Category Archives: Pregnancy

A little bit creepy….

Posted on January 2, 2012 | 3 comments

In preparation for attending Baby D’s arrival in to the world Emily and I have been watching some birth videos.  This morning I told her that she doesn’t have to be brave, she can just tell me what she really thinks.  “I think I want to be brave, but it might just get too creepy.  Like when the vagina just grows and grows… because you know it is going to have to get HUGE.”

Creepy?  I’ll give her creepy….. the kid is a shark.  She is growing a second row of  teeth BEHIND her baby teeth.

But I still made her cookies and let her flop on the couch and watch Annie on the iPad.  I mean… it IS kind of creepy.  All those HUGE vaginas.

Maybe there is room for me under that blanket…

 

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Yes, I’m ready….

Posted on January 2, 2012 | 1 comment

My love for KC of KC and the Sunshine Band does not extend only to his hits.  This morning I awoke (to a pile of sharp Emily elbows and Fisher breath and a cat howling at me, but that is neither here nor there) with a song in my head.

An often overlooked KC & Teri De Sario duet, “Yes, I’m Ready.”

I don’t even know how to love you
Just the way you want me to
But I’m ready (Ready) to learn (To learn)
Yes, I’m ready (Ready) to learn (To learn)

To fall in love, to fall in love
To fall in love with you

And I am.  What changed between yesterday and today?  I am ready to catch the leaks.

The first time you become a mother you are encouraged to pamper yourself and focus on your pregnancy and your post-partum period.  Celebrate this new phase of your life.  This time I felt like there was no need to do that.  I am a mother already.  And I know better this time than to think I need to buy every baby item under the sun, so the pile of Baby Stuff is much smaller.  I thought that was what was making me feel like I wasn’t ready.  The unknown gender of Baby D makes shopping for newborn clothes virtually impossible.  We own everything yellow that has a duck and a giraffe on it already.  And really, that’s more than enough.

And yesterday I realized what I was missing.  I needed to be prepared to catch the leaks.

Yesterday afternoon I assembled an army of old friends.  A package of pre-fold diapers to catch the slime that oozes from a baby constantly.  A package of flannel receiving blankets to put down in my bed.  I washed and dried and brought back to life my Lily Padz and a dozen sets of reusable cloth nursing pads.  I made a pile of underwear that I know will end up covered in blood.  All alone in the Target I stared at nursing bras designed for sleeping, camisoles with snaps and pajamas that button up the front.  I stood in the feminine care aisle longer than anyone in my family would have tolerated until I could remember whether I liked wings or not.  Until I recalled that an absorbent core is really just like having a plastic sack of jelly in your underwear and that I hated those.  I stashed those little packs of Kleenex in every purse I own, next to my bed, near the couch.  Because I know how quickly I will cry over the next few weeks as I fall head over heels in love again. While leaking from everywhere but my ears.

And now I’m ready.  To fall in love.  And to catch the leaks.

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Posted in Family, Parenting, Pregnancy

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A Recipe

Posted on December 30, 2011 | 6 comments

A recipe for the upswing…

Favorite glasses, black tshirt, dark blue jeans, the earrings you were married in, an enormous cocktail ring, ten and a half hours of sleep and a smile.

Off to the midwife, fingers are crossed that what I think is a  baby butt jutting out of my abdomen really is… and then I can rest easy that Baby D is no longer relaxing sunny side up.  <— an informative link about spinning babies and posterior positioning.  If I can cross wicked back labor due to an occiput posterior baby off my list of things to worry about I am not sure what I’ll worry about next… but I am sure I will think of something.

ADDENDUM:  I must wear my desire to worry right across my forehead.  The one with the lines, as so graciously pointed out to me by Emily.  My appointment with my midwife was quick.  Weight and blood pressure in line with what they should be, Iron is looking good, negative for Group B strep and Syphilis so we can skip out on antibiotics for me and for Baby D.  We had a quick chat and then she had me hop up on the table.

I asked, quite casually I thought, if it was a good time to start seeing the chiropractor in an effort to make sure Baby D was in an ideal position for labor.

