Writing the Waves

It's been forevah...

2011-01-05T11:33:00.000-08:00

At the risk of falling into a cliche, it's a new year and I have some... intentions for the year. I did pretty well with my intentions last year, except for the one about writing in my blog more often. But what I did do was track all of our finances for an entire year, where in the past I'd tracked a month here or there, only to trail off and not enter anything for months at a time. I kept my office... well... it's not the disaster area it once was. I mostly stuck to my grocery budget. Not bad.

So 2011, here's what I'm thinking:

#1 combat my anxiety. Yep, the old anxiety has really been a bitch lately. I'm vowing to kick its ass in 2011 with whatever means necessary.

#2 get a piece of writing published. Just one piece, as I don't want to be too lofty here. Preferably for some $.

#3 continue decluttering the house.

That's it. It feels like a lot, and it's making me a wee bit anxious (see intention #1) so I'm off to pop a rescue remedy pastille.

Stil Here...

2010-06-12T05:55:00.001-07:00

I've got about five minutes before the boys come home from swimmin', and I should probably use it to pick away at the thick level of filth on the floors/kitchen counter/bathroom sink, but eff it.

Lot's been going on-- workin', Maxin', playdates and spending time with my parents. The days are flying by like nobody's business. Max can walk now but mostly still chooses to scoot around like a cute little crab because it's faster. He's also started dancing and he has several fancy moves-- his old standby, the arm sweep, the bum wag, and the lean and fold. He also occasionally busts into some old school breakdance moves to mix things up a bit. He even points to the iPod to demand that appropriate music be played to accomodate said dancing.

Other favorites include playing Pattycake--a few mornings last week he began the day by climing onto my stomach and clapping his hands expectantly-- his way of imploring that Pattycake be played.

Well, that's about it for now. Hopefully-- more soon.

Sleepin'

2010-03-27T05:03:00.000-07:00

So I've been sleeping a little. Finally. We've tried gripe water and kinesiologists, extreme elimination diets and bacon. Osteopathy and homeopathy and cry-it-outopathy. We've tried big dinners and stinky t-shirts that smell like mama in the crib. For the past few days, Bunky has been going to sleep in his crib with just a few minutes of fussing (okay, let's call it what it is-- screamin'), staying in his crib until somewhere between 11pm and 1am, at which point Papa Bear (did I seriously just call Scott Papa Bear?!?) goes in and brings him to bed, whilst I slumber downstairs in the guest room until somewhere between 3 and 5a.m. when Max demands milk. We sort of stumbled onto this arrangement, which, while far from perfect or a long-term solution to our sleep woes, is working for the moment, and bringing me some much overdue sleep. We weren't really even planning on night weaning-- it just sort of happened.

I've been thinking a lot lately about "mothering in the middle." I got pretty wrapped up in the idea of "attachment parenting" and I still believe strongly in a lot of it-- wearing your baby, breastfeeding on demand, meeting their needs, etc. What's not so black and white is that my baby is now becoming a toddler and what used to be his needs-- frequent nursing, sleeping in bed with us all night, being carried like a kangaroo bebe, etc.-- are now more like wants. Whereas I need to be getting more than two hours of consecutive sleep. It's been an interesting learning process, with a lot of guilt, comparisons and chats with other mamas. What I'm finding is that most of us are always going to be somewhere in the middle of whatever continuum we're on, whether it's parenting or finances or even politics. There will always be someone more attachmenty than I, and someone more unattachmenty. (Yeah, I've been sleeping more but I think the vocabulary portion of my brain may still be recovering!) And there's some comfort in that.

Shoutout to my friend Megan who wrote a great article on the ebbs and flows of attachment parenting here.

I was really beating myself over even considering letting the babe cry at night. I frequent these message boards at mothering.com that are great in a lot of ways but also make me feel guilty. The tipping point for me, besides 13 months of very little consecutive sleep, was running into three moms within less than a week who all are very compassionate, attachmenty mamas, and all had to let their babies do some crying. That and my therapist who has been trying to talk me into this for months. So, we're part way there-- instead of laying in bed with Max for an hour while he sits up and down and up and down and crawls over us and yells "nigh-nigh-ni-ni-ni-ni-ni" and moans and pokes us in the eyes and finally goes to sleep, the little one goes in his crib, we leave, he cries for a few minutes and then he's out. It's pretty sweet.

Examination Station

2010-03-14T09:41:00.001-07:00

So I'm trying another little experiment. That's how I convince myself I've not leapt over the deep end into crazy housewife land, by saying "it's just an experiment." I'm trying writing for the Examiner, which actually seems like a somewhat cool, well, experiment. I figure it's another way to keep me writing, make a few cents on the side (I've already made 20 cents, watch out purple piggy bank!) and gather up some clips for any future writing endeavors. So I'm now a Portland Healthy Living Examiner. Let me know if you have any ideas for little articles~ healthy living could include quite a bit. Of course my first article was about savin' money. Check 'er out here.

Time Flies...

2010-02-27T08:50:00.001-08:00

Yep, it does. I can (still) hardly believe my kiddo is a year old. Time is draining away in a blur of diaper changes, couponin' crazes, blogging, and my most recent expedition, mystery shopping.

And today marks the 20th anniversary of my grandma Jeanne's death. It is hard to believe that she's been gone from my life longer than she was in it. I imagine this is true for a lot of people, but I feel like every few years my life undergoes a vast transformation that eclipses previous eras of my life. Right now, as I just mentioned, life is mostly about Max and frugality and making writing fun again. In other times it's been all about death, or hockey, or falling in love, or getting drunk, or theater. It feels a little like a crazy quilt, and I imagine it's partly the nature of life for things to evolve constantly, and that it's partly just my personality.

And I also think these chameleon traits, which are mostly fun and surprising, (and sometimes a little depressing in a culture that starts asking "so what do you want to be when you grow up?" far too early)are genetic. I inherited it from my mom who has enjoyed a colorful array of jobs and hobbies, and that she in turn inherited it from her mom. My grandma moved to Alaska from New York by herself as a young woman which in itself is pretty bad-ass. She slung clothes, liquor, raised two amazing, creative kids, divorced, subscribed to Playboy, volunteered, stitched costumes for the local theater, made my brother and I feel like stars and sometimes not, and she died suddenly twenty years ago today when I was fifteen.

I suspect she'd be mostly proud of the disparate seasons I've gone through. And though most days my grandma seems lifetimes away to me, because so much has changed in the last twenty years-- I can still remember the cracked lines on her feet (which alarmingly, my own feet are rapidly coming to resemble), I can remember the ruddy skin just below her collarbone, the splash of pink in the Strawberry Shortcake sheets she bought for my weekend slumber parties, and the way I felt when she'd give me a book like Little Women, or when she'd tell me we would publish my poems. I miss you, Grandma.

First B-day

2010-02-14T05:20:00.001-08:00

Dear Max,

We've all made it through a year. It's hard to believe an entire year has gone by-- the days flew even when many of the nights were long. I feel like you just got here and like you've always been here at the same time. And I still wonder where you were before you got here-- you are just so here that I feel like you must have existed somewhere, somehow, before.

On Saturday we had a little gathering for you. Daddy cooked up an amazing spread of baked ziti, chicken parm and a gorgeous icebox cake. Who knew he could cook like that?! Grandma and Pa, Auntie Annie and Iris, Uncle Matt and cousins Sophia and Matthew, and your godparents Hannah and Jared were all here to celebrate with us. We picked out a quality in each of them that we admire and asked them to help cultivate it in you over the years. You should be in good shape if you end up with even half of the love and positive qualities that you were surrounded with yesterday. Your other Grandma and Grandpa couldn't be with us yesterday, and we miss them as much as they miss us.

You didn't take a nap until 4p.m. yesterday after everybody left. You got some really fun gifts but you were more intently focused on ripping the tissue paper they came in into tiny shreds.

It's been quite the year, kiddo. We traversed those first hard months and they, like labor, are becoming a distant memory. When I look at pictures of you from back then, I almost don't recognize you. When I hold you, it's hard to believe that a year ago you were still hanging out in my tummy.

You have just learned to crawl and you crawl just like your cousin Sophia, a cute little crabwalky thing. One of your other new favorite pasttimes is pulling yourself up on the window sill in the dining room and babbling like a grumpy old man surveying the neighborhood. Some of your other hobbies are going for computer cords (you're actually trying to get my laptop right now), hot cups of tea, and playing mama jungle gym where you crawl all over me like a little monkey. And you're not yet too big to carry around in the Ergo~ I still put you in there to get a few things done around the house, and it seems to calm you down to be snuggled in like a koala cub. I wonder if you still remember the sound of my heartbeat from when you were inside, and that makes me a little sad. I realize that one of the hardest lessons of my life will be all the letting go I will have to do with you, and it makes me ache a little when I consider that. But for today, I'm just enjoying that you're our little big boy, our one year old. Happy birthday Maxers.

Love,
Mom

Checkin' in

2010-01-23T04:47:00.000-08:00

Not much terribly exciting to write about, but the boys are at swim class so I wanted to check in here, since it's been a few weeks. And one of my intentions for the year was to write in here at least twice a month. So here I be.

Nothing terribly exciting is going on right now-- my life seems to largely revolve around attempting to get Max to take naps so I can take a breather. Or play with my coupons. I recently discovered that if I put him down on his tummy for naps, instead of his puny little 20 minute nap, he'll often sleep for anywhere from 40 minutes to over an hour. Good, good, good stuff!

And it's been almost a year now that we've been parents. People have been asking if it feels like a year, and I say it feels like when Scott and I were first dating. (And by dating I mean living together.) It both felt like we'd known each other forever, and also like it was impossible that time was passing so quickly. And that's what it feels like with Max. Don't get me wrong-- I most certainly remember my life before him. Days of puttering around the house, sometimes reading a book a day,watching a season of TV on dvd in a weekend, going to movies with Scott... yes, I remember those things. Some days I miss them. It's not that I don't remember my life without Max, I just can't imagine it without him now. There are these amazing little jewels of moments scattered throughout days that are a little more domestic than I used to be comfortable with. Like he's waving now, and he waves with both hands at the same time, which is probably the cutest thing I've ever seen. Or how he likes to be dipped upside down-- he makes this half-wry, half-delighted smile that makes him seem much older than his 11 months. Or how he kicks his legs and makes appreciative little noises when I'm feeding him something he really likes-- this week, it's baked pears with a little olive oil.

So life is pretty good. The house is somewhat tidy. I slept more than two consecutive hours last night. I'm warm and cozy on the couch with my monkey sock mug full o tea. By the time Scott and Max get back from swimming, I will have started to miss them.

Bye Bye, 2009

2010-01-02T04:54:00.000-08:00

2010, wow! Wasn't it just, like, 1992?

So I know it's just another day and all, but I'm among those that likes to take a moment to pause and review what's come to pass and think a bit about any course corrections that might be called for in the new year.

2009 was a particularly big year for me as we became parents, which is probably the biggest single change of my life besides my brother's death. So we welcomed Max, stopped sleeping, I had a (gracefully pretty short-lived) time with post-partum depression, went to a crap-load of mom's groups, stopped eating anything fun, saw Max smile for the first time and forgave it all. I saw some old friends much less than before, and made some new friends with similarly aged little ones. I ate meat for the first time after 20 years. I made phone calls for work while holding my breath that Max wouldn't scream. And this year, what with all the nursing of my nursling, the world has become my personal Mardis Gras-- my boobs have been out on boats and in churches and restaurants, in the backseat of my car and at the mall. My boobs get out more than I do!

And for the coming year-- a few intentions/goals:

Keep using coupons and sales so I can keep within our grocery budget.

Track our finances for the entire year (usually I do this for awhile and then stop).

Write in here at least twice a month!

Deal with mail and dishes daily. Or at least bi-daily. : )

Relax and have more fun (when not tracking finances, or dealing with mail and dishes).

Go on dates at least once a quarter. (Yes, with my husband!)

Ask for, or at least accept offered help-- especially around childcare so I can spend time with Scott or do nice things for myself.

Happy 2010!

Shameless self-promotion

2009-12-31T12:22:00.001-08:00

Like money? Check out my new blog, the Portland Penny Pincher. I swear, the pennies like it when you pinch them, even if you hear them scream.

http://portlandpennypincher.blogspot.com/

Dental Damn

2009-12-19T05:04:00.000-08:00

The boys are at swim class so thought I'd catch up a bit in here. It is, of course, a busy time of year, and at the same time, the time of year that I most want to snuggle into bed and sleep and eat cases of clementines. Okay, what I really want to eat is pizza, but since I can't, I'll settle for those sweet temptress tiny oranges.

