Back when I was in K-12, my parents, sister and I regularly went to our cabin to celebrate the New Year. Some years our aunt, uncle and cousins came with. Some years we asked a friend from school to come with instead. Every year there was some junk food and snacks, card games, cold weather, and some possibly illegal sparklers and/or fireworks. The cabin was heated by a old Ben Franklin wood burning stove and often in the evenings we would sit around it for awhile, being cozy and warm. I remember being at the cabin for New Year's Eve, 1989, and saying aloud, "1990 doesn't even sound like a year." It was strange to my ear, "The 1990s." This is probably because my entire conscious life had been in the 1980s. The recognition of the changing of a decade was new to me. There have been a few decades that have passed since 1989 - heck, we even moved into a new century - but I feel like this New Year will be a bigger change than most that have come before. My due date is in about two weeks. Babies tend to show up when they're good and ready, but in the end there is no way we're completing first month of 2014 without becoming parents. It is hard to wrap my mind around.
As I put together our Christmas Cards this year I spent time going through our photos and our calendar, reminding myself of what all we did these past 12 months. Of course, just like the last three years, the wall calendar in the kitchen reflected the voluminous medical appointments associated with our journey towards parenthood. We had done an IUI in January 2013. It wasn't successful. We spent the first part of the year trying to figure out when we were going to stop trying, how many more IUIs we were willing to attempt. I started acupuncture around that time, my Hail Mary, my "at least I tried just about everything." In April, Megan and Paul came to visit. Right after they left, we tried another IUI. This one seemed to work. We waited, not trying to spend too much time wondering if we'd make it past the six-week mark. Well, we're past the 36-week mark at this point.
On one hand I feel like I've been pregnant forever. I remember those first weeks and months:
The first few ultrasounds, and steeling myself for potentially bad news each time but trying to be hopeful.
Going camping, laying in a tent in the woods, wondering when (if?) the morning sickness would kick in.
One of my girlfriends figuring it out early on when I waived off a glass of wine, and my inability (or desire) to lie to her.
Zac coming home and telling me that he had told his boss about the pregnancy in order to make sure he was available as possible for doctor's appointments.
Attending a family wedding over Memorial Day weekend, wondering if we'd be able to keep our secret - not wanting to distract from the focus of the wedding and not wanting to tell our families just yet.
The first few months were spent slowly disseminating the information about the pregnancy to maybe one or two people at a time, depending on the circumstance. Finally we were able to tell our families, and announce it on Facebook. The flood of love and support was overwhelming and I settled into being pregnant. Weeks pass. Months. A full three-quarters of a year. And now here we are, really any day from bringing this baby into the world. A lot of life happens in nine (really 10) months - Zac and I went places and did things all while my body changed and the baby grew. At this point I feel I have forgotten what is like to NOT be pregnant.
On the other hand, how can it be that it's already time to have the baby? It went so quickly. All of those events that happened on the calendar are still fresh in my mind. Why does time seem to elapse more rapidly with each year? That seems to be my adult life in a nutshell - I blink and months go by. I can only imagine that will continue once the baby arrives, when every day brings something new and amazing.
I wish everyone a happy and healthy 2014. May you know prosperity and peace in your lives and, most importantly, joy. I wish you all the most joy that your hearts can hold and then some.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Class is in session
Approximately 35 weeks along . . .
Two weekends ago was all baby, all the time. We started out on Friday taking a tour of the Labor & Delivery (L&D) unit at Navy Medical Center San Diego (NMCSD). It was an opportunity to see the facilities and meet some of the staff that may be around when it comes time to deliver. NMCSD seems like a nice enough place and the staff seems to genuinely enjoy their jobs. As someone who has never been admitted to a hospital, or really even spent much time in a hospital visiting others, I was surprised at how impersonal it seemed. Yes, they tried to decorate L&D to make it more relaxing and "homey" but it still felt . . . sterile. In more ways than one. I understand that it's the nature of hospitals, but the antiseptic smell that permeates everything doesn't make me feel "healthy" or "natural". There's really nothing soothing, relaxing or healing about chemical smells, fluorescent lighting and the constant sound of electronic monitors going off. At least the actual birthing rooms have lighting that's less harsh. I can certainly see the appeal of a home birth or those high-end birthing centers after visiting NMCSD. Yes, having all of that technology and specialists around in case something goes wrong is great but it certainly seems to come at a cost. Cost of what, I can't quite articulate. I'm sure I'll have other things on my mind when the time comes to deliver and the subsequent 24 hours, but I can understand why moms would want to leave the hospital as soon as possible after having a baby.
On Saturday and Sunday Zac and I attended a birthing class at a different San Diego hospital. I discovered much too late into this pregnancy that many birthing classes are anywhere from six to twelve weeks long. Truthfully, I'm glad we went with the two-day class. I've talked to other friends who have taken the longer classes and frankly the additional hours of class work are mainly devoted to practicing breathing and relaxation. While that's what some people want, neither Zac nor I would have enjoyed that many sessions of the same thing over and over. Our two-day class hit the major topics: stages of labor, breathing, pain relief and epidurals, Cesarean sections, breastfeeding, postpartum care, plus a few others.
There were 10 other couples in the class, all of us first-time parents. It was a friendly group where everyone seemed to have a pretty good sense of humor about the absurdity of what we were all about to go through. Unfortunately there was one woman in the class who was the quintessential Negative Nancy. Apparently every single one of her girlfriends had nightmarish delivery experiences. Everything that could go wrong with late-term pregnancy and delivery had happened to the women in her life. She seemed to relish sharing each and every horror story about evil doctors, bitchy nurses, rare complications and gruesome happenings to moms and babies. Luckily most of the people in the class didn't pay her fear-mongering much heed. By the end of the two days, most of us simply rolled our eyes each time she started in on one of her stories. I felt bad for the nurse who taught the class - she did the best that she could to contain Nancy's negativity. On the one hand the nurse had to acknowledge that yes, sometimes there are complications and, yes, sometimes you don't always get along with the staff on hand, but she adeptly countered that most of the time things go smoothly and that you can always request to have another doctor or nurse.
