The Unconventional Home

Epic and unique are two of my favorite words when it comes to a home. There's something intriguing about a space being used for a purpose other than what it was originally intended for. Like the top floor of an old police station now being used as a studio apartment. A couple blocks north of our place in Brooklyn, there's an old school that has been renovated into an apartment building and I always walk by and daydream (slash, try to peek through the curtains) about what the space looks like inside. Our current place was originally used as a recording studio for a bit, so our bedroom is a bit oddly shaped and it appears it was an impossible idea to make any wall close to a straight 90 degree angle. Cause why would you want to do that? It all definitely lends to some fun and creative manners of interior decorating, which is my favorite part. One day down the road, I know E and I would love to live in an old firehouse or renovated schoolhouse. We're suckers for exposed beams and pipes, high ceilings and quirky spaces! 

When I saw this feature in the recent New York Magazine, I figured it was obviously places that were way off the map of the normal living areas of the city. It's easier to find an old firehouse or church to purchase in rural Pennsylvania, but in New York City? Who knew real estate like that still even existed and hadn't been snatched up and chopped into teeny tiny apartments decades ago? If there's one thing New Yorkers love more than scoring The bargain of the year on an apartment..... it's being able to snoop around in other peoples apartments. Every space in this city is truly unique. Hop on over to the full feature and read about the how the owner's each tackled the transformation process. A little fun Friday read for you! 

Photos by Henrik Knudsen for New York Magazine. 

Gender Neutral :: The Choice To Wait

With every decision you make during pregnancy, there will either come praise or opinions. No one will ever go straight to disapproval, they'll just offer 'opinions'. Which, thanks to your pregnancy brain, you'll likely forget in a matter of minutes anyway. Right now, the most frequently asked question to my bump is 'boy or girl'? Completely natural thing to inquire about and the always perfect 'go to' ice breaker when chatting it up with a pregnant lady. To which I kindly note with a shrug of my shoulders, 'We don't know.' Their faces usually say something like 'Don't know?'. Most people think it's a joke or we are hiding some super big secret as if the there's the possibility the third option to the gender of a baby is hiding inside my stomach. 

Prior to even becoming pregnant, I always had a hunch I would probably want to wait. And why not? We could always find out if we ended up losing sleep over it. Took a little more convincing to get E on that train with me, and he wavered back and forth a little before becoming completely into it, but it's always helpful to boldly throw out the 'solidarity' card in those moments (you're getting some bonus marriage lessons here today)! One month, I was dreaming of little rockstar girl outfits and how E will be complete and utter putty in her hands. The next month, I was thinking how sweet it would be to have a boy first who could be the 'big brother'. Now, I'm completely neutral. As long as this nugget comes out in a speedy fashion with ten fingers and ten toes…. we will be high five-ing ourselves. 

I wish there was some elaborate and deep parenting reason for why we chose to do this, but really, it's mostly because there aren't a lot of surprises left in the world. We've created a gadget, machine or hired a trend forecaster who will be sure we are one step ahead of everything at all times. And if those aren't adequate, we've still always got the lo-fi options of the fortune cookie or psychic. I love getting a glimpse into my future over a steaming bowl of fried rice, but I've never been one who needed to know before the rest of the world. Let's all remember, it's highly unlikely our own parents even had the option to find out when we were born. Thousands of years went by before the invention of the sonogram and it appears people survived. For now, we are enjoying the awkward moments on people's faces when they don't know whether to refer to my bump as 'baby', 'it' or a stuttering version of 'she/him'. On record, I call my baby an 'it'….. you're welcome to as well. 