Speaking of sweet, despite the fact that I've rarely ingested sugar in the last seven and a half years, (not counting those vanilla soy latte days) I somehow ended up with a mouth full of cavities. It may have been that I didn't go to the dentist for about nine years. How does that happen, you might wonder? Well, it starts by just a bit of procrastination. I'll go next month. And then that next month comes and goes. After a few years of this, it becomes a matter of not wanting to go because I'm embarrased that it's been so long since I've gone. The old "gotta clean up the house before the housekeeper gets here" mentality. Then when I finally went, about a year and a half ago, I had a negative experience with the practice I chose. They tried to get me to buy some fancy schmancy vibrating (!) toothbrush, told me I needed a mouthguard at night (!) and other such silliness. I really was going to get the cavities taken care of at another practice, but then I ended up With Child and the only thing I could tolerate having in my mouth for months was cinnamon toothpaste (and tater tots).

So I finally went back and am getting the seven, yes, seven cavities taken care of. Yesterday was round one. Of course, as fate would have it, the only dentist covered on our otherwise fabulous health coverage is the yucky place I went before. However, I'm far too cheap to just pay out of pocket for dental work, so I sucked it up (so to speak) and went back for another exam. It was actually not so bad. My favorite part being that all the chairs have TVs on them! Since Max was at my parents playing his little heart out, I actually considered asking if I could stick around and just watch TV and maybe take a little nap.

Yesterday I went back for the first chunk of work on my teeth-- I was surprisingly anxious. Or maybe not surprisingly. Does anybody really like to go to the dentist? Besides my dad? It's so awkward-- strange people with gloves spelunking in your mouth. (Okay that sounded way naughtier than I'd planned it to. But I'm leaving it there anyways.) I like having the TV at the dentist because it gives your eyes a place to focus-- perhaps that's my biggest qualm about having people work on your teeth-- they're staring at your face, but at no cost should you try and make eye contact with them. I tried closing my eyes but that felt wrong-- what if they tried to slip something in there and I wasn't being vigilant? (Okay, that also sounded naughtier than intended.) So instead I spent about an hour staring up at the holes on the ceiling, while trying to look complentative lest the dentist folk think I'm a little slow. Of course, trying to look complentative while half of your face is all Bells Palsied up is challenging.

Add to this that I have a hard time when I'm anticipating pain-- I turn into a twitch mess when I get my eyebrows waxed. It's not that it hurts that much-- it's that I think it's going to hurt. Fortunately I took advantage of the fancy TV and switched on Discovery Health. At night that channel, which is probably my favorite, has all kinds of awesome shows like "The Woman With Giant Legs" and "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant" which has seemingly in touch, intelligent women accidentally giving birth into toilets ("I looked down and there was a little face staring up at me") but during the day it was mostly pure birthin' goodness. It seemed to slightly unnerve the dentist and the male dental assistant (Justin Timberlake lookalike!) to have women groaning and bloody vernix-smeared little babies on the TV-- though they shouldn't have been watching-- they're supposed to be paying attention to the dental work, yo!-- it helped me enormously. What a reminder -- a little shot of novocaine in my jaw? A drill barrelling into my pearly (not so) whites? That's nothing. I birthed the ample-headed Max, after all! After that little realization, I calmed down significantly and was able to breathe while pensively examining the ceiling and playing with my half numb face when the dentist took breaks.

I go back Tuesday morning for the rest of the fillings-- hope Discovery Health has something good waiting for me!

Oh, and I'm still obsessed with coupons. Scott thinks I have a problem and I agree. Doesn't that count for something, that I'm not in denial? I'm thinking of starting a new money saving blog to let people know about good local deals. Anybody interested?

Alright, happy holidays to all my readers (hahahahahahahahahahahha). See y'all soon.

For me to coupon (said in Triumph the insult comic dog voice)

2009-11-07T05:10:00.001-08:00

Holy crap, I think I’m a housewife.

So my latest obsession is coupons. Seriously, have these been around all along? How come nobody told me about them? We’re working on trimming our expenses and the biggest ones we have that are malleable are our food expenses. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I never really paid attention to grocery store sales in the past. I just bought what we needed, or more frequently—wanted. I didn’t realize you could go online and check out what’s on sale at each grocery store. And then the fun part—try and match sale stuff up with coupons.

So for the past week or so I’ve been practically carrying around a pair of scissors (don’t worry—I don’t carry them in the same hand I use to carry the baby!). And the Universe clearly wants me to be using coupons-- when I went to Dash of Diva to dance with the Nia girls a few weeks ago, I stumbled upon the Hannaford booth and they had tons of great Hannaford coupons there. As the rest of the crowd was greedily grabbing the free whisks and apples and oranges, I was grabbing the $1 off this, $2 off this coupons. Also on my first grocery excursion using coupons, I found that the coupon fairy had left me a little coupon inside the freezer by some frozen fruit that was on my shopping list. And I found a little coupon organizer at Goodwill for 99 cents. Cool stuff.

There are actually entire huge online communities dedicated to couponing—I am happy to report that despite my new obsession, there are people far more crazed then I am. Although, there’s still time.

Also within the last few weeks I’ve made apple crisp. Somebody get me an apron, I think I might be a housewife.

Fall Fun

2009-10-31T05:32:00.000-07:00

So I’m realizing one excellent fringe benefit of becoming a parent is doing all sorts of fun things with your kid—even if they’re nowhere near old enough to enjoy it with you. We’ve navigated our way through a corn maze, been apple pickin’, taken a hayride, and of course, fired off the corn cannon in recent weeks. I find myself looking forward to future years of similar fall fun, as well as having a good excuse to go watch kids movies in theaters.

Eight months has been a really good age so far. Max isn’t really mobile yet—rolling is still his preferred method of travel. At the same time, he’s still very content to hang out in the Ergo carrier while I putter around the house. So he’s still very portable, but I don’t have to chase after him yet. Plus, we can still swear around him and he won’t remember it. And he’s now able to start the night in his crib, which feels like a small miracle. I’m getting little slices of my life back, while still enjoying the new pieces of my life. I went out twice this week in the evening, and Scott was able to get Max to bed. Starting to find a semblance of balance between who I was before Max, and the me that hangs out at libraries singing “Pattycake”. (Just to clarify, I mean singing “Pattycake” with other parents and tots at a library story hour, not just hanging out at the library randomly singing “Pattycake. Although I will mention that they should change the name of the story hour from “Finger Fun with Babies” unless they are trying to attract pedophiles.)

Despite all this fun, I still make room for my melancholic tendencies. Recently after a nice walk with a friend, I was prepping apples to attempt making an apple crisp, with Max in the Ergo. He fell asleep, his little head (okay, in all honesty, not so little—it’s a 97th percentile head!) resting against my chest. I found myself thinking “this might be the last (and first, for that matter) time that Max falls asleep on me while I peel apples.” He will eventually forget the sound of my heartbeat. When was the last time I heard my mom’s heartbeat?

Life is much busier than it was before—I used to be very content to putter around the house, taking my time, stretching out on the couch and reading in between getting things done around the house. Now I am always multi-tasking—feeding Max and checking my email, dancing with Max while doing the dishes, catching up on phone calls while trying to entertain Max. And because he’s a curious little guy who seems happiest when we’re busy, we’re out and about all the time. So different, but good.

Last night we attended—sort of—our good friends’ annual Halloween party. What a difference a year makes—last year I was 5 months pregnant with Max and having a fat day meltdown the day of the party. This year, at the last minute I decided I needed some black and purple tights so we headed out to the Halloween shop Spirit, and the mall to join the rest of the procrastinators. Unfortunately they only had black and purple thigh-highs, and the young sprite of a clerk informed me I would need a garter belt to keep the thigh-highs up. So there I found myself standing in line with my baby in the carrier, looking ragged from a bad night, and a tiny black garter belt in my hand. Sweet Lord. We went to the party early and headed home just as the other guests began to arrive. Got some good pictures at Jared’s fancy photo booth, and Max enjoyed staring at the trippy party lights. Next year—babysitter. Although Max looked pretty cute in his little pumpkin suit. Facebook pictures will be uploaded soon. Today—it’s out to Peaks with Max’s cousins.

The Vegetarian who Eats Bacon

2009-09-13T08:03:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, my little brother decided to follow in my footsteps and become a vegetarian. I figured this would be a short-lived lifestyle change, as the boy believed pepperoni was one of the food groups. I knew it would be short-lived when he asked me “do you know any vegetarians who eat ham?” I think it was the next morning that I found him in the kitchen, stirring chunks of maroon pepperoni into his scrambled eggs.

I was a vegetarian for twenty years. The first few years I would sometimes eat chicken and fish. Then, the bruised veins on chicken wings made it impossible for me to continue, and a few years later fish went by the wayside, too. I always loved animals, and wasn’t able to disassociate the fact that my meals were coming at the cost of their lives. For quite some time, I didn’t even eat eggs. I was never one of those annoying types who was waiting to lecture you on the environmental impact of eating meat, or the elevated risks of health problems due to eating meat, or the way that animals are treated before being killed for meat. (Okay, there was that one persuasive speech in 11th grade but that was for school!) I never would’ve eyed your steak with disdain. Eating meat was simply something that didn’t work for me, so I didn’t do it. “But you wear leather shoes!” occasional instigators would say, trying to point out my hypocrisy. I would shrug. So what? My grandma Louise always asked me if I was “still in that vegetarian phase? You know that God gave us animals to eat, don’t you?” The “phase” lasted years and years but she always called it just that, a phase. I was pretty certain, in fact, that the phase would last for a lifetime. I would occasionally wonder what would happen if I was in some sort of survivalist situation that required me to eat the meat of either animals or humans, and whether I would simply perish instead of eating the meat. Of course in this pondering I would turn waifish and ethereal before perishing, the other survivalists eyeing my hollowed out cheekbones with what I thought was admiration at my saintly determination. But probably they were just wishing that they could get their bony fingers on some salt to sass up my wilting flesh a bit.

Enter Max. My constantly nursing, sweet-faced, blue-eyed boy. Who seemed to be reacting to all the vegetarian staples in my diet—beans, soy. Veggie bacon. After a few visits to a woman who wiggles her fingers while holding a food in front of my and Max’s stomachs and tells us whether it’s a “no,” “yes,” or “1/3 of a cup, then three days off,” my already limited diet (no meat, no wheat flour, no cow’s milk), a self-imposed month of a bastardized Total Elimination Diet consisting of only rice products, sunflower seeds, pears, olive oil and squash, a yeast overgrowth test that saw me carting a sample of my own filth (tucked away in an innocent looking Hannaford bag) to a lab—which came back positive for yeast overgrowth and put me on a nearly no-grains diet—I realized I needed, for my own health and stamina, and in turn that of Max—to see if I could tolerate eating a little meat.

First I tried chicken. It seemed benign enough. My husband fried it up in olive oil and neatly chopped it into small pieces that could be hidden into my food. I tried that for about three days but I could feel the little chewy bits between my teeth. I tried some amazing Alaskan smoked salmon—same thing. It tasted delicious but the texture was just too… meaty. Little bits of turkey sausage fared better texture-wise, but it turned out there were spicy bits in it that Max didn’t like. Finally, after much thought, I wondered if bacon might just be the meat for me.

As a girl, I once impressed my grandma Jeanne by putting away an entire pound of bacon in one sitting. “Lynnie ate well,” she reported to my mom. I’m still not entirely sure how a lapsed Jew like my grandma came to be proud of my feat, or whether this early accomplishment was a flashing yellow light signaling long battles ahead with eating, dieting, and weight. Bacon makes little sense from a health or environmental standpoint, but it just tastes so fricking good. And though it had been twenty years since the flesh of piggies had seen the dark cavern of my mouth, my recall told me that it wouldn’t have the same disturbing chewy effect that poultry or fish did.

My recall was right. Due to the candida, I had to find a bacon that had no sugar added in the curing process—not easy or cheap. But persevere I did, and thanks to Lois’ Natural Marketplace, the bacon that would feed just me and not my naughty candida was found. Scott kindly fried it up for me (okay, he had a bunch of it himself. Not quite a pound, but still) and I popped a few digestive enzymes for good measure before tentatively lifted the purple-brown curly goodness to my mouth. Crunchy, not chewy. Salty. Porky. Delicious. “The only bad thing about bacon is that it makes the whole house smell like bacon for days afterwards,” Scott complained. “That’s not a bad thing,” I rebutted.

And that, my friends, is how I became the vegetarian who eats bacon. I don’t know that I will continue this erratic behavior, as I once again am struggling to pretend that this salty treat comes to my plate from a plant of some sort—a bacon bonsai, if you will—and not a (formerly) living, breathing, squealing creature. But for this moment—and new parenthood, I’m finding, is all about trying to stay in this moment—it’s working for me. I think my brother would be proud. My grandma Jeanne would certainly be proud. And my grandma Louise would say “I told you it was just a phase.”