It was certainly a worthwhile two days. I was moved to tears on at least three separate occasions, all of which were caused by video clips we watched in the class. At the beginning of the first day we watched a clip from Bill Cosby's epic 1983 comedy routine "Bill Cosby, Himself." He spent a good 10 minutes or so describing the experience that he and his wife had for the delivery of their first-born. I was almost afraid I was going to go in to labor simply from laughing too hard. Everyone in the class was roaring. Bill Cosby really is a comedy genius, and I would seriously consider watching his routines while I work through labor. (Although I'm not sure how my laughing would interfere or aid my breathing.) The other two times I got a little misty was at the end of two hospital-produced video clips relating to child birth. In one of them the father spoke of his feelings about being there for the process and meeting his child for the first time. He talked about how proud he was of his wife and how quickly he fell in love with his child. In the other video, the new moms talked about the experience of childbirth and how, regardless of how they had their child (c-section, natural, epidural) they felt an amazing sense of accomplishment and joy. It was hard not to have my hormonally super-charged emotions get the best of me and so a few happy tears rolled down my cheeks.
At this point I'm awaiting my 36-week appointment to see where I'm at. I believe at this point I start going in every week to check on things. I suppose Zac and I are as ready as we can be. There's a place for the baby to sleep, I've got a pair of breasts and there's some formula in the cabinet if breastfeeding doesn't work out. There are diapers and drawers full of clothing awaiting the wee one. We also have running water and soap. That seems to cover the main requirements of feeding, clothing, diapering and cleaning the child, so whether Baby arrives in one week, three weeks or five, we're set up to welcome a baby into our home. There is only so much classes can do for new parents - most of what we will learn will be on our own, through trial and error. But I am optimistic that we will try our best, and that's a good place to start from.
So for now we spend most of our evenings enjoying the quiet and relishing sleeping in on the weekends, luxuries that will soon be a thing of the past. A sense of calm has descended on the house. Most of it is probably attributable to the Christmas tree which twinkles happily in the living room. It's hard not be relaxed and happy when bathed in the glow of Christmas lights. Zac's work schedule is slowing down for the holiday season and we're now able to spend more time together, which is the best gift of all - especially this year. Baby will be here before we know it.
Two weekends ago was all baby, all the time. We started out on Friday taking a tour of the Labor & Delivery (L&D) unit at Navy Medical Center San Diego (NMCSD). It was an opportunity to see the facilities and meet some of the staff that may be around when it comes time to deliver. NMCSD seems like a nice enough place and the staff seems to genuinely enjoy their jobs. As someone who has never been admitted to a hospital, or really even spent much time in a hospital visiting others, I was surprised at how impersonal it seemed. Yes, they tried to decorate L&D to make it more relaxing and "homey" but it still felt . . . sterile. In more ways than one. I understand that it's the nature of hospitals, but the antiseptic smell that permeates everything doesn't make me feel "healthy" or "natural". There's really nothing soothing, relaxing or healing about chemical smells, fluorescent lighting and the constant sound of electronic monitors going off. At least the actual birthing rooms have lighting that's less harsh. I can certainly see the appeal of a home birth or those high-end birthing centers after visiting NMCSD. Yes, having all of that technology and specialists around in case something goes wrong is great but it certainly seems to come at a cost. Cost of what, I can't quite articulate. I'm sure I'll have other things on my mind when the time comes to deliver and the subsequent 24 hours, but I can understand why moms would want to leave the hospital as soon as possible after having a baby.
On Saturday and Sunday Zac and I attended a birthing class at a different San Diego hospital. I discovered much too late into this pregnancy that many birthing classes are anywhere from six to twelve weeks long. Truthfully, I'm glad we went with the two-day class. I've talked to other friends who have taken the longer classes and frankly the additional hours of class work are mainly devoted to practicing breathing and relaxation. While that's what some people want, neither Zac nor I would have enjoyed that many sessions of the same thing over and over. Our two-day class hit the major topics: stages of labor, breathing, pain relief and epidurals, Cesarean sections, breastfeeding, postpartum care, plus a few others.
There were 10 other couples in the class, all of us first-time parents. It was a friendly group where everyone seemed to have a pretty good sense of humor about the absurdity of what we were all about to go through. Unfortunately there was one woman in the class who was the quintessential Negative Nancy. Apparently every single one of her girlfriends had nightmarish delivery experiences. Everything that could go wrong with late-term pregnancy and delivery had happened to the women in her life. She seemed to relish sharing each and every horror story about evil doctors, bitchy nurses, rare complications and gruesome happenings to moms and babies. Luckily most of the people in the class didn't pay her fear-mongering much heed. By the end of the two days, most of us simply rolled our eyes each time she started in on one of her stories. I felt bad for the nurse who taught the class - she did the best that she could to contain Nancy's negativity. On the one hand the nurse had to acknowledge that yes, sometimes there are complications and, yes, sometimes you don't always get along with the staff on hand, but she adeptly countered that most of the time things go smoothly and that you can always request to have another doctor or nurse.
It was certainly a worthwhile two days. I was moved to tears on at least three separate occasions, all of which were caused by video clips we watched in the class. At the beginning of the first day we watched a clip from Bill Cosby's epic 1983 comedy routine "Bill Cosby, Himself." He spent a good 10 minutes or so describing the experience that he and his wife had for the delivery of their first-born. I was almost afraid I was going to go in to labor simply from laughing too hard. Everyone in the class was roaring. Bill Cosby really is a comedy genius, and I would seriously consider watching his routines while I work through labor. (Although I'm not sure how my laughing would interfere or aid my breathing.) The other two times I got a little misty was at the end of two hospital-produced video clips relating to child birth. In one of them the father spoke of his feelings about being there for the process and meeting his child for the first time. He talked about how proud he was of his wife and how quickly he fell in love with his child. In the other video, the new moms talked about the experience of childbirth and how, regardless of how they had their child (c-section, natural, epidural) they felt an amazing sense of accomplishment and joy. It was hard not to have my hormonally super-charged emotions get the best of me and so a few happy tears rolled down my cheeks.
At this point I'm awaiting my 36-week appointment to see where I'm at. I believe at this point I start going in every week to check on things. I suppose Zac and I are as ready as we can be. There's a place for the baby to sleep, I've got a pair of breasts and there's some formula in the cabinet if breastfeeding doesn't work out. There are diapers and drawers full of clothing awaiting the wee one. We also have running water and soap. That seems to cover the main requirements of feeding, clothing, diapering and cleaning the child, so whether Baby arrives in one week, three weeks or five, we're set up to welcome a baby into our home. There is only so much classes can do for new parents - most of what we will learn will be on our own, through trial and error. But I am optimistic that we will try our best, and that's a good place to start from.
