Just got a comment from someone on Facebook that completely mystified me, saying how exciting it must be that Kieran will finally have a sibling to play with.
Now this is someone who met me when Kieran was 13, so it's not like the 6 year old version of him is stuck in her head or anything. Of course I can't fault her for not knowing that Bunky will not be Kieran's first half-sibling; just his first from me. But the irony is that Kieran is walking away from the sibling he CAN play with, and that actually causes him more anxiety than anything else about moving here. A 16-year-old and a newborn can't be playmates, even when the newborn gets older; they are an entire generation apart. I just hope they wind up close in the way that I am with my aunt, who was 17 1/2 when I was born.
Sometimes I hate having 750+ friends on Facebook. Too many of them lack context. In the meantime, I'm still wondering how to tell my parents in 10 days; we're taking them to dinner for Mother's Day and plan to tell them then. I'm glad I have waited, because I'm a good deal more excited about it now than I was in March, but there's still a lot of trepidation.
Next week I have my nuchal translucency test on Tuesday, and I meet the midwife on Friday. Cross your fingers that everything comes out ok on the test and that the midwife is a good fit and doesn't bump me into high-risk category.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Life With the Doodles
[cross-posted from another forum, if it seems like a re-introduction]
Hi, I'm Helen, a/k/a Doodlemissy. This is my husband, Doodlemaier. We have two half-doodlekins; mine is a 16-year-old boy, his is a 10-year-old girl. When we married, we had decided that our family was just the right size, even though for years I'd wanted to have another child. Relationships never played out right, economics never seemed to quit choking me, and well, we'd just decided that being in our late 30s, we wanted to focus on our careers in our 40s and beyond, get our kids through high school and college and enjoy our relationship just as it was.
This past February, we had some somewhat crazy, semi-drunken but very romantic shenanigans over Valentine's Day that never would have come to fruition if both of our kids hadn't cancelled on us to stay with their respective other parents. So in a way, I guess they plotted the genesis of their younger sibling, and on March 11, I peed on a stick that gave me a plus-sign so fast that I really thought it had to be a mistake. In fact, I peed on it some more just to make sure I couldn't cancel it out.
Thing is, I'd been bracing myself for it for a while. I was using natural family planning for birth control, and that's part of the reason I know the very night I conceived. The very next morning, I knew I was fertile, but thought, ok, in four years of using this method with my husband, I've never ever had unprotected sex before the night before my cervix turned. It does that, you know. Sits up real high and quiet for about 20 days worth of one's cycle, but then drops and effaces a bit right as that egg gets ready to cut loose from your ovaries. This is a very helpful sign for those wanting to get pregnant! But I was horrified. Several conversations I'd had with Doodlemaier led me to believe that if I did get pregnant, it would constitute a crisis. So, even though deep down I'd always wanted this, I couldn't access the deep-down joy. Instead, I was so awash in feelings of fear, shame (I usually check for fertility signs BEFORE we're intimate), panic, and horror, and all these emotions fled across my field of vision in a bizarre palette of various colors that one associates with bruises in the strangest experience of synesthesia I've ever known.
I told my husband that night, hastily arranging a dinner date at one of our favorite places, and watched the color drain from his face as the words jumbled their way out of me, full of that same joy-strangled-by-horror. He picked at his food for the remaining half hour as I told him that this child created in love needed us to live, regardless of whatever plans we thought we had made. I wanted him to say something, anything, but got nothing. And so all that was left was my thousand apologies, until finally he looked up at me with a wistful smile on his face and said, "It's not your fault, babe."
He came with me to have the pregnancy confirmed with my family physician a few days later, still looking like someone had killed his favorite pet, but holding my hand throughout. Within a week I already had my first ultrasound to check for viability, and heard Doodlebunky's heart for the first time.
And in that moment, I had so much love pounding through my own arteries that I knew, trite as it seems, that this one chose to be with us, to be one of us, that it was a destiny we should embrace like rain that catches you unexpected on a hot summer day, and that if I could just open my arms and drink it all in, everything would be fine.