2009-05-09T09:56:00.001-07:00

This morning’s walk
You snugged against me, curled
Cornflower blue eyes taking in
Smudges of green
Curves of stone
Flitter of branch

Older boys stumble around the pond
Donning nets
Flailing wide for small, tailed things.

I count turtles
Their long lizard necks
Reaching towards the sun
And I tell you how we walked here before,
When you were a pebble, a plum, a palm

You slide into sleep
Dreaming of warm rivers?
Coils and caves?

We pass three men digging a grave
And I steal kisses from your head
You smell of bark and rain

I think of the winding nights
Your legs kicking
Cheeks maroon, eyes like seeds
Both of us in tears

Or when you wake
And remember us
Your smile a half moon
Your almond eyes crescents

I think of first gaze, giggle, grasp
Of the way the days avalanche by.

There is not enough time
For you to teach me all I need to know…

Swingers

2009-05-03T12:20:00.000-07:00

I'm probably establishing some poor sleeping habits, but my little one is once again peacefully swinging away in la-la land. Mama got to do laundry, dishes, and take a shower~ complete with a mustache Nair session, bang trimmin', and a bit of eyebrow plucking. Total bliss. This, on top of our new Sunday a.m. tradition~ Scott making gluten-free (banana this week!) pancakes. Good, good stuff. Oh, and Max must've slept at least 5 hours straight last night~ the fact that I'm not entirely sure how long he slept is an excellent sign. Today is definitely one of the top-ten Sundays~ at least since Max's arrival. Okay, so it's only been 11 weeks, but still!

Yesterday marked my first outing with Max~ excluding a brief excursion to my parents condo to put their trash cans inside (about 10 minutes away) when he was about 2 weeks old. I went to a yoga class and it was great. Getting out the door was hard though~ it felt so weird to leave the little guy behind, even in the extremely capable hands of my husband. Driving without having to worry about one-handedly reaching back to replace Max's pacifier was strange. I felt like I was forgetting an arm or something. But, once I got there, it was nice. And my body sooo needed to stretch. Sadly, the little guy was a little fussy for Scott~ which I felt bad about. But they both seem to have recovered nicely.

Well, I'm off to extract (it just sounds nicer than pumping, somehow) some milk for said little one before he wakes up...

Silent Night, Holy Crap!

2009-04-30T12:36:00.001-07:00

So we've been struggling with Max wanting to nurse almost constantly, and being pretty fussy at times. But Tuesday night, after a long hard Monday, we gave him a bottle of expressed milk and a bath and he slept for 5 hours straight... woohoo! Even our little kitty, whose been acting out a bit since Max's arrival, slept on my pillow and refrained from her "death howl" for an entire night.

Unfortunately, I didn't sleep so well because I kept waking up thinking Max would be up. And after about 4 hours went by, I started getting super excited that he'd been asleep for so long... oh well! It was still pretty cool. Last night he did a 4 hour stretch and several 1-2 hours. Now he's been sleeping for a few hours in his swing, and I've gotten some stuff accomplished around the biohazard zone that used to be our home. Oh, who are we kidding... we've never been neatnics!

Life is going pretty well~ the turtles and tadpoles are once again making appearances in the cemetery, and my bud M. and her little one have been enjoying jaunts with us there on Fridays~ thinking "Tuesdays with Morrie" but with less life lessons and more diaper explosions (on the babies, not us. Usually.)

My parents get back to Maine in a few weeks and I'm looking forward to them being back and getting to know Max. Should be fun.

Well, going to try to squeeze in a few more chores before the Booby Bear awakens.

2009-04-20T05:28:00.000-07:00

Where is the time going? Suddenly our little peanut is 9 weeks old and almost 13 pounds and it's almost May.

Life is good. The first few weeks were really, really hard~ hormones, sleep deprivation, and the evaporation of our old, good life. But we are settling into our new, good life, and finding some semblance of routine.

I still look at this little dude and wonder where the heck he came from~ lessons about the birds and bees aside. He strongly resembles Scott but I can sometimes see me in him, too. And at the same time, he is clearly, innately himself.

We finally had a good experience giving Max the bottle this weekend~ he did really well. Which means that at some point, Mom can take a little break and catch a bath or a yoga class. Although I have the feeling that I'll miss him when I do take a break~ I already miss him if he's in the back seat for a long car ride, or when he takes an extended nap.

Well, he just woke up so I need to go, but wanted to not let too much more time go between entries.

Pics

2009-03-03T12:02:00.001-08:00

Mama

2009-03-03T11:46:00.000-08:00

Max finally decided to make his debut (with a little nudging) on February 15th. The last few weeks have been a blur~ quite a roller coaster ride. Max and I are both healthy and we narrowly avoided my big fear of having a C-section, thanks to the expertise and trust of our midwife Jen. Scott was an amazing birth partner~ he was right there the whole time offering love, encouragement, Gatorade, and cool washcloths. He saw more of me than probably either of us would've liked, but modesty had a way of quickly vanishing during the birth process.

We're slowly adjusting to the enormous change in our lives and trying to figure out this little guy who suddenly lives with us. Max is pretty mellow for the most part so far, but he occasionally goes Mad Max on us. I never really minded crying babies before~ but it's different when it's your own and you're helpless to make whatever is wrong better.

I am as anxiety prone as ever~ the latest obsession was "why is Max's poo green?" Thanks to lots of internet reading and a phone call with a lactation consultant, you'll be happy to know his poo is now the normal mustardy texture (oooh, I think he just made one right now as I was typing this!).

We ventured out of the house this morning to check out the breastfeeding support group at Mercy. It was a little overwhelming with about 20 moms and babies, but it was great to get out of the house and hang with some other new mamas and compare notes. And the trip went much better than our outing to Starbucks the other day~ which really seemed like a good idea at the time. I took him in the stroller on what normally would maybe be a five minute walk, but the sidewalks are icy and slushy and bumpy and riddled with tipped over recycling bins. By the time we got home my pants were soaked (from the slush~ I'm happy to report that I no longer seem to be incontinent!) and most of my decaf vanilla soy latte landed on either my coat or Max's car seat. Fortunately the bumpy ride put him into a blissful sleep and he was none the wiser about the mishaps!

Waiting... part deux

2009-02-11T06:22:00.000-08:00

Max is officially one week past due as of today. Although as the midwives told us, the most common reason babies go past due is because their due dates were wrong to begin with. So it's hard to say. I'm drinking raspberry leaf tea and mall walkin' when I can. Yesterday I had an intense acupuncture treatment that got Max quite wriggly and left me dizzy but obviously didn't send me into immediate labor. 'Cause I'm still here.

I've actually been fairly calm about the whole waiting thing~ probably because I'm okay with putting off the next phases... labor, delivery... suddenly being someone's mom. I mean, I can't wait to meet Max, but it's such a huge, sudden responsibility that I'm mostly okay with procrastinating it a bit. And I love all the suggestions I've been getting for home remedies for "curing pregnancy"~ pretty soon I'll be driving over railroad tracks, eating pad thai, while concurrently fighting and "havin' a little fun" with my hubby. Watch out, other drivers! (I apologize vigorously for the image I may have just produced in your mind!)

The midwives don't start talking induction unless we get to two weeks past due, at which point it's up to us. We do have an ultrasound today just to check and see if everything's going well in the placenta palace. I'm excited to get a little peak at Maxers~ hopefully he's outgrown the creepy pirate eye he gave us at the last ultrasound in September.

2009-02-02T14:05:00.001-08:00

It's come to this~ today I went mall walking. I'm too scared to go for walks in the icy outdoors~ and even if I wasn't, I don't think Scott or my mom would permit it. But I miss my walks. So Mom and I headed to the mall and did some walkin'. Actually it was more like strolling-- we didn't do the tight corners that I've seen the serious senior walkers doing there early in the morning. But it felt good to move a little. I've been worried that by the time I go into labor that my muscles will all have atrophied, leaving me like a puffy, weak gumby.

And as a bonus, I've been wanting to get my picture taken in front of this sign for months. I just couldn't help it.

So we're just about to due day... and I'm actually pretty comfy right now. Which makes me a little concerned that it could still be awhile~ I'm still sleeping, I can still make it up and down the stairs fairly quickly, and there haven't been any accidental peeing episodes for awhile. : ) Life is pretty good. But I'd be okay if Maxers decided to make his appearance sooner rather than later. A few people have mentioned they thought he might come today, on Groundhog's Day~ to which I say that's fine, so long as he doesn't see the absence of his shadow and try to go back in!

2009-01-30T05:44:00.001-08:00

So I've been totally cheating on my blog with Facebook lately. It's a great way to kill time and peek into other peoples' lives a bit. There's a thing going around where people "tag" each other to write 25 random things about themselves, and I'm finding it addictive to read other peoples' lists... Because I'm lazy and gynormous I'm posting mine here to double as a blog entry.

Otherwise, all is well~ I'm still somewhat comfortable. Yesterday the prenatal yoga teacher said I didn't look anywhere near miserable enough to be at the end of my pregnancy, so I might still have some time left. No likey.

1. My parents, brother and I were all born and raised in Alaska. I sometimes miss it like an old, bad, aching love affair.

2. I have monkey toes. These special digits can remove my socks and roll them up into a tidy ball without any outside assistance.

3. The first time I moved to Maine was eleven years ago. I was on a cross-country road trip and fell in love with Portland at first sight.

4. I am pretty cheap but splurge regularly on goat cheese and vanilla soy lattes.

5. I am ridiculously hard on myself. I need to work on that, damnit!

6. I love words and the only thing I’ve consistently wanted to do as a vocation is write.

7. I don’t spend as much time with my friends as I’d like to.

8. In past lives, I’ve worked for a professional hockey team, as a barista, a photographer for an insurance company, at a bookstore, at a women’s boutique, in a newspaper, and as a volunteer coordinator. I interned briefly at a film production company in L.A. and used to volunteer a lot at the local theatre in Juneau.

9. On my wedding day, it rained. Afterwards, gobs of thick orange light dropped down just in time for the photographs.

10. The only time I remember being put on restriction involved hijinx following a Quiet Riot concert.

11. The cat that I brought home when I was 15 lives relocated to Maine to live with us. She’s 19 now and my feline soulmate, despite the late night howling sessions and the time that she dropped a poo by my pillow.

12. My sense of humor never developed beyond that of a preadolescent boy’s. If you want to see me light up with glee, say “poo” or “weiner.”

13. When I was 20, I moved to Seattle to become a rock star. This dream was hampered by both my lack of musical ability and my lack of desire to leave my apartment. I did have cool purple hair, however.

14. I married an optimist. A study in contrasts, he still surprises me, makes me laugh, learn, and sigh. We seem to be growing up together a little bit every day. I can’t wait to see him as a father.

15. People often think I am laid back and shy, rather than the anxious freak that I actually am.

16. Several people I didn’t think I could live without have left this world much earlier than expected. Surviving missing them has taught me most of what I know to be important.
17. I have fabulous parents and in-laws.

18. In middle school I once tried to break my leg to escape gym class.

19. I am terrified of getting old and losing the people I love the most.

20. I am a total homebody but sometimes fantasize about running off to Spain.

21. I enjoy doing data entry.

22. I have recurring dreams about my teeth falling out, about realizing I am still stuck in high school due to a class I forgot about, and about being out in public with my blankie.

23. In middle school, I was briefly involved in an activity entitled “Clowning for a Cause.”

24. My thirties beat the hell out of my twenties, so far.

25. Last year, I faithfully watched VH1’s smutfest, Rock of Love 2. Sometimes I watched the episodes more than once. Or twice.

2009-01-16T13:07:00.000-08:00

So I'm fighting this intense, extremely naughty urge to start messing with my loved ones-- calling them and saying "It's time!" when it's not. What's up with that?

Things are going pretty well. Our family threw us a lovely shower on Sunday, which despite the blizzard garnered good attendance. We felt very loved and supported, not to mention Max is going to be one well-dressed bebe!

Yesterday we did a "meet and greet" with a pediatrician. I knew Scott liked him when, at the end of our visit, he gave the doc a fist bump instead of shaking his hand. My only gripe is the pediatrician seems so young-- he's like our age! When did we get to be old enough that we could be doctors?!?

And today the midwife said she thought we'd have a relatively small baby, which me and my special parts are pretty psyched about.

So things are trucking along. I've been doing tons of loads of laundry-- and am realizing that the only thing more likely than big people socks to mysteriously disappear in the wash are little baby socks. Good Lord those things are small!

I know that in my last post I complained about being pregnant, but there are some positives. It's freezing here in Portland, and I'm still warm. I'm always warm now. Don't get me wrong-- I'm not going to go for a long stroll outside or anything, but I'm not bundled up in flannel either. And maternity pants! You don't have to unbutton or unzip them or anything~ I may just continue wearing them indefinitely.