So for now we spend most of our evenings enjoying the quiet and relishing sleeping in on the weekends, luxuries that will soon be a thing of the past. A sense of calm has descended on the house. Most of it is probably attributable to the Christmas tree which twinkles happily in the living room. It's hard not be relaxed and happy when bathed in the glow of Christmas lights. Zac's work schedule is slowing down for the holiday season and we're now able to spend more time together, which is the best gift of all - especially this year. Baby will be here before we know it.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Fa la la la la, la la la la
'Tis the season to be busy. At least the volunteering piece of the pie is light these last 10 weeks of the year, meaning that there is some available time/energy for holiday and baby-related stuff. We hosted Thanksgiving at our house a couple of weeks ago. Two families came over and the house was filled with friends, laughter and delicious food. It was a surprisingly relaxing evening, despite having hosting duties. I have converted to the idea of cooking and carving the turkey well before the company arrives. Instead of frantically trying to find counter space to carve the bird while greeting people and making small talk, Zac and I were able to sit back and have apple cider for the couple of hours before people arrived and go straight to eating when the guests came through the door with their side dishes. It alleviated a lot of stress.
Last week we had Zac's command's Holiday Party. I was about two deep breaths away from a complete, tear-soaked pregnancy meltdown before we left. Up until the last two weeks or so, I haven't felt that foretold hormonal chaos that some women experience. But starting sometime early last week I found myself more easily moved to sad, sentimental or angry tears. This, despite my rational brain telling me to chill out and that I'm overreacting. It's a bizarre feeling, not being quite in control of my emotions. I have found that in order to cope, and save Zac some grief, I really have to focus on what is truly making me upset and breathe deeply. For example, the other day I had Christmas music on. I love, love, LOVE Christmas music. As I was listening to the songs I haven't heard since this time last year, I realized that next Christmas (2014) Zac will be deployed and Baby and I will be celebrating Christmas without him. That started me thinking about setting up the tree alone and buying a "Baby's First Xmas" ornament without Zac. And then I started thinking about taking pictures of Baby in some sort of cute holiday outfit and sending them to Zac while he's half-way around the world and quickly I deteriorated into the throws of Karen-Carpenter-Merry-Christmas-Darling fueled tears.
After going through two tissues, and some deep breaths, I got a hold of myself. I'm crying about next year's Christmas? Seriously? I have this Christmas with Zac, and he'll be here for the first nine months or so of Baby's life, a luxury in military families. He will be here for the initial heavy lifting, learning to be a parent alongside of me and bonding with his child. Yes, he'll miss Baby's first Christmas. But Baby won't remember Baby's first Christmas. Hell, the three of us could celebrate Christmas in the late spring when Zac gets back and kiddo would be none-the-wiser. If I spend the next few weeks feeling sad about Xmas 2014, I'm going to lose out on the joy and the fun of Xmas 2013. I settled myself down and by the time Eartha Kitt purred "Santa Baby" on the radio, I had regained my emotional footing.
Getting back to the Holiday Party's (almost) melt-down, I had been looking forward to the Party for the last month. Usually people get fairly dressed up - think semi-formal or cocktail attire. Girls in sequined, shimmery party dresses and guys in slacks and vests. Everyone all dolled up, enjoying a glass of wine and dinner and the camaraderie of their fellow sailors and spouses. I bought a cute, semi-formal maternity dress back in September for the Khaki Ball and had intentions of wearing it again to the Holiday party. As it was a knee-length dress and strapless, I knew that I'd be chilly wearing it as it was going to be in the high 40s at the time of the party. (And I never know what temperature the room at an event will be.) The day before the Party I went out to the mall to purchase a black shrug or bolero to wear over my dress. (Bolero - a short, little jacket - designed to cover the shoulders and upper back.) I have seen these many, many times in different stores and figured I'd find one easily.
I spent three hours at the mall and found nothing. Not a one. I was incredibly frustrated. 75% of the non-pregnant time I hate shopping and lately I hate shopping even more knowing that if I find a cute deal on a sweater I can't even try it on to see if it "fits". So not finding the item I wanted to purchase pissed me off. I walked out of the mall, thinking that I would be able to find something at home to make the dress work, somehow.
I got dressed that night and as I put on the dress I realized that despite it being a maternity dress I am larger than I was in September. In particular I noticed that it was tighter across the chest. On the one hand, woo hoo! Boobs! On the other hand, I felt bloated and chubby and my puffiness was flowing over the dress especially near my armpits. I couldn't wear the dress without something covering up my shoulders, I was simply too self conscious. I had to find something else to wear. My sister had lent me a black maternity dress that I could have worn, but it didn't fit quite right. And with that dress I still faced the issue of trying to find something to cover up my shoulders.
This meant that I wasn't going to be wearing a dress to the Party. I had been feeling so awkward in my body lately that I was looking forward to dressing up and feeling cute, maybe even attractive. The disappointment of having to wear pants weighed on me. I had a pair of black, dressy maternity corduroys I could wear with my heels, but I didn't have any sort of fun, sparkly, shiny holiday top to go with them. I ended up wearing a plain red top, clinging to the idea that maybe because it was red it was festive, but all I wanted to do was cry. I didn't look like I was going to a Holiday Party. I looked like I was going to work, to a staff meeting. For me, the Holiday Party had gone from semi-formal to work-casual, and I was miserable. Zac assured me that I looked lovely and that I would fit in at the Party. I appreciated his support, but I knew what was coming.
Sure enough, we walked in to the event and every last woman was wearing a dress. Sparkles, sequins, shimmer, bright colors, gold, silver, LBDs (little black dresses) everywhere. My eyes welled up with tears. All I had wanted that night was to look attractive again - to not look like a pregnant female mammal, but a woman. I had been forlorn in the car on the drive to the event, and now my disappointment had flipped over to a seriously negative, acrid attitude and unfortunately Zac was caught in the crossfire. After wallowing in self pity for the first 15 minutes of the Party, Zac wisely(?) turned to me and said with exasperation, "If you're going to be in this foul of a mood, we should just go home." It was what I needed to realize that I was really acting like a pill. Fortuitously at that moment I ran into one of my good friends, who is about four months pregnant. She and I paired off while Zac went off to find some friends that weren't pouty. After she gushed about how cute I was, I admitted to being on the verge of tears and was sad that I couldn't wear a dress that night. She laughed a knowing laugh (she has a two-year old) and told me she understood. She, too, had narrowly avoided totally losing it while getting ready for the party as well. Over something silly and relatively insignificant. I sighed, took a couple of deep breaths and decided that not being able to wear a dress wasn't the end of the world. Yes, I still felt like an asexual being in the large scheme of things - but as far as my attire for the evening, it wasn't that bad. It might have been work-casual, but at least it was nice work-casual.