That said, every time someone congratulates me, now that I'm 12 weeks along and starting to show, I cringe. This wasn't an accomplishment, and to me, won't be until Doodlebunky demonstrates the kind of lung capacity I'd expect from the offspring of two musicians (er, ok, karaoke singers). Doodlemaier is coming right along in the meantime; he never fails to surprise me at how he's getting on board, from swearing he'd be no use in the delivery room to insisting on being my birth partner; from sulking whenever the baby came up to initiating conversation about what kind of parents we'll be together (as opposed to the current model, that's a bit his and hers), from appearing to worry about what this was going to do to his life to curling his arm around my belly at night and being curiously protective and tender in a way I've never seen from him before.
The cat, on the other hand, is not going to take the lap competition well at all.
Hi, I'm Helen, a/k/a Doodlemissy. This is my husband, Doodlemaier. We have two half-doodlekins; mine is a 16-year-old boy, his is a 10-year-old girl. When we married, we had decided that our family was just the right size, even though for years I'd wanted to have another child. Relationships never played out right, economics never seemed to quit choking me, and well, we'd just decided that being in our late 30s, we wanted to focus on our careers in our 40s and beyond, get our kids through high school and college and enjoy our relationship just as it was.
This past February, we had some somewhat crazy, semi-drunken but very romantic shenanigans over Valentine's Day that never would have come to fruition if both of our kids hadn't cancelled on us to stay with their respective other parents. So in a way, I guess they plotted the genesis of their younger sibling, and on March 11, I peed on a stick that gave me a plus-sign so fast that I really thought it had to be a mistake. In fact, I peed on it some more just to make sure I couldn't cancel it out.
Thing is, I'd been bracing myself for it for a while. I was using natural family planning for birth control, and that's part of the reason I know the very night I conceived. The very next morning, I knew I was fertile, but thought, ok, in four years of using this method with my husband, I've never ever had unprotected sex before the night before my cervix turned. It does that, you know. Sits up real high and quiet for about 20 days worth of one's cycle, but then drops and effaces a bit right as that egg gets ready to cut loose from your ovaries. This is a very helpful sign for those wanting to get pregnant! But I was horrified. Several conversations I'd had with Doodlemaier led me to believe that if I did get pregnant, it would constitute a crisis. So, even though deep down I'd always wanted this, I couldn't access the deep-down joy. Instead, I was so awash in feelings of fear, shame (I usually check for fertility signs BEFORE we're intimate), panic, and horror, and all these emotions fled across my field of vision in a bizarre palette of various colors that one associates with bruises in the strangest experience of synesthesia I've ever known.
I told my husband that night, hastily arranging a dinner date at one of our favorite places, and watched the color drain from his face as the words jumbled their way out of me, full of that same joy-strangled-by-horror. He picked at his food for the remaining half hour as I told him that this child created in love needed us to live, regardless of whatever plans we thought we had made. I wanted him to say something, anything, but got nothing. And so all that was left was my thousand apologies, until finally he looked up at me with a wistful smile on his face and said, "It's not your fault, babe."
He came with me to have the pregnancy confirmed with my family physician a few days later, still looking like someone had killed his favorite pet, but holding my hand throughout. Within a week I already had my first ultrasound to check for viability, and heard Doodlebunky's heart for the first time.
And in that moment, I had so much love pounding through my own arteries that I knew, trite as it seems, that this one chose to be with us, to be one of us, that it was a destiny we should embrace like rain that catches you unexpected on a hot summer day, and that if I could just open my arms and drink it all in, everything would be fine.
That said, every time someone congratulates me, now that I'm 12 weeks along and starting to show, I cringe. This wasn't an accomplishment, and to me, won't be until Doodlebunky demonstrates the kind of lung capacity I'd expect from the offspring of two musicians (er, ok, karaoke singers). Doodlemaier is coming right along in the meantime; he never fails to surprise me at how he's getting on board, from swearing he'd be no use in the delivery room to insisting on being my birth partner; from sulking whenever the baby came up to initiating conversation about what kind of parents we'll be together (as opposed to the current model, that's a bit his and hers), from appearing to worry about what this was going to do to his life to curling his arm around my belly at night and being curiously protective and tender in a way I've never seen from him before.
