Hello. How Are You?

You guys. I'm back.

It's been 6 years, 8 months and 15 days, if my math is correct (and my math is rarely correct), since I've posted on this sweet blog o' mine. A LOT has happened (I mean, fucking christ, I have a SEVEN year old!), and it's way too much to try to catch up on, so Imma just pretend like I never took a 6 year/8 month/15 day hiatus. Mkay?

It may just be me and my myopic tendencies, but it seems (seemed?) that blogging is not as popular or prolific as it once was. Is that true or just my inaccurate perception? Like, why spend time blogging when you can tweet? Or post a pic to Insta? Or post a petition on Facebook? Or, do whatever you do, on snapchat. (I do not even pretend to know what snapchat is or how to use it. I'm 42 and I've hit my social media technology limit. Any new social media platform that comes out from now on is just beyond my capabilities. Tumblr you say? Um yeah, no idea). When I first started this blog 12 years ago, it felt like everyone was blogging. It was a bloggers paradise! You linked to other blogs and talked about other blog posts on your blog and just blogged, blogged, blogged all the live-long day. Now? Eh? Not so much. I know there are people out there blogging their little hearts out, I just haven't found them or haven't found the time to follow them regularly. But, dammit! I miss blogging. Even if no one fucking reads this, it's still super therapeutic to type words. Words that are coming from my brain. I have thoughts. Occasionally. And I like writing them down. It's a hybrid journal/diary/letter. It's a record. Blogging has value to me. I wish I hadn't taken a hiatus.


And here we are. I'm back. I think. I hope.

Stay tuned. Or not. Whatever. You do you.


The thing is, here's the thing, I've changed. In the past 12 years, many of my opinions, perceptions, and expectations have grown, morphed, and developed. I seriously thought about just starting over fresh. Erasing this blog and beginning anew, because lets be honest, some of the crap on this blog is seriously cringe-worthy. Embarrassingly cringey.

But that's what humans do. We age. And hopefully when we age, we mature. And we grow emotionally and intellectually. We learn new things. We re-learn things. We meet new people who expand our horizons. We try new things which widen our experiences. It's a good thing. And so, in that spirit, I will not erase my younger self's ruminations (however misguided or embarrassing). I will simply carry on.

How To Eat Oatmeal

according to Hector.

Step 1: Empty entire contents of bowl. Bowls are unnecessary and completely undermine one's enjoyment of oatmeal.

Note: Be sure to smear oatmeal liberally in hair. Oatmeal is a wonderful conditioner.



Step 2: Use spoon to artistically spread oatmeal on plate/tray. This will allow for a more accurate assessment of quantity, plus your mom will lavish praise on you for being creative.



Step 3: Use fingers to scoop oatmeal into mouth. This is actually more difficult than it sounds and it may end up on your forehead and/or chin. Then, as I understand it, you're supposed to chew on your spoon while managing a mouthful of oatmeal. Don't worry, it just takes a little practice.



Step 4: The oatmeal that didn't make it down to your tummy, just go ahead and spit that back out. If you're lucky it will fall back onto your plate/tray and you can simply re-insert into mouth. Otherwise, there's a good chance it will end up in your lap. This is fine. Your mom will eventually take the time to remove oatmeal from your crotch. No harm, no foul.

We're Being Exclusive

Yep. Since the likelihood of this blog turning Hector-centric is pretty high, I am going to make it private in an attempt to be a responsible parent. Wait! Don't panic! If you want to continue to view occasional (okay, infrequent) updates on my life and Hector, simply send your email address to: archgrrrl@gmail.com and I will in turn send you an invite to view this blog.

Thank you for your cooperation. Carry on.

This One's For You Mrs. Huber!

Hi Mrs Huber! *waves*

Since I suspect you are the only person who still checks this poor forgotten little blog once in a while, this post is for you!

I don’t get to see your daughter nearly enough, but I when I do, it makes me happy. We went to see The Help last Friday evening and it did my soul good to get out and spend time with friends. Everyone is so busy these days. Do things ever slow down? I do hope so. At least at some point.

Hector turns nine months old tomorrow! I know! He has one little nubbin of a tooth that has barely cut his gums, but he uses that thing like a lethal weapon against any finger food we give him. And the kid is NOT picky when it comes to food. If he can pick it up and get it into his mouth, it's all good.

He is also crawling everywhere and climbing everything, which means we have to be ever vigilant. It’s not so much physically exhausting (although climbing up 3 flights of stairs multiple times an hour can be wearisome), as it is mentally exhausting. You have to always be ON. You know what I mean? He’s becoming very brave and letting go of whatever he’s holding onto and will stand unassisted for a few seconds. He is quite pleased with this new trick.

Speaking of tricks . . . Hector has been clapping for a couple of weeks now and just started waving over the past couple of days. It is freaking amazing how quickly they learn new skills. It seems like just last week he was a little bump on a log, and now he’s like a little person - with a personality!

Needless to say, this miniature human being pretty much consumes mine and Daniel’s existence right now. This parenting thing is not a piece of cake and I suspect it only gets harder. Maybe not physically harder, because he has to sleep through the night at some point, right? But emotionally harder. Right now the choices we make for him seem pretty instinctual and elementary. We hold him, love on him, feed him good food, laugh and play with him and do everything we can to make sure he feels safe, secure and loved. Pretty simple right now. Is it always this simple? I doubt it.