And truthfully, when I took a hard look at it and why I was truly angry, most of my frustration could be traced to the fact that I waited until the day before (and day of) the Holiday Party to figure out what I was going to wear. If had tried on the dress a week earlier I would have known it wasn't going to work. Had I hit the mall earlier I would have had a better chance of finding something to modify the dress or to buy something else to wear. It was my lack of foresight and planning that caused me to have limited choices of apparel that night. I took a second to myself to compose myself and found Zac. I apologize for my snarky, negative attitude of the last few hours and admitted that I was angry at myself for not planning ahead and I was uncomfortable because I didn't feel like his attractive, sexy wife anymore. He kissed me, told me he loved me and that I was beautiful. I believed him, and we proceeded to have a great evening.
So I guess in pursuit of "Tis the season to be jolly," "Don we now our gay apparel" can include pants and a plain red shirt. But if I've ever pregnant again during the Yuletide, I am getting something with sequins.
Last week we had Zac's command's Holiday Party. I was about two deep breaths away from a complete, tear-soaked pregnancy meltdown before we left. Up until the last two weeks or so, I haven't felt that foretold hormonal chaos that some women experience. But starting sometime early last week I found myself more easily moved to sad, sentimental or angry tears. This, despite my rational brain telling me to chill out and that I'm overreacting. It's a bizarre feeling, not being quite in control of my emotions. I have found that in order to cope, and save Zac some grief, I really have to focus on what is truly making me upset and breathe deeply. For example, the other day I had Christmas music on. I love, love, LOVE Christmas music. As I was listening to the songs I haven't heard since this time last year, I realized that next Christmas (2014) Zac will be deployed and Baby and I will be celebrating Christmas without him. That started me thinking about setting up the tree alone and buying a "Baby's First Xmas" ornament without Zac. And then I started thinking about taking pictures of Baby in some sort of cute holiday outfit and sending them to Zac while he's half-way around the world and quickly I deteriorated into the throws of Karen-Carpenter-Merry-Christmas-Darling fueled tears.
After going through two tissues, and some deep breaths, I got a hold of myself. I'm crying about next year's Christmas? Seriously? I have this Christmas with Zac, and he'll be here for the first nine months or so of Baby's life, a luxury in military families. He will be here for the initial heavy lifting, learning to be a parent alongside of me and bonding with his child. Yes, he'll miss Baby's first Christmas. But Baby won't remember Baby's first Christmas. Hell, the three of us could celebrate Christmas in the late spring when Zac gets back and kiddo would be none-the-wiser. If I spend the next few weeks feeling sad about Xmas 2014, I'm going to lose out on the joy and the fun of Xmas 2013. I settled myself down and by the time Eartha Kitt purred "Santa Baby" on the radio, I had regained my emotional footing.
Getting back to the Holiday Party's (almost) melt-down, I had been looking forward to the Party for the last month. Usually people get fairly dressed up - think semi-formal or cocktail attire. Girls in sequined, shimmery party dresses and guys in slacks and vests. Everyone all dolled up, enjoying a glass of wine and dinner and the camaraderie of their fellow sailors and spouses. I bought a cute, semi-formal maternity dress back in September for the Khaki Ball and had intentions of wearing it again to the Holiday party. As it was a knee-length dress and strapless, I knew that I'd be chilly wearing it as it was going to be in the high 40s at the time of the party. (And I never know what temperature the room at an event will be.) The day before the Party I went out to the mall to purchase a black shrug or bolero to wear over my dress. (Bolero - a short, little jacket - designed to cover the shoulders and upper back.) I have seen these many, many times in different stores and figured I'd find one easily.
I spent three hours at the mall and found nothing. Not a one. I was incredibly frustrated. 75% of the non-pregnant time I hate shopping and lately I hate shopping even more knowing that if I find a cute deal on a sweater I can't even try it on to see if it "fits". So not finding the item I wanted to purchase pissed me off. I walked out of the mall, thinking that I would be able to find something at home to make the dress work, somehow.
I got dressed that night and as I put on the dress I realized that despite it being a maternity dress I am larger than I was in September. In particular I noticed that it was tighter across the chest. On the one hand, woo hoo! Boobs! On the other hand, I felt bloated and chubby and my puffiness was flowing over the dress especially near my armpits. I couldn't wear the dress without something covering up my shoulders, I was simply too self conscious. I had to find something else to wear. My sister had lent me a black maternity dress that I could have worn, but it didn't fit quite right. And with that dress I still faced the issue of trying to find something to cover up my shoulders.
This meant that I wasn't going to be wearing a dress to the Party. I had been feeling so awkward in my body lately that I was looking forward to dressing up and feeling cute, maybe even attractive. The disappointment of having to wear pants weighed on me. I had a pair of black, dressy maternity corduroys I could wear with my heels, but I didn't have any sort of fun, sparkly, shiny holiday top to go with them. I ended up wearing a plain red top, clinging to the idea that maybe because it was red it was festive, but all I wanted to do was cry. I didn't look like I was going to a Holiday Party. I looked like I was going to work, to a staff meeting. For me, the Holiday Party had gone from semi-formal to work-casual, and I was miserable. Zac assured me that I looked lovely and that I would fit in at the Party. I appreciated his support, but I knew what was coming.