Anyways. Those are my random ramblings for the day. Denis Leary is on Oprah, so I must go.

2009-01-05T13:55:00.001-08:00

Yeah, I'm ready to not be pregnant anymore.

Don't get me wrong~ it's been an amazing process. Surreal, science fictiony, and amazing. I think I'll miss feeling Maxers kicking around in there. I'll miss my friends touching my belly with awe (I guess I could still ask them to afterwards!). And there is definitely something sacred about being a human incubation station.

But the heartburn that makes me throw up at night, the sciatica, the thighs squishing together and the I-thought-I-was-just-going-to-cough-but-I-just-peed-my-pants-a-little are getting a little old.

And did I mention the low blood pressure induced dizzy spells? After a recent eye doctor appointment at the mall (pleased to be reading my entry on ocular herpes), I found myself slumped over a table in the food court praying (out loud, I think) please do not let me pass out in the food court at the mall. Please do not let me crumple into a slick of cheese sauce in the food court at the mall. It was, by the way, at that moment that I realized how fine the line is between appearing sane and appearing like, well, someone hunched over a table in the food court at the mall praying. Perhaps a lesson in compassion for us all.

I really, really thought I'd love being pregnant. I thought I'd be aglow with the warm pulse of mother-to-be-ness. Connected to all living things, flaunting my roundness. I wanted to be pregnant really badly. When other people were getting pregnant, I was happy for them but also jealous.

Now? Not so much.

Now this doesn't mean that I'm ready for birth (can you ever really be ready for that?!?) or that our house is set up for a little one yet. I'm just ready for the hostile takeover of my body to be done. And I'm getting pretty curious to see what this little guy is like. What he looks like.

So. I said it. I don't really like being pregnant. I'm glad to be having the experience~ been there, done that, got the t-shirt, stretched it out. Peed in it a little.

Last of the little Christmases...

2008-12-31T13:53:00.001-08:00

Our Christmas was pretty peaceful this year, which is the usual for us. On Christmas Eve we ferry out to Peaks Island to Scott's parents' house, which is always fun. Each year someone takes their turn writing a version of "Twas the Night Before Christmas" but with each of the family members names included. It's a very cool tradition. And this year we were of course quite focused on our new nieces. The evening ended with everyone rushing to catch the last boat, to the tune of what can only be described as "Extreme Caroling"~ I really can't say more than that. : )

On Christmas morning we headed over to my parents for some gift openin' and brunch. Then it was home for a nap, before returning to my parents for Chinese takeout and a raunchy movie. Although this year I must say the raunchy movie was much less raunchy than usual (usually we go with something Apatow-esque), and we watched Burn After Reading. Scott and my mom and I had all already seen it, so we were mostly anticipating my dad's reaction to discovering what George Clooney's character was building in the basement...

I have mixed feelings about the whole Christmas thing. I'm don't consider myself a Christian, so that piece of it isn't there for me. Our version of decorating for the holidays has mostly been arranging Christmas cards on the mantle and Clementines on the kitchen counter. Some years I get totally into the gift giving thing, and others years I feel like it's all a superficial clusterfuck. After my brother and other loved ones died, I had a really hard time wanting to celebrate at all. But this year I was mostly thinking about how different next year will be, with a little dude crawling around getting into everything (or as one friend so kindly put it-- he'll be walking around, because of course he'll be quite advanced for his age).

When I was a kid, each year my grandma Jeanne would proclaim that it was the "last of the big Christmases." I'm not sure if it was about all the money that gifts cost, or if she, like me, had some ambivalence about the holiday (she was also brought up Jewish, which might be part of it too), but each year she'd make sure to let everyone know that this was it. And yet, the next year, there we all were again, opening Skeletor's castle or heaps of books. So I declare this year the "last of the little Christmases." Not that I plan to spoil our child too much, or hit the eggnog, or start wearing sweaters with prancing reindeer because that would be very, very scary. But there could be a Christmas tree involved next year, and maybe even some lights, too.

Plus, does it mean you're really, totally, completely a grown up when you ask for a Crock Pot for Christmas? And receive one? I fear it does...

2008-12-20T12:41:00.001-08:00

Today a headline on AOL caught my eye-- "Apocalypse Now Star dies at 53." This rang a bell for me, and I clicked on the link and sure enough, it brought me back to a former life (not in the literal sense-- I'm hormonal, but not totally out of it!).

A few months before I decided to come back to Maine, I ended up moving to L.A. with a friend to do an internship at a movie production company. It was pretty spur-of-the-moment and kind of nuts, especially for a homebody like me. I ended up interning at a small production company for the woman who had just won all sorts of awards for Traffic. I was pretty sure I was going to meet Benecio del Toro and have a bunch of dark little babies, but (fortunately) that was not to be.

I drove down from Olympia, Washington to L.A. right after 9/11 and so I was also pretty sure that the Universal Studios lot where I was working would be the next target of the terrorists. Getting the underbelly of my car checked with mirrors for bombs every day as I drove onto the lot didn't assuage that fear.

Both my roommate -- who had set me up with the internship, as she had one at another nearby studio--and I quickly grew to hate L.A. It was sunny every friggin' day which was jarring to this Southeast Alaskan girl-- where was the rain? I began to fantasize about winter coats in place of Benicio-- a sure sign that the end was near. Besides, the people-- at least the ones I worked for--were pretty ridiculous. One day I was asked to drive to the home of the head of the production company and fetch her special "meeting shoes" as she'd forgotten them. It was on this occasion that I briefly met her husband, Sam Bottoms, who had been in Apocalypse Now. He seemed nice enough as he handed over the shoes, but I wasn't much a fan of his wife-to-be. On one particularly bad day, while she had asked me to listen in on a phone call of hers (in Hollywood there are generally at least four people on phone calls-- the "important" ones and a few others to do the actual dialling and note-taking) she badmouthed me to the person she was speaking to, knowing full well that I was on the line.

Still, there were some good times-- mostly created by my roommate and I. This being right after 9/11, we both developed crushes on Tony Blair and created a Tony Blair shrine over the mantle of our fireplace. We'd purchased one of those Mexican "Our Lady of" candles and taped a small perky newspaper picture of Tony Blair's face over the face of the saint. And there was the famous poo in the pool incident that I won't go into, but suffice to say that a trip to the pet store and dark hooded sweatshirts were involved.

But, my roommate and I broke our lease and headed back to Olympia. Never was I so happy to see rain, and I even splurged on a J. Crew pea coat before I left L.A.

Not long after that, my roommate and I broke our lease and I made the drive back to Olympia. Soon I decided to make the next road trip-- the one that brought me back to Maine and set my life here in motion.

That other life seems like a million years ago instead of seven. Sitting here in our nice, old home (my brother-in-law is currently crouched at one of our windows with a hair dryer trying to fix the symptoms of an ice dam on our roof-- ah, home ownership!) with a big baby belly and a sweet husband. Life is good, and I won't be fetchin' anyones shoes but my own these days.

It's all in the eyes...

2008-12-14T06:33:00.001-08:00

This week, I had the routine eye exam I'd been putting off for almost a year. All was going well until the doc said it looked like my right eye was a little dry but she wanted to look closer and make sure it wasn't a virus. She squirted some dye in there and took another look and said "well, it looks like a virus. It looks like the herpes virus."

Huh?!?

"Not that kind," she said quickly, waving her hand vaguely over her genital area.

I've had the cold sore strain of the Big H since I can remember, but this was a new one. It just sounds so gross~ I'm already not feeling my cutest~ my cheekbones have entirely disappeared, my stomach is getting larger by the minute, and my energy level on a lot of days is equivalent to one of those drugged polar bears at the Anchorage zoo. So now we're going to add "eye herpes" to the list? Which, my doc explained, meant I couldn't wear contacts for "at least weeks." Now, nothing against those who wear glasses, but I just don't like to wear them. It brings me back to what we refer to as "6th grade Lynn." 6th grade Lynn had very short hair and Tootsie glasses and was a bit of a chubster. And when I wear glasses, I feel kind of like there's a windshield between me and the rest of the world. And not in a good way.

So I came home to call Scott and my mom and tell them the good news. Now lest you think I've been putting unsavory things in my eye, ocular herpes are the same strain as the cold sore variety. Apparently the virus lies dormant in the nerves of one's face until something like undue stress brings it out of hibernation and it travels to yer eye. I figured that the compromised immune system that pregnancy brings (which is pretty brilliant as it ensures that the mother's body doesn't reject the fetus) had spawned this new treat. We had an appointment with the midwives that same afternoon, so I asked about the eyedrops my doc wanted to prescribe me, since they were of course a category C drug-- with unknown side effects on the fetus.

The next day I had to go back to my eye doctor. Much to my amazement, when she peered again into my infested right eye, she proclaimed that it was in fact dryness, and not the dreaded Eye Herpes. Never before had I thought to put "not having eye herpes" on my gratitude list, but there you go.

Negative Nelly

2008-12-04T07:04:00.001-08:00

Hi, I'm Negative Nelly. Cousin of Grumpy Gus.

Seriously.

So I'm no Pollyanna (clearly) but I generally am patient with strangers. I get a little kick out of friendly cashiers and waiters, and when speaking to people like telephone surveyors or insurance representatives, I like to overcompensate for all the folks that treat them crappily. But the last few days, I've been a total beyatch.

It might be because I'm sick for like, the third time in the last two months. Or because heartburn plagues me, and even made me throw up the other night, and I can no longer eat the spicy foods I enjoy and I have to slow down and chewwww my food. Or because the cat was vomiting last night, and managed to sandwich in a ridiculously stinky crap in between the vomitting and howling. (I think Max is somehow fetally communicating to her so she can train us for his impending arrival.) Or because dragging around an extra 20 pounds or so is a little tiring, or because I keep getting dizzy spells even when I'm sitting down.

But yesterday I finally spoke with the woman at Mercy who is in charge of Childbirth Ed classes-- I'd sent my registration in months ago and had never heard back from her about registering for classes. So I called her, and despite the fact that someone from Mercy received my registration because they called me to verify info on it, she never received it. Then when I tried to call her this morning on the direct # she gave me, the woman who answered could not seem to put me through to the lady's voice mail. I just kept ringing back to the telephonally impaired woman, who kept blissfully answering "hello?" as my low blood pressure began to rise. I finally managed to leave a message and stomped upstairs to spread my joy to Scott. "Those jerks at Mercy are a bunch of Schmorons," I declared, merging our favorite words to describe annoying strangers-- Schmohawk, derived from the fabulous "Curb your Enthusiasm," and "morons," which is Scott's favorite word to use when he gets the occasional burst of road rage. Combined with another word that starts with an "f."

Then I went to the grocery store because I'm sick and I need peanut butter. As I gazed at the shopping cart blocking me from unloading my heavy basket onto the counter, my blood began to boil. I began thinking some very nasty thoughts about the sweet-faced elderly woman ahead of me, purchasing perky wreaths. Except it wasn't even her cart. Whoops.

Normally this stuff wouldn't bother me. I generally save my aggression for those closest to me. And I guess I did this time, too, because Scott wasn't all too impressed with my outburst.

So. I wanted to make a little gratitude list to try and counterbalance my unfounded rage with some cheery shit:

~ I got some sprouted grain english muffins at the grocery store today.(it really all comes back to food, doesn't it?)
~ The cat no longer seems to smell bad and is curled up next to me.
~ I have not yet experienced hemorrhoids or constipation.
~ There should be a disc of CSI, Season 8 arriving in the mail soon.
~ There's a little Snuggle Puppy twirling around in my belly.
~ Scott made me French Toast last night for dinner.
~ We had a nice, mellow Thanksgiving.
~ Alice Hoffman books.

There's plenty of other stuff, like being generally healthy and having a loving, supportive family and a sweet home and good friends, too. But you wouldn't want me to get too Pollyanna-ish, would you?!?

Off the Wagon

2008-11-25T14:13:00.000-08:00

So I've been totally off the wagon with these blog entries. I admit it. I haven't been too busy or anything-- in fact, that's probably the problem. Do you really want to read about me puttering around the house, reading, writing, working, and cleaning? : )

I'm unreasonably excited about Thanksgiving. I've never been a huge Thanksgiving person~ it's been nearly two decades since I've eaten meat. But I do enjoy food, and gratitude is a good thing to practice. But I'm going to blame it on the estrogen this year.

It's a funny feeling to know we're going to have a little one around for next years' holidays. I think it means we're like, officially grown up or something. We'll probably even get a Christmas tree next year.

In the meantime, I've been thinking a lot about past Thanksgivings:

The one where we found out my uncle and his wife were expecting my fabulous little cousin, Juli.

The one where my brother and I danced to Fleetwood Mac in my grandparents' living room. I think this may have also been the one where we started calling my grandpa's wife "Yamma." And continued the yam word play, coming up with such delightful wordbites as "yampon."

