A couple of questions I've gotten lately:
What's her name going to be?
I'm pretty sure I know, but I'm not sharing yet. After all, until I actually meet her, I won't know. I had a friend who had a name all picked out, and the minute she held her daughter she looked up at her husband and said "That's not her name." Their daughter was named something else entirely, and it was the right thing to do.
So until I meet her, she's the sproglet. Or, often, Lucy. Which I really do like as a name (though it does not go with my last name at all), but am using here as a nickname. I like it better than having people ask about The Baby, which sounds oddly ponderous.
I have to admit that, while I was sure I was having a boy (and I still believe in the long run that might have been simpler, if not as much fun to shop for), I'm a little relieved as I've never really had a fave boy name, and have no idea what I would have named a him.
(My girl name for years, BTW, was Emma. Thanks, Fri.ends, for naming Rachel's baby that and meaning it's going to become another name like Madison where every class has at least three. Sigh. But I do love the name I've picked, and it's a family name which is even nicer.)
Where are the belly pictures?
I know! I've had about the same size belly for a while, though, so the drama of taking them weekly just wouldn't have been there. This week, however-- well, I do believe I've popped. I'm pretty sure it happened Thursday morning, in fact-- my pants fit one way when I went in to work, and another way before I had lunch. (It was the weirdest thing.) So I'll get my act together and try to start taking pictures now.
And I think this week at work will be the week where people finally figure it out. Given that next week I'll be 27 weeks along, I'm thinking it's about time.
How are you feeling?
I get this question constantly, and frankly, the only good answer is "Pregnant."
**
To address the second part of this post's subject line, HOLY CRAP I have a lot to do. A friend who's pregnant and due around my due date (the one I referenced in another post who's having a tough time of it) has pretty much her entire nursery ready, as does Lag Liv. I... don't. PEER PRESSURE ARGH. ;)
I am justifying this by the fact that I'm planning on getting most of my stuff from my showers, which are in May and the first weekend of June, respectively (with one more very casual one on the second weekend of June; more a picnic, really), and can't do much until then. But next weekend, I am ordering the crib and the glider, so getting those in and set up will hopefully calm me down.
Oh, crazy hormones. I do not love you at all.
Sproglet: please do not be too early. I'm going to need until about the second week of June, I think.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Worries
Someone asked me recently if I’m worried or anxious about my pregnancy. It was an interesting question, and I had to stop and think about it before I answered. And my answer was “no.”
In the first 12 weeks, I was pretty much waiting for something to go horribly wrong. At my age, the miscarr.iage rate is so much higher than it is for younger women (I am, after all, of “advanced maternal age”—hee! That’s like seeing “spinster” on your mortgage paperwork—it’s a real feel-good moment) that even after I saw a heartbeat I was cautious and not particularly optimistic.
Once I passed the 12 week mark, though... I don’t know. Believe me, I understand all that could still go wrong, but once I moved out of the first trimester it just became simpler. I’m not that worried. I’m sure a lot of it is that I continue to feel reasonably good (heartburn, busy bladder, and interrupted sleep aside). I haven’t gained a lot of weight, I’m still able to exercise, and while I’m going to be very happy to not be pregnant any more (and am even more happy that the odds are good I’ll never be pregnant again), it’s all pretty much sort of OK.
I have some worries about labor and delivery (who doesn’t?), and am starting to worry about the sheer overwhelming quantity of things I need to get done before the sproglet arrives, but I simply haven’t had a lot of concerns about the pregnancy itself. I’ve felt... well, not serene, but as if it’s all going to be OK, and that there’s nothing to really worry about pregnancy-wise. I feel, oddly, as if everything’s going to be fine.
It’s unusual for me NOT to fret, honestly. But... I’m not.
Saying this out loud probably means that Big Horrible Problems will immediately surface. :) But truly, that’s where I am right now.
I have a friend on another continent who’s due within a couple weeks of me, and she’s having a terrible pregnancy. She has far more preexisting medical issues than I do, and they’re all ganging up on her in full force; as each week goes by, she’s having a tougher and tougher time. She’s been told it’s only a matter of time before she’s totally disabled and on bedrest until she gives birth. I’ll tell you, I think of her when I want to bitch and moan about the heartburn or the poor sleep or about how I’m slower already.
Now, ask me about my post-pregnancy worries, and I can give you a list. A list that’s a mile and a half long, and getting longer every day.
I like to project months and years into the future. That is not a great idea right now-- I should probably make plans to survive infancy before I start worrying about her teenage years, hm?
In the first 12 weeks, I was pretty much waiting for something to go horribly wrong. At my age, the miscarr.iage rate is so much higher than it is for younger women (I am, after all, of “advanced maternal age”—hee! That’s like seeing “spinster” on your mortgage paperwork—it’s a real feel-good moment) that even after I saw a heartbeat I was cautious and not particularly optimistic.