But that’s okay. We enjoy being with him more and more. He brings us such delight and I am excited when I think about my future as Hector’s Mom.

Below are a few recent pictures per your request, and I will try to post updates more frequently, even at the risk of my blog turning into a virtual Hector shrine. :)

Double fistin' the H2O:



Monkey Boy:



Showin' off those rolly legs:



"This can't possibly be food!":



Let's climb, let's climb, let's climb, let's climb...



Hangin' with Dad:



Nothin' but CUTE:

Just Poking My Head In The Door

I'm ashamed to say that this blog has all but been abandoned. Perhaps someday when Hector is sleeping through the night and Daniel and I are not walking zombies, I will begin posting again in a regular fashion.

Until then, here are some pictures of our 5 month old for your enjoyment :)

All Aboard the Guilt Train

Toot! Toot!

Last Monday I became a working mother. dunh dunh - DUNH. According to much of the media, working mothers are responsible for a sizable chunk of our children's problems (like obesity, hyperactivity and bullying to name only a few). We also apparently undermine traditional family values, emasculating our husbands and confusing our children while selfishly and irresponsibly pursuing our own lofty career goals (never mind that most women with children work because they have no other financial alternative). I think we may even be responsible for the revolution in Egypt and the protests in Wisconsin.

Can't find someone to blame? Just chalk it up to working mothers!

Le sigh.

Despite the pangs of guilt jabbing at me, it was a good week. I was happy to be back doing work I enjoy with people I like. It was nice to have a conversation that didn't involve "aah-goo, ehh-brehhh, pfttt" or similarly adorable phrases that are only adorable when coming from your 3 month old. And it was surprisingly easy to get back right back into the swing of things at the office. Of course, at about 2 o'clock every day I start to miss Hector fiercely, to the point where it becomes a distraction.

Hector was a champ adjusting to our new routine and his new daytime care givers. He's generally a pretty happy baby and he was always happy when we dropped him off and happy when we picked him up. The thing that really gets the guilt juices flowing (eww) is that by the time we pick him up at 5 o'clock, he has, at the most, 2 hours of awake time before he conks out for the night.

At one point last week I became completely unglued and cried to Daniel that Hector was going to forget who were we and was going to think Lori and Jim (his day caregivers) were his parents.

All you want is the best for your kid. Who would've thought figuring out or trying to decide what is "best" would be so difficult? I've never felt so unsure about anything in my life before - not Hector himself but the choices we make for him.

A week before he started daycare, we made the decision to switch daycare facilities. Originally we were all set for him to go to a daycare center across the street from my office. A very typical child care center where he would've have been in a classroom with 7 other 3 month olds and two adults. I wasn't completely thrilled with our option, but quality infant care in Nashville is REALLY hard to come by.

And then a space opened up at a small family daycare in our neighborhood and it seemed like a sign to make the switch. So now Hector goes to Green Acres (yes, that really is the name of the daycare) during the day where he is cared for by Lori and Jim. They are retired graphic designers from LA who moved here and have been involved in early childhood education for about 10 years. They only take 5 children at a time and only from 6 weeks old to 24 months old.

We arrive in the mornings to a warm home, clean carpets, the faint smell of coffee coming from the kitchen where I put Hector's bottles for the day in the refrigerator. He is the first one to arrive in the mornings, so he gets Jim and Lori's undivided attention for an hour. Instead of feeling like we're dropping our 3 month old infant off at school, it's more like we're dropping him off at a relative's home. The feel is much softer, more organic and less institutional.

The other children include another 3 month old, a 6 month old, a 12 month old, and a 14 month old. Hazel, Maximillian, Miette, and Nora. Those are Hector's faux-siblings during the day. Miette and Nora already call Hector by his name. The "curriculum" is gentle and age appropriate and there is outdoor time everyday the weather permits.

So far, so good. I don't worry about his well being while I'm at work. I feel confident that he is in good hands.

And yet.

The articles I read online tell me to worry about Hector becoming too attached to his care givers and then suffering a sense of loss when we have to switch him to another daycare in 2 years. To worry he will feel abandoned by me once he realizes what's going on. To worry about the myriad of "behavior issues" that somehow got attributed to children spending a large amount of time at daycare.

Y'all, it's a lot to worry about and difficult to tune out. I definitely need to re-read "The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How it Has Undermined Women" by Susan Douglas and Meredith Michaels. It was a good book when I read it the first time. But I think now it will be much more relevant to my life and provide some comfort that I'm not a bad mother just because I'm a working mother.

Life After Birth

It's like waking up after severe trauma to a world which has changed so dramatically it's nearly unrecognizable.

Life hasn't been the same since 12:26 am on November 23rd, 2010. As many of you know, that's when Hector was cut out of my uterus by a skilled team of medical professionals at Vanderbilt University Medical Center, after nearly 47 hours of labor.

That's right. Remember that whole plan to have a low stress, unmedicated, natural birth? Yeah, that plan got fucked, and subsequently nothing has gone as I'd expected or planned. Well, nothing except that Daniel and I have a healthy and perfect little boy in our life now.

Here's how it went down:

Eleven days before my official Due Date, homeboy decided he'd had enough of being cramped in my uterus. Since I'm so far behind on updating this goddamn blog, I'm going to attempt to make a long story short.

