Here's To Silly!

So, I have all kinds of plans to document my foray into motherhood, with deep thoughts and insights right alongside funny stories.  Turns out, blogging hasn't been a priority.  Meh.  Still, I have just a few short tidbits for today. 

Nursing.  I'm a big fan.  Hooray for breastmilk and all its goodness.  However, as I told Wonderman tonight, it's beginning to feel like every day has a different funny/humiliating story related to nursing.  When my friend told me that I was entering the stage of bodily fluids, I had no idea how real that was.  Yesterday I was so pleased with myself.  I topped last week's big nursing accomplishment (I nursed in public [a hidden corner in the back of a Kohl's store] without a nursing cover, and was totally modest yet unashamed) by nursing in public (this time with the cover) while walking around Costco.  That may not sound like a big deal to those of you who have mastered the sling and the nursing that can accompany it.  I, however, simply held Bean in just the right position for almost a half an hour while we shopped because my sling experiences thus far have been far from successful.  My arm, shoulder, and elbow were sore as I buckled Bean into her carseat, but I was so content with my accomplishment.  That is until I looked down and saw that my entire other side (you know, the side that she wasn't nursing on) was quite literally soaked.  Sigh.  I still have so much to learn.

On another hippie note - Today marks one full week of nothing but cloth diapers.  There is much to say regarding, however today I will simply celebrate.  You may infer that I did, in fact, use some disposable diapers.  Alas, for all my big plans and ideals, I did.  I think that all is well and figured out and we are on our way.  Thank goodness, since we leave the country soon and I don't want all my baggage (and budget) to go to support a diaper habit.

The end.  For tonight.

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So, my doula really was magic!  Bean came, and without my amazing doula it would have been a much more difficult experience.  More on that later.  Probably.  For now, here's the obligatory baby picture:

Bean is more fun and more challenging than I could have ever imagined.  I've learned so much already and I somehow imagined I'd be blogging about my journey into motherhood.  However, I spend my days focusing on feeding Bean and sometimes me and doing my best to see that we both get enough sleep.  That pretty much takes what I've got (I already worry about what I'll do when it's time for Bean's sequel.  Sigh).  We'll see if I write more as her night sleeps continue to lengthen (Don't laugh.  It could happen.  Wait, are you laughing at the thought of me blogging more or her sleeping more?  Seriously, both are legitimately possible.  I swear [but a little less now that there's a little one around.  you never know when they start to pick up on things]!)

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As I am approaching my birth experience, my blog will probably begin to revolve more and more around my crazy hippie ideas and philosophies.  I have a lot to say as I have spent much time pondering and studying (in fact, Wonderman has multiple times expressed bewilderment at how much thought I have put into this process, as he can't imagine doing so himself.  I told him that is why I am having the baby and not him).  We've talked a lot about doulas.  I have a lot to say on the subject, and I haven't even hired a doula yet (let's all pray that I have time to find a great match in between my rush home and Bean's rush appearance).  I only wish I had seen this post (I have to confess, it's a link from another blog I read, but I don't remember which one.  I just open links that seem interesting and then have a bunch of tabs open and sometimes have no idea why when I get around to looking at them) earlier, as I think it may have convinced Wonderman a little sooner about the benefits of having a doula.  She describes my thoughts quite succinctly, although I do not think that Wonderman is a lame tard.

Conclusion:  Who wouldn't want a doula?  It seems crazy to do this without one.  And I may be crazy, but not like that.

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Last night I had an interesting experience.  A friend of mine told me that I look really cute pregnant, followed with the clarification: "I know you never feel cute pregnant, but you really look cute pregnant."  I smiled and said thank you, as my mommy trained me to do.  Still, it kind of took me aback.  I realized that even though I often feel that I am in extreme discomfort with the heat and humidity and crazy shooting muscle pains and general fatigue, I don't feel that different than I did before.  Sometimes I still get surprised when I look in the mirror, because I look exactly the same - only with a HUGE belly.  It's like I haven't changed at all and this whole pregnancy thing is all a figment of my imagination.  Anyway . . . back to the cute thing.  I didn't like being told how I felt.  I actually still feel cute.  Call me crazy.  Acknowledge that I have a way over-developed sense of vanity.  Whatever.  I almost always feel generally cute.  I also assume that most people can tell that I'm cute (ok, "cute" may not be the word choice I would generally go for.  I'd probably choose something like "wildly attractive," but that's just my sense of hyperbole coming into play again).  I figure being pregnant is kind of like being bald: 
 I still felt cute (mostly).  I was definitely glad to not be bald anymore when that stage passed, but the lack of hair didn't detract from my cuteness.  Being pregnant, I am fully looking forward to wearing real clothes again and being able to slip through a crowded room without bumping people, completely unaware of the actual size of my bod.  Still, I'm cute.  And you can't take that away from me.  I'm not sure if that's weird, annoying, or good.  Hopefully I can successfully transfer that to the rest of my life, just like Amy is in the process of doing.  Although, sometimes my lack of caring what other people think about me has actually caused more problems than it has solved.  Meh.  I'm sure I'll find the balance somewhere.  Or not.  Who needs balance, when you're cute like me?  Exactly.