The cat, on the other hand, is not going to take the lap competition well at all.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
well, ok
I've managed to get almost to 11 weeks without hurling, until this morning. Well, actually, this afternoon, because I've been on the couch since 11 fielding an estrogen-driven migraine. That said, after getting sick, the migraine is abating. I need to ask my doctor what I can take for this kind of headache while pregnant.
I'm annoyed at Dean because I had asked him to take care of a car issue for me and didn't, he had told me he was going to cut the grass this weekend and he hasn't, and while I was getting sick I found myself miserably upset that I was in the house alone while processing the emotional recoil from getting sick, and I wound up curling up in the corner and sobbing, because all I wanted was for Dean to put his arms around me and tell me that it was going to be ok.
Which is completely irrational, but whatever.
What makes this even tougher to deal with is that until yesterday I'd had several consecutive days of feeling really good, and starting to flow with the glow, so to speak. I had met someone at the conference I was at whose wife was 14 weeks along, so we were comparing ultrasound pictures and I was starting to feel like I could do this and be ok with congratulations and with some degree of optimism.
Today I'm convinced this is the worst thing to happen to me. My husband won't touch me, I'm exhausted, and I have this really strange feeling that I just want to go home. That's a very strange feeling considering I just got here, yanno?
I'm annoyed at Dean because I had asked him to take care of a car issue for me and didn't, he had told me he was going to cut the grass this weekend and he hasn't, and while I was getting sick I found myself miserably upset that I was in the house alone while processing the emotional recoil from getting sick, and I wound up curling up in the corner and sobbing, because all I wanted was for Dean to put his arms around me and tell me that it was going to be ok.
Which is completely irrational, but whatever.
What makes this even tougher to deal with is that until yesterday I'd had several consecutive days of feeling really good, and starting to flow with the glow, so to speak. I had met someone at the conference I was at whose wife was 14 weeks along, so we were comparing ultrasound pictures and I was starting to feel like I could do this and be ok with congratulations and with some degree of optimism.
Today I'm convinced this is the worst thing to happen to me. My husband won't touch me, I'm exhausted, and I have this really strange feeling that I just want to go home. That's a very strange feeling considering I just got here, yanno?
Monday, April 13, 2009
A funny from over the weekend
We noticed that while my in-laws effused with well wishes they did not explicitly congratulate us, which made me happy beyond measure.
So I commented on it, to which my FIL said, "Well, I used to congratulate parents-to-be until this one time that I said it to an expectant father who had just found out he had one on the way. And he looked at me, shrugged, and said, 'We were drunk.'"
It made him realize, he said, how absurd congratulations could be in a significant number of "announcements," and he hadn't done so since.
I got a good laugh out of this. My father-in-law, he is wise!
So I commented on it, to which my FIL said, "Well, I used to congratulate parents-to-be until this one time that I said it to an expectant father who had just found out he had one on the way. And he looked at me, shrugged, and said, 'We were drunk.'"
It made him realize, he said, how absurd congratulations could be in a significant number of "announcements," and he hadn't done so since.
I got a good laugh out of this. My father-in-law, he is wise!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
sleeping the mighty sleep
It's pretty much a status quo thing at the moment. We told the in-laws over the weekend, and that went well. I told my ex-husband, and I think it went ok, but I'm aggravated that I don't get to claim Kieran this year in spite of having him, once you count the calendar days, more than half the year. but he did tell me that they are going to pay me $200 a month in support and continue to pay Kieran's phone bill. I just wish they had included me on this conversation that he and Dawn had. But I'll get him for the next two years, at least.
He congratulated me on our forthcoming arrival but seemed to look at Kieran like, "are you sure you want to do this now?" And that's a conversation that Kieran and I have already had. So I guess we're even on making life decisions without consulting the other now; the only difference is that mine doesn't really affect George at all. I'm so glad that we only have two more years of this bullshit at which time Kieran becomes a free agent. But George did say, somewhat ominously, and I'm not sure whether he said this to me or to Kieran, "We'll talk more about this." There's really not room for negotiation on this, George. He's been railroading Kieran to a dead-end and I have made clear that Kieran's first priority with me will not be child care: it will be succeeding in school. That was a dig at all the times they've relied on him for child care for his other half sibling.
