly because some member of the club told you highlights are off limits.  If only we could grab a glass of wine and forget about the day of grey, but that wouldn’t be allowed either…or would it?

I’m always surrounded by pregos, that is pretty much the point of owning a maternity store, but for the first time ever I can actually help my girls out in the wardrobe department.  This got me thinking about you, my online friends.  Why shouldn’t you be able to enjoy a few perks (can we say discounts) and get more of the same advice I offer my real world friends.

The basics:

First things first, buy a bra that fits.  Do this for you and everyone else who has to gets to looks at those boobies.  We love Bella Materna; also nursing friendly, but if you aren’t ready to go that route choose your favorite bra in a size or two up.  Don’t forget to size up in the rib cage, since lucky Pregnant Girl that you are, this area will also grow.  Consider one of everything from Ingrid & Isabel, I have said it before and will say it over and over on this site, these camis and bottoms will save you from many wardrobe malfunctions and allow you to wear some non-maternity clothes a little longer saving you money in the long run.

For work (business casual attire):

Olian basic panel pants in black, brown or charcoal & the Juliet Dream jersey skirt in black or charcoal are easy and understated so they can be worn frequently.  Once you have two to three basic bottoms accessorize with scarves and jewelry and any/every top that works to cover your bump.  If you are newly pregnant you can most likely get away with non-maternity tops for a little longer.  We all know that buying work clothes is the least fun so choose items that can mix and match, which brings us to fun/weekend wear.  Grab that Juliet Dream skirt because it works as great for running errands on Saturday as it does at the office!

For fun:

Pair that JD skirt we talked about above or your favorite denim (you NEED one good pair of jeans ladies, this is as important as food and water as far as I am concerned) with basic cotton LA Made or 2 Chix tees.  If you stay at home or work in a super casual environment you are extra lucky because you can spend more on your fun wardrobe since you got to skip the work wardrobe.  Comfort is key so grab Maternal America’s knit pant, they are a true lounge pant, but the dark colors mean you can fudge them a little and pair with cute flats, a basic tee and scarf or necklace for a dinner date.

Since I am so adamant about denim I will tell you that all of my best pregnant friends have LOVED the Paige Westbourne jean because it does not have a panel.  This meant nobody knew they were wearing maternity jeans making them perfect from day one of pregnancy until long after the baby arrives, genius right.  You, my online friends, can order them for 15% off, just enter coupon code: hormones.

Visit every Friday for more fashion tips and fashion giveaways (there is a really great giveaway coming next week, we are talking an entire outfit from Nuka maternity!).

p.s. Autumn, you are our Michael Stars give away winner; please email us at info@myhormonesmademe.com with your shipping information.

Until I became Pregnant Girl I figured pregnancy brain was a totally lame excuse.  Yeah, yeah I know you are busy growing a baby and that whole miracle, but we are women and women are made to multi task and so I assumed that surely I would be able to carry a child and remember my name all at the same time.  For the first couple months this was going well and I got all cocky.  I remember EVERYTHING I would proclaim and this was followed by an obnoxious show in which I made my husband quiz me while I recalled friend’s birthdays and phone numbers like a human computer.

Then without warning it started to happen.  I forgot my Albertson’s card and when the sales associate said no problem just enter your phone number I stood there.  I got all embarrassed and uncomfortable and told her I liked her shirt and that she looked really pretty, which made her stand there all uncomfortable wondering if I was some freaky pregnant lady hitting on her and she stuttered thanks, now please just enter your phone number.  I don’t remember, oh shit oh shit, I am one of them.  One of who she asked, looking completely freaked out and like she thought I might melt down right there in lane 5.

Just yesterday I walked to the kitchen and wondered what made me go into the kitchen and when I couldn’t recall I decided on a snack even though I had finished a snack roughly twelve minutes prior.  And I kid you not at 3 a.m. when I lay there with massive heart burn it suddenly dawned on me.  I had walked into the kitchen that afternoon because I was thirsty and wanted a glass of water.  I freakin’ forgot that I was thirsty.