Essentially, I was in the transition phase of labor - which is when a woman transitions from active labor to active pushing, involving a period of intense contractions that come on hard and fast, one right after the other, and typically only lasts up to about 45 minutes - for 5 excruciating hours.

The pain was UN-BEARABLE. I do not say that lightly or with any amount of drama.

Knowing we had wanted an unmedicated birth, the midwife eventually gently suggested an epidural so that I could get some rest. And by that point, I really didn't care, I just wanted the pain to stop.

The epidural is a story in and of itself. Suffice it to say, teaching hospitals are not always the best environment to be in when one is experiencing intense pain; and, my husband proved himself once again to be my champion.

So after the sweet relief of the epidural, I slept for two hours and by the time I woke up, all the stars were in alignment to PUSH that kid out. Except he wouldn't come out.

After an inspection by an OB, it was determined that homeboy had gotten himself wedged in my pelvis in a transverse position during my prolonged labor. That's when we were told the only way the kid was getting out of there alive was through surgery.

It may sound melodramatic, but this news was absolutely devastating for me. 1.) After all our meticulous preparations and being in labor for 47 hours, I felt like a complete failure. And 2.) I was beyond terrified of surgery. I had not mentally or emotionally prepared for even the possibility of surgery, and that was a huge mistake.

I'm not going to lie, the whole birth experience was beyond traumatic for me, and even now, two months later, it makes me tear up writing about it. It's a lot to process, and I have no doubt that many women suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder and post-partum depression after a difficult birth.

My life was so suddenly and so stunningly altered by this tiny human being. Besides the perfectly normal insecurities and uncertainties of caring for a helpless little person, I struggled with overwhelming feelings of inadequacy and failure. Recovering from major abdominal surgery left me physically incapable of caring for my baby the way I wanted to or felt I should be able to.

Daniel and I had requested no-separation care for Hector during our stay at the hospital, which meant that he would room-in and not be in the nursery at all. Again, failure with a capital F. We soon realized that with me being incapacitated with post-surgery limitations, and suffering from edema and spinal migraines, that we needed the help of the nursery just to get through those four days in the hospital.

The first 6 weeks post-hospital were rough, y'all. Nothing can prepare you for your first child. And maybe that's a good thing. Because without actually feeling the intense love and joy that only your newborn baby can elicit, knowledge of how new parenthood utterly destroys you, would surely deter people from procreation.

But here's the thing: It's Worth It.

Dear god, I heard that over and over from other parents during my pregnancy and I thought, "yeah yeah, I know...it's hard but it's worth it, I get it". I SO didn't get it. I don't think it's even possible to get it until you hold that baby in your arms and feel him breathing against your chest. You don't get it until he's looking at you with his big blue eyes and they crinkle up with laughter. You don't get it until he holds your pinkie finger in his hand while he eats.

Hector is now 10 weeks old and life is just getting better and better. I am becoming more confident in my abilities and Hector is adjusting beautifully to life outside the womb.

Eviction Notice

Dear Hector,

Kindly accept this letter as your official 30-day notice to vacate the premises. Even though our initial contract states December 1, 2010 as termination of your lease, we understand that developing lungs may take some extra time and are willing to allow you to stay a bit longer.

However, we must insist that you be moved out by December 15, 2010.

Though you have been a most agreeable tenant thus far, new living arrangements must be made to preserve our physical and mental health. And yours too, we would assume. Your quarters must surely be getting uncomfortably cramped, and unfortunately our policies do not allow for expansions or additions at this time.

I can assure you all will be done to make your transition as comfortable and stress-free as possible. We have a team of skilled movers ready to assist you if needed. There will be little to no paperwork for you to fill out so no need to worry about that. Preparations are completed or underway to ensure your new accommodations meet your expectations.

We completely understand that change can be a frightening and intimidating thing, but please know that you will be loved and well cared for, not only by management (ie. Mom and Dad), but by a lot of other people as well, who are excited about your upcoming move.

If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to contact us directly and we will do our best to soothe your concerns and answer your questions.

With love and excitement,

Management
(Dad and Mom)

Please Stand By

If I haven’t returned your call, text or email, I apologize.

Here’s my pathetic schedule of late:

Go to work.
Come home from work.
Eat whatever dinner Daniel puts in front of me.
Take a bath.
Read whatever pregnancy/parenting related book I’m currently reading while in the tub.
Do Hypnobabies “homeplay”.
Go to bed.

Work right now is just mentally exhausting which translates into physical exhaustion. During the week, I don’t have the energy or motivation to do ANYTHING besides the above list. And on the weekends I try to catch up on sleep and all the things I didn’t do during the week (like laundry), plus attempt to prepare for arrival of new human being.

I feel like a brood hen. I never want to go out. I don’t want to be social. I like being at home right now, focusing on my impending birth and subsequent motherhood.

Today I am 34 weeks. Which means this kid hanging out in my uterus could decide to show up anytime in the next 3 to 8 weeks.

Preparing for the arrival of our son often seems like a full-time job. I can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like once he’s actually here!

We did end up switching from my OB to a midwife and are very happy with that decision so far. I feel much more confident that we are more likely to have the kind of birth we want with a midwife rather than an OB who is bound by restrictive hospital policies.

We also found a pediatrician we like – hooray!

Our doula is lovely and encouraging and we’ll be seeing her again in a couple of weeks.