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My last visit to the doctor was quite empowering.  I said "no" to something routine.  And I'm fine.  So is Bean. 

So, I read a lot of what I call (especially in conversations with Wonderman) my "crazy hippie blogs."  Lately most of these have to do with childbirth or child-rearing.  There is a lot of talk about empowering women to take back the choices regarding their pregnancies and births.  Discussions range from the mild to the extreme - from how to have a conscientious hospital birth to the at-home, unassisted birth.  The common thread seems to be essentially like proselyting  to let women know that they are in charge of what happens to them and they can choose what care to seek or accept.  So much of my experience has been hypothetical, as the doctor I've been seeing for seven months is not the doctor that will be around when Bean is born.  I have all kinds of things to ask my US doc and all kinds of ideas about how my natural hospital birth will be, but none of it seemed particularly relevant just yet.  I just go in monthly, pee in a cup, stand on a scale, and tell the doc I feel fine.

However, about three weeks ago was the time I was supposed to have the glucose tolerance test done.  I didn't want it done here, mostly because I have had BAD experiences with the nurses here drawing my blood.  I really didn't think about it past that.  I was planning on going back to Utah, so I told Dr. Dominica that I would do it there.  Then I stayed.  It didn't come up in conversation for a while and I "forgot" about it.  Then this week, Dr. Dominica got a worried look and said "You were supposed to do that at 28 weeks.  I'm going to call and see if you can still do it."  I inwardly rolled my eyes.  I knew it was on the list of "optional" tests (at least according to the crazy hippies).  I didn't have any concerns or reasons to be concerned.  I didn't want to do it.  Dr. D. came back with a relieved look.  "You can still do it."  Like a three-year-old I said, "But why?"  She tried to explain that it would determine if I had gestational diabetes (duh) and that it was just part of the prenatal testing that was done.  "But what would happen if we found out I had gestational diabetes?"  She explained that I would be put on insulin and marked as high-risk.  Since I'm fine and I feel fine and I definitely want to avoid any unnecessary risk labels, I said "I don't think I want to do it."  Dr. D. was great and didn't try to convince me of anything.  She just smiled and said it was my choice.  Then she told me that if I had done it, I would have had to take the one hour (each way) bus ride to Roseau and spend a couple hours at the lab, because it wasn't a test they could do here.  For that reason alone I was glad I said no. 

It was a small thing.  I really am glad to avoid the blood draws, the gross orange drink, and the travel time, but it wouldn't have been a big deal to do it.  I am confident it would've come back negative.  Still, I felt elated to recognize that I had been able to be in touch enough with my body, my baby, and my Heavenly Father to make a wise decision for us even if it didn't go along with the generally accepted norm.  I also think this was an important step in helping me realize the power I have to make decisions for what is best for me and for Bean.  As long as I can remain in tune, we're gonna be all right.  And I may be a crazy hippie yet.

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We are now entering the third trimester (you have to know, that as I typed that, I heard "Twilight Zone" in my head.  I know they're not really connected, but sometimes this whole thing seems so strange that it sort of fits.  But maybe just in my head).

The belly at 29+ weeks:


And me giving Bean a little hug:


And as much fun as I've had playing around with Picnik, I had to leave this one un-edited.  I can't explain the face.  Please don't ask.


Is it inappropriate to say that the three balls in that photo (two boobs and a belly) kind of look like a Simpsons character or something to me?  Or maybe a muppet.  Try it, it's not that hard to picture a silly face on there.  I probably need to design a t-shirt that does just that.  It would be awesome.