So this thing called pregnancy not only robs you of your perfectly normal sized boobs, butt and hips, but apparently it latches onto your brain and paralyzes it.  I now have notes for everything and when someone asks my address all I have to do is recall that bullet point in my blackberry and whala, there it is right below my known allergies.

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Today, however, my to do list includes an important errand.  Buy stroller.  It says so right at the top of the list.  I wouldn’t be a type A (that’s for anal, not annoying like my husband thinks or asshole like that lady who flipped me off today in traffic thinks) list making Pregnant Girl if I also didn’t take the time to research.  And you know what.  There are so many freakin’ strollers it’s not even funny.  They all have peculiar names and they all do different things, but basically all do the same thing.   Because, um, obviously they all have the same objection, allowing me to stroll my perfect sleeping baby around town while keeping my hands free so I can shop.  (There go my husband’s eyes rolling into the back of his head again.)

I already knew what I wanted and where to buy, I was just waiting for 8 weeks out like the book suggests (that one might be A for annoying).  My father in law is such a gem that he offered to buy it for us.  I could just kiss him for his kindness, but that might give away the fact that he is being so over the top generous and I’m not all that sure he actually realizes what he is about to get himself into. 

We stopped for lunch first and hoping to soften, or at least blur the blow to the wallet he was about to experience I suggested he have a beer.  He thought that was oh so hilarious “I haven’t had a beer in 35 years, since the day we had our first child.”  This also seems like a cruel joke, I mean here this man is allowed to drink and he chooses not to.  I can practically taste the wine I dreamt about last night, but in the interest of my child, that needs the top notch stroller, I refrain.  Also, I totally knew he didn’t drink which is why I was sure just one beer would have him drunk enough to smile while purchasing The Stroller.  That is how I am going to say it from now on, The Stroller, because it is that haughty.

We arrive at The Stroller store and the nice sales lady gives a bang up demonstration showing my FIL how the stroller pretty much babysits your child.  Then she rings him up and I cringe because here it comes.  “THAT IS MORE THAN MY FIRST CAR COST.”  Yes, at that volume so the entire store can hear.  This is when I assure him we can buy our own stroller.  The thing is my mother in law, his wife and therefore his boss, left town and told him one thing.  “Be a dear and go with Pregnant Girl to buy the stroller for our first and possible only (that part is a total dig at me for waiting until I was 35 to get pregnant) grandchild.”  And now he must.  He knows it and I know it.  So I smile embarrassingly and thank him while apologizing profusely to the sales lady for the outburst.

On the way home he said the beer might have been a good idea after all.

Here’s the thing, one day you will shock yourself because even though you know you’ve been trying, some piece of self preservation will tell you it might not have happened this month and so while you pee on the stick and cuss because it got on your hand you will simultaneously give yourself the pep talk “it’s okay, it takes months for everyone, it will happen” and then you will see +.  WHAM, just like that.  The test will say positive and while every fiber in your body knows you wanted this more than anything you will feel surprised.   Apparently that’s just one of life’s unexplainable certainties.  Not to worry because the surprise will quickly turn into insane excitement and here is where you get a little crazy.

As a new Pregnant Girl one of the first things you will do is call your doctor.  (Hopefully after you tell your husband since he does deserve half the credit.)  You are almost driving to doc’s office as you dial because surely she will want to see you, hug you and celebrate you.  Then they answer.

Baby Doctor’s office how can we help you?

I’M PREGNANT!!!!!!

Then the most monotone voice ever will say, congratulations, lets schedule your first appointment for 8 weeks, so let me just look at the schedule here…

Excuse me, I AM PREGNANT, can you believe it?  Pregnant!  Actually, I can’t believe it either and so I thought the doctor might like to see me and check for herself and tell me exactly what I should do now.  Like right now, today, what am I supposed to do? 