We are in the 4th week of our Hypnobabies birthing classes, which, so far, have been very calming and informative. Though there is also a lot of work involved – something I wasn’t entirely prepared for.

I finished reading the awesome book “Pushed” by Jennifer Block. Seriously, I am giving this book to every woman I know who becomes pregnant. I could hardly put it down it was so good. A lot of the information presented is infuriating, but it has also reassured and empowered me like nothing else.

The crib and changing table have been assembled. The mattress has been purchased. Clothes have been sorted and are ready for the wash.

We’re just about there, physically anyway. Still in the process of mentally and emotionally preparing, but I have a feeling there’s not much preparation you can do for an event so entirely life-changing.

This Makes Me Sick

Okay, since obviously I'm having trouble finding time to blog about my own uninteresting life lately, I'll direct you to Tom Harper's latest blog post. I had not heard of this incident, even though it happened in the state I currently reside, and it literally made my heart sick.

Here's the link to the post: South Fulton Tennessee: The World's Most Backward Hellhole

Childbirth is a Feminist Issue

Now that I'm in my third trimester, the looming doom of labor and delivery is weighing heavily on my mind. I suppose part of that is simply fear of the unknown. The other part, I'm sure, has to do with our culture's portrayal of childbirth as painful and traumatic. Nobody looks forward to pain and trauma, least of all me.

Also, I have been in Research Overdrive mode. One of my coping methods has been to obsessively seek out and digest as much information about childbirth as possible. This is both good and bad. Mostly good. I try to be as informed a consumer as I can about most things.

Going into this whole pregnancy ordeal, I blindly had faith in my doctor's and the hospital's obstetrical competence and the sincere belief that they would both be doing everything in my, and the baby's, best interest when it came time for labor and delivery.

Then, when at a mere 20 weeks, my doctor casually mentioned that I may need to be induced due to a "big baby", my first red flag popped up. A tiny, but nagging, red flag. Up until that point, I hadn't done a whole lot of research and had been mostly convinced by mainstream media articles that becoming pregnant while I was overweight made me a "bad mother". My child isn't even out of the womb and already I'm a bad mother for not being in peak physical condition before conceiving!

This, of course, only made me feel guilty and insecure, and even though my doctor never once brought up my pre-pregnancy weight in any context - negatively or positively, I was feeling judged and ashamed.

But, when appointment after appointment, everything with me and the baby came back perfectly healthy in every way, I started to think 'Fuck That!' to those who use horror stories and scare tactics to shame large women. And that's when I began getting serious about becoming better informed.

I learned, among other things, that induction leads to a c-section the majority of the time. I also learned that the majority of inductions are not necessary. I learned that fetal weight estimates are just that, estimates, and they are notoriously inaccurate.

Daniel and I watched the documentary "The Business of Being Born" with eyes wide open. This is a great film produced by Ricki Lake and I highly recommend it to anyone - even those who are not pregnant or even never intend to get pregnant. It's just a really interesting look at our obstetrical healthcare system.

In 1965, the c-section rate in the U.S. was 4.5% of all births. As of 2007, it's risen to 31.8%. A lot of this insane increase has to do with unnecessary interventions during labor and delivery. I would say the rise in unnecessary interventions is three-fold: 1.) hospital profit (and that's a big one!) 2.) our overly litigious culture, and 3.) women's general lack of confidence in their ability to give birth.

Obviously, there are some instances where interventions are absolutely necessary life-saving measures and thank god we have them for those instances! But those cases are a lot fewer than we might think.

Doula what?

Pretty early on, I knew that hiring a doula would be a good idea. I had only ever heard of a doula about 4 years ago when the pregnant wife of one of my co-workers was talking about her labor and delivery preparations, her desire for an unmedicated birth and the role her doula would play. For the record, at the time, I thought she was NUTS to be preparing for a "natural" childbirth!

So, what's a doula? To oversimplify, she is a trained and experienced labor coach and advocate. She is knowledgeable and informed about all possible interventions and makes sure you know the pros and cons of them before giving consent. She guides you in developing a birth plan and makes sure it is followed by your practitioner. Perhaps most importantly, a doula provides continuous one-on-one labor and delivery support, guiding you through pain management techniques and just generally making sure you (and your partner) are comfortable. She brings confidence, peace-of-mind, and reassurance to the table.

After a slew of emails and interviews, Daniel and I decided to go with Dee. Dee the Doula. She spent an hour at our house (which flew by), and when she left, I immediately felt more calm and happy about labor and delivery, and my pregnancy in general, than I had felt up to that point. We hired her the next day.

Meanwhile, my doctor visits have been raising more red flags, and my trust and faith in my doctor and the hospital to allow and encourage an unmedicated, no intervention birth, has been waning daily. So, we are looking into perhaps switching care givers, from my doctor to a midwife. Tomorrow we have a consultation with the Midwives at Vanderbilt. I know this may sound kind of nutty, but midwifery isn't just a childbirth practice belonging to the Middle Ages.

For low-risk pregnancies (That would be Me! So fuck off fatty-haters!), midwifery is a safe, healthy childbirth choice that encourages and facilitates unmedicated, low intervention labor and deliveries. Also, while many midwives will do home births, the Vanderbilt Midwives only birth at the Vanderbilt hospital. This actually comforts me because if something were to go wrong and I needed a skilled surgeon at the last minute, one would be immediately available. I'm not brave enough or confident enough to attempt a home birth! So, we'll see how the consultation goes tomorrow afternoon. Fortunately, Dee assured us that she was comfortable and confident working with either care giver (although she did have a high opinion of the Vandy Midwives).