Sure enough, we walked in to the event and every last woman was wearing a dress. Sparkles, sequins, shimmer, bright colors, gold, silver, LBDs (little black dresses) everywhere. My eyes welled up with tears. All I had wanted that night was to look attractive again - to not look like a pregnant female mammal, but a woman. I had been forlorn in the car on the drive to the event, and now my disappointment had flipped over to a seriously negative, acrid attitude and unfortunately Zac was caught in the crossfire. After wallowing in self pity for the first 15 minutes of the Party, Zac wisely(?) turned to me and said with exasperation, "If you're going to be in this foul of a mood, we should just go home." It was what I needed to realize that I was really acting like a pill. Fortuitously at that moment I ran into one of my good friends, who is about four months pregnant. She and I paired off while Zac went off to find some friends that weren't pouty. After she gushed about how cute I was, I admitted to being on the verge of tears and was sad that I couldn't wear a dress that night. She laughed a knowing laugh (she has a two-year old) and told me she understood. She, too, had narrowly avoided totally losing it while getting ready for the party as well. Over something silly and relatively insignificant. I sighed, took a couple of deep breaths and decided that not being able to wear a dress wasn't the end of the world. Yes, I still felt like an asexual being in the large scheme of things - but as far as my attire for the evening, it wasn't that bad. It might have been work-casual, but at least it was nice work-casual.
And truthfully, when I took a hard look at it and why I was truly angry, most of my frustration could be traced to the fact that I waited until the day before (and day of) the Holiday Party to figure out what I was going to wear. If had tried on the dress a week earlier I would have known it wasn't going to work. Had I hit the mall earlier I would have had a better chance of finding something to modify the dress or to buy something else to wear. It was my lack of foresight and planning that caused me to have limited choices of apparel that night. I took a second to myself to compose myself and found Zac. I apologize for my snarky, negative attitude of the last few hours and admitted that I was angry at myself for not planning ahead and I was uncomfortable because I didn't feel like his attractive, sexy wife anymore. He kissed me, told me he loved me and that I was beautiful. I believed him, and we proceeded to have a great evening.
So I guess in pursuit of "Tis the season to be jolly," "Don we now our gay apparel" can include pants and a plain red shirt. But if I've ever pregnant again during the Yuletide, I am getting something with sequins.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Bidden or not bidden, parenting judgment is present
31-ish weeks . . .
*sigh* Why is it when we don't follow our gut instincts, so often things turn out poorly? I'm not talking about large-scale, life-altering decisions. I'm talking about following the instructions of a magazine recipe that say that greasing a Bundt pan with non-stick spray will work. I knew it wouldn't work. I knew the cake would stick. I always grease (and flour) my Bundt pans by hand but this morning I was lazy. I didn't want to take the couple of extra minutes to make sure every nook and cranny of the baking pan was appropriately coated. The instructions assured me that non-stick spray would work, so against my better judgment, and my internal baker's voice screaming, "NO! IT'S A TRAP", I tried using their suggested shortcut. And guess what? The cake stuck. Not a lot of it, but unfortunately the elegantly angular top of the cake. I'll probably just slice off the top part to make it level and then either frost it or coat it with some powdered sugar -it's not a total loss. I'm just kicking myself for letting myself be wooed by promises that I knew were lies.
Yes, that's that the extent of the drama and excitement around here. I'm starting to resemble a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, but all is well. Another normal OB appointment is in the books and I officially have a "Stork Parking Pass" for the hospital. I feel sort of silly having it. I'm perfectly capable of walking comfortably from the hospital's usual parking structure to the OB office, but I'm sure in a month or so I'll be happy to be able to park mere yards from it. I also started filling out my patient admission packet of paperwork for when delivery comes along. It also includes some paperwork that is to be filled out after the baby arrives: Date of birth, Name, etc. I looked at those empty boxes on the form for a long while. Holy crap, we're going to have a baby. And we're going to have to name it. Oy.
As much as I'm looking forward to meeting our baby in mid January, I'm staring to freak out a little bit about how radically life is going to change in about eight weeks. Things have been so normal around here - I work, Zac works, I volunteer, we eat three meals a day at their scheduled times. We clean the house on Sundays, socialize with friends on the weekends. I work out twice a week in the evenings. We're in bed by 10:30 and up each morning after at least seven hours of (basically) uninterrupted sleep. Errands take little to no effort, grocery shopping is a piece of cake. All of this will get turned on its head in less than two months. I like our normal and I find myself trying desperately to cling to, and appreciate, the routine we have right now. We went out to dinner the other night and at one point in the meal I paused and said to Zac, "This eating out? This is going to be damn near impossible soon." Zac nodded in acknowledgement. I like eating my food when it's hot. I enjoy eating my food at the same time as my husband.
Of course this is the part of the tirade where current parents cut me off to say things like, "Oh, but when that baby smiles at you, all the sacrifices are worth it," or, "But, the love and amazement you feel as a parent is the most awesome feeling you will ever experience." Ok. That may be true. But apparently you forgot about how last week you were complaining that you hadn't eaten a hot meal in two months because family "meal" time is really "two parents focused on a loosing battle of trying to get more food into the child than on the floor" time.
I think I'm also a little cranky at the amount of judgment that Zac and I have been experiencing lately as impending parents. Everybody has an opinion and everyone wants to share it, whether bidden or not. The same way many people seem to think my pregnancy is open for public commentary and inquiry, parenting questions and advice have been flowing from strangers, acquaintances, friends and family. Luckily family and friends have, for the most part, been respectful and tactful with their input. But the same way I got irritated with, "It [pregnancy] will happen when you just relax and don't think about it!", I'm getting really tired of some of the following:
-What do you mean you're not decorating the nursery for the baby?
-You're going to try cloth diapers? Ugh, I can't imagine carrying around a dirty diaper with me when I'm out and about.
-How are you going to know what kind of clothes to buy the baby if you don't know if it's a boy or a girl?
Back in Hawaii, I heard one of the military chaplains say, "Different isn't necessarily wrong; sometimes it's just different." That has always stuck with me. Sometimes different is, indeed, wrong. Causing injury or harm to self or others is wrong. But most often, "different" achieves the same goal, just not in a way that you prefer or makes you comfortable. Maybe it's not the car seat you picked for your kids, but will our child be safe in it? If yes, then what's the issue? Does the diaper keep bodily waste from going everywhere? If yes, then why does it matter if we choose cloth diapers over disposables? Zac and I will figure this parenting thing out, I promise you. There will be missteps and changes of course, but we will figure out what works for us and our child as we go along. You got find your path at some point, please give us the same courtesy.