She smiled and said I was welcome to go to the chiropractor if I wanted.  Her words exactly as she placed her hands on my stomach “So, what are you gonna worry about it if I told you that your baby is already in a perfect position?”

I told her I’d surely think of something…

 


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Posted in Family, Pregnancy

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I feel stupid… and contagious…

Posted on December 29, 2011 | 7 comments

Bi-polar.  Mood swings.  Mentally unstable.  Melodramatic.  Unfuckingbelievably bitchy.  These are all ways to describe being 37 weeks and 4 days pregnant, I am afraid.

It was last night that I said I was smiling, right? That was me.  I am almost certain of it.

Because that girl that slid her back down the wall, crumbling in to hysterical tears because her husband mentioned there was shitty water pressure and almost no hot water, that girl that shrieked that she won’t be treated like a second class citizen who isn’t even allowed to take a god damn nine minute long shower… she wasn’t smiling.  And maybe she had a right to have her feelings hurt a little, maybe he didn’t use the nicest tone of voice, but he had just woken up, too.  And she is not the only one with a lot on her plate right now.

The smiling girl was watching her from the outside.  Powerless to stop her hysteria.

Pregnant with Emily I had the full blown Crazies from time to time, but my life was so upside down then that it felt justified.

The last time I can remember feeling just like this I was about 15.

This feeling, like no one has ever been this tired or this scared or this overwhelmed or this unsure what could possibly make her feel ready to face the next chapter…. it can only be likened to being a teenager.   The belief that NO ONE has ever had it THIS BAD.  That NO ONE understands you.  Somehow in the moment I am sure that other women have had babies without ever feeling like THIS.  Just as I was sure that every adult I knew as a teenager managed to become one without EVER having to be 15 the way I had to experience it.

Only as a teenager I was totally self-absorbed.  This time it is like there are two selves.  The Crazy Pregnant Self and the Mom/Wife/Kelly Self that desperately wants to shake the Crazy Pregnant Self and say “Stop yelling at this man and let him help you!”

And I can hear it echo in my head now.  “help you, help you, help you….” I don’t know how to do that.   And yet in the darkest hours of the night I slide my head on to MQD’s shoulder and say “Promise me you will take care of me.”  And always, always he says “I will.” And for just a few minutes I really sleep.

When Em was tiny I poured my heart in to her. And I stopped taking care of me.  This time I hope I can do a better job of looking after me, too.  And not in that Cosmo/Redbook/Glamour magazine “Light a candle and take a long bubble bath, pamper yourself with luxurious bath products.  Get a manicure.” way.  Just in a simple take my book with me to the bathroom and sit on the toilet  with the door closed and the seat down and my pajama pants still up and read my book and drink a cup of coffee and ignore the “Do you know where my book bag is?” from the other side of the door.  And trust that MQD will find it.  And feed Em breakfast.  And brush her hair.  And the baby won’t develop a flat head if it sits in a swing for nine minutes.

Because that nine minutes can make the difference between sliding my back down the wall and crumbling to the floor come mid-afternoon or not.

For about eight months I have worried off and on that I won’t know how to love Emily and a baby and MQD.  That I will not have the strength or the stamina to love enough, that somehow I will let them down.  And now in the final hour instead of finding an answer to that question I am just adding another person to take care of in to the mix.  Me.

I have a knack for making simple things complicated.  All of this “Love yourself, let people help you, take care of you…” I think it is simpler than that.  Sometime I think I just need to grow the fuck up.  Because I am not actually 15.  Even if it feels like that sometimes.

Pouting. Not actually 15.

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Posted in Bad Mood, Parenting, Pregnancy

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I’m a sucker for a guy with a red nose….

Posted on December 23, 2011 | 2 comments

When I was a little girl Rudolph hung over the fireplace.  In my memory he looks just as he does above.  A sockmonkey sock transformed by my mother in to the “most famous reindeer of all.”