My point is, and I do have a point amidst this rambling post, is that I've done almost a complete 180 in my views of pregnancy and childbirth since first seeing that blue line on the pee stick. A LOT of women, especially women of size, are too often railroaded when it comes to childbirth. We are fearful and uncertain about our ability to give birth, we are underinformed about the drawbacks to many of the "routine" interventions, and we allow the system to bully us into, what are for many women, negative and traumatic birth experiences leading to post-partum depression, lactation issues, and a sense of failure.

Of course, having absolutely no experience with birthing a child, you may be thinking I'm talking out of my ass.

I'm aware that there are women who have been perfectly happy with the hospital care they received - c-section or not. I also realize things don't always go as planned, which is why I want to do everything possible to make sure we get the birth experience we want. As Daniel says, we're just removing obstacles - whatever happens, happens.

Remember my co-worker's wife who wanted the unmedicated, no intervention birth? She had the doula, she and her husband had taken natural childbirth classes, but their care giver was an OB at a large, prominent, for-profit hospital. After 30 hours of labor, it was recommended to them that she be induced with the synthetic hormone pitocin to speed up the process. At that point, the baby was NOT in any distress. The mother was tired, but not in unmanageable pain (they used hynotic pain management techniques). They trusted their doctor. The pitocin drip caused distress in both the mother and the baby, and an emergency c-section was necessary for a safe delivery, much to the tearful disappointment of the parents.

Was the intervention unnecessary? Possibly. My grandmother labored for 72 hours before giving birth to a 9lb.- 2oz. baby, and while that's not an ideal situation, I would take it over major surgery any day.

Food Homesickness

I will freely admit to having a love/hate relationship with my hometown of Erie.

Love: The lake and beaches.
Hate: The 7-9 months of shitty weather.
Love: The older urban architecture.
Hate: The careless urban dilapidation.
Love: The small town feel.
Hate: The pervasive small town mindset.
Love: The friends and family I grew up with.

The list could go on and on.

Lately, however, the "hates" have receded to the back of my mind and intense cravings for Erie food has been at the forefront of my brain. For some, Erie may not have a lot to offer, but it does have a very distinct and delicious food culture. Here in Nashville there is, of course, an abundance of Southern food but I haven't really found much in the way of a particular Nashville food culture. There's the Hot Chicken which I've been told is distinctly Nashville, but that's about it.

Erie on the other hand...

Well here's a comment I found about Erie on a thread over at ChowHound:

"For being a little hellhole in Pennsylvania, they sure do have their own little food culture, and I love it!"

Right on man!

Today, Daniel and I went to the Greek Festival for lunch and my mouth was watering anticipating the Greek Fries I grew up eating at the Greek Festival in Erie. Imagine my profound dismay when I was served a cup of french fries sprinkled with a few Greek herbs. WTH!?

Okay okay, I realize that the Greek Fries I was served this afternoon were probably more authentically Greek, but when I think "greek" fries I can only conjure up a plate of greasy fries piled high with the spicy "greek" sauce and melted cheddar cheese. Oh mama! Erie-ites, back me up here!

I could even eat a greek hot dog right now (which is unusual for me because I generally hate hot dogs and can't even remember the last time I ate one).

But let's not stop there.

How about Pepperoni Balls? ohmigod. Little fried tennis ball of dough filled with spicy pepperoni. I have never seen nor eaten these things outside of Erie. Speaking of Italian food...Erie has some of the best Italian food joints. I seriously have not been able to locate an Eggplant Parmesan Sub anywhere near equal to the one served by Valerio's. Makes my wouth water just thinking about it.

And for dessert there are at least two options. Morning dessert = Mighty Fine Donuts. Especially the chocolate cream filled donuts. I try and try to like the chocolate cream filled donuts that can be found around here, but they pale in comparison. Evening dessert = Sponge Candy from Romolo's (or any candy really). This is the food of the gods and I could eat a whole bag of it right this second.

Not sure where these cravings for my hometown foods are coming from exactly - nostalgia? pregnancy hormones? Or maybe I'm just hungry!

I'm going to go see if I can find a recipe for Daniel to make some authentic tasting Erie Greek Sauce!

What are some other distinctly Erie foods?

Smiling Through the Tears

Need a good uplifting cry? Got 20 minutes? Watch the short film below titled, "The Butterfly Circus". It's 20 minutes not wasted - I promise.



If for some reason, the embedded video won't play for you, or you want to view it on a larger screen, you can watch it HERE

Nursery Update

So, since repairing and painting the Nursery walls, not much else has happened up there. We still haven't put together any baby stuff like the crib or the changing table. We still have no window treatments. We still have fugly lighting, but if you look at the "before" and "after" pictures, you can kinda forget all about that and just revel in how far the room has come since we bought the house.

BEFORES:












And AFTERS:







Can't you just imagine a white crib, lovely window treatments and a beautiful lighting fixture?

Retroactive Sick Day

I stayed home from work on Wednesday. Not because I was feeling particularly sick, mostly just because I felt OWED a sick day. Allow me to explain. I SHOULD have stayed home on Tuesday. Tuesday was a miserable, miserable day for yours truly.