The one the year after my brother died when we shared our meal with our two good friends whose husbands had also recently died.

The one after my grandparents moved to Sequim and I tape recorded the whole evening for a school project. That was the night my yamma busted out with the term "crotch crickets."

Well, those are some of the highlights. I've gotta go-- my honey's on the way home, and the tofu tacos don't be making themselves.

2008-11-17T07:50:00.000-08:00

And me and Max, dancin' it up to Baby's got Back (and front).

Better late than never

2008-11-17T07:36:00.000-08:00

Here's us on Halloween... as Angela from My So-Called Life... and TV's smoldering Magnum, P.I.

2008-11-16T15:36:00.000-08:00

So the midwives warned us that pregnancy suppresses the immune system or something, so that I might find myself sick more often, or for longer, but this is getting old. I mean, there is only so much "America's Next Top Model" a lady can watch...

Scick

2008-11-15T12:16:00.000-08:00

Still sick. Or as we say here, "scick." But just took a quick break from my scickbed (comprised currently of me, the kitty, and Grey's Anatomy DVDs) to make some carrot raisin bread. I am quite the little baker while knocked up...

2008-11-13T15:48:00.000-08:00

Got myself another cold. Up for a quick bean burger then back to bed... thank God for DVDs.

Just trying to write at least something little everyday.

More soon.

Past Lives

2008-11-12T13:42:00.001-08:00

I'm thinking a lot about how many lives we live in this one, sometimes. There's the process of going through all my letters and stuff from when I lived in Seattle 14 years ago. This morning a friend asked me and another friend to describe ourselves in high school. My initial response was "what year?" I was sort of a changling back then, trying on different costumes, music, and habits to see which ones fit. And there's the more recent past-- I had coffee last week with two of my volunteers from when I ran TIP. Or the other day I ran into the friend whose ex-wife set Scott and I up over 6 years ago. Even driving by our old house, just a mile or so away, where we still lived a year ago at this time, feels somewhat foreign.

As uncertain as I sometimes feel about what I'm doing with my life and what the future will look like, all I really have to do is look back to remember how unexpected and wild a ride it is. I am not the type who will have just a few careers-- I've already racked up more than a few. I used to fight this-- thinking there should be some one thing that I do with my time here. And there are throughlines-- writing is the biggest one. And though my interests change and all the cells of our bodies replace themselves every seven years, in some ways, in am still the same person I was with the bad perm or the short purple hair or the Guns N' Roses t-shirt.

And I could've no more imagined this life here in Maine-- almost as far away as you can get from Alaska without leaving the U.S. With a lovely old house and friends whose faces I never could've imagined and the funny, clean-cut boy who plays golf even in the rain and cold. And there is something so comforting about this to me. That we get new chances, that things change even when life feels so static. So when I stress about the future, I have to remember that I don't have all the facts. Not even close. My little vista is so very limited. There will surely be bad hair cuts and embarrasing outfits in my future, and people I love who I can't yet envision, and heartbreaks I don't want to.

So, could you remind me of this next time I'm freaking out about what to do next with my life?

The Occasional Housewife

2008-11-10T14:27:00.000-08:00

My blog-buddy Mer-Mer wrote a post on enjoying being a homebody, and I sure can relate. Work has been soooo sloooowwww lately and I am trying to just enjoy it~ these last months before my life changes so drastically to a pace that I can't really imagine. Not that it has to be a fast pace-- but I know it will be different.

I do love being home, working from home, and even not working from home. Especially this time of year, when the dark falls so quickly (one of my biggest pet peeves is that daylight savings time is a misnomer. No daylight is really saved-- it's just all shifted around!) and it's just so darned cozy to curl up with a book and a blanket.

Occasionally, I even vacuum and cook meals for us. Last Friday was such a day~ I spent much of it cleaning and cooking. It was one of those days where I thought "I could be a housewife!" But I think it's the fact that it's not being asked or required of me that makes it pallatable on certain, random days. The rest of the time, we totally need a wife.

Unpacking

2008-11-07T14:24:00.000-08:00

I've been slowly going through the several boxes of belongings I packed up from my parents house in Alaska a year and a half ago. That was a hard trip-- I was already dealing with some depression, and I grieved hard for the house that I grew up in, that my dad grew up in, that my grandma designed. It's a beautiful house with wood floors (and walls in some areas) a slate entry way and fireplace, wide windows looking out at the row of mountains across the Gastineau Channel. My grandma tucked neat little nooks everywhere-- a laundry chute, a dumbwaiter for wood, "magic doors" where you press the walls and they click open to reveal closets. I spent about four days throwing away mounds of crap from my younger years, and packing up the stuff that I couldn't let go of or decide on.

My parents sent the boxes back to me last winter when they put the house on the market, and I've finally started sorting through things, with the deadline of el bambino as a prompt to get me motivated.

I've found funny things, like Cinderella cds and cassette tapes with the Bangles recorded off the radio. And things that break my heart, like the letter to me from my Godmother on the day my brother was born. Today I was going through a box that had cards I'd saved, and I came across several from my dad. When I first moved away from home to Seattle (to become a grunge star) my dad sent me a card every week. I was always touched by this, but today, with this little guy on the way, it made me cry-- knowing how much my parents love me, how selflessly, and how we will undoubtedly love this little guy the same way. How in some way I think a parent's love for a child must be somewhat unrequited-- I love my parents fiercely, but I imagine there is something different about caring for someone when they're helpless and new, about knowing you are fracturing off a piece of yourself who you hope will make the world a little better, that a child can't understand, perhaps until they become a parent themselves.

On a somewhat lighter note, my prenatal yoga teacher brought in a book on names last week. It's not about the origins of names for babies, but rather something about the energetic vibration of the letters in the name. I didn't read the entire description for Max, but it did say "intelligent and stubborn." Sounds about right. And then, "as likely to be found on the dean's list as on the FBI's most wanted list"!

Anybody have a good back-up name for us?!?

Shake your BOO-ty

2008-11-06T14:52:00.000-08:00

Halloween is among my favorite holidays—you get to play dress up, morbidity abounds, and there’s lots of candy involved. What more could a gal ask for?

I decided to get my hair cut that day—partially because I was feeling frumpy and wanted a change, and partially because we had a theme costume party to go to. The theme was “Classic TV”. I really wanted to go as the Golden Girls, but it just didn’t work out. So I decided to go as Angela from My So-Called Life, whom I look nothing like. So I proceeded to get my hair cut into a little bob—the haircut I inevitably always return to after going longer or shorter. I liked it fine when I was at the hair salon, and I didn’t allow myself to look down at the tumbles of patiently grown dark hair falling all around me. But when I got home and looked in the mirror, I instantly decided the haircut somehow made me look fat. And not like Angela at all.

I didn’t realize until later that my fat haircut neurosis coincided with my crash after my glucose screening test that morning—I’d had to down an bottle of orange liquid (how Halloweeny!) with a ton of sugar in about 10 minutes that morning. I don’t consume a lot of sugar, and it showed. I took a short nap and tossed some temporary red dye stuff into my hair and tried to cheer up, but as I donned the oversized flannel shirt for my outfit, I again suffered a fat attack. “The first time someone asks if I’m Rosanne Barr, we’re going home, ‘kay?” I made Scott promise.

Fortunately, Scott was going to the party as Magnum, P.I., and the wig and mustache ensemble I found for him was called the “Eurasian Traveler,” which basically meant Borat. It was impossible to gaze at his dark curly ‘fro and bushy mustache without cracking a smile.

The party turned out to be a blast, and we both shook it up on the dance floor amongst such classic TV icons as Mr. T, Punky Brewster, Ms. Piggy and gentle painter Bob Ross. Our buds even spun some Michael Jackson vinyl and there was a surreal few minutes on the dance floor when all the boys seemed to have disappeared while the girls bounced around to Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, which somehow made me feel old and young at the same time.

And the next morning, guess what? My hair didn’t make me look so fat after all.

Crybaby

2008-11-05T17:55:00.000-08:00

My friend Mer-Mer ever-so-gently prompted me to take this challenge of daily blog writing through the month of November. So here I am, it's my bedtime but thought I'd try to squeeze out a little something (that sounded naughty) before I hit the hay.

I am such a sap these days. Oprah and her gang talking about the election today totally made me cry. And a few weekends ago at the reception after Scott's cousin's wedding, I bawled through all the toasts and even the dances. Especially when the groom danced with his mom-- suddenly I could imagine little Maxers all grown up and getting married (to a guy or a gal-- doesn't much matter to me!).

It's nice in a way, being so connected to all the bittersweetness in the world in such a heightened way-- but it sure is hard on the mascara.

Okay, I wrote something. Night-night.

Electile Dysfunction

2008-11-04T10:25:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, it's been forevah.

And there's been no real electile dysfunction yet. at least from my little smidge of the world. I was just feeling naughty.

I did wake up with electile anxiety, though. I have to say it's kind of a nice change from labor anxiety, or baby registry anxiety. I went to my gentle dance class though and gently danced, and that seemed to help. It also happens to be almost 60 degrees here-- let's here it for global warming!

Stood in line for about 40 minutes to vote. I had meant to do the whole early voting thing, but between procrastination and the sniggling suspicion that somehow my early vote wouldn't count as much as my on-time vote, here we are. Plus, there's something nice about standing in line with all the other folks, and I wouldn't have gotten a free Starbucks coffee (decaf, don't worry) if I'd voted early.

I have to say that I really had this strange, strong feeling that I should get two ballots-- one for me, and one for Max. Although he's not quite 18 yet. If he was, I suspect my sciatica-- not to mention labor-- would be much more-- intense.

Sadly, or rather-- embarrasingly, I recognized almost none of the names for our local council election stuff-- but I voted for the biggies and that feels more important right now. Did I mention I got a free Starbucks coffee? : )

Just got back from a walk to our little neighborhood library, during which I encountered our friend Rob who is kindly serving as a volunteer voter's protection attorney at our old polling place down the street. While stopping to chat, a few teenagers walked by, telling us to "vote Obama!" "We did!" Rob said. On this sunny, warm day with broken leaves scattered everywhere, I felt a strong surge of hope that things will be different-- for the better-- if this election turns out how I want it to.

Mayor of Bipsy Town

2008-10-24T12:50:00.000-07:00

So last night I had what I refer to as a "Bipsy." My sister-in-law calls it "throwing a nutty." Either way, it was no fun, for me or Scott. It started with me expressing my dissatisfaction about something completely unrelated to what was really going on-- the fact that I was having a freak attack.

When I finally got to the heart of the matter, things went like this:

Me: I need you to tell me it's okay that my work is really slow so I'm not making much money and that I'm fat and veiny.

Long pause.

Me: Please say something rapidly.

Scott handled it all like a pro. The pause was because he believed that I was setting a trap for him (which of course I've never, ever done before!) and that whatever he said would not be right. Particularly because the word "fat" was part of my freak out.

When he finally spoke he said: It's okay with me. But it needs to be okay with you.

Where did I find this guy? Seriously. I've been going to Alanon meetings for over six years and can't come up with stuff like that. He was right on the mark. I'd like to say my freakout ended there, but it did not, and I continued to express my anxiety about everything from needing to register for baby stuff to what we were going to be for Halloween.

For a long time, I knew I was prone to depression, but I'm just realizing the role that anxiety plays in my life. I can whirl myself into a tizzy over just about anything (as proven by the fact that our Halloween costumes makes my short list of things to freak over). Add pregnancy hormones and all the unknowns of impending motherhood to the mix = Bipsy. Even my cat was starting to get nervous. (Although I believe she also has a predisposition to anxiety. Along with the fact that she likes to eat zucchini bread and pizza crusts, I am starting to believe that we somehow share genetic material.)

Eventually after much deep breathing and crazy ranting, I calmed down and fell asleep. I woke up this morning realizing I need to be more proactive about doing the things that keep me grounded-- exercise, journaling, prayer and the dreaded meditation. I really want to enjoy these last few months of calm before el bambino comes on the scene.

My prenatal yoga class started back up again the other day. Besides getting all stretchy, I always seem to learn some fun and often disturbing thing about pregnancy/birthin'. Last time it was the "Ring of Fire." This time the teacher mentioned that pregnant women acquire fat on their backs and sides (I like to call this back bacon-- I'm not sure why, but I like it.). I was relieved to hear that because I'd recently noticed this exact phenomenon occuring on my very back and sides-- so it was nice to hear it was a normal part of pregnancy. What I wasn't so wild about hearing was: "It Never Goes Away." What?!? I thought this prenatal yoga stuff was supposed to be relaxing...