Once I passed the 12 week mark, though... I don’t know. Believe me, I understand all that could still go wrong, but once I moved out of the first trimester it just became simpler. I’m not that worried. I’m sure a lot of it is that I continue to feel reasonably good (heartburn, busy bladder, and interrupted sleep aside). I haven’t gained a lot of weight, I’m still able to exercise, and while I’m going to be very happy to not be pregnant any more (and am even more happy that the odds are good I’ll never be pregnant again), it’s all pretty much sort of OK.
I have some worries about labor and delivery (who doesn’t?), and am starting to worry about the sheer overwhelming quantity of things I need to get done before the sproglet arrives, but I simply haven’t had a lot of concerns about the pregnancy itself. I’ve felt... well, not serene, but as if it’s all going to be OK, and that there’s nothing to really worry about pregnancy-wise. I feel, oddly, as if everything’s going to be fine.
It’s unusual for me NOT to fret, honestly. But... I’m not.
Saying this out loud probably means that Big Horrible Problems will immediately surface. :) But truly, that’s where I am right now.
I have a friend on another continent who’s due within a couple weeks of me, and she’s having a terrible pregnancy. She has far more preexisting medical issues than I do, and they’re all ganging up on her in full force; as each week goes by, she’s having a tougher and tougher time. She’s been told it’s only a matter of time before she’s totally disabled and on bedrest until she gives birth. I’ll tell you, I think of her when I want to bitch and moan about the heartburn or the poor sleep or about how I’m slower already.
Now, ask me about my post-pregnancy worries, and I can give you a list. A list that’s a mile and a half long, and getting longer every day.
I like to project months and years into the future. That is not a great idea right now-- I should probably make plans to survive infancy before I start worrying about her teenage years, hm?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Five good things
1. It was sunny and in the 60s here in the midwest today. Glorious. I went out at lunch and had to wear my sunglasses, and smiled when I got a little too warm in the sunshine.
2. Peanut butter.
3. Someone asked me at work "Are you scolding me?" My response: "Darn right I am!" He laughed and laughed. (He messed up, and I had to give him what-for.)
4. I got an e-mail from G that said only "Rabbits or elephants?" I blinked at it for a few moments, then shot back an e-mail saying "To eat? Or to wear?" (For the record, it was about shower invitations.)
5. Singing along to Journey on the radio while driving home from a doctor's appointment. Singing loud, and not caring if other cars heard.
Happy spring.
2. Peanut butter.
3. Someone asked me at work "Are you scolding me?" My response: "Darn right I am!" He laughed and laughed. (He messed up, and I had to give him what-for.)
4. I got an e-mail from G that said only "Rabbits or elephants?" I blinked at it for a few moments, then shot back an e-mail saying "To eat? Or to wear?" (For the record, it was about shower invitations.)
5. Singing along to Journey on the radio while driving home from a doctor's appointment. Singing loud, and not caring if other cars heard.
Happy spring.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Nesting?
Like Lag Liv, I'm apparently feeling the nesting urge. (It could also be the spring cleaning bug-- it's been in the 50s around here the past day or two, and still light when I walk home from the train. It feels good.)
This past weekend, I shredded enough documents that the shred filled more than half my big recycling bin. I'm not talking one of those little foot-and-a-half high open blue bins; I have a four-foot high lidded recycling container and it was more than half full.
(No, you really don't need to save tax returns from the 90s. Really, you don't. Or bank statements starting in the 80s.)
Tonight I pulled everything out of my coat closet. I'm not done, but among other things I've thrown away two city of Chicago phone books (both of which were over 10 years old and big) and am moving a tennis racket and three (three?!?) wall-hanging type things to the basement.
Now, my coat closet is tiny, so don't be too impressed. But still, combine these two things with the other work I've been doing, and you have some seriously reduced clutter and much more space in my closets.
(I need to sell my large dining room table and buy a smaller one with fewer chairs, and that will pretty much finish off the "use less space" initiative for right now.)
Saturday, friends are coming over to help me 1) fix a drawer unit I screwed up assembling (do not put things together late on a Friday night when you're tired) and haul a bulky piece of furniture out of the house and up to another friend's house for storage until, someday, I have space for it again. I have good friends who don't even hesitate to step forward when I say "Hey, I can't lift anything right now! Help?" I'm lucky.
This means I can start really putting the nursery together next week. I have time-- technically-- but I'd like to get a few things in place now, and it will feel good to get some of this stuff done. One thing about having a small house is that there's no "overflow" room-- you just can't do y and z until you do x, because there's simply not space.
This is good in terms of discipline. But... still annoying.
On the other hand, I have less space to keep clean. So that's good. :)
This past weekend, I shredded enough documents that the shred filled more than half my big recycling bin. I'm not talking one of those little foot-and-a-half high open blue bins; I have a four-foot high lidded recycling container and it was more than half full.
(No, you really don't need to save tax returns from the 90s. Really, you don't. Or bank statements starting in the 80s.)
Tonight I pulled everything out of my coat closet. I'm not done, but among other things I've thrown away two city of Chicago phone books (both of which were over 10 years old and big) and am moving a tennis racket and three (three?!?) wall-hanging type things to the basement.