It started Monday night. The pressure in my sinuses expanding, the nasaly drip down the back of my throat, the constant need to sneeze but then not being able to. Even under normal sleeping circumstances, this sinus condition would've made sleeping a challenge. I woke up tired, angry, weepy and stuffy (pregnancy hormones - they're a bitch!) So Tuesday morning started out bad. I knew it. Daniel knew it. He suggested I stay home. I told him he's not the boss of me and tearfully, resentfully, with a head full of pounding snot, got ready for work.

I got to the office late and plodded through reflected ceiling plans whilst nearly constantly blowing my nose (which was also making me wee) and feeling like a large, tired, slow-moving land mass with sinuses from a hell dimension. I made myself stay there the entire day because I'm stubborn (and stupid) like that. Finally went home. Ate chicken noodle soup. Met very briefly (thank god) with a doula candidate (more on that later) and went to bed early.

Without having taken any kind of medication whatsoever, I woke up (or rather Daniel woke me up) Wednesday morning with a clear head and a clean emotional slate.

But I stayed home anyway because I was mad that I didn't stay home the previous day when I SHOULD have. I know, my idiotic rationale kinda makes my head spin as well.

It was such a lovely "sick" day. I slept in and then had ice cream for breakfast. I played computer games. Talked to my sister. Cleaned the house (the "nesting instinct" is kicking in big time!). Put dinner in the crock pot. Took a nap. Took a bubble bath. It was one of the best sick days I've ever had and totally worth my miserable Tuesday.

Please Pass the Maternity Pants

Up until two weeks ago, my pants had all been rigged to stay on my ass and over my growing girth by means of rubber bands and one of those stretchy tube top thingys. I was totally in the McGuyver zone. But rubber bands only stretch so far. And pants that are completely unzipped and unbuttoned, being held in place by a thin tube top, is a situation just begging for a public wardrobe malfunction.

So, two weekends ago I finally broke down, after Daniel threatened to go buy me maternity pants himself, went to a maternity store and purchased three pairs.

First of all, I kind of hate going into "specialty" stores like that because the store clerk to customer ratio is always way off and I hate being fussed over. Alas, there was only one other shopper in the store when I arrived and she quickly departed leaving me with three helpful, smiling sales associates ready to take measurements, ask questions, and load up a dressing room for me. Oy.

And then I tried on my first pair of maternity pants and my life changed forever.

Dear god why are pants made ANY other way!?

Okay so maybe maternity pants aren't the most fashionable clothing item, but they are so wonderfully, so monumentally, so accutely comfortable, I'm tearing up with love and gratitude even as I type this.

When I went to work that week rocking out my inner Ed Grimley in my new maternity pants, I gushed like a tween with a crush to one of my female co-workers on my extraordinary new pants. She said, "you know those green pants I wear?" In fact, I did know those green pants she wears because everytime she wears them I comment on how cute they are. She leaned in and whispered, "those are maternity pants." Her youngest child is like four.

My future suddenly seemed brighter. You mean I could continue wearing these glorious pants even AFTER I give birth!? Hell. Yeah.

The world would be a happier place if everyone just wore maternity pants. Seriously.

Hello, It's Me Again

It’s still hot as hell here which makes being outside, in any capacity (except perhaps in a pool), extremely unpleasant. The air is so thick and heavy it feels like I’m breathing in pudding when I step outside. The heat and humidity, however, seem to not bother the mosquitoes at all. They are quite happy to suck my blood every chance they get. Daniel and I keep proclaiming we need to invest in a dozen or so bat boxes to put up in our backyard. Anybody know how to encourage bats to hang out around your house? How does one effectively advertise an all-you-can-eat mosquito buffet?

So, I’m still pregnant. Yup.

Over the past two weeks, the heartburn has really ramped up and become unbearable at night, or anytime I am horizontal. I’m chugging the Mylanta like a victim of desert dehydration. Between the multiple midnight Mylanta cocktails, the frequent peeing, and the uncomfortable tossing and turning stemming from my irrational fear of sleeping on my back, my nights are full of crappy-ass, barely what you could call, sleep. Hence, my weekday mornings have become downright brutal.

Right now I am longing for a job where I can just do mindless busy work all day and not have to think or interact with anyone. Is there such a job? As it stands, I am immersed in full-time construction administration for the hospital-at-the-beach I helped design. Under normal circumstances, I would still dislike construction administration – because, honestly, what kind of designer actually CARES how the fuck the building goes together? – but, I would be begrudgingly grateful for the experience. A lot of architecture firms hire people specifically to deal with CA and the designers never get to see how their drawings are translated. So, it’s great to have the opportunity, I just don’t want it right now when I’m tired and grumpy and functioning with a lower brain cell capacity.

I am totally being bitch-slapped for every mean thing I’ve ever thought about pregnant women!

On the bright side, I’m still throwing up occasionally, but NOT every time I brush my teeth! Hooray!