I know I complain a lot in here about the not-so-fun parts of this journey, because I need to because it's scary and amazing and science fiction-y. But I also have nice little moments of excitement to meet this little dude who is so avidly thrashing around in my stomach. It's fun to think about who he might look like, who he might be. Like he will probably like to laugh and be fairly proficient with the English language and chances are he will have a sturdy nose. But who knows, really. It's part of the adventure of all of this-- the same reason I get so anxious. But right now, just for this moment-- I think it might all be really, really amazing.

I'm going to stop there, before I freak myself out again.

Snuggled in

2008-10-21T06:53:00.000-07:00

I've got a bit of a cold the past few days, so like a wuss (I mean, because I believe in assertive self-care) I'm all snuggled in bed with the cat and some dvds. It's that perfect kind of sick where I feel quite fine so long as I stay snuggled in, but if I try and do too much I am quickly aware that my energy level is non-existent.

We went to our first "Connections" group at the midwives last week. You get the choice to either continue going to your appointments with the midwives, or to be part of a group of people due around the same time as you, where you get some childbirth ed pieces and still get time with the midwives as well. So we tried it out and for the most part liked it.

They are trying their best to ease us into this whole birth thing-- they showed us a video of the very end of a water birth. Of course when the facilitator said something about how the birthing mom's mother was holding a mirror up to her daughter's perineum so she could see-- the giggling started. And Scott and I couldn't look at each other when the facilitator told us that if any fecal matter ended up in the tub, the midwives would just scoop it out.

I am torn between believing that this whole pregnancy and birth thing is totally natural-- and being completely horrified with the process. Why can't we just lay eggs instead? I would totally be down with tending to a few eggs. I'm good at snuggling in and staying warm and sedentary! Or maybe Scott could help out for awhile like the March of the Penguins daddies. Wouldn't that be cute?

Anyways, the video wasn't too traumatic-- they're saving that for later I'm sure. We were assured that we'd be seeing videos of placentas and whatever else comes out of there later on.

The little one is kicking up a storm. We can actually see his movements now-- he's quite the thrasher. And he seems to like Mexican food and spicy stuff and, well, as Scott pointed out... all the same stuff I like. Hmmm....

Nestin'

2008-10-14T12:06:00.000-07:00

To make up for my neglect here, I'm doubling up and posting twice in one day... can you tell I'm an all or nothing kind of gal?

So I've been nesting. Cleaning, cooking-- I've got sugar-free spelt banana bread cooking in the oven and beans simmering for bean burgers on the stovetop. I think there is only one room in the house that I'd be really embarrased to have anyone in should we have an incident that brings unexpected company. I have never felt so much like an animal as I have lately-- knowing that these domestic urges are the product of hormones beyond my control. I can almost see myself flitting out to the yard to collect leaves and branches, carrying them back to the house in my teeth, where I proceed to fashion them into an actual giant nest. It could happen.

Also I was driving today and that Five for Fighting song, 100 years came on and I burst into tears. What am I becoming?!? I think what got me about the song, besides just the unpredictability of hormone surges, is that for the last 34 & 1/3 years it's pretty much been all about me. Not that I'm a completely selfish person, but, well, kinda. Now there's going to be someone else to think about, someone completely dependant on us to steward him through the beginning of his life. As happy and exciting as this whole thing is, there's a bittersweetness about giving up my previous life for this new one. I'm like this about all life changes-- I tend to be very sentimental and have a difficult time anticipating major life shifts. Then, once the shift happens, I'm always okay, and in fact usually better. But the anticipation is a struggle for me. It's a good thing I married an optimist-- as my dad once said "Scott has such a sunny disposition. And you occasionally do, too."

Rant for the week: Sciatica. It sucks. My back hurts and my leg is numb most of the time. Although as a friend pointed out, perhaps the numbness will continue, and perhaps head a bit north, and serve as a natural epidural.

Rave: Dexter, season two. I enjoyed season one, but I think I was still mourning the end of Six Feet Under and couldn't detach David's character from Dexter. But season two rocked. Not as gory as season one, either. Likey.

Into the Mystic...

2008-10-14T09:16:00.000-07:00

Scott and I went away for our "babymoon" this weekend. It was a quick trip but just what the psychiatrist ordered. We headed down to Mystic, Connecticut-- we wanted to go somewhere not too far but not too close, where there'd be a handful of things to do, and Mystic fit the bill nicely.

Fortunately, Scott and I travel really well together. Our idea of a good vacation day is some good food cooked by other people, then a few hours of exploring, followed by a few to several hours of napping/reading. Then back out for dinner. It was very low key-- we visited the aquarium, which was fun-- I did notice we were nearly the only people there without kids (kids on the outside, that is). The highlight for me was the sea lions. The lady sea lions made these crazy belch-sounding noises and I just laughed and laughed and laughed.

I also noticed the new, intense way that we were watching other peoples' kids. The toddlers in the Mexican restaurant that once would've been an amusing distraction were still cute, but also kind of like watching a science experiment. We both seemed to especially notice the little boy kiddos, since that's the variety we're getting this time around. I guess we are becoming parents. Pretty weird stuff.

We also went to see Bill Maher's "Religulous" which was quite amusing, though the end seemed a bit on the dark side.

Mostly we just laughed a lot and enjoyed the change of scenery and the relaxing weekend. Scott's been working really hard lately in his new position at work, so I was really glad we could sneak away.

Unfortunately last night the cat kept us up with a lot of barfing and death howling. I guess it's good practice, right? Although as Scott said, hopefully our little guy won't be vomitting up stinky cat food in the middle of the night...

2008-10-03T10:52:00.001-07:00

I've again been delinquent in here... things are just kind of flowing along, without much event, so I haven't posted in awhile.

I was a little disturbed this week at my prenatal yoga class when the instructor started talking about the "ring of fire" stage of labor. And something about getting part of her vajeyjey clipped. The woman next to me--also a first-time mom-to-be--and I just looked at each other like "what the ef?" The instructor, sensing our panic, tried to sooth us by saying it was "more like an Indian rug burn." Then why do they call it the Ring of Fire? It sounds like something out of the Hobbit-- "And you must now pass through the Ring of Fire." I thought prenatal yoga class was supposed to help with stress reduction?!?

Watched the debate last night-- I have to say I was hoping it would be a little more ridiculous. Although does anyone in America really think it's a good idea to have another person in the White House who can't pronounce nuclear? You betcha', bless your little heart. And where did that accent come from? I'm from Alaska, and I'm pretty sure I don't sound like that...

Anyways. Going for sushi (don't worry, I don't eat fish of the raw or cooked variety) and improv tonight-- should be fun.

Oldie McWrinklesworth

2008-09-26T14:20:00.001-07:00

So we had a good appointment this week at the midwives. Got to hear the little guy's heartbeat again, and all was well. Except the midwife we met with kept referring to my age. And putting me in the category of "older moms." Now I realize I'm well settled into my thirties. I accept that some days. So far my thirties have been far better than my twenties. And I do realize that as far as childbearing years, I'm getting up there a bit. But come on! I'm no Sarah Palin, am I? (It's been weeks since I've mentioned her in here... phew that feels good!) The experience was a bit unsettling. Also unsettling was the discovery of a small but persistent dark patch of hair blooming from my stomach. "It'll go away, Grandma Moses" promised the midwife. "And you're measuring right on schedule-- 21 weeks, Roberta McCain!" she added.

I began to think something was up the next day when I checked the mail and discovered an exciting offer for Scott-- from AARP! We think with all his golfing and golfing magazines that he must've slipped onto some sort of retirees master list somewhere. I have to say it made me feel a little better though.

In other dramatic news, I've been sleeping like crazy. After the midwife deemed Zyrtec safe to use, I've been taking it for my nighttime allergies (which may or may not be related to my cat sleeping on my head), I've been sleeping better-- but I think I clocked almost 12 hours last night. And then, due to the dreary day and my avoidance of writing more articles for work or performing mundane but much needed housekeeping tasks, I succumbed to a nap as well. So I am officially a cat now. I only wish there was a way I could bank all this extra sleep and use it later this winter and spring, when I will need it so, so much more.

Who's a Big Girl?

2008-09-23T11:17:00.001-07:00

So Max, aka the bebe, must be undergoing a serious growth spurt. Suddenly I've got some serious poochage going on. And I'm freaking starving all the time-- even more than usual!

The other night, I yelled to the other room "I need OJ, cake, and pretzels!" Now, I was only half serious. Scott and I have this thing we do where, particularly if we're both tucked cozily into a bed, couch, or recliner, one of us nudges the other and names a particular food we want the other to go fetch. For example, Scott's favorite nudge is the KFC nudge. "Ehhh! KFC!" he'll grunt, gently pushing at my arm as if the momentum would spring me up, into my car, and down the street to gather up some fried chickeny goodness. We never actually get the food that the other requests-- I think the whole game is actually more about trying to agitate the resting party than a serious urge for sustenance.

So I was only partially joking when I shouted "OJ, cake and pretzels." And of course, I can't have cake unless it's wheat free and lactose free (which they have at the Pepper Club where we celebrated our anniversary-- a delicious cardamom cake), and can only have wheat-free pretzels from Whole Foods that cost like $30 for a snack size bag. But the combination ran through my pregnancy addled mind and was out of my mouth.

And my sweet, sweet husband actually got up and went to the grocery store for what turned out to just be OJ and grapes. This is even more notable because it was after 7p.m. and since we live a very geriatric lifestyle, that says a lot.

But the moment he was out the door I realized I also needed Rice Krispy Treats. Now, I didn't used to eat sugar (besides the bit that goes in my decaf vanilla soy latte... which is starting to sound really good right now...) but in the early days of my pregnancy, almost nothing sounded good, so I decided to loosen up and experiment with allowing myself a little honey or sugar now and again. I called Scott on his cell phone-- I could actually still hear him in the driveway-- but he didn't pick up so instead I went downstairs to make some Rice Krispy Treats-- a wheat and dairy free treat!

When Scott got home to see the glistening marshmallow goodies fresh from the pot, he laughed and laughed at me and my hormone-driven cooking spree... but he took a break from his hilarity to eat some.

So all is well around here, despite a rising grocery bill. Other than having a cold the past few days, my energy level has been good and I'm definitely enjoying this 2nd trimester. And we watched a news spot on the new birthin' center at Mercy last night-- pretty swanky. If not for the whole having to give birth thing, I'd be hanging out there all the time...

Names

2008-09-18T13:46:00.001-07:00

Now that we know we’re having a boy child, the question of the day is “have you thought about names?” This question led me to ponder the stereotypical life cycle questions posed to and by stereotypical, middle-class hetero Americans. Not that I mind these types of questions—on the contrary, I ask them frequently myself. Most of them actually have the potential to be quite profound—if the inquisitor truly wants to hear the answers. Just for fun, I’m also going to interject the questions/comments I actually want to ask instead…starting with, say, an elementary school aged child…

“How’s school going?”
Do you ever wet your pants in gym class?
“How does it feel to be ten years old?”
Isn’t it time you stop picking your nose?
“Are you enjoying high school?”
Are you one of the cool kids, or not-so-much?
“Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend?”
You’re totally doing it, aren’t you!?
“How’s college?”
If you don’t stop doing it all the time, you’re going to flunk out!
“What kind of career are you thinking about?”
No one’s going to hire you if you don’t stop picking your nose.
“So when are you going to get married?”
Am I going to be invited? Do I have to buy you something? Are you doing it a lot?
“How’s married life?”
Are you still doing it?
“Are you going to have kids?”
Did you know you have to do it to have kids?
"When are you due?”
You guys do still do it!
“How are you feeling?”
Are you still able to do it?
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
Either way, I really hope it doesn’t look like your husband.
“Have you thought about names?”
Please don’t name your child that.
“Are you going to have more kids?”
Are you going to keep doing it?
“Where are your kids thinking about going to college?”
Don’t you think it’s time they stopped picking their nose?
“Have you thought about retirement?”
You’re getting up there, aren’t you? Are you still doing it?
“How was your colonoscopy?”
Did the doctor wink at you? Was there poo? Did you like it?
“So do you have any grandkids yet?”
That means your kids are doing it!
“Have you thought about downsizing?”
You’re really getting up there. You should start giving away stuff. Could I have some of it?
“How was your surgery?”
Am I in your will? Could I be?
“So do you have any great-grandkids yet?”
What’s it like to be so old? Do you know who I am? Are you still doing it?
Hello?
Helloooo?!? Uhoh…

I’d now like to apologize for the disturbing keyhole into my psyche. If you didn’t know already, I’m a twelve-year-old boy trapped inside a 34-year-old pregnant lady.

We have thought about names. We’ve been calling our little fetus Max for a few months, although we’re not sure if that will be his post-gestation name or not. My in utero name was Fergie, which I recently found out was a salute to Ferguson Jenkins, an African American baseball player. I tried calling Max, Fergie Jr. for a few days, but it didn’t really stick.

Names are hard. Scott and I both like the idea of using family names, but we can’t agree on any. And there’s a part of me that really likes the idea of giving our little one a fresh name of his own, with nothing to live up (or down) to.