Christmas decorations were stored under the stairs in the basement.  In the twenty plus years my family lived in my childhood home the basement saw a fair amount of water and mildew as basements are inclined to do.  The dozen roses my dad gave me on my 16th birthday eventually got wet.  The 45s I had saved along with my Fisher Price record player succumbed to the moisture.   More than a few stuffed animals met their demise.  Shoe boxes of notes passed in middle and high school gave way to the wet environment.  (I can think of a few of you who might be glad to know that.)

Call it a Christmas Miracle if you like… But Rudolph survived.  He looks as young and vibrant hanging on the wall in my living room today as he ever did when I was a kid.  Don’t tell Snoopy, but if something ever happened to Snoop… Rudolph and those eyelashes could win me over in a hearbeat.

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Flapjacks & Baby Makin’

Posted on December 22, 2011 | 2 comments

There is a song by the Beautiful South, 36D, about a gal that doesn’t seem to see that she has more to offer than her 36Ds.  The chorus of which has run through my mind all day.  “36D, so what? Is that all you’ve got?” But not as it relates to my own 36Ds.

I had an appointment at the birthing center this morning.  The first thing they ask you when they come in is if you know how far along you are.  “36 weeks” I said mindlessly.  And immediately to the tune of 36D it started.  But instead of “36D, so what! D, so what!” it has been  “36 Weeks! Oh fuck! Weeks! Oh Fuck! Is that all that I’ve got???!!!”

For any of you unfamiliar with basic math or the duration of the average pregnancy let me spell that out for you.  40 weeks, subtract 36 and you have 4.  Three and a half if I am actually counting, which evidently I was not.

I find a belt can be a slimming accessory when added to an outfit.

I must have made an audible gasp as she wrote it down… “36 weeks and four days, so you’re due in just a little over three weeks” because the next thing she asked me is if another of the midwives had told me about her theory regarding second labors and pancakes. The Pancake Theory (as I have dubbed it) has set me completely at ease.

Emily’s labor and delivery was not as I had planned.   Like the first batch of pancakes.  The pan is either too hot or too cold, the batter hasn’t had a chance to sit.  The first batch of pancakes tastes fine, sure, but they tend to be a hot mess.

But that second batch?  Perfect every time.  As soon as you flip them you think, whoa, I wish had tons more batter, I could make pancakes all day, I am the master of making pancakes.  Rumor has it the second baby is like the second batch of pancakes more often than not.

“They” say that if you dream about making pancakes it means you are satisfied with your current situation and that you take pleasure in the simple things.

I daresay I will dream about pancakes tonight.

This second batch of pancakes has a tough act to follow. For "not perfect" - she turned out pretty tasty to me.

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Christmas Shoes

Posted on December 21, 2011 | 7 comments

I am a wee bit of a sap.  I cry at the drop of a hat.  At Hallmark commercials and baby pictures. Disney World.  Perfect pancakes.  Songs.

But if you thought this was going to be the part where I confess that I just can’t get enough of  The Christmas Shoes song (the song about the young boy whose mother is dying and all he wants is to buy her a pair of shoes for Christmas before she passes) you will be disappointed.  That song makes me want to put a knitting needle in my eye and twirl it around.

In fact, most things designed to bring out the sap in a person don’t do it for me.  If it has chimes or a xylophone the chances are good it will bring out the very best (or the very worst ) in my sense of humor.  That all depends on how you feel about mockery and sarcasm.

That having been said… I do have Christmas Shoes.  Released in the fall of 2005, my Candy Cane Chuck Taylor’s fucking rule.  Every year I wear them the week after Thanksgiving.  Before I put my tree up or drag out the Christmas decorations.  Out come my Chuck’s.  I wish I had worn them a bit more in later November, early December.  Because it seems I can barely see them this week.

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Posted in Family, Nonsense, Pregnancy

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Hurry home, Scott!!

Posted on December 20, 2011 | 2 comments

This is one of just a few of my “grown up” ornaments.  It is fancy. And sparkly.  And I put it carefully back in its box each year.  It was a gift from my brother and my sister-in-law several years ago.  And Lauren would likely blush if I said out loud the reasons this ornament reminds me of her.