And then you are left wondering why they aren’t jumping for joy, when deep down you know why.  They aren’t the ones who just changed their entire future, right there in one tiny moment of positive your pep talk changed to “it’s okay, we will figure out how to take care of a baby.”   And you know what, you will.

Naturally, I was sure to wait until the weather was perfect and college football was on TV to drop the bomb that we must go register.  As we drove to the baby store we actually laughed at the couples who were crazy enough to go home with the random s.  Feeling in control and facing a momentary, completely unsubstantiated superiority complex, we made a plan to stick with the basics; onesies, bottles, burp cloths and you get the point.  I know you know where this is going, because you are probably Pregnant Girl too and we all become slaves to the baby sized c & s. 

Suddenly we need special spoons, a baby bathtub that looks like an oversized bucket I use to mop the floor, a brush just to clean bottles (definitely putting a label on that one), brightly colored keys to shake (and rattle?) at crying baby and a bib that says My Mom is Hotter Than Yours.  Why you ask?  Why do educated couples everywhere get sucked in?  I will tell you, plain and simple fear. 

We buy, and if we are lucky enough to have suckers for friends, we register for all this c & s out of pure unadulterated fear.  If you leave one random thing off the list you will definitely be stuck in some chic store, having missed the memo that babies are not all the rage with their staff, and your baby will have the mother of all meltdowns.  Then the one nice woman in the store, who naturally raised 5 valedictorians, will undoubtedly point out that all you need is that one item, the one that you did not get because it was just another silly, noise making, money sucking, apparent necessity.  And if that happens you will feel like a failure.  Like you failed at the one job you cannot, will not fail at and so instead, just in case, you carry a diaper bag full of c & s (sometimes literally).

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Anyway, let’s get focused here because my real problem is hubs, not you or your jaw that hit the floor.  Husband was not thrilled, you already knew that, but I had still been grasping to a small strand of hope.  Picturing a scenario where I tell him I blew a grand and he says model all your new clothes and I will tell you how pretty you look.  Then I remembered my husband is a straight man.  Instead it was more like we have a budget, we have goals, the long term, yadda yadda, he lost me somewhere between car seats and college.  I let him finish, then I asked if he knew what it was like to grow out of 90% of your clothes in 20 weeks.  Silence.  This is when I really got going.

On a side note, I don’t believe in keeping score in a marriage.  We’re a team, he does a little, I do a little and  it’s all for the greater good.  Pregnancy just is not one of those times where the team philosophy works.  It’s more like I do the work and we both reap the benefits. 

He had to get me pregnant.  I’m not going to spell it out for you, let’s just say I don’t call that giving it up for the greater good, more like just giving it up more often than he has since that first year of dating (or maybe since college, but that was before me and before me doesn’t exist).  When the test struck positive he gained a designated driver.  That is where his list ends and mine begins.

So far I have gained 16 pounds, an aversion to chicken, a close relationship with the toilet from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., slightly swollen ankles, acne on my back, an absurdly frequent urge to pee, thighs that touch and rub together when I walk, hot flashes, cellulite, stretch marks, porn star boobs (Pam Anderson can keep them as far as I am concerned), midnight cravings for pancakes with chocolate ice cream and heartburn.

So far I have lost the ability to run for more than thirty minutes, sleep on my stomach (the way that I have for 30 years), the enjoyment that was that first cup of coffee every morning (I don’t bother with decaf), wine, blue cheese and guilt free turkey sandwiches (BTW, that lunch meat thing was news to me), my waistline and pretty much my body as I knew it, and the freedom to take an aspirin when I have a headache.

By the end of my rant hubs had programmed Jessica’s phone number into his blackberry; handy for the next time he is crazy enough to question the Pregnant Girl.

Hello silver lining, because there is always good news mixed in with the bad.  I love to shop.  Simple as that.  And, I seriously think a shoppers high exists, something like the runner’s high I’ve heard of, but more expensive.  I am smiling because I have the ultimate excuse to indulge and unlike the rest of the world (or those I had dinner with last night) I am not too hung over to get an early Saturday start (see, another one of those silver linings just popping up out of nowhere). 

