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.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
Unpacking
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?!?
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?!?
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Shake your BOO-ty
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Crybaby
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Electile Dysfunction
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.
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.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Mayor of Bipsy Town
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Snuggled in
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....
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....
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