But the good thing is that it should be a non-issue. My father-in-law has already promised that he will help with getting Bunky from day-care on days when it's difficult for me to get back by closing, and with that worry off my mind, that's one more thing that will allow me to go back to work on similar terms to what I have now: I only drive into the office 5 days of every 10, and I think that will make much of the stress easier to deal with.
He congratulated me on our forthcoming arrival but seemed to look at Kieran like, "are you sure you want to do this now?" And that's a conversation that Kieran and I have already had. So I guess we're even on making life decisions without consulting the other now; the only difference is that mine doesn't really affect George at all. I'm so glad that we only have two more years of this bullshit at which time Kieran becomes a free agent. But George did say, somewhat ominously, and I'm not sure whether he said this to me or to Kieran, "We'll talk more about this." There's really not room for negotiation on this, George. He's been railroading Kieran to a dead-end and I have made clear that Kieran's first priority with me will not be child care: it will be succeeding in school. That was a dig at all the times they've relied on him for child care for his other half sibling.
But the good thing is that it should be a non-issue. My father-in-law has already promised that he will help with getting Bunky from day-care on days when it's difficult for me to get back by closing, and with that worry off my mind, that's one more thing that will allow me to go back to work on similar terms to what I have now: I only drive into the office 5 days of every 10, and I think that will make much of the stress easier to deal with.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
I fell asleep again
You would think that sleeping from 7:30 last night to 6:30 this morning would be enough. But no-o-o-o-o-o. At 3:30, I dozed off again and woke up at 6:30.
This is patently ridiculous. I have things to _do!_ Like bitch at the Facebookers! But hey, at least it's mostly over with, which is really what this was all about. Now I can get to thinking about creative ways to tell our parents.
This is patently ridiculous. I have things to _do!_ Like bitch at the Facebookers! But hey, at least it's mostly over with, which is really what this was all about. Now I can get to thinking about creative ways to tell our parents.
The TMI story of why congratulations is so... ironic.
I was going to post this to Facebook but thought better of it. But I think without it, people just think I'm an ungrateful bitch.
The problem I really have with congrats is the irony of them. In February, my doctor was encouraging me to teach my non-pill version of birth control, for as good as I seemed to be at it. A month later, I was in her office with proof of its fail, despite having used the technique successfully for three years. And here I was thinking I had an interesting freelance career as a women's health advocate in front of me. That said, the biggest reason most contraceptive methods fail is because of user error, and it's every bit as true in this case. Not the technique itself, so much as the fact that we, like other older couples who find themselves in the same predicament, had gotten a bit lax.
So keep congratulating me for my failure, people. Working great. I'll feel congratulatable when said failure turns into a success, and we've got some months to go before that's the case.
The problem I really have with congrats is the irony of them. In February, my doctor was encouraging me to teach my non-pill version of birth control, for as good as I seemed to be at it. A month later, I was in her office with proof of its fail, despite having used the technique successfully for three years. And here I was thinking I had an interesting freelance career as a women's health advocate in front of me. That said, the biggest reason most contraceptive methods fail is because of user error, and it's every bit as true in this case. Not the technique itself, so much as the fact that we, like other older couples who find themselves in the same predicament, had gotten a bit lax.
So keep congratulating me for my failure, people. Working great. I'll feel congratulatable when said failure turns into a success, and we've got some months to go before that's the case.
Funny pregnancy tickers
One of the baby gaga punch lines I get to look forward to is "Yay! Now I've got more brain cells than Nicky and Paris Hilton put together! I'm 28 weeks and 6 days old, only 78 days to go."
Yeah, that wins.
Duh
This is the third time I've tried to add elevengirl to my friends list here. I'm not sure why it keeps failing, but I'm sorry it's taking so long!
I thought I would sleep when I was dead.
....but apparently, I will sleep when I'm pregnant.
