Archive for the ‘self’ Category

Hello folks!

We’ve been up to our ears in all things baby.  Between sorting through piles of clothes and other assorted goodies (thanks, Sarah!), meetings with a new midwife and childbirth classes, I’m feeling positively maternal. If that wasn’t enough, Murloc Baby has taken up a correspondence course in kickboxing. I’m not sure where she’s learning her new moves, but they’re effective… although it’s a bit unnerving to look down at my lap and see my stomach moving by itself.

Which leads me to… my first belly shot! Yay! I know, I know, I’m light years behind the times and over halfway through this pregnancy, but let’s face it–I had a pretty significant belly to begin with, and until recently it pretty much obscured the more subtle changes. The last couple weeks made for a belly growth spurt, though. My belly button is begging for its life, and I see maternity jeans in my near future. Which reminds me, if you’re a plus-size mom and you have recommendations, please send them my way. I’m clueless when it comes to clothing, and so far the thrift shops and mainstream clothing stores in the area have turned up nothing short of a mumu and an old potato sack.

Oh, and bonus pic: I now have glasses. This probably doesn’t mean much to you, dear Internets, but if you could have seen me in the first five minutes after leaving the optometrist’s with my new prescription, you’d understand the impact. It went something like this:

Me: “OH MY GOD LOOK OVER THERE!”

Tim: “What?!? What!?!”

Me:”That sign! See that sign!?!? I CAN READ IT! It says ‘Welcome back students!’ WOW!”

Tim: “… Uhh… yes, glasses are great like that.”

Me: “OH! And look over there! See that one?!? It says ‘Bennoch Road!’ And there! That guy’s license plate! It says…”

Tim: “… so, uhh, how long are you going to do this?”

Me: “Man! The world… it has edges.”

I saw the new X-Files movie twice over the weekend. Yes, I liked it that much. I didn’t expect to like it… I went into the theater with very low expectations, but came away feeling surprisingly satisfied. The plot was weak, the pace was a bit slow, and it was decidedly lacking in supernatural creepiness, but I found that the Mulder/Scully character development made up for these shortcomings. Since the series ended, I’ve often wondered what my two favorite characters were up to, and it was nice to find out. In fact, the movie inspired me to dig my geeky* high school obsession out of the closet and dust it off. I’m going to spend the next few months re-watching the series from the beginning.

In other news, it should come as no surprise to those who know me well that I’m quite ready for fall. Summer and I have a tenuous relationship. I’m always happy to see it at first–after six months of cold winter hell, who isn’t? For a few weeks I revel in the warmth of a beautiful June day, basking in the sun. I might even forgive the humidity, because it’s so damn wonderful to walk out of the house without a jacket.

But after about a month, I’m quite ready to see summer go. Summer is like the house guest that overstays its welcome by six weeks. Summer is the clingy, not-quite-ex-boyfriend you just can’t seem to shake off, whose once warm and enveloping hug becomes a sticky, sweaty and entirely unwelcome grope.

Bring on the wool sweaters and apple cider, please.

And for a final random thought, you know you’ve reached full pain-in-the-ass status when your IT guy sees your name on his caller ID and answers the phone with, “Uh oh, what now?” Congratulate me!

* Not to say I’m any less of a geek now than when I was in high school… to the contrary, I think I may be more geeky. But at least now I have the confidence to geek with pride.

By process of elimination, we’ve determined that baby loves:

• Nectarines
• Stuffed green olives
• Sunflower seeds
• Meat, any variety
• Cream cheese, or anything onto which you can put cream cheese, or anything into which cream cheese goes (cheesecake being the primary suspect). This one may just be mum wanting an excuse to sit down with a spoon and have it out with a package of Philly. The temptation is strong and the will is so very weak.

And baby does not so much care for:

• Chinese food
• Chocolate in candy form (Ice cream, however, is acceptable.) If it weren’t a physical impossibility given the situation, I’d consider a maternity test.
• Vegetables

All bets are off as to what this kid will make me eat. Prior to this, I’d never much cared for meat, save for the occasional burger, but now… well, let’s just say last weekend I tore into a barbeque chicken drumstick like it was the last piece of chicken on earth and I hadn’t eaten for six weeks. It was messy and heavenly in a deliciously barbaric way, that drumstick.

Despite the fact that baby seems to have inherited my love of ice cream (has anyone found the “ice cream” gene yet? I swear, it’s there… check over by the “big ass” gene), I’ve only gained half a pound, which I’m told is good for someone my size. I don’t have much baby belly to speak of yet, although something tells me it’s growing, because I can’t suck it in like I used to. But I’m pretty sure the majority of my belly is still good old-fashioned food-baby belly… no help from the ice cream, of course.

I’m also taking two different yoga classes starting this week… I had my first beginner’s course today, and I’ll start pre-natal yoga next Wednesday. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I am not the only fat girl in the beginner’s course, and I’m guessing I’m not the only one who thinks Downward Facing Dog is the pose of the devil. “Hello, heartburn! Hadn’t seen you in a while! Wonder why I can still taste my breakfast? Hmm, could have something to do with all this butt-in-the-air business….”

I can’t honestly say I have an opinion of yoga yet, given my limited experience includes today’s class and a semester-long course I basically slept through in high school. So far the running theme seems to be learning to get comfortable in semi-unnatural positions. Oh, and breathing–lots of breathing–although I still don’t quite get that part, as during most of today’s class I found myself thinking, “Wait, you mean I’m supposed to be able to breathe in this position?!? Eurgh!” *cue collapse onto yoga mat*

I kid, I kid. The class was a lot of fun, and the instructor is very aware of different body types and how one can modify certain positions such that they get the benefit of a yoga workout without the back strain. All in all, I felt surprisingly comfortable–or at least as comfortable as one can be while stretching, bending, flexing, and pointing one’s arse skyward.