Added bonus photo, with a quiz question.  Can you guess which side of the bed is mine and which one is Wonderman's?


Conclusion:  Pregnancy is definitely changing things, but it is a delight despite the discomfort.  Still, I can't wait for two things (listed very much in order of importance): to meet Bean already and to sleep on my stomach again.

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I know, I know.  I should post photos of my belly.  Maybe even write some stuff.  And I probably will soon.  But until then, I just want to share my new favorite website with you.  Of all the things that I enjoy and that make me smile as I peruse my Google Reader every day, only one makes me literally Laugh Out Loud just about every time there's a new entry.  And these days my belly laughs are more impactful than ever, me having so much more belly and all.

http://criggo.com/

Go there.  Read it.  Laugh out loud.  And remember their motto:  "Newspapers are going away. That's too bad."

And I'll write more soon.  Promise.  Probably. Soon is relative.  The end.

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I hit a new milestone this morning.  I think I reached the "Diva" level of being a princess.  Now, don't get me wrong, I value being a princess and I know that all girls are princesses.  I know I deserve to be treated as such.  Bryan taught me well.  However, maybe there should be limits? 

Lemme 'splain.

As I put on my dress this morning, getting ready for church, Wonderman was still reclining half-asleep in bed (he doesn't require nearly as much time to get pretty as I do.  Must be something about being a princess).  Anyways, I pulled my dress down over my head and felt something tickle my leg.  At first I assumed it was simply the tie that hangs down, but it continued too far down my leg to be that.  Then I saw the roach that had apparently been spending quality time IN my dress skuttle down my ankle and across the floor.  Of course I yelped.  And then stood there, expectantly.  I told Wonderman what happened and then pointed, waiting for him to get up and kill the damn bug.  He performed expertly, jumping out of bed, grabbing one of my shoes, and killing the damn bug.  It wasn't until later that I realized how selfish that was.  I am most capable of killing damn bugs.  I've done it my whole life.  I'm not usually super squeamish in relation to crawling things.  However, the roaches really get to me.  And it was IN my dress.  And I'm pregnant (I"m not sure how that relates, but it seems like it works as a good excuse to get what I want in MANY situations.  Don't judge me for taking advantage of that).  Still, I think today the standing and pointing put me on either toddler or diva level.  I prefer diva.

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I haven't been very good at taking (ok, having Wonderman take) pictures of my expanding abdomen.  I just have two:

This is me at two months, before I was showing anything at all.  It shows my pearl, that lovely little rounded spot that makes me a woman, but no baby.  When the picture was taken, I found it a little depressing.  Seeing where I am now, I think I looked quite slender:

This is five months.  I'm actually starting to look like a cute pregnant lady.  Cool. 

From the front, I just look wide, but happy:

Bean spends plenty of time kicking around and making life exciting.  I can't wait to meet her.  I know, I know, she'll come when she's ready.  I'm not ready yet, either.  I do worry a little about how big I'm going to get.  This is already awkward sometimes, and it's just a little belly.  We'll see how it goes.

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This past Sunday, I had one of those Primary moments that you never forget and just hold in your heart, cherishing it forever. 

One of our Sunbeams (an adorable three and a half year old) is always anxious to participate in our group discussions and activities.  She is lucky enough to have her mom as Primary music leader.  She is not blessed with natural reverence.  Her mom was asking for volunteers, emphasizing all along that she was only calling on people who were quiet.  So she promptly starting calling out, with her hand duly raised, "Mom!  I'm being quiet!  I'm being quiet!" 

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I came to the conclusion this evening that if there are too many things going on to describe humorously in one Facebook status, it must be time for a blog post.  Ah, how social technology changes things.

First - it came to my attention today that all the time I spend watching my belly, waiting to see if it will bounce again with Bean's antics, is an entirely new kind of navel-gazing.  I quite like it.  It is definitely difficult to combine with reading, however.  Alas, navel-gazing has always been a consuming endeavor, right?