*sigh* Why is it when we don't follow our gut instincts, so often things turn out poorly? I'm not talking about large-scale, life-altering decisions. I'm talking about following the instructions of a magazine recipe that say that greasing a Bundt pan with non-stick spray will work. I knew it wouldn't work. I knew the cake would stick. I always grease (and flour) my Bundt pans by hand but this morning I was lazy. I didn't want to take the couple of extra minutes to make sure every nook and cranny of the baking pan was appropriately coated. The instructions assured me that non-stick spray would work, so against my better judgment, and my internal baker's voice screaming, "NO! IT'S A TRAP", I tried using their suggested shortcut. And guess what? The cake stuck. Not a lot of it, but unfortunately the elegantly angular top of the cake. I'll probably just slice off the top part to make it level and then either frost it or coat it with some powdered sugar -it's not a total loss. I'm just kicking myself for letting myself be wooed by promises that I knew were lies.
Yes, that's that the extent of the drama and excitement around here. I'm starting to resemble a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, but all is well. Another normal OB appointment is in the books and I officially have a "Stork Parking Pass" for the hospital. I feel sort of silly having it. I'm perfectly capable of walking comfortably from the hospital's usual parking structure to the OB office, but I'm sure in a month or so I'll be happy to be able to park mere yards from it. I also started filling out my patient admission packet of paperwork for when delivery comes along. It also includes some paperwork that is to be filled out after the baby arrives: Date of birth, Name, etc. I looked at those empty boxes on the form for a long while. Holy crap, we're going to have a baby. And we're going to have to name it. Oy.
As much as I'm looking forward to meeting our baby in mid January, I'm staring to freak out a little bit about how radically life is going to change in about eight weeks. Things have been so normal around here - I work, Zac works, I volunteer, we eat three meals a day at their scheduled times. We clean the house on Sundays, socialize with friends on the weekends. I work out twice a week in the evenings. We're in bed by 10:30 and up each morning after at least seven hours of (basically) uninterrupted sleep. Errands take little to no effort, grocery shopping is a piece of cake. All of this will get turned on its head in less than two months. I like our normal and I find myself trying desperately to cling to, and appreciate, the routine we have right now. We went out to dinner the other night and at one point in the meal I paused and said to Zac, "This eating out? This is going to be damn near impossible soon." Zac nodded in acknowledgement. I like eating my food when it's hot. I enjoy eating my food at the same time as my husband.
Of course this is the part of the tirade where current parents cut me off to say things like, "Oh, but when that baby smiles at you, all the sacrifices are worth it," or, "But, the love and amazement you feel as a parent is the most awesome feeling you will ever experience." Ok. That may be true. But apparently you forgot about how last week you were complaining that you hadn't eaten a hot meal in two months because family "meal" time is really "two parents focused on a loosing battle of trying to get more food into the child than on the floor" time.
I think I'm also a little cranky at the amount of judgment that Zac and I have been experiencing lately as impending parents. Everybody has an opinion and everyone wants to share it, whether bidden or not. The same way many people seem to think my pregnancy is open for public commentary and inquiry, parenting questions and advice have been flowing from strangers, acquaintances, friends and family. Luckily family and friends have, for the most part, been respectful and tactful with their input. But the same way I got irritated with, "It [pregnancy] will happen when you just relax and don't think about it!", I'm getting really tired of some of the following:
-What do you mean you're not decorating the nursery for the baby?
Well, the baby has a cradle for now and will have a larger crib in a few months when it is warranted. It seems that a quiet, clean room at the appropriate temperature with a place to sleep is really all the baby needs. No, we don't have cute decorations or a theme for the room. Well, actually the theme is "Things that were hanging on the wall before we found out we got pregnant and are staying up because I don't think my child will feel unloved if there aren't hand-painted murals on the walls with matching curtains and bedding." If decorating your baby's room is an expression of love towards your child, that's awesome. Then decorate the room and express your love! You will probably find peace and happiness when you go in to that room which your child will undoubtedly pick up on. Us? We love our little house and we don't need that particular room to be the place of calm and serenity - we've got that in every room. And yes, the baby's room is our office. Our infant will share a room with the printer, a desk and crafting supplies. The horror! Put Child Protective Services on speed dial, folks. When our child is able to focus his/her eyes for the first time skeins of yarn might be the first thing he/she sees!
-You're going to try cloth diapers? Ugh, I can't imagine carrying around a dirty diaper with me when I'm out and about.
Yes, we're going to give it a try. 1.) Because it worked for babies for thousands of years, 2.) In the long run it's cheaper, and, 3.) Because I can imagine a world where landfills are chock full of disposable diapers. I know that cloth diapering takes a certain amount of additional time and logistical planning, but it's a challenge that I'm looking forward to (hopefully) mastering. If disposables are the choice you made for your family, that's great. I understand the convenience and practicality of them, and I'm not saying that I'll never use one. As a matter of fact, I can pretty much guarantee that we will use a disposable here and there. But when you tell me you use disposables I don't lecture you on your choice or purr, "Well that's an . . . interesting choice."
-How are you going to know what kind of clothes to buy the baby if you don't know if it's a boy or a girl?
This one always wants me to beat my head against a brick wall. I honestly don't think that we will disrupt our child's sense of gender or self if we put the baby in white or gray or yellow onesies for the first few weeks of life. Yes, there are lots of adorable little "boy" and little "girl" outfits out there in the world. They don't need to be purchased before the baby arrives in order for them to work their gender-assigning magic. Boys can wear pink, girls can wear blue. The planet doesn't stop spinning if that happens. God forbid if a little boy has an outfit with a flower on it or a little girl has a football on hers. While I'm in a tizzy about gender roles, Zac and I went to go see Alton Brown's (of Food Network fame) traveling "Edible Inevitable" tour a couple of weeks ago. It was a stage show consisting of food science, cooking, music, humor and belching sock puppets. One of the things that Alton Brown drew attention to is how much he loved playing with an Easy Bake Oven when he was a kid, even though they were "supposed" to be for girls. This young boy who liked to play with a "girl's" toy grew up to be a successful video/tv producer, food science geek, husband, father and (shock!) straight. And yet in 2013, THIS is what you see when you go to Hasbro's website for the product. God help me if I have a daughter and she sees stuff like this. And God help me equally if I have a boy who sees it. It's not a message I want either one internalize and adopt as a worldview.There are plenty of other regularly dispensed comments out there, including ones about how I'm "crazy" if I don't go straight for the epidural, I'm a weird hippie because I'm trying to learn how to use a Moby wrap, and I'll be regretting every day of my mothering life for picking a convertible car seat instead of an infant car seat with the detachable base.