So yes, other than the icky humid weather, this summer is shaping up nicely. I’ve been on hiatus from photography stuff, at least until I work up the energy to attempt another shoot–although I have a fun idea in mind, and Danielle has offered to help me, so that may happen sooner rather than later. To be honest, I welcome the down time… I appreciate it more now, knowing the hard work that’s coming up. At the end of the day, one full-time job is enough, and I just want to relax while I still can.

Hello! I’m tired, and I appear to have contracted a vicious form of heartburn from hell. How one manages to get heartburn from a bland dinner of toast and milk, I’ll never know, but I’m 99% sure that those of you reading this blog don’t want to hear about all my bodily functions gone awry. So let me talk about something else that’s gone awry: Housework, or a lack thereof.

Up until an hour or so ago, there was a pile of laundry at the foot of our stairs that was large enough to rival the Washington Monument. It had been sitting there blocking the door to the coat closet for, oh, about a week. Any time I wanted to get up or down the stairs, I’d have to do this strange semi-acrobatic swinging leap over the gargantuan pile of shirts, towels, and bedsheets. This morning made for a particularly fun stunt, as I tried to both clear Laundry Mountain AND navigate around the fresh pile of cat vomit on the second stair riser–thanks, Nala! At least she didn’t vomit in the clothes, right?

But back to the laundry. Need a clean shirt? Here’s a shovel, start digging. There’s a reason we don’t buy clothes that wrinkle easily. Frankly, I’m just proud of myself for doing that much laundry–getting it up three flights of stairs from the basement to the bedroom is the icing on the cake. Let’s just say I was leaving it there because I wanted to admire my handiwork, acrobatic leaps and all.

Or how about this: until recently, our kitchen had come to resemble the scene of a natural disaster. Dishes, dishes, dishes–overflowing from the sink, onto the counters, the oven, and basically every available surface except, you know, in the cupboards where they belong. For a while I was forced to prepare my morning toast while holding the toaster in one hand and the butter knife in the other. I wish I could say the dishes in question were as clean as the laundry, but then I’d be lying. No, these dishes were far from clean. The kitchen had begun to smell like an old wet towel, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we were growing some alien species of mold in the sink.

Next on the list, we have the eight giant bags of bottles laying on the back porch, waiting patiently for someone to take them to the recycling center. I’m pretty sure the homeowner’s association wouldn’t approve. And I won’t tell you where the garbage bag of old cat litter currently resides (certainly not in the garbage can, there’s no room left, hah-hah), because then you’d never come to my house and sit down on our one lonely plastic porch chair. *ahem*

This basically sums up the condition of our lives right now. Chaotic. Somewhat uncomfortable. A bit smelly. But what I’m coming to realize is, this is a situation we’re going to find ourselves in more and more often in the coming months, years, and probably even decades. I need to become OK with that, or else I’ll drive myself crazy trying to fight it. Life is messy.

So here’s to airing our dirty laundry, even when it’s clean. Surely I’m not the only person whose home is not the pristine vision of perfection that I (scramble to) make it out to be when company (or Mom–hi Mom!) comes to visit. And I can only hope that when our baby is born, DHS doesn’t catch wind of this entry and come knocking on our door when we’re in the midst of Laundry Mountain and Alien Sink Mold: The Sequel.

Thankfully I speak in the past tense, because my wonderful husband tackled both the kitchen and the laundry pile while I was enjoying my evening walk. But I document it here to prove a point! Although now the raging heartburn and exhaustion has made me forget what my point might have been… maybe I didn’t have one, except to say, “Hi. See why I’m not blogging much? Forgive me.”

I can’t keep this secret any longer, dear Internets. Here goes:

My new super-awesome project is not so much my project as it is a collaboration between Mr. Tim and myself. And it’s not so much a project as it is a lifetime commitment.

It’s the reason I can barf up the spaghetti I had for lunch and not three seconds later think, “Ooh, I want a Rice Krispies treat,” or, “I could really go for something deep fat fried and smothered in cheese.” It’s the reason I’ve totally neglected this blog over the last few weeks, because I don’t want to do anything but sleep.

Yes, it’s that kind of project… one of the baby-makin’ variety. It’s exhausting, overwhelming, and all-consuming… it goes without saying that T & I are thrilled, scared, and all other manner of emotions typically associated with new parents-to-be.

Without going into detail about my medical history, I didn’t think I could conceive, so obviously this was a huge surprise. I woke up a few weeks ago feeling sick, and a little voice in the back of my head said, “maybe you should take a test….” So I did, and when the results came up, I didn’t believe it. I believe my exact words to my husband were, “Umm, WHY ARE THERE TWO LINES HERE?” Being the wonderful man that he is, he just grinned. A second test proved the first one correct, and it took a trip to my doctor and a third test to convince me that I was, indeed, pregnant.

Holy shit.

The last few weeks have been a fog of morning sickness, exhaustion, and elation. These days, my typical train of thought looks something like this: BABY BABY BABY BABY BABY HOLY SHIT BABY.

I was going to wait to say anything here until I had a better ultrasound picture, but I just couldn’t wait, so you’ll have to look at the pee stick instead. I’m due December 26th… 11 weeks along and counting!