I was talking to my mom on the phone last night, and she was really keen on discussing baby names. Like, super focused. Every time I tried changing the subject, she veered right back to discussing whether we should name it Mason or Porter if it’s a boy (her picks) or Jayne if it’s a girl (the Y makes it hip and modern, she said). I think she’s concerned Jake and I will name the baby something really weird or out-there, like Cobalt or Shasta, or jump on the vintage name trend by bestowing a purposefully ugly Victorian moniker — something like Bertha or Agatha — in order to be edgy and different.   She didn’t mince words.  She was very adamant about us NOT naming the child something he or she will hate us for later in life, such as “Shannon” or “Leslie” if it’s a boy  or “Audrey” if it’s a girl (”Everyone will call her AUD!” she said. “ODD!!!! You can’t do that to a little girl!”)

Rest assured, I know whatever name we go with, there’s a good chance my mom won’t approve.  As a litmus test, I shared our current favorite girl’s name with her. (I won’t share it here because I’m superstitious about these things.)

She was silent for a minute. “Hmmm,” she said. “That’s…………….interesting.”

“Interesting.”  Everyone knows that “interesting” is mom-speak for “THIS is how I raised you?”

I guess I can’t I blame her. This will be my mom’s first grandchild and she wants to make sure her baby our baby will be happy and healthy, which won’t be the case if it’s a boy named Sue.

Jake’s mom seems a little more chilled out about it. I think it’s because she already has six kids of her own and four grandkids and probably has a hard time remembering most of their names anyway. When ours finally comes along, she might be like, “Shasta who?”

UPDATE: My mom responds: “Those two words you crossed out in your [exaggerated] blog post need to be put back in. This first baby is mine. Any others beyond this one, you and Jake can have. But this one belongs to her Granny!!!”

I’m introducing a new column that chronicles the magical roller coaster ride that is pregnancy:  Roids, constipation, fiber intake, low back pain, the works!

Two nights ago, I awoke to prolonged stomach cramps that were so severe I thought I was having a miscarriage. What to Expect When You’re Expecting says cramping for an entire day could be a sign of miscarriage, and I was convinced I had cramped for at least 10-12 hours, so Jake and I hightailed it to the doctor’s office as soon as possible.

Well, I’m happy to share the baby — who is 17 weeks old — is fine. We heard a strong heartbeat. The doctor checked out my plumbing and everything is in working order. Go me.

So why the cramping? Apparently — here comes the collective eye roll — my stomach muscles are too tight.

Me, 17 weeks pregnant. (Okay, not exactly.)

I teach Pilates. I’ve been doing Pilates for many years. Everything I’ve ever read says that experienced Pilates students don’t have to stop doing core work when pregnant. So….I didn’t. I didn’t even scale back. I’ve been doing the 100s, the roll ups, roll overs, jack knifes, teasers with the best of them! That’s right, bring your A-game, Jillian Michaels! I will crush you in a Crunch Off!

Jillian Michaels, ab hero.

Except there’s only one problem: The baby wants to bust out and grow but my tectonic abdominal muscle fibers are so tight, they’re locking the little bugger in place. My body is working against itself. It’s a battle of wills between my muscles and my baby.  And  so far, the baby is kicking my ass by putting me on the doctor’s table.

The neurosis part:  Is this a metaphor for our future relationship? Me, all toned and disciplined like an old piece of gristle while my child struggles to blossom in an atmosphere of self-deprivation and denial? Am I going to be a crap mom, like some militant image/fitness-obsessed Mommie Dearest?

Baby, I apologize to you now. And I will try to lay off my power house.