Back in Hawaii, I heard one of the military chaplains say, "Different isn't necessarily wrong; sometimes it's just different." That has always stuck with me. Sometimes different is, indeed, wrong. Causing injury or harm to self or others is wrong. But most often, "different" achieves the same goal, just not in a way that you prefer or makes you comfortable. Maybe it's not the car seat you picked for your kids, but will our child be safe in it? If yes, then what's the issue? Does the diaper keep bodily waste from going everywhere? If yes, then why does it matter if we choose cloth diapers over disposables? Zac and I will figure this parenting thing out, I promise you. There will be missteps and changes of course, but we will figure out what works for us and our child as we go along. You got find your path at some point, please give us the same courtesy.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Moving right along
27 weeks or so . . .
My latest OB appointment happened earlier this week. My doctor was pleased with how things were
going. I should have gained 60% of my
pregnancy weight by now – Lo, I had gained 60% of my pregnancy weight. I should have a fundal height of X centimeters
– By golly, I had a fundal height of X
centimeters. Baby’s heart rate should be
in a certain range – Woo hoo! Baby’s
heart rate was squarely within that range.
At this point in my pregnancy I get an “A” for average, which is
comforting. At this appointment I also got
a couple of shots and had to take a glucose test to check for gestational
diabetes. I really wasn't looking
forward to the glucose test, as simply the thought of sugar water makes me gag. Much to my happy surprise the sugar water was
orange flavored and resembled something more like Gatorade than straight
sugar-water. I’m not a fan of sports
drinks, but at least it was palatable. I
had to chug 10oz or so quickly and then wait for an hour to have my blood
drawn.
As I've been moving through this pregnancy, I've continued to take a boot camp-style exercise class two times a week. I try to get a couple of yoga classes in there too, but lately it seems like I always have scheduling conflicts with the yoga classes that I like to attend. I like the boot camp classes because I enjoy the variety of exercises and I work out best when I have someone else design the workout and tell me what to do. Despite years of going to a gym, paying for a trainer and even having friends that are certified personal trainers, I am that person who goes to a gym and stands there staring at the Bosu balls and free weights, jump ropes and medicine balls, clueless and directionless. (I don't do machines.) These boot camp classes are a lot of fun - the people that show up are friendly, the instructors are motivating without being too tough, and it's never the same workout twice.
Working out with extra weight on my frame, coupled with a change in my center of balance, has made working out increasingly tough, but I continue to do it because it makes me feel good. If I go even three or four days without working out I feel sluggish and out-of-sorts. At this point in my pregnancy the instructor has me modify more than half of the exercises we do, but I'm still huffing and puffing and sweating by the end of the hour. Of course, I'm the only person who attends the class that is currently gaining weight instead of losing it. That's an odd feeling.
The other people in the class (mostly women) are really supportive of my pregnancy, which is appreciated. Often times I feel like I'm "getting off easy" with my modifications while they're busting their butts doing the real deal. I've gotten lots of compliments on being so committed to be being a healthy mom. I've had some women tell me how impressed they are by my hard work. One lady even called me a "badass", which I wear in my head as a badge of honor. Last week in class the instructor praised one of the ladies in the class for doing one last squat at the end of the circuit. The lady laughed and said, "Well, I have to keep up with preggo over here." Many of the ladies in the class are moms as well, and all of them have agreed that exercising now will put me in a better place for labor and deliver in January. They urge me to keep moving and working on my strength, whatever form that may take as the weeks go on, in order to help myself and the baby down the road.
I plan on continuing to work out as long as I'm able. I have noticed in the last couple of weeks that I really do need to dial some of my range of motion on exercises. My body is producing a lot of hormones, including one aptly named Relaxin, that causes my ligaments to stretch. I find that my hips, in particular, are subject to a sensation of slight pulling and stretching lately. According to my trainer, if I modify my squat and lunge depth I will still benefit from exercising without potentially injuring myself. I've pulled muscles from working out before - the idea of pulling a muscle (or ligament) while pregnant and 20lbs+ heavier doesn't sound appealing at all.
So here's to staying healthy and active as I move into the last 12 weeks of this part of the journey . . .
So here's to staying healthy and active as I move into the last 12 weeks of this part of the journey . . .
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Showered with love
Zac and I spent about a week in Minnesota at the beginning of October. It was a great time of year to visit. Yes, there was some rain and some cool temperatures, but it's to be expected as the state moves fully into autumn. The leaves were changing color at such a rate that even in the space of six days I could see a noticeable difference. We've spent the last six autumns in either Hawaii or San Diego, and both Zac and I miss fall. I miss the changing weather and the changing menus and ingredients. It's hard to want to put on a crock pot of beef stew while baking home-made dinner rolls when it's 85 and sunny. (Apparently while we were in MN the weather in San Diego shifted and it feels like SoCal may have turned the corner into fall as well.) I'm looking forward to the next six months of mostly lovely San Diego weather. At least living in San Diego I won't have to worry about trying to get to the hospital in a possible blizzard come January.
My sister and mom threw me a baby shower while I was home. It was an amazing afternoon. One of my biggest regrets I have each time I go home is not being able to see as many people as I want to. The shower was a perfect opportunity/excuse to get 20+ women whom I love and admire into the same place at the same time. Did I get as much time talking to individual people as I wanted? No. But at least I got to give everyone an enthusiastic, prolonged hug .
We went around the room at the beginning of the shower so people could introduce themselves and how they know me. It blew my mind the wide cross-section of women that were in attendance. They included:
*My mom
*My sister
*My grandmother
*My aunt
*Cousins
*My mother-in-law
*High school friends of my parents, who have known me since birth
*Members of my church who, again, have known me since I came into the world
*One of my parent's neighbors whose children I used to babysit
*One the aforementioned children (who is now in her early 20s - yeesh)
*Children of my parent's high school friends that I've grown up with
*One of my mom's co-workers (of 25+ years)
*My brother-in-law's mother
*Law school friends
*Former co-workers
*Friends from high school
*Friends from high school
Some people knew me as an infant. Some have only known me as an adult. But all of them were there to share in the joy and excitement of me becoming a mother, and that meant everything to me. It sounds cliche, but while the gifts were lovely and generous, I simply wanted to spend the afternoon with them. There were stories, jokes, a couple of emotional tears (mostly mine) and lots of laughter When it was done I was equally energized and exhausted. The shower was my reminder that when the time comes, and I'm finding my way as a mother to our new baby, that I have a strong support network behind me who I can draw on for advice and understanding. I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend an afternoon.