I'm averaging 11 hours of sleep per day, and last night I got them in one fell swoop, crashing out shortly after I got home at 7. I woke up twice during the night to go to the bathroom--and one of those times, I was staggering out of my bedroom and walked right into my son, who handed me the phone and told me Dean had called. I took the phone, went to the bathroom, and then piled back into bed and slept until about 2:30 in the morning. Tossed and turned for a while, but went back to sleep, although it was a fitful sleep.
I remember having insane insomnia during the third trimester with Kieran, often using late night informercials to keep me company, but I don't remember this kind of fatigue during the first. As Kieran pointed out to me last night, I *was* 21 back then.
Ninacat is funny. She usually is urging us to bed at night, but this morning she's actually trying to get me out of bed. (I'm still in bed right now, actually.) Gotta clean up the kitchen, as dishes have taken it over and I've crashed early both the past two nights and had class the night before--thankfully, Dean got the worst of them done then, but since Kieran is here they're piling up at a ridiculous rate. I really need to teach him to wash dishes.
Of course, after sleeping so long my back hurts. Maggie, my old boss, sent me some prenatal yoga DVDs that I can't wait to break into.
I'm averaging 11 hours of sleep per day, and last night I got them in one fell swoop, crashing out shortly after I got home at 7. I woke up twice during the night to go to the bathroom--and one of those times, I was staggering out of my bedroom and walked right into my son, who handed me the phone and told me Dean had called. I took the phone, went to the bathroom, and then piled back into bed and slept until about 2:30 in the morning. Tossed and turned for a while, but went back to sleep, although it was a fitful sleep.
I remember having insane insomnia during the third trimester with Kieran, often using late night informercials to keep me company, but I don't remember this kind of fatigue during the first. As Kieran pointed out to me last night, I *was* 21 back then.
Ninacat is funny. She usually is urging us to bed at night, but this morning she's actually trying to get me out of bed. (I'm still in bed right now, actually.) Gotta clean up the kitchen, as dishes have taken it over and I've crashed early both the past two nights and had class the night before--thankfully, Dean got the worst of them done then, but since Kieran is here they're piling up at a ridiculous rate. I really need to teach him to wash dishes.
Of course, after sleeping so long my back hurts. Maggie, my old boss, sent me some prenatal yoga DVDs that I can't wait to break into.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Pregnant people's feelings
I think the entire world is conspiring to make sure I spend the rest of the afternoon sobbing quietly in my cubicle. I know it's the hormones, but I'm not going to take the pregnancy police well. So far, I've been told to stop changing the litterbox, twice; three billion ppl are taking my charge of "don't congratulate me, really," to mean "congratulate me, really," (I don't like surprises, either, remember?) and Dean hates every single name that means anything to me for this child.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
More congratulations fail
Anyone who posts a response to my FB note, itself filtered, with congratulations, clearly can't read, and I have to sit here and grit my teeth.
Even though I knew it would happen. I still hate it more than I thought possible. It could still be a disaster in the making. Then what?
Fortunately, most people seem to be getting it.
The weirdest one was a private message via Facebook from someone whom I not only haven't spoken to in months, haven't particularly liked in longer, and who recently caused more drama among friends of mine than is ever appropriate for people our age. I could have sworn I put her into a different filter, but when I checked, I hadn't; I'm wishing I had just unfriended her when it would have made sense to do so.
Even though I knew it would happen. I still hate it more than I thought possible. It could still be a disaster in the making. Then what?
Fortunately, most people seem to be getting it.
The weirdest one was a private message via Facebook from someone whom I not only haven't spoken to in months, haven't particularly liked in longer, and who recently caused more drama among friends of mine than is ever appropriate for people our age. I could have sworn I put her into a different filter, but when I checked, I hadn't; I'm wishing I had just unfriended her when it would have made sense to do so.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Some good news, so far
Finally heard back from the doctor about my first round of bloodwork, including my glucose screening test. Everything looks good so far. No hormones out of wack that shouldn't be, no endocrine issues or signs of diabetes. The office staff apologized for leaving me in the lurch over the results, although I know it was the lab that forgot to pass them along.