I am more of a sprinter than a marathon shopper.  I don’t look, I buy.  After all, time is money, so if I am saving time I have more money to spend, really it’s just simple math.  I have a mental list and am designing items in my head as I drive to a fab (or so I heard from a pregnant friend) store that is stocked with clothes that will fit.  Funny how that is suddenly my criteria, I used to search for a specific designer and now I just want to be able to breathe and wear pants all at the same time.  It takes awhile to get to the one stylish maternity boutique and by the time I pull up my mental list has become a full blown storyline starring Michael Kors and yours truly complete with theme music to compliment my insanity.

Back to reality, I am here and already feeling giddy.  Cue the choir ladies, this is Pregnant Girl heaven.  Brands I recognize, made especially for us.  I am grabbing at Michael Stars maternity tees, Paige maternity jeans that have a band so secretive nobody will even know they are maternity (don’t worry, you can have them too) and Juicy Couture sweats that are going to cover my growing butt and belly.  I have to calm myself down.  Picture a six year old shoveling all the candy he can in his mouth before mom comes in and says no more or, even worse, he is forced to share with the other kids.  That is me, only we are talking a grown woman and cute clothes that (keyword) fit, and it is like these might be the only stylish maternity items on the planet so I must have them all.  One after another they fit and I feel, wait for it…wait, normal.  There it is, one little word as important as the aforementioned five.  I feel good, even pretty and I must have them all. 

As I wait to purchase my new gems I witness a tragic event.  The woman in front of me pulls out $100 in cash and two credit cards.  She must split the bill three ways so her husband doesn’t realize how much she is spending on her maternity clothes.  Gulp, in my excitement I forgot about my hubby and our baby budget.  Surely he will understand the necessity…right?  Why doesn’t her husband understand?  Do any of them understand?

Cliffhanger ladies, I bought them all, took them home and it wasn’t pretty.  Come back for part two.  His reaction and my reasoning (BTW, my reasons are good, you might even want to keep a couple up your sleeve)…

Am I shallow, self absorbed, in denial or just so easy breezy that I trust my instincts will kick in and whatever is supposed to happen will in fact happen?

A little of everything I guess.  Shallow and self absorbed?  Sure, I am not afraid to admit that I am having a really hard time with my new knockers the size cantaloupes, minus the firmness that comes with a nice melon.  They seem to weigh more than my husband’s head (if I had to guess anyway) and the chances of me getting through this pregnancy without a self inflicted black eye while jogging are slim to none.  I fear the aftereffects; all stretched out and tucked into my low rise jeans.  Say goodbye to pretty bras, these suckers are going to need something serious, think heavy duty and I will venture you do not picture lace. 

In denial?  YES!  This reaction is new for me and it arrived after I heard that nursing is worse than labor itself.  Are you telling me that a tiny baby sucking can hurt me more than hours of contractions and (okay, take back that tiny part, as I think of what passes through where), but still nursing worse than labor, WTF!  I am taking classes, practicing breathing and dreaming of the drugs (yep I am one of those) to get through labor.  I figured after that the pain ends the sleepless nights ensue.  I was prepared for exhaustion, but not words like sore, clogged and cracked.  So yes, given the choice of facing these fears and the alternative, I choose denial with a side of Ben & Jerry’s for the next 14 weeks. 

Mostly, I am happy to report, and think my waitress, dry cleaner and lady behind me in line at the grocery store, will sleep better knowing that my easy, breezy attitude overshadows my shallow defiance.  I choose to refrain from grand statements such as I must breastfeed for one year or I have failed.  I do not declare six months as my magic number nor I am aiming for kindergarten graduation (come on, we know you’re out there).  My only certainty is I am somewhere in the middle.  I know I will try my best, beyond that all I know is that I will stop long before my baby has enough teeth to enjoy a steak for dinner.