And hey, it’s not ALL bad. Sunday morning, while lying in bed getting some extra crappy-ass “sleep”, Gwennie performed her morning ritual of climbing on top of my body and kneading me to death. I understand this behavior is some sort of neurotic cat thing and I am usually very patient and tolerant of her kneading even when she leaves bruises on my hips, but Sunday morning I was Not. Having. It. Gwendolyn, however, has no understanding of the meaning “not having it”. Any effort to remove her was met with digging in her claws, holding on for dear life, and fussing at me very loudly. And that’s when I felt a distinct kick in the vicinity of my upper right stomach. Gwennie whined some more and there it was again. KICK! I looked down and could SEE my stomach being kicked from the inside.

Okay, I agree that’s totally gross and creepy and freaky, but it was also REALLY cool. Like, seriously cool.

I don’t know if the spawn was also annoyed at Gwennie’s kneading or if he was responding to her vocals, or if he was just spazzing out for no reason at all. Up until Sunday, his movements have felt very vague, kind of like flutterings or soft poppings to the point where I’m like, “okay was that the spawn or was that just gas from the Taco Bell I ate?”

So, yeah. Cool.

The nursery is also coming along. The walls have been repaired and sanded and primed, and yesterday Daniel finished putting on the first coat of color. It’s a dark gray that sometimes seems to have a very slight blue tinge to it in different light, and it is AWESOME. Seriously y’all. It looks so good with all the white trim in that room and the light hardwood floors.

Sometimes it is so very apparent that Daniel and I work with oppositely minded groups of people. When I told my co-workers that we intended to paint the nursery dark gray, they were all like, “Oh that’ll be cool. It’ll be such a vibrant contrast to the white trim and built-ins. It’ll really give the room some depth.” While my co-workers approved and applauded the color choice, Daniel’s co-workers openly expressed their dismay: “Oh nooooo! You can’t have a dark, dingy color like that for a little baby. They need soft, light colors!” Numbers geeks have no aesthetic vision.

On the non-pregnancy front: Last week I wrapped up a 6-week creative writing workshop. I’m still kind of sad that it’s over because it was so much fun. Fortunately my fellow creative writers in the group feel the same way and we have committed to continuing to meet regularly. The workshop was offered by a writer who lives in my neighborhood. She also teaches creative writing at a local college, does freelance work and has published a collection of short stories. In addition to her awesomeness, there were three other women in my group: one in her mid-twenties, one in her early thirties, and one in her early fifties. And they all live in my neighborhood and are liberal-minded, easy-going, educated, non-religious, and really fun. I’ve preemptively started thinking of them as my new friends. Yes I know, I’m a desperate little wad of pathetic-ness. But that fact does not diminish my eagerness to hang out with them again next week.

And on Friday, most members of my lackadaisical book club finally managed to pull it together and meet for a full 2.5 hours of happy and discussion. Ages ago we all read The Red Tent, which was a really good book. It reminded me of The Mists of Avalon, which is one of my most favorite books of all time, in that it took a very well known male centered mythology and spun it around to recreate it from the females’ unique point of view. It wasn’t as EPIC as The Mists of Avalon, but it brought in some of the same elements – that of a patriarchal religion essentially crushing an older matriarchal religion, and the power present within a strictly female culture. I read it in, like, two nights because I couldn’t put it down, so it was nice to hear everyone’s different take on it. And it was fun just to catch up with everybody and relax after another agonizingly long work week.

Our book for our next meeting (allegedly in a month) is called The Help. I had not heard of it. Anybody read it?

Also, I am STILL trying to get through the Harry Potter books before the first installment of the last book comes out on film in November. Me thinks this is probably not going to happen since I have been stuck in the 4th book FOR-EH-VER. The first three flew by for me, but there’s something about this 4th one that has me stuck. It is seeming to take a really long time to get to the meat of the story and I’m dragging my feet getting into it. I enjoyed this movie, but the book just seems to start out with all this extraneous and belabored detail that has me falling asleep every time I try to dive into it. I’m not giving up though.

Meanwhile, you can find me eating potatoes and pickles, NOT sleeping, and anticipating more kicks from the inside.

Peace out! (I can’t pull that off, can I? Didn’t think so.)

Oh Boy

Yesterday I had my 20 week diagnostic ultrasound.

It's a boy!

And he's already being an uncooperative little booger! He was in a weird position that was frustrating the technician. She got most of the information she needed and our doctor said everything looks good, but now we have to get an additional ultrasound in another three weeks to pick up the images we couldn't get this time around.

I've gained 6 pounds so far and have another 4 months to go. My doctor told us she's keeping my due date for December 1st, but wants to keep a close eye on the baby's growth as she may want to induce labor sooner if he gets too big. Apparently, 10 oz. is average at this stage and our son (according to the ultrasound measurements) is 14 oz. The doctor took one look at Daniel and chastised me for marrying a square-headed giant!

I have to admit it was really a shock to be told (and shown) that our baby is a boy when we were both utterly convinced it was a girl. Up until yesterday I had visions of buying adorable little girl clothes, hearing the squeaky little girl voice, showing her all the things my sister and I liked to do when we were little girls.

With a boy I am completely out of my element. It's going to be interesting!

A few weeks ago my sister and I were talking on the phone about religion, and Christianity in particular, since she recently started going to a Lutheran church in her neighborhood. Midway through our dialogue, she suddenly asked me, "why are you so angry?" And I was a little taken aback by her question.

Ironically, I think living in the so-called Bible Belt for the past four and half years, has really hardened me against religion and Christianity in particular.