26 Weeks + Stage Five Panic

I’m not sure if there’s a term for what is currently happening in our apartment right now. It’s not technically ‘nesting’, as one would think, as much as ‘pure and total destruction’. I’ve discarded half my closet, but only managed to get the ‘giveaway’ box as close to the Salvation Army bin as my bedroom door. So that’s fun to trip over every day. Our front couch is in the back, we’re using E’s v-flats (definition: photo gear technical term for super tall foam boards) as fake walls to envision how the baby room would be built and every piece of furniture has been moved in order for me to get a feel for what it would look like elsewhere. And then, of course, only partially moved back. I basically can’t make a decision right now to save my life. So we’ve learned my feelings come out in the form of furniture rearrangement. Chalk it up to my stage five panic that set in after I went to my latest doctor appointment only to have her inform me that I’m on my final trimester. Huh, what? Yea, I said the same thing to her. Or at least my facial reaction did (disclaimer: I am 28 weeks in real time. I'm just lagging in keeping up the photos to correlate!) Thankfully, she’s my kind of lady. Took me a few visits to realize why I had a distinct feeling we understood each other. She’s slightly sassy, nonchalant and honest in a way some could find jarring, but I find refreshing. E was the one who acknowledged that she always complimented me on my fur, anything leather in my outfit or bold nail color. So pretty much the top three components to winning over my affection. Which makes her basically my OB soul mate and, therefore, the most qualified person to deliver this child.

:: Confessions on Pregnancy ::

- You don’t know what an OB is either? I just learned this week when making a follow up appointment with the zesty new front desk receptionist! Let me enlighten you too. “Are you making an OB or GYN appointment, dear?”. Blank stare from me. “I don’t know what that means? Are those like those texting codes teenagers talk in these days?”. Blank stare back from receptionist. “Are you pregnant or not pregnant?”. “Oh” I stare down at my obvious belly near her eye level and then glance back at the receptionist. “By golly, I think I’m pregnant.” There was obvious judgement all over her face....it wouldn’t be far off to assume she burned my records.

- Perk of pregnancy; random strangers feel completely comfortable talking to you and sharing their wisdom on a whim. Take the dweller outside the corner bodega on Washington last week. After noticing I was pregnant and fighting a slight cough, he informs me to be sure to really take care of my health. I smiled and said I appreciated his concern. He continues to inform me that his lady was sitting on the park bench down the street one summer day and had a sneezing fit so bad it made her water break. Now they call their child ‘Sneezy’. The end. 

- What is a pregnant woman’s natural musk, you ask? Well, I’d have to say cocoa butter with a dash of Bio Oil. That’s right. I could spray perfume on myself with the intensity of an Abercrombie store, and it still wouldn’t hide the always present cocoa butter aroma that seeps out of every part of my skin. The best offense is a good defense, my friends. My fear of stretch marks is a close second to my fear of an outie belly button.

What I Wore :: 24 Weeks

Shirt: H&M // Pants: F21 // Shoes: Louboutin // Jacket: Target (similar) // Clutch: c/o JustFab // Belt: Urban Outfitters (similar)

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It happened.

I knew the day was inevitable. It was bound to happen. But something in my mind kept convincing myself otherwise; that I was going to be prepared, composed and equipped for when the hurricane hit. Was I actually? Of course not. Have we met?

After months of waiting for my bump to officially arrive in hopes of showing it off and parading around in all the cute maternity outfits I had imagined and laid out in the endless closet of my mind, that day had finally arrived. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, one of the first things occupying my mind was how my body was going to change. It was in all the ways any gal thinks.... ranging from ‘I’ve dreamt since I was a little girl shoving basketballs up my shirt about what being pregnant will look like’ to ‘Holy crap, I don’t want to look like Jessica Simpson’. Both are completely normal reactions... in my book.

The honest truth is, your body is going to change. I repeat..... your body is going to change. And it won’t look like Giselle. Or maybe it will. In which case, we won’t be friends. Either way, I woke up one morning and realized I was living out an episode of Body Snatchers. I stood there in an outfit I had worn over a dozen times and couldn’t comprehend why it looked different. Things weren’t falling how they used too. My once chic oversized tee was now mere inches away from being a crop top. Then I did the worst thing you could do in that moment.... I turned to get a side view of my outfit. Annnnnd...... cue meltdown. Within the next ten minutes I had completely devoured my closet, trying on every combination of shirt/pant/dress/skirt/top I could get my hands on. Then immediately took them each off and over dramatically threw them on our front sofa. Everything felt weird. It was as if I was getting dressed out of a strangers closet. Where did these clothes come from? This was, of course, at 8:00am on the morning I had an 8:30am meeting. (Take note: perfect time to ‘blame the baby’.)