And did I mention that there were four different kinds of bars laid out for dessert? It's not a Minnesota party without a pan, or four, of bars.
And did I mention that there were four different kinds of bars laid out for dessert? It's not a Minnesota party without a pan, or four, of bars.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Halfway
Week 20-ish, a few weeks ago
It's hot in San Diego. Too hot. We're in the middle of a late-summer heat wave that is taking its toll on my desire to do anything but watch the US Open tennis tournament from the air conditioned confines of my living room. (I do work while watching tennis, so it's not totally wasted time.) The weather gods must have a copy of our calendar, and a sense of humor, since they waited until the day my parents arrived to unleash their blast furnace of horror. I suppose I shouldn't gripe about the weather when it's gorgeous here 87.5% of the time, but I'm still not happy that the meteorologist on the local tv station said we've got another six or seven days of this on top the week that we've already had.
We've cleared the last couple of hurdles that I was concerned about for the pregnancy. We had our genetic counseling appointment, which revealed that I am at no greater risk of having a child with certain conditions that the general population. Yay, average-ness! The accompanying ultrasound was equally uneventful, as the doctor saw the things that he wanted to see. Spine looked good, the baby was measuring correctly for that point in the pregnancy, etc. It was strange watching Baby move around so much inside my tummy and not feeling a thing. How could Baby be in there doing somersaults and I not sense any sort of movement? Zac was delighted throughout the ultrasound. I think it was the first time that the image actually looked like a "baby" to him and the flurry of fetal activity was reassuring that things are going well.
I had another ultrasound a couple of weeks later. This would be the ultrasound that a normal woman who conceived her baby in a normal way would have normally at this time in her pregnancy. I am abnormal (I'm spectacular!) in terms of my age and I certainly didn't conceive this kiddo in the normal way, so I've had more than my share of ultrasounds. But each ultrasound was for a different purpose so once again I found myself at the hospital. Only this time I had consumed 32oz. of liquid one hour before the procedure to aid in . . . something. A bit uncomfortable, but not as bad as I had thought it was going to be. My parents were in town for this appointment, so they came along to get a look at the new grandchild I am incubating. Once again Baby was measuring as Baby should. The organs looked like they were coming along well. Kid was still moving all around, but with a little less real estate than a couple weeks prior. It was fun being able to share that appointment with my parents. They were able to be with my sister throughout her pregnancies and spend lots of time with her two boys. I want them to have as much time with this grandchild as possible, even if that's while the kiddo is in utero.
I've officially started wearing maternity pants. That makes me feel mildly ridiculous. I keep catching glimpses of my changing body in the mirror and thinking, "Isn't it nice that my reflection is pregnant?" I still feel disconnected from the goings on. Maybe when I start feeling something from within that I can clearly identify as baby-generated. Right now it still feels like I'm watching tv at the ultrasound appointments and the belly is just a Hollywood prosthetic designed to make my character look pregnant. I wasn't sure how Zac would feel or react to my changing shape, but happily he seems more than charmed. He rubs my belly and smiles while we watch tv. He giggles when I'm drying off after a shower and studying myself in the mirror. He randomly reaches out and pats the bump while we're running errands. You think you love someone, then they do things that make you love them more. It's a delight to go through this with him, and I can't wait to be parents together.
It's hot in San Diego. Too hot. We're in the middle of a late-summer heat wave that is taking its toll on my desire to do anything but watch the US Open tennis tournament from the air conditioned confines of my living room. (I do work while watching tennis, so it's not totally wasted time.) The weather gods must have a copy of our calendar, and a sense of humor, since they waited until the day my parents arrived to unleash their blast furnace of horror. I suppose I shouldn't gripe about the weather when it's gorgeous here 87.5% of the time, but I'm still not happy that the meteorologist on the local tv station said we've got another six or seven days of this on top the week that we've already had.
We've cleared the last couple of hurdles that I was concerned about for the pregnancy. We had our genetic counseling appointment, which revealed that I am at no greater risk of having a child with certain conditions that the general population. Yay, average-ness! The accompanying ultrasound was equally uneventful, as the doctor saw the things that he wanted to see. Spine looked good, the baby was measuring correctly for that point in the pregnancy, etc. It was strange watching Baby move around so much inside my tummy and not feeling a thing. How could Baby be in there doing somersaults and I not sense any sort of movement? Zac was delighted throughout the ultrasound. I think it was the first time that the image actually looked like a "baby" to him and the flurry of fetal activity was reassuring that things are going well.
I had another ultrasound a couple of weeks later. This would be the ultrasound that a normal woman who conceived her baby in a normal way would have normally at this time in her pregnancy. I am abnormal (I'm spectacular!) in terms of my age and I certainly didn't conceive this kiddo in the normal way, so I've had more than my share of ultrasounds. But each ultrasound was for a different purpose so once again I found myself at the hospital. Only this time I had consumed 32oz. of liquid one hour before the procedure to aid in . . . something. A bit uncomfortable, but not as bad as I had thought it was going to be. My parents were in town for this appointment, so they came along to get a look at the new grandchild I am incubating. Once again Baby was measuring as Baby should. The organs looked like they were coming along well. Kid was still moving all around, but with a little less real estate than a couple weeks prior. It was fun being able to share that appointment with my parents. They were able to be with my sister throughout her pregnancies and spend lots of time with her two boys. I want them to have as much time with this grandchild as possible, even if that's while the kiddo is in utero.
I've officially started wearing maternity pants. That makes me feel mildly ridiculous. I keep catching glimpses of my changing body in the mirror and thinking, "Isn't it nice that my reflection is pregnant?" I still feel disconnected from the goings on. Maybe when I start feeling something from within that I can clearly identify as baby-generated. Right now it still feels like I'm watching tv at the ultrasound appointments and the belly is just a Hollywood prosthetic designed to make my character look pregnant. I wasn't sure how Zac would feel or react to my changing shape, but happily he seems more than charmed. He rubs my belly and smiles while we watch tv. He giggles when I'm drying off after a shower and studying myself in the mirror. He randomly reaches out and pats the bump while we're running errands. You think you love someone, then they do things that make you love them more. It's a delight to go through this with him, and I can't wait to be parents together.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)