Now, my coat closet is tiny, so don't be too impressed. But still, combine these two things with the other work I've been doing, and you have some seriously reduced clutter and much more space in my closets.
(I need to sell my large dining room table and buy a smaller one with fewer chairs, and that will pretty much finish off the "use less space" initiative for right now.)
Saturday, friends are coming over to help me 1) fix a drawer unit I screwed up assembling (do not put things together late on a Friday night when you're tired) and haul a bulky piece of furniture out of the house and up to another friend's house for storage until, someday, I have space for it again. I have good friends who don't even hesitate to step forward when I say "Hey, I can't lift anything right now! Help?" I'm lucky.
This means I can start really putting the nursery together next week. I have time-- technically-- but I'd like to get a few things in place now, and it will feel good to get some of this stuff done. One thing about having a small house is that there's no "overflow" room-- you just can't do y and z until you do x, because there's simply not space.
This is good in terms of discipline. But... still annoying.
On the other hand, I have less space to keep clean. So that's good. :)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Top of the page
I realized that last week's post (the one before this) was not necessarily the best thing to have at the top of the blog for weeks on end... so am making some time to bump it down a notch by posting this.
Last weekend was very blue, and filled with a lot of self-doubt and fear and loneliness (self-imposed, frankly). I get too far into my own head, sometimes, and last weekend was one of those times.
I've always said that February was the worst month of the (my) year. I had a pretty good February this year, though, so I think last weekend was February getting off one last good shot at me. And now it's March.
I wish I could say I feel 110% better. I don't. I do feel much, much less like I want to crawl into bed until sometime next year; that's something. But some of the blues still linger. That's natural, I think.
Because I project out into the future all the time (one of the reasons my romantic relationships have been doomed to fail!), I'm worried that the lonely part of me-- and it's there, and always will be-- is going to look at this baby as the savior, as the being that's going to save me from being lonely. Not only is that completely not fair to her, it's not the least bit realistic. You have a child to love them, rear them, and let them go-- not put inappropriate responsibilities on their small shoulders. I'm doing this because I want to be a mom, and because I believe I can be a good parent. I can't be doing this because, sometimes, I am lonely.
Children are not born to save us, or save our marriages, or to "fix" something we did wrong in our lives, or to do anything other than be themselves and grow up healthy and strong.
In 20 years, God willing, my daughter will be an independent young woman out on her own. She'll be healthy and smart and caring and self-sufficient, and she'll think I'm crazy but love me anyway, and I will have hopefully reared her so that she goes out and lives her life without worrying much about how her old mom is doing at home. I hope she'll always want to talk to me, and always want to come home and visit, but it will be because she wants to-- not because I've imposed things on her that I shouldn't.
Hopefully, just being aware of this will help make it so.
This is why I don't blog when I've been blue: no one needs to see the insides of my brain.
And now, off to the day. I have laundry, lunch with a friend, the gym, and then to another friend's house for the Osc*ars. I've seen almost nothing that's nominated (I keep watching documentaries and Bollywood with my Net*flix subscription), but there will be people there I don't see often, so that will be fun.
In conclusion, George Cloo*ney should always win everything he's nominated for. The end.
Last weekend was very blue, and filled with a lot of self-doubt and fear and loneliness (self-imposed, frankly). I get too far into my own head, sometimes, and last weekend was one of those times.
I've always said that February was the worst month of the (my) year. I had a pretty good February this year, though, so I think last weekend was February getting off one last good shot at me. And now it's March.
I wish I could say I feel 110% better. I don't. I do feel much, much less like I want to crawl into bed until sometime next year; that's something. But some of the blues still linger. That's natural, I think.
Because I project out into the future all the time (one of the reasons my romantic relationships have been doomed to fail!), I'm worried that the lonely part of me-- and it's there, and always will be-- is going to look at this baby as the savior, as the being that's going to save me from being lonely. Not only is that completely not fair to her, it's not the least bit realistic. You have a child to love them, rear them, and let them go-- not put inappropriate responsibilities on their small shoulders. I'm doing this because I want to be a mom, and because I believe I can be a good parent. I can't be doing this because, sometimes, I am lonely.
Children are not born to save us, or save our marriages, or to "fix" something we did wrong in our lives, or to do anything other than be themselves and grow up healthy and strong.
In 20 years, God willing, my daughter will be an independent young woman out on her own. She'll be healthy and smart and caring and self-sufficient, and she'll think I'm crazy but love me anyway, and I will have hopefully reared her so that she goes out and lives her life without worrying much about how her old mom is doing at home. I hope she'll always want to talk to me, and always want to come home and visit, but it will be because she wants to-- not because I've imposed things on her that I shouldn't.
Hopefully, just being aware of this will help make it so.
This is why I don't blog when I've been blue: no one needs to see the insides of my brain.
And now, off to the day. I have laundry, lunch with a friend, the gym, and then to another friend's house for the Osc*ars. I've seen almost nothing that's nominated (I keep watching documentaries and Bollywood with my Net*flix subscription), but there will be people there I don't see often, so that will be fun.
In conclusion, George Cloo*ney should always win everything he's nominated for. The end.
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