If you haven’t already had enough dialogue in this entry, here’s a sample of our name discussions:

Me: How about Sawyer?”
Scott: Maybe if it didn’t reflect your crush on the dude from Lost.
Me: I’m totally over that. What about Finn?
Scott: Too Irish.
Me: But you’re like, 90% Irish!
Scott: How about Benson?
Me: Like Robert Guillome?
Scott: Kale?
Me: I sort of like that.
Me: Could we name him Casey?
Scott: Too sporty.
Me: But you’re super sporty spice!
Scott: I still sort of like Max. But I don’t really like Maxwell. Or Maximillian.
Me: Same here.
Scott: How about Mad Max?
Me: Beyond Thunderdome, baby.
Me: How about Kale?
Scott: No, that’s a vegetable.
Me: But you just suggested it!
Me: How about Erico, after our kitty Erica?
Scott: Why would it be Erico and not Eric?
Me: Oh, yeah. Good point.
Scott: How about Kale?
Me: Sigh...

So, no names yet. We might just pick a few and wait to see what the baby looks like. Should we put BloodyMcgooerson on our short list?

In Between

2008-09-18T13:46:00.000-07:00

When I go almost a week without writing in here, not only do my fans get outraged (sorry Mom) but I end up with a million random streams of things I want to write about. So it's possible that I'll get a tad tangential here.

I feel really in-between today. The weather this week has vascillated between tank top weather and sweater days. Leaves are starting to fall but the other day in the cemetery, the maintenance crew was all shirtless. I'm smack dab at the 20 week mark of my pregnancy, and I'm right in-between having an obvious baby bumb and just looking a bit portly.

The "master list" that I started last week--cataloguing all the small and large things that we need to get done seems to keep getting longer. I am circling around the sad realization that that's life-- there will always be a lengthy list of things to get done. In fact, in about 5 months, there will be all sorts of new things that have to get done in between all the usual mundane life tasks. This realization comes as very disturbing news to my somewhat secret fantasy that eventually, someday soon, I'll get everything done that needs to be done and I can live out the rest of my days watching television and reading. I am inherently a lazy soul, and while I have come to some sort of peace around that (which is not easy living in a culture that prides itself on long, hard hours of work, and descending from parents who both have very strong work ethics), I still struggle with all the stuff that needs to get done.

I realized the other day that the answer is not to make my life less busy-- I actually have done a nice job at setting up a life where I have the extra time and space that I need-- it's about making better use of the time I do have. In my frenzy of vomiting, moaning, and sipping juice this summer, I stopped my practice of daily journalling. This morning writing allows me to remove the top layer of crud in my brain so I can function at a higher level. I also stopped my halting attempts at meditation. So I'm working on reinstating these habits so that when I do have hectic days, I can breathe a little in between.

So on a totally other note it's Scott and my fourth anniversary today. Four years ago today we stood encircled by our favorite people and made some promises to each other. It rained just long enough to halt our plans of wedding outside, but just after we finished our ceremony, this amazing golden light brushed down on us. It's all kind of a blur-- one of my favorite parts was when we passed our rings around for our guests to bless, though I don't really remember what anyone said-- but it's a lovely blur.

Off to celebrate.

2008-09-12T09:35:00.001-07:00

Dude, there's a dude in my belly! I'm still trying to get used to that. As Megan pointed out, I am practically a hermaphrodite for the time being. Pretty crazy.

Of course, this means we have to navigate the hot button (so to speak) of circumcision. I feel that it's a little barbaric-- most of the old reasons for circumcising males have proven unnecessary. One of the common arguments for it is cosmetic. I agree that they look weird to many Americans-- but it's definitely a cultural thang. It's kind of like if, right after birth, newborn elbow skins were removed and replaced with paisley blue corduroy. (Which might be kind of cool... I really like corduroy!) It would seem crazy to outsiders, but it would be the norm once established. Naked elbows would be unsightly, causing small children to cry and parents to shield their children's eyes in horror.

So those are my thoughts. But I'm leaving this one up to Scott. I figure I have to pick my battles, after all.

P.S.

2008-09-11T17:10:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to congratulate myself. It's been several days since I've written about either my cat or Sarah Palin on here. Go me!

Inny or Outy?

2008-09-11T16:51:00.000-07:00

We had our "big reveal" ultrasound this morning-- our little one is healthy and wriggling around like nobody's business. And my instincts were right...it's a boy!

I have to admit that even though I've felt it was a boy almost from the beginning, that if I could choose which gender we were having, I'd have chosen a girl. I know it's not that cool to say that, that you're supposed to just want a healthy kiddo, and that is the most important thing. We were trying for awhile to have this baby, and we're both so happy about it. But yes, I had a little wash of disappointment at first. I don't get my little MiniMe this time.

Scott was soooo happy though. He's already dreaming about shaping our baby into a little golfer, and though I'm not really sure I can handle more golf in our lives, it makes me happy to see him so excited. And when I think of what he must've been like as a little boy, and that this little boy will have some of those traits, I melt a little.

And I'm so relieved that everything inside this little kid is exactly the way it's supposed to be-- I'm such a worrywart, I was sure that our baby would have Down Syndrome, a cleft palate, spina bifida (sp?) and that really gross awful thing where the baby's born with the intestines on the outside... but none of those appear to be problems. And things I hadn't even thought to worry about, like club feet or lobster hands, were also not issues. We both watched in awe as the technician showed us the chambers of the heart, looked down into the brain, and of course-- the weiner! (The also tech told us a funny story about another tech who works there. Every time people find out they're having a boy, she tells them it has the biggest penis she's ever seen--which never fails to puff up the father with pride.) Yea!

It is still the weirdest thing to believe that Scott and I made a little wiggle worm that shares both of our dna and currently lives inside of my stomach. I keep trying to comprehend it and I can't quite get there.

After the ultrasound I headed to my first prenatal yoga class, which was great. I've never been super flexible, but after being so sedentary the past few months when I was sick, it felt really good to stretch these ole muscles out and to just breathe. There were four other women in the class, and we're all having boy except one woman whose not far along enough to tell, so that was cool.

So all is well here with us, and we're feeling pretty grateful tonight. I keep practicing saying "son." It still feels kind of weird, like referring to Scott as my "husband" when we first got married. It takes time to sink into the word and get cozy in it. I should figure out a way to scan our ultrasound photos so I can post them here...

2008-09-08T14:43:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling grateful today, and also a little agitated-- an interesting juxtaposition. Grateful because my work is picking up a bit, which nicely coincides with me feeling more energetic. Grateful that it was so slow during the time I felt the worst-- makes me feel like the universe is taking care of me. Good stuff.

Agitated? Not sure why. I'm taking advantage of blaming all my moods on hormones these days-- why not, right?

We had a good weekend. Scott unexpectedly came home early from golf Saturday morning, so we got to enjoy some precious weekend snuggle time. A visit to see our new niecey passed the early afternoon, and then it was clearly nap time (for us, not niecey).

Sunday, my dad sweetly made us brunch-- my parents actually make us brunch almost every Sunday that they're in town. Not just like scrambled eggs and dry toast, either, but fancy brunches. Eggs benedict is their speciality. My mom was out of town visiting the Aunties, but Dad still put together a delicious spread. Scott and my dad, who usually mystify my mom and I by talking about golf for hours on end, were gracious enough to occasionally turn the conversation to other topics. A good time was had by all.

I took a walk afterwards-- and was thrilled to see about seven turtles sunning on the turtle log at the cemetery. I may have written about this before on here, but I've kind of become obsessed with turtles this year. Before I knew I was pregnant, when the now orange-sized kiddo was the size of a poppy seed (they always compare the size to food-- yummy baby!), I found a tiny baby turtle not much bigger than my thumbnail. He was ever-so-slowly crossing one of the dirt roads and I worried he'd get stepped on or run over, so I scooped him up with a leaf and delivered him to the turtle pond where I assumed he'd find his parents who must be searching for him. Afterwards, I realized I probably should've either let him be or just moved him into the grass by the road-- what if his parents were in another pond, or in the grass he was inching towards? What if I unwittingly plopped him down by the pond of the rival turtle gang? Hopefully this doesn't say anything about my poor maternal judgement, but we shall see!

In other stunning news, I actually made us dinner tonight for the first time in months... I almost don' t dare say it, but I believe I may have finally landed in that second trimester, honeymoon phase of pregnancy...

Week in Review

2008-09-05T11:30:00.000-07:00

I've been neglecting my lil' blog.

Here's what's new (or not so new):

I'm still obsessed with Sarah Palin. I'm not entirely sure why. I found her to be very well-spoken at the Republican National Convention which disturbed me greatly. I predict that if McCain doesn't win the primary, that Governor Palin will end up hosting some sort of righty talk show and win all sorts of commercial endorsements.
I've felt really good this last week. Last night and today have not been great nausea-wise, but I'm still grateful for this past week. I left the house many times. Yea!
Next week we get to find out the gender of our little one. I'm still thinking boy, Scott's still thinking girl. I can barely wait. I admire those who can endure the suspense and not find out until the birth. I am not one of them. 19 weeks seems plenty long to wait!
Juice is my new favorite food. It's helped me through many weeks of ailing, and though I'm feeling better, I can't seem to put down the juice. Faves of the week: tomato juice, and Odwalla OJ (not together!). Apparently the lil' kiddo is a fan of vitamin C.
At the recommendation of supportive friends, I'm beginning to scribe a list of all the things that need to be done in the next several months-- the things that thus far have just floated around in my head, jostling me into a sweaty panic at 2 a.m. in the morning. Things like enlisting someone to help rid our floors of stale cat vomit detritus, clean the garage before winter (we're procrastinators and must start early!), and start asking parenty people what their favorite books were on labor (!!%*$^!) and child rearin'.
I'm still waiting for my pregnancy glow and cleavage to arrive. If I may return once more to my Sarah Palin obsession, did you see her pregnant daughter and her hockey lovin' groom to be on the stage at the RNC? Holy boob fairy. The funniest moment though, was when her youngest daughter licked her hand like a cat and ran it through her baby brother's hair. Priceless.

So that's what's been going on around here. Not terribly exciting, but it keeps me entertained!

2008-09-01T10:13:00.000-07:00

So right after I posted my last little ditty, I read that Sarah Palin has now announced that her daughter Bristol is indeed 5 months pregnant now. I am entirely confused. My profusest apologies to the Palin family. ; )

Nevertheless, I will continue to shield my indoor cat from the public eye, and will not pressure her to marry the tomcat that impregnated her.

Here is a picture of her in which I have strategically placed a pillow to hide her blooming midsection.

2008-09-01T08:43:00.001-07:00

I grew up in a pretty political family. Both of my grandfathers served in the Alaskan legislature, one for over two decades if I recall correctly. For some shameful reason, however, I have never been very political. I vote, and I care deeply about the very scary current state of the world. But I'm not one to watch debates or know the middle names of the candidates or how they stand on certain issues. Instead, I employ the admittedly dangerous technique of either liking or disliking the "general aura" of the political candidates.

But I have to admit I'm obsessed with Sarah Palin. Partly because she's the governor of my home state, who suddenly and unexpectedly has been chosen to run for the office of vice president alongside John McCain. But mostly I'm obsessed because there's a nasty rumor that's been circulating since her son was born last spring-- a rumor that says she's actually the grandmother of the child, and the real mother is her teenaged daughter, Bristol. I try not to gossip, I really do. But there's something explosive about this rumor, and there's some convincing "evidence" to support it. I first heard the rumor from my mom after the birth last spring-- at that point no one outside of Alaska gave a bear's bum about it. But the drama is starting to circulate on the internet, and I'm predicting a very public investigation in the weeks to come.

I won't go into the specifics here of the reasons people think this rumor may be true-- I'll leave you to google it yourselves. Some people say it's no one's business, and some say that if it's true, it was noble of her to protect her daughter. I agree with neither, but that might just be because she's a right winger and I think it takes enormous balls to try to pull off a soap opera stunt like this off while you're in public office... if it's true.

Either way, it should be an interesting story to follow.

By the way, I'm not really pregnant, I'm just pretending to be to protect my teenaged cat. You can see in the photograph above that I'm trying to conceal her baby bump.

Circuit (City) Overload

2008-08-30T15:27:00.001-07:00

Since our digital camera broke, and since we'll probably wanting to take lots of pictures of our little one when he/she arrives, we've been talking about getting a new camera. Scott volunteered to do some research on different models, and we headed to Circuit City last night to check them out. As compatible as we are in many ways, the hubster and I do have some differences. He likes shiny new things, and I prefer to keep things a bit (cheaper) simpler. The camera he'd picked out was one that could be used either manually or automatically, and had fancy lenses and lots of buttons. I gravitated towards one that was about half the cost and basically was just the newer version of our old camera. Between the flourescent lights, the constant hovering sales people asking whether we needed help, the overwhelming choice of cameras with buttons and switches and fancy slidey things, and the extra dash of hormones rushing through my body, I started to get antsy.