Second - I most certainly felt like a damsel in distress this evening.  Not long after Wonderman left to attend to his evening studies, I looked across the room to see a dark shadow moving across my cupboard door.  It was not a small shadow, mind you.  I considered that it could be a lizard, which generally doesn't bother me, but those are usually essentially small if they're crawling around walls and cupboards.  Then I, illogically of course, since they can't scurry across doors, thought that perhaps it could be a mouse (we have had rodent issues in the past).  Goodness, for all I knew, the size and speed could very have indicated it was Spiderman himself scurrying across the cupboard door with such speed (I keep wanting to say alacrity, but Dictionary.com says it's something done cheerfully, which I don't want to imagine this shadow doing.  Still, know that speed was absolutely not my first choice with regards to wording).  As I got up and walked a little closer, I could easily see that I wished it was Spiderman.  Instead, it was the largest roach I have ever seen.  I dashed back to the other side of the room (as much as I can dash these days) to grab a shoe which is, as everyone knows, the best weapon against roaches of all kinds.  Upon my quick return, I saw the giant roach somehow get around the edge of the closed door and go into my cupboard (shudder).  This is where the girlish shrieking began.  I gingerly tried to move the pasta packages to see where he was, but my tip-toes were not quite enough to put him in my line of vision.  Then he magically appeared on the wall above the cupboard.  With another shriek (Ok, let's be honest, it wasn't just one more.  They were more or less continuous.), I launched my turquoise plastic flip-flop at the wall, missing him entirely, but landing my shoe on the top of the cupboard.  At this point I had to climb up on the counter to retrieve my shoe, which is no longer as easy as it sounds (it was one of the first times I have felt really pregnant).  Then I just watched him bustle up the wall and onto the ceiling, traversing first one beam and then another.  When I felt he was in a viable position, I lobbed my shoe at him once more.  That time I hit him squarely (yesssss!) and my shoe fell nicely to the floor, but the roach DISAPPEARED.  Now I feel even more creeped out than before.  I don't know where the giant roach is, but he can't be far.  He should be dead.  I really wish that Wonderman were here to take care of these all important issues.  Isn't that in the husband contract somewher?  Disgusting.  Shiver.  (I promise, this could have been a Facebook status, it would simply have been uber-truncated and not nearly as descriptive and fun).

Third - After watching the season finale of Glee, I have decided that Queen should be my soundtrack for labor.  Especially if it can make it all go that fast.  I'm in.  And shouldn't all life decisions be based on Glee, anyway?

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Tonight, while discussing possible names for Bean, he said:

"See, it's a shame we can't go with 'Wolverine.'"

How can you not have a good belly laugh and adore a man who says, and means, things like that?

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i can read

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Now is the time for the buying of tiny frilly dresses.  Or pink things with bugs and frogs on them.  Either way, we're all excited over here.

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Today Wonderman and I went to see the doctor.  It was just a regular visit, making sure I'm still alive and well.  I am.  And then she brought out this tiny little wand that she pushed into my gut.  I knew it was time to hear Baby Bean's heartbeat and I anxiously waited.  And waited.  My paranoia kicked in as she looked for it all over my little belly area.  I was terrified that she wouldn't find it.  But find it she did.  Phew.  It was the sweetest sound in the world, that gorgeous thudding at 150 thuds a minute (Is that fast enough for you to tell me it must be a girl, because apparently they have faster heartbeats?  That is still up for debate.  150 is right in the middle of normal, "they" say).  I looked over at Wonderman and smiled.  He kind of nodded and smiled a little bit back with a look on his face that said, "Right.  Of course.  You're pregnant.  What did you expect?"  I almost felt like I was being overly gooshy.  I wasn't, right?  I guess he meant it when he said he probably wouldn't get too emotionally involved until the kid was out.  Sigh.  Still, I was both relieved and thrilled.  Apparently there really is a baby in there.  Sweet.

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Have you ever seen the commercial that claims that 1 in 4 American women can misread a pregnancy test?  Do you get as offended as I do?  I mean really, there's a line or there isn't, right?  Who needs their silly expensive digital test?  However, I must confess.  I've done it.  I am your 25%.  I fulfill the stupid part of that statistic.  In my defense, I took two tests of two different brands within a somewhat small time period and sillily (this is a hard word to say) assumed that the store-brand version of the test would show results in the same way that the name brand it imitates does.  Alas, I was wrong.  Therefore, many moons ago, I nervously told Wonderman he was going to be a daddy WAY before we were ready for that.  It was a good time to have read the test wrong.  However, the most recent time I took such a test, I carefully read the instructions that came with the test while I waited for it to . . .  develop(?-I'm not sure the appropriate term for a stick I just peed on).  This time I'm sure.  It's for real.  Now I've got a whole new slew of statistics to worry about. 

