This tubeworm-looking thing is called a Snoogle. I'm assuming that "snoogle" is a bastardization of the words "snuggly" and "noodle", but it's throughly possible that someone just made the name up. Personally, I think Leachco (the company responsible for the Snoogle) needs to fire whoever comes up with the names of their products, which include pillows with monikers like "Preggle" and "Boomerest".
I bought a Snoogle yesterday. It cost me $55 at Babies "R" Us. I hate Babies "R" Us. The name of the store is stupid, everything is overpriced and the store is always filled with pregnant women and screaming toddlers. Then they had the nerve to charge me over fifty dollars for a freaking body pillow, but I bought it anyway because of the giant bone bruise that had been affecting my stride all day.
My little monster is about seven and a half weeks along, and my normal flop-facedown-onto-the-bed-and-pass-out approach is no longer working so well. I've never been able to sleep on my side, because I have the boniest hips in five states and after an hour or so, the pain from grinding my hipbone into the mattress forces me to flip onto my front or, rarely, my back. After three nights of unsuccessful side-sleep, my right hip was killing me and so I decided that I was going to buy the damn side-sleeping-pregnant-lady pillow no matter how much it cost.
The Snoogle is basically just a giant, curvy, firm, tubular pillow. It's designed to take the strain off your back and hips while preventing you flipping over onto your belly or back during the night. It's pretty comfortable, but I couldn't get to sleep last night no matter how hard I tried. Part of the reason was that my hip still hurt, but I think that was because it had been ground into the mattress with all of my body weight resting on it for the past three nights. We'll see how it fares during a mid-afternoon nap, when I can flip over to my uninjured left hip and take up half the bed.
I keep referring to the thing as a Snoogle just to irritate my husband, who snapped "quit saying Snoogle!" at me approximately thirteen times as we were going to bed last night. You've got to admit that it's a little embarassing to admit to owning something with a name like "snoogle". Snoogle, snoogle, snoogle.
Here's another embarassingly-named pregnancy product, Preggie Pop Drops. In the U.S., they're made by a company called "Three Lollies", which is needlessly embarrassing in and of itself. "Where do you work?" "Three Lollies. We make Preggie Pop Drops."
Preggie Pop Drops are supposed to help with morning sickness. Really, they're just outrageously priced hard candies, as there's no drugs or magic herbs in them at all. They're made with natural ingredients, have 70 calories each and come in sour fruit flavors: sour raspberry, lemon, sour apple and sour tangerine. The sour flavor is what is supposed to help with the queasiness.
I bought a little box of 21 candies at Babies "R" Us for $5. Hey, it promised me I wouldn't feel queasy anymore, and I like not feeling queasy. I don't care for raspberry flavor, so I tried to pass those off to my husband, who didn't want anything to do with the idea. I guess he just doesn't want to be seen eating candies with the words "preggie pop" on them. Hell, I don't really want to be seen eating candies with the words "preggie pop" on them.
In the defense of Preggie Pop Drops, they're delicious. I like sour candies to begin with, though. And I did feel less queasy after having one last night, and again this morning. They're a bit like a larger, pricier, less sweet and more sour version of a Jolly Rancher.
P.S. I also hate that model on the box. I doubt she's actually pregnant; her boobs are way too small and her face is far too angular. Real pregnant women, especially ones that far along, have boobs too big for their body and chipmunk cheeks. Speaking of cheeks, where's all her pregnancy acne? Besides, I don't like the way she's smirking at me with her lipstick and perfect hair. Stupid smirky pregnant-lady model.
...
I can still never imagine by OB/GYN looking into my eyes and telling me in that serious voice of hers that I should think about buying a Snoogle and some Preggie Pop Drops. That voice is for telling me it's going to be okay while she's attaching a grounding pad to my thigh and preparing to shove an electric cauterization tool up my who-ha, not for recommending stupidly-named pregnancy accessories. If, by some miracle, she actually mentions a product with a stupid name, I think I'm going to lose it. I'll never stop laughing.
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