We bantered a bit about the camera he wanted and the camera I wanted, and decided to leave and think things over. By the time we pulled into the Babies R Us parking lot to pick up a gift, I had transitioned into full throttle meltdown. Scott was a trooper, and waited while I worked my way out of my fit.

We made it through the rest of the trip with out additional tears, and proceeded to visit our new niece and get lots of snuggle time with her.

But I stayed bothered by our camera standoff-- I really felt the simpler one was better, but I felt bad that Scott really had his heart set on the other one. It's not an easy financial time for many people, and neither of us have excellent job security. I know we will be fine whatever happens, but finances are an area that can send me into a deep well of self-loathing, since I feel I should be more self-sufficient than I am at this stage in my life. I use this as a way to beat myself up, and tell myself I'm not good enough, and the camera issue brought this all swirling to the surface for me.

This morning I made myself go to my 12-step "eatin' meetin'"-- though food is not currently plaguing me, the spiritual aspects of the program and the comfort I get from sitting in a room full of people doing their best to be honest and improve their lives still applies. A woman spoke about her perfectionism, about wanting to look perfect and have a perfect house and a perfect life and something in me shifted, relaxed. This woman is someone I adore, and when I look at her I don't see her imperfections. I see a lovely, charming, funny woman who I kind of want to be when/if I grow up. I was reminded that I can choose to beat myself up for all the areas of my life where I fall short-- whether it's self-sufficiency or procrastination or messy rooms or a myriad of other things-- but all that seems to do is make me and the people around me miserable. And I was reminded that the way I see things is not necessarily the way they are-- it sounds so obvious but it's easier to say than to remember. It's like if I wander around without my contacts or glasses-- the world looks like a collection of big blurry blobs. But the world doesn't really look that way-- it just appears that way through my broken eyes.

So. I came home more spiritually fit and relieved of some heavy baggage. And, to top it off, Scott wanted to go back to Circuit City to look at the camera I had admired the night before. I volunteered to return to the lion's den with him, and we happily purchased that very camera. In appreciation of his act of compromise, I encouraged him to treat himself to a new video game. No tears were shed, we were both pleased, and I'm happy to report that the rest of the day has passed more peacefully.

Phew.

Babies and Bellies!!!

2008-08-28T14:24:00.001-07:00

We met our new niece, Sophia Grace, this morning. She is a perfect little peanut. And honestly, I really needed the reminder that after all the discomfort of pregnancy (and I'm not ready to even think too much about the later stages-- incontinence, hemorrhoids and... labor)-- you get a prize! A little baby. And it was quite comforting to see my sis-in-law looking more like she'd just returned from a beach vacation than from birthin' a baby...

Then this afternoon I got to see my friend Megan who just moved back to Maine and is almost eight months pregnant. Megan and I were brought together by The Fates when we both worked for the Portland Pirates almost ten years ago. We quickly bonded thanks to our evil senses of humor and enjoyed several months of mocking such characters as Doug, the Office Masturbator; the Pirates Biggest Fan, Switchboard, who licked his palms before eating any foods lying around the office; and Scratchy aka Yellow Mellow (don't even ask). We actually got separated more than once by the office personnel because we could always be found in a mischevious huddle when we should've been performing important hockey-related duties.

So it was a delight to discover that we were once again being tossed together-- this time as Belly Buddies. Meegles, I'm glad you're back in Maine!

All in all, a good day, though I got nary a scrap of work done. But there is always tomorrow for that-- after all, it's almost six which means it's time to crawl into my jammies and watch bad TV.

Waiting

2008-08-27T14:54:00.001-07:00

My sister-in-law is about to give birth-- or maybe already has by now. Scott's family has been busy producing "the cousins" this past year-- his little sis had her baby girl in January, his brother's wife is in the hospital as we speak, and then me in February. I can't wait to meet our newest niece or nephew... and I'm going a little crazy waiting for the phone to ring!

It's a strange thing-- for several years after my brother died, this kind of event would be tinged with bittersweetness. The joy of having a new member of the family mixed with the sadness of knowing I'd never be an auntie to my own brother's kids. But time has swirled away-- almost ten years-- and I am just plain happy to have the amazing niece and nephew that we already have, and twitchin' to meet the latest addition.

So our digital camera has, as my grandma Jeanne would say, crapped out. So pardon the lack of context, but I just feel like posting a photo of King Scott taken on his 30th birthday. If he looks a little solemn, it's probably because that happened to be the day we moved into our new house, not because he's old.

Off to wait by the phone...

Uterus Rising

2008-08-26T12:10:00.000-07:00

We had our third appointment with the midwives today. I am really happy with them-- they are very calm, positive, and affirming. I feel lucky-- even though we live in a relatively small town, we get to have our birth attended by midwives, but still have the safety of being in a birthing center within a hospital. And I hear the rooms at the new Mercy Hospital will have Jacuzzis in them-- which Scott has informed me he'll be soaking in during my labor. Haha.

And we got to hear the little heartbeat again, which is such a comfort. And my little ole' uterus is moving on up-- right where it's supposed to be. Our midwife was a little worried that I've lost a bit more weight-- she'd like to see me on nausea medication if this doesn't taper off in the next several days. This is the first time in my life that I've actually wanted to gain weight. Although I admit the eating disordered thinking part of me disagrees-- fortunately, that's not the part of me that's in charge these days.

Last night my parents treated me to dinner at the Lobster Shack at Two Lights-- I'm embarrased to say that I've lived here for over six years and that was my first visit there. I had a delightful, nutritious meal of french fries daintily dipped in tartar sauce, all enjoyed against the backdrop of the sweeping Atlantic-- likey!

This feels a little random but I was afraid if I didn't write something today, I wouldn't keep my momentum up... so here's to momentum.

Dude, where's my Glow?

2008-08-23T08:09:00.001-07:00

The nausea is back. I really thought I'd slipped into the 2nd trimester honeymoon phase I keep hearing about, but not the past few days.

So I'm going to try and focus on what I'm grateful for:

I get to work from home. I don't have to crawl into an office from 9-5 feeling like this. Instead, I get to prop my little ole laptop up on a pillow and do my work from bed. With my kitty (when she's not off visiting Grandma and Grandpa) next to me. How cool is that?
Gilmore Girls. I know it's been off the air for several years, but Blockbuster.com has kept the dvds coming the past few months. This chick flick series bursting with fast-rolling quips has soothed me on many rough days.
My family. They would do anything for me and often do.
My husband. He's been so patient and has taken on all the most disgusting of the household chores-- cat food, litter box, cat vomit clean-up, and doing the dishes. He's run to the grocery store to grab me random craving-related items and has been to all our baby appointments.
My cat, Erica. I seem to write a lot about her on here. She's the creature I've spent the most time with the past few months. She is actually quite thrilled that I've taken to her lifestyle of lying in bed with short breaks for sustenance. She always knew I had what it took to be a cat.
I'm sick because of something positive-- I could feel this way and be having chemo treatments or some other horrendous ailments. We get a baby at the end of all this!

There's plenty more, but what a good start. It also happens to be another beautiful Maine day. Guess I can wait a bit longer for that glow to arrive. (And if the Universe is listening, when I get my Glow, can you also bring some cleavage?!?)

Ripening

2008-08-22T10:09:00.000-07:00

Fridays are usually the day that I go to the farm with Emily to pick up produce that wacky Gene (Pool) grew. I think I'm going to skip it today, but I am still thinking about ripening and growing. I finally watered the tomato plants I've been neglecting this morning, and I'm amazed by their resiliency. I haven't watered them often, or trimmed them back in the places that don't grow fruit, or spoken gently to them. And still most of them are green, and blooming small round fruits despite my neglect and the soggy summer. It gives me hope that whatever mistakes we'll make as parents will also be weathered with that same resiliency inherent to nature.

I tried to take a picture of my belly this morning, but I can't figure out the digital camera. In any case, it too is slowly blooming. Especially in the evenings, and especially if I've partaken in a large plate of Thai food. I still don't really believe there is a little creature in there-- it seems so science fiction to me. I believed it a little bit when we first heard the galloping heartbeat, and a lot more at our first ultrasound. In fact I forgot that we could see the baby, but it couldn't see us, and I'm pretty sure I tried to wave at it. But the rest of the time, it just doesn't seem quite real.

I find myself thinking a lot about the past lately. Partly because I've had a lot of time to think, and partly because having this baby will be one of the biggest "before and after" defining moments of my life. So I'm thinking about the "before". I find myself nostalgic for old friends and places, particularly Alaska. Although I don't want to live there, there is a part of me that belongs to the mountains and the slate grey water and the sleek pulse of whales. Even though I love being in Portland, and see us living here for a very long time, I still can't quite believe that our child won't know what it's like to grow up on a mountain at the edge of a forest, to gawk at bears strolling through the rock garden.

Or maybe it's just the hormones.

Fortunately for Scott, I have so far been spared the wild mood swings, but I am definitely softening. I cried during the Olympics last night when an American diver spoke about her last career dive (perhaps the strange thing is not that I cried during the Olympics, but that I actually watched the Olympics), and I had a complete meltdown the other night when I accidentally kicked the cat, and my cheeks are a bit wet now after writing about Alaska.

So everything shifts. People, hormones, tomatoes.

Enough deep thoughts-- I'm going to go watch some Gilmore Girls.

Back to Life

2008-08-18T12:29:00.000-07:00

So it only seemed appropriate to mark my return to the living with a visit to my favorite cemetery.

Before I was stricken with two months of vomiting, dizziness, constant nausea and the inability to talk about, hear about or witness anything relating to body functions without gagging, I strolled the cemetery everyday, often for over an hour. I watched the tadpoles slowly sprout legs and lose their tails, and I judged how good the walk was by how many turtles I spotted in the pond.

Today was a little warm for my delicate self, but thanks to a rockin' breeze, I had a great walk. The former tadpoles are getting big and green, but I only saw one little lone turtle on the turtle log, stretching his little neck up towards the sun.

The high point of my walk: I love to read first names from the old tombstones. There are those that have gone by the wayside-- the Ediths, the Vernons, the Gertrudes (although the Gertrudes kind of sounds like a cool name for a band)-- the classics-- Elizabeth, Jonathan, Anne-- and the oldies that are now coming back into fashion, like Eva, Ava, and Ella. But today my friends, I found a new favorite. Veranus. I was dying (haha) to photograph the headstone to prove that there was once someone-- presumably a man?-- named Veranus, but in a stunning bout of good taste, I controlled my urges. But seriously... Veranus? I'll have to suggest that as a possible baby name to Scott...it's right up there with Wormus.

The low point: A gaggle of bratty pre-pubescent boys on bikes. Normally it wouldn't bother me but one of them was on some sort of motorized bike and they were purposely riding towards the ducks, yelling obscenities. If I'd had a cane with me, I'd have surely shaken it at them. Instead, I took a deep breath, kept walking, and sent off a quick prayer that we'd have a child with a gentle heart.

New

2008-08-16T13:31:00.000-07:00

So it's time for something new. It's been a hard few months-- I always thought I'd be one of those women who loved being pregnant. Not so much-- it's hard to love it when you're nauseous and hurling and for some strange reason the scent of the first floor makes your new bloodhound self run back up the stairs to the bathroom. When for once in your life, you actually don't want to eat, but know that there's a tiny creature living inside you who needs you to.

I've been really isolated, and this is one way of making sure I am at least expressing what's up somewhere, somehow. Besides to my husband and mom, that is.

Today was a good day. I walked a bit, and read a bit, and snuggled a bit. I read some blogs of people I went to high school with-- one of whom recently experienced a similarly difficult early pregnancy, and it soothed me to read her words. Someone I had a mutual friend with in high school, but never really knew, but who after reading her thoughts, I feel I know.

On a positive note-- I am starting to be able to make poo jokes again without gagging. I am grateful for this small return to myself. In fact, yesterday something really gross happened that is now amusing. I woke up early (to pee for the forty-third time) and noticed that my cat Erica, who sleeps on my pillow above my head, smelled kinda poo-ish. I assumed that she had some poo stuck in her long fluffy fur, and booted her out of the bedroom, hoping to return to my slumber. Unfortunately, the smell was still there and I looked down to discover there was poo in the bed. Right next to my head. (The mysterious poo belonged to the cat, not me or Scott.) Turns out Scott had accidentally spooked Erica when she was in the litter box, and apparently she had finished her doody duty in the bed. At least that's what I'm hoping, and that it's not some new phase of her development as a senior cat.

So. On that note, I'll sign off. But it feels good to be here, and good to start something new.