Thankfully, E overheard the commotion and slowly talked me off the ledge.... and out of a crop top. But the moral of the story is not about the dangers of crop tops, it is about the inevitable closet related temper tantrum no woman is immune to. Take it from me, it takes a couple of weeks with your new accessory to really get a handle on how things will look and how you will feel in them. I’ve never been one to wear body hugging anything, and now, I’ll rock a bodycon dress..... without the need for Spanx (read: rebel). Cause really, when else in life can you do that? It’s quite liberating.

After that fateful morning, I vowed to never let my closet explode again. Mainly, because I didn’t want to have to take an entire Sunday afternoon putting everything back on hangers, but also, because I wanted to love every minute I have with this bump-a-roo. You only have it for five of the nine months. And you only get to experience being pregnant for the first time.... once. I didn’t want to waste time being in a fight with my bump. My advice? Take a day and go through your entire closet of what you already own. Try things on and take pictures. Trust me, those photos will come in handy when you need to talk yourself off the ledge again one morning..... ‘Oh right, I don’t look like a blimp in this shirt if I just add a blazer over it’. I went through my closet and noted pieces I could still fit and how to style them with the bump. There were also pieces I had to admit just weren’t going to fly, no matter how I pinned, tucked or tied them. Just remember... they aren’t gone forever, merely on a relaxing vacation until next season. I used this as an opportunity to note the few ‘maternity’ specific staple pieces I was going to actually purchase. But that’s a whole post of its own!

What I Wore :: 23 Weeks

It's likely your first thought after reading the title of this post is that I'm really bad at math. Do I admit there have been some days where I have confused what week of pregnancy I'm on? You bet. Counting in weeks as they relate to a nine month spread is not one of my strengths. Hence the blank stare I usually project after asking a parent how old their child is and the response I get is '20 months'. Hmmm, what exactly does that mean? Can I get a year in there as a starting point? Like a year and six months. Now, that I get.  

So yes, here I am posting a 23 week outfit... when in reality.... I'm 26 weeks pregnant. Which is like six months and some change. This isn't so much a reflection of my math skills as much as my time management skills in posting these photos. So be prepared for some back-to-back baby mama outfit posts coming your way.

WHAT I WORE :: 

Jacket: Beluah // Dress: Topshop // Bag: c/o Brahmin // Hat: Urban Outfitters // Jewelry: F21, vintage // Wedges: Target

:: Confessions on Pregnancy ::

- Never in my life have I questioned on a daily basis if today may be the day I pee my pants in public.... as an adult. Yes, there were times in college where after an impressive consumption of alcohol and while standing in a long single line for a single bathroom at a party where I may have thought the odds of me wetting my knickers were high. But, at least back then my ability to 'hold it' was still functioning without the obstacle of a baby firmly standing on my bladder. That's no longer the case. At least I have the baby bump to point to and blame, if I in fact end up peeing my pants in public. Which brings us to the next confession.

- Blame the baby for everything. Really this is just the beginning of what I see as a lifelong ability to blame your child for things completely unbeknownst to them. Late to work? Sorry, I couldn’t run to catch the bus (and motion to your bump). Dirty kitchen you said three times you’d clean? Sorry babe, you know with the baby and all I can’t inhale the chemical fumes. You forgot to: pick up the laundry, grab coffee at the store, lock the door, call back your mother-in-law, take out the trash? Sorry, you know how much this baby gives me pregnancy brain and all. Most recently, I blame this baby for bringing me to the moment where the word 'pee' has now been written on my blog.

- Having a pregnant belly is an oddity. Some mornings I wake up and don’t feel pregnant at all until I’m reminded when applying the hair band to the button of my non-maternity leather pants I still insist on wearing. I’m also not quite fully aware of my belly’s size. As noted when trying to squeeze in between two co-workers chairs and in my mind I was still ‘sucking in’ to get by. You know the feeling. But in reality, my belly hadn’t decreased a millimeter and I side-smacked a guy in the head..... with my belly. Whelp, that’s a first.... for both of us.