To start with the easy ones, it is beautiful, as is she.  Not flashy and asking to be noticed but classy and gorgeous and fancy and understated all at once.

This ornament could wear blue jeans with pearls and high heels if it wanted to.  But it’s not likely it would need high heels, it is a good bit larger (to be read: taller, for those wondering if I am really about to call my sister-in-law LARGE in a public forum) than the other ornaments, just like the statuesque Lauren.  She has only an inch or two on me and yet she has always seemed taller, even to me.  Finally, a woman my brother has even a hope of seeing eye to eye with.

It is red.  And Lauren is a devoted  NC State Wolf Pack girl.  She taught Em to do the Wolf Pack symbol when she was teeny.  Just as we moved to Chapel Hill.  She didn’t seem to care it might get us run out of town.

What this ornament does not do… and Lauren is about to do… is make my baby brother in to a father.  I can’t think of a nicer thing for a girl to do.  I have mentioned before that my brother and I share little in common short of our love for one another.  But this change on the horizon will put all of us in the same demographic.  There is something about being a parent that changes everything. You share a kinship with other parents.  Perhaps this is what military veterans experience when they run in to another.  Perhaps their branch of service was different or the length of their active duty but there is a common bond.  And a relationship those of on the outside simply do not have.

Very soon three people whom I love dearly will join my Club.  The “I had a tiny baby in my house and I survived.  I was joyful and terrified, exhausted and more excited than I have ever been all at once. And I survived” Club.  My brother, Lauren and MQD.

Now just relax, girls.  Both of you.  Lauren and your sweet baby girl.  You just need to hang in there a little longer.  Scott will be home any day now.  And then … may your Adventure begin.

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Rudolf the Pregnant Reindeer

Posted on December 16, 2011 | 11 comments

There really ought to be a law against being this pitifully pregnant….

and this stuffed up.  Although the red nose does add an attractive seasonal flair to my otherwise drab maternity ensemble.


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When I was a little kid…

Posted on December 16, 2011 | 1 comment

Em pulled this ornament from the box and said “Ohhh, this is the one I made when I was a little kid…”  It slayed me.  It’s not difficult to reduce me to tears (as I have mentioned at least 800 times of late) but this was a different kind.

The nose tingling, eyes watering “I think I am doing this right” tears.  I have heard more than a few parents lament that if you”re “doing it right” they need you less and less.

Our "little girl" made this ornament just last year in pre-school.


In the past few months I have watched as my lap grows smaller and smaller and my “little girl” is literally pushed right out of “the nest.”  And it pains me.

I have come to terms with the fact that Love is infinite.  That I will find the Love that two children require.  But I can not deny that both Time and my lap are finite.  I struggle to envision how I will share them with two children.  Already I feel I do a less than adequate job sharing my Time with only one child between working and mothering.  How does one expect to blend another child in to the family without taking from the first?

And then I look at the face in the ornament.  She looks so different than the face I see today.

I see her flounce down the stairs in an “outfit” she has assembled.  Skinny jeans and a tshirt, her boots and a high ponytail.  I eavesdrop as she and her buddy discuss the best way to pass a baby to someone else without “flopping the head.”  I watch her practice being a Big Sister to her baby doll.  (A baby doll that has recently acquired a middle name.  A middle name that we have incidentally settled on for Baby D.)    Her teeny little self drags the empty trash can up the driveway without being reminded.  Stopping only to have me unlock the gate so she can put it away.  She empties the dishwasher while I make dinner, reminding me to check her back pack for a note from her teacher.  Last night after her shower her wet towel was hanging from the hook on the bathroom door.  Her dirty clothes in the laundry basket.

Maybe she isn’t my “little kid.”

Well, then. Merry Christmas to you, Baby Girl. In spite of this new baby and your big grown up self  you will always, always be my Baby Girl.

She hopped in to the front with me while we waited for MQD at the barber the other day. "Look at you in the front seat, Miss Thang!" She grabbed my glasses and began to pose. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

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