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So, I know it's bad when I don't post anything for weeks and weeks and then just re-post something from someone else's tumblr, but still. . . . This quite aptly describes how I feel lately:

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I know it doesn't look like much, and perhaps there is more hair out than in, but still . . .  IT'S A PONY-FRIC KIN'-TAIL.  It just feels momentous and I wanted share.  That's all.

PS - Do you notice Wonderman's awesome Chaco tan in the background?  Sexy, right?
PPS - Mom, this is at least a beginning of my interior shots.  This is our living room.  See all the chairs?  Lovely.
PPPS - Is it strange to actually write more in the post script than in the actual body?  I do it all the time.  :-|

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The other night I laid in bed awake, completely unable to sleep.  Wonderman and I had just had a discussion that I found deeply troubling.  He, on the other hand, was beginning to softly snore.

Randomly and for no particular reason, we had been talking about names for our future children.  Don't get excited, the babies are still just twinkles in our eyes, nothing cooking anywhere else.  However, it is kind of a fun future-planning, castles-in-the-air kind of activity.  At all the names I suggested, Wonderman laughed a little.  I, of course, cannot give examples here because, like every self-respecting woman, I am certain that my names are the best ever and I can't have anyone stealing my ideas.  Still, for purposes of general description, I will simply say that I find old-fashioned and unique names appealing.  I'm not quite as uniqueness-bound as TAMN, but I definitely don't want my kids to have to be known by First Name Last Name, because there are three others with that First Name.  That is kind of lame.  They should be alone in their classes, as far as names go.  He told me it sounded like I wanted to set my kids up for a lifetime of teasing.  I tried to explain the generation of made-up ridiculous names they would be born into, but he didn't seem to comprehend that.  Sigh.

Wonderman did not offer any of his own suggestions.  I guess he hasn't been planning all the details of child-raising for most of his life, quite like I have.  (PS, this is secret, ok?  I usually try to maintain the persona of that woman who is super cool and super intelligent and has all kinds of mad goals connected to education and career who will probably eventually have children, but is in no way basing any part of her life on it or planning around it.  Ok?  Pinkie swear?  Good.)

Anyways (wink), I realized as we talked that Wonderman and I are driven by completely opposite incentives.  Where I find value in standing out and being different, he generally just wants to blend in.  I am mostly aware of this in how we dress.  It really hit home when I bought him a purple dress shirt last year for Christmas, and with his bright blues eyes I knew it would make him look HOT.  I think he wore it once, just to make me happy.  I, on the other hand, wear all kinds of things that are not . . . shall we say, entirely conventional.  I consider it major progress that I no longer consider it a threat to my individuality to shop somewhere like Old Navy. 

I promise, this connects to baby names.  I don't think Wonderman would mind if our children share their names with half their classmates.  Perhaps it's because his name is not wildly unique and he turned out great.  I don't even have any idea when these kids will show up, but I'm already concerned about the rounds we'll be going before we can fill out the birth certificates.

Conclusion:  Opposites attracting is a romantic notion, but it definitely has it's pitfalls.  But maybe if he can sleep on it, it means that I will eventually win this fight.  I'm going to count on that.

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I haven't been super social, thus rendering one of my ideas about resolutions mostly null and void.  Meh.  Maybe February will be better.

 
PS - This really is one of my favorite sites.

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Brought to you by the number 9 and the letter "G."

Junior.: Paige was opening her eyes during the prayer.
Me: And how do you know that, Junior?
Jr: (looking down at his hands) . . . .
Me: (giggle)

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As I was making dinner tonight (French toast, YUM!), Wonderman looked up from his studying and said:

"This morning in the shower I was thinking up Star Wars trivia."

Before he could continue, I had to toss in some belly laughs and let him know how much I appreciate being married to someone who can start a conversation that way without thinking it's a joke.

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Today I went down to the capital.  While there, I found the library.  I had heard rumor of its existence, but had yet to confirm before today.  As soon as I walked in, something in my soul sighed in relief.  I love being surrounded by books.

Tonight, as I was telling Wonderman about my day, I described my trip to the library and my joy in its discovery.  My last sentence to him described how I love being surrounded by books.  After waiting a few minutes, he turned to me and said:

"You know how you were talking about books?"
"Yeah. . . . ?"
"Now you know why guys like Hooters."

I had a hard time stopping laughing.

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