Now trying to get straightened out the fact that I requested the nuchal translucency test, which prescreens for some chromosomal disorders and can help rule out the need for an amnio later down the road. But I didn't get in with the specialist until May and that's too late for the NT test, so I asked my ob office what to do about that; have to remember to follow up on it tomorrow if they don't get back to me. My biggest fear in the world is that now that we've conceived, there might be something wrong with the baby.
Dean told me yesterday, much to my shock, that he would not have been surprised in himself if 2-3 years down the road he was singing a different tune about having kids, if indeed our roles would not have been reversed from what they were in 2005 when I was having regular crying jags about not having more kids. The older I get, the more afraid I am of the risks. But I also know that the women in our family are amazingly resilient when it comes to motherhood. My cousin, two years my junior, has a son who's a year older than Kieran, and two daughters under the age of 3. Those girls, Emie and Katie, are absolutely beautiful, too:
I'm a bit relieved that she named her older daughter the family matriarchal name (Emily goes back to my great-great grandmother) because the variant I'd have chosen if Bunky's a girl sounds horrid with Mosher. Emma Mosher. To much Em-ity, sounds more like a stutter than a name. But I'm still very very partial to something evocative of Julia's name--Jewel, Juliana, something like that. Dean's adamantly opposed to naming someone after a living person, so I'm trying to get around that by using a variant.
Anyhow. I'm trying to figure out a good way to surprise the parents and in-laws with the news; something fun that minimizes our cynicism and anxiety. If anything, they deserve the congratulations we keep getting, because I don't think either set thought they were getting more grandchildren, at least from us. Mom had finally stopped asking me about it (only to start asking when Rick was going to settle down... oi!) and this will probably crack her up.
Last thing for today--I am so annoyed by the lack of good maternity clothing patterns out there. Burda has the most, but still nothing that floats my boat especially. During my first pregnancy, my absolute favorite outfits were the ones my mom made for me. It also occurs to me that an online maternity clothing thrift store would be the absolute bomb, even if it operated on consignments.
Now trying to get straightened out the fact that I requested the nuchal translucency test, which prescreens for some chromosomal disorders and can help rule out the need for an amnio later down the road. But I didn't get in with the specialist until May and that's too late for the NT test, so I asked my ob office what to do about that; have to remember to follow up on it tomorrow if they don't get back to me. My biggest fear in the world is that now that we've conceived, there might be something wrong with the baby.
Dean told me yesterday, much to my shock, that he would not have been surprised in himself if 2-3 years down the road he was singing a different tune about having kids, if indeed our roles would not have been reversed from what they were in 2005 when I was having regular crying jags about not having more kids. The older I get, the more afraid I am of the risks. But I also know that the women in our family are amazingly resilient when it comes to motherhood. My cousin, two years my junior, has a son who's a year older than Kieran, and two daughters under the age of 3. Those girls, Emie and Katie, are absolutely beautiful, too:
I'm a bit relieved that she named her older daughter the family matriarchal name (Emily goes back to my great-great grandmother) because the variant I'd have chosen if Bunky's a girl sounds horrid with Mosher. Emma Mosher. To much Em-ity, sounds more like a stutter than a name. But I'm still very very partial to something evocative of Julia's name--Jewel, Juliana, something like that. Dean's adamantly opposed to naming someone after a living person, so I'm trying to get around that by using a variant.
Anyhow. I'm trying to figure out a good way to surprise the parents and in-laws with the news; something fun that minimizes our cynicism and anxiety. If anything, they deserve the congratulations we keep getting, because I don't think either set thought they were getting more grandchildren, at least from us. Mom had finally stopped asking me about it (only to start asking when Rick was going to settle down... oi!) and this will probably crack her up.