Let me say this: I love religious mythologies and rituals. I really do. And I find the stories and beliefs of all religions to be fascinating. I also firmly embrace our country's freedom to practice religion - ANY religion - even if I, personally, think it's all hooey. It's called Liberty, and it's a good thing.

The problem is, the most vocal Christians down here (and I say "most vocal" because obviously there are some really wonderful people here as well who subscribe to Christianity), are so incredibly intolerant of any deviation from their personal beliefs, it's astounding...and infuriating.

You may remember this post I wrote about the Secular Life organization here in Nashville and the heat they took over the completely innocuous and inoffensive bulletin board promoting their social organization.

This brand of aggressive, hostile Christianity seems to penetrate every aspect of life down here and was completely foreign to me for the most part before moving here.

On July 14th, in a college town about 30 minutes south of Nashville, the Christians are gathering together in, basically, a hate rally against the construction of a mosque. Here's the initial outcry. And details on the protest. Make sure you read the comments on this one - some real doozies both by Christians and Muslims alike.

While I don't think Islamic beliefs are any more significant or valid than Christian beliefs, they ARE allowed to worship here in peace. It's in the Constitution.

So while it may seem as though I am mad as hell at religion, I'm just frustrated by the hostility, prejudice, and downright meanness of the religious atmosphere that permeates this region.

On a bright note, I've heard there is a counter-protest being organized to protest the, uh, protesters.

TMI

Friends, family members and co-workers frequently ask me how I’m feeling. I typically answer their polite inquiries with something like, “I’m feeling pretty good lately. Needing a little extra sleep at night, but other than that, doing well. Thanks.” Nobody really wants to hear the gory details of being 5 months pregnant. And who the hell can blame them!? Even Daniel will sometimes give me the TMI look . . . but I just laugh and keep piling on the uncomfortable information. That’s his job, right?

So, for those of you who are genuinely interested in how I’m ACTUALLY feeling, read on. For those of you who are asking after my well-being in a genuinely friendly manner, but don’t want to hear about, know about or imagine any of the gross or personal stuff, please STOP reading right now. I beg you.

First of all, I do believe I had my very first official pregnancy craving last night. It was totally bizarre. It was about 8 o’clock. We had already eaten a dinner of spinach ravioli and red sauce. I was upstairs doing some work I had brought home from the office and I couldn’t stop fantasizing about potatoes. Plain, white, boiled potatoes. Like I was under some kind of mind control device, I walked downstairs and announced to Daniel that I needed to eat a potato. I then proceeded into the kitchen where I boiled 3 small red potatoes, skins and all. I ate them immediately, salted and smashed up a bit with my fork. Those potatoes were so freaking delicious! It was like I had never tasted anything so delicious in my entire life.

Second, all of my emotions are, like, exponentially heightened to levels of heretofore unseen crazy. Something that I used to think was sad is now the most tragic thing I have ever heard. If something before annoyed or frustrated me, now it infuriates me beyond all rationality. A touching sentiment before has become the most heartfelt thing requiring loud racking sobs. It’s ridiculous. For example, at work this morning, I overheard one of my co-workers talking to another co-worker about their respective running regimens. One has been running for a while and has done marathons and iron mans and such, and the other is overweight and just starting out. At the end of their conversation, Iron Man co-worker said, “I know you can do it Fred. You’ve got what it takes – I believe in you.” And okay, so he said it in that sort of male jokey kind of way, but I could tell he was actually sincere and being supportive, and that gesture just totally slayed me. I had to wipe away tears and swallow the lump forming in my throat. RI-DIC-U-LOUS.

Okay, for those of you who didn’t heed my previous warning and have continued to read, NOW is really the time you’ll want to close this window on your computer screen. Trust me. Otherwise you’ll know things about my pregnancy you never EVER wanted to know.

For instance, every time I brush my teeth, I vomit. I don’t get it. The nausea that I had for the first three months has completely disappeared except when A.) I wait too long to eat something, or B.) I brush my teeth. I even googled this stupid condition and apparently I am not the only pregnant woman to suffer from this oral hygiene revulsion. Sometimes it’s just a little retching and gagging . . . and then other times it’s a violent emptying of my stomach that leaves me feeling shaken and beaten up. I’ve tried non-fluoride toothpaste. I’ve tried using only a teeny tiny amount of toothpaste. I’ve tried brushing really really fast. Nothing, so far, has helped.

Moving further down the disgusting scale . . . I’ve read that there’s lots of shifting going on inside me. Like in the pelvic region to make room for the rapidly growing parasite. I think some fairly major shifting has occurred recently, because I can now FEEL my uterus when I stand up from a seated position. Freaky, right? It’s very unsettling for me.

And we’re in a downward spiral. Heartburn. I used to never have heartburn. I don’t remember exactly why this occurs when one is pregnant but I think it has something to do with the digestive system slowing down (again, most likely to accommodate the little spawn in some way) and so food doesn’t digest as quickly. It becomes much worse when you can’t burp. Why can’t I burp? I HAVE NO IDEA. To my knowledge, I have never been able to burp. It’s a medical mystery. On the bright side, I can fart. And my flatulence level has noticeably increased with being 5 months pregnant.

Also, constipation is beginning to become an issue. Again, I don’t remember why exactly this occurs, but things are slowing down, down there and it’s troublesome.

So, other than that and needing a little extra sleep at night, I'm feeling great! Thanks for asking!