Last thing for today--I am so annoyed by the lack of good maternity clothing patterns out there. Burda has the most, but still nothing that floats my boat especially. During my first pregnancy, my absolute favorite outfits were the ones my mom made for me. It also occurs to me that an online maternity clothing thrift store would be the absolute bomb, even if it operated on consignments.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Redistribution
While getting dressed for palm sunday this morning, I noticed that my upper arms were visibly thinner, so I got out the tape measure. Then out of curiosity I measured my thighs, too. Both were down an inch each, and those four inches have landed on my chest and belly, with the end result being that I am already looking a bit pregnant at 9 weeks. Maybe we should tell the in-laws sooner than planned, since Dennis is over here fairly often.
I also need to make sure the next time I'm at the doctor they re-measure my height. I noticed on the form they filled out at my intake appt. that they said my BMI was 31, then I looked again and noticed she'd under-reported my height by an inch. I really don't think *that's* being redistributed, and i know how tall I was at my physical in February.
Because I worked so hard to get my BMI under 30, dammit. And even now at 9 weeks I'm _still_ at 29.5 and proud of it.
I also need to make sure the next time I'm at the doctor they re-measure my height. I noticed on the form they filled out at my intake appt. that they said my BMI was 31, then I looked again and noticed she'd under-reported my height by an inch. I really don't think *that's* being redistributed, and i know how tall I was at my physical in February.
Because I worked so hard to get my BMI under 30, dammit. And even now at 9 weeks I'm _still_ at 29.5 and proud of it.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
A Pretty Baby, Maybe?
I posted that image over at helcat because I distinctly remember someone saying, about that picture, that we'd have beautiful babies. Our eyes are the only thing that match, but it's such a unique shade of hazel-green that if we manage to pass it along, or some other exotic variation of hazel, I will feel accomplished in having blessed a child with beautiful eyes. Kieran's are hazel-brown, a brown flecked with gold; they're pretty but they aren't the amber color that some hazel-brown fellows have--those tend to be on guys with darker skin, and ooh shiver when it happens. Yes, I hate eye stuff, but I'm fascinated with eye color. My brother has a lot more blue in his hazel than I do, and so his are more likely to look blue than mine are. But my mother has blue eyes, and my father shares my green. What color eyes will Bunky have, I wonder, I wonder?
That is the kind of thing that helps mute the cynicism and anxiety. Curiosity about the passenger. I don't have enough metaphysical in me to think "this person wanted to belong to us," as some people have said in trying to help me come to grips with the unexpected pregnancy, although that may be a function of "if that's the case, why did I wind up my parents' daughter?" But there is a low-level excitement about meeting Helcat and MeanDean: the next generation.
Dean told me today that he's starting to struggle with not telling people. But it just will be nice when we can tell people and smile about it.
Anyhow.. another lazy Saturday. I fell asleep around 6 and woke up around 9:30, and now I am fighting evening nausea again. I want so much to eat something but have no appetite. But the BLTs on fresh-baked bread and fries I made by cutting up potatoes, tossing them in oil and baking them for 45 minutes sure hit the spot at lunchtime.
Dean's been installing split rail fences in the backyard on which to tether actual grapes. I'm really excited about this. He's also taking up beekeeping. Now if I could just avoid killing our basil (2d gen), tomato (3rd gen) and marigold seedlings I'd be in good shape.
That is the kind of thing that helps mute the cynicism and anxiety. Curiosity about the passenger. I don't have enough metaphysical in me to think "this person wanted to belong to us," as some people have said in trying to help me come to grips with the unexpected pregnancy, although that may be a function of "if that's the case, why did I wind up my parents' daughter?" But there is a low-level excitement about meeting Helcat and MeanDean: the next generation.
Dean told me today that he's starting to struggle with not telling people. But it just will be nice when we can tell people and smile about it.
Anyhow.. another lazy Saturday. I fell asleep around 6 and woke up around 9:30, and now I am fighting evening nausea again. I want so much to eat something but have no appetite. But the BLTs on fresh-baked bread and fries I made by cutting up potatoes, tossing them in oil and baking them for 45 minutes sure hit the spot at lunchtime.
Dean's been installing split rail fences in the backyard on which to tether actual grapes. I'm really excited about this. He's also taking up beekeeping. Now if I could just avoid killing our basil (2d gen), tomato (3rd gen) and marigold seedlings I'd be in good shape.
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