Tag Archives: Family

On Tradition

As I’ve made my way through this 32 weeks of preparation for parenthood, I’ve had to consider a lot of things. You know, like whether or not to breastfeed (I have decided to “just do it”, as Nike would advise), which diapers to use (combo of cloth, while at home and disposable when more convenient),  and whether or not to start looking for a job as soon as possible after Baby L is born (I am still sort of on the fence because I don’t want to work because I don’t want to miss anything that the baby does, like…ever…but, I also want to try and contribute financially until we make the big move). While these are all pretty big things to think about right now, they are all pretty short term. I’ve also had to consider what kind of parent I want to be.

Growing up, I had the benefit (if you would call it that) of having two parents who were absent one way or another. My father has always lived far away (supposedly for his career, though I suspect that the real reason was so that he could continue to be immature and carefree for the eleven months out of the year that he didn’t have to act like he had kids) and my mom was very young when we were growing up and spent the majority of her time much like I spent the majority of MY twenties (read: drunk). I know, this doesn’t sound like much of a benefit but it was…for two reasons:

1. I learned, early on, what kind of parent I did NOT want to be. (Don’t get me wrong, my mom eventually got her shit together and everything, but these are the types of things you remember.) And it makes me glad that this pregnancy happened when I was old enough to appreciate that I had enough fun already to be able to grow up and be a parent.

2. My grandparents lived with us for awhile when we were young and even when they didn’t, they were close by and were possibly the best people who ever walked the earth. I learned a lot about life and kindness and humility from them and feel that I will essentially be able to pass these things on to my daughter.

One of the things, though, that I have been thinking a lot about is tradition. My mom didn’t really have anything to pass down, you know, aside from the usual stuff, like decorating the Christmas tree together on the day after Thanksgiving while listening to Bing Crosby (or one of several mix tapes made by her brother who died when I was 8).  My grandparents, however, had some traditions. Many of them also revolved around holidays and religion, but some that didn’t at all. And I am racking my brain trying to remember what lullaby my grandma would use to sing me to sleep. And what quirky things she made up for random days of the year (like cornflakes and ice cream for breakfast on the Fourth of July* or waving socks at family members who were leaving on trips**). I want to remember these things and make sure that Baby L (even if these things might prove to be uber-embarrassing for her at times) will have those hilarious, quirktastic things to remember about her childhood and to pass down to her kids. Because even though my family embarrassed the bejesus out of me on MANY occasions, I love to think about those times now. Because you never get them back.

I want to bake cookies with her. And teach her to make (and love) lefse the way that my grandma made it. I want to have family dinners and someday build an amazing snowman (or snow-woman) complete with a tophat. I want to sing, “I love you a bushel and a peck…” in my terrible singing voice and I want her not to mind that I sound like a dying cat, but to remember the song and sing it to her kids. And then her grandkids. And I want to make new traditions too. I want for MB and I to create something that is unique to our family and I want to carry it on. It seems so important now, to not just physically make a family, but to emotionally create a FAMILY.

*Every year on July 4th, if we happened to be with my grandma, she would serve us cornflakes, topped with vanilla ice cream and fruit (usually fresh blueberries and strawberries for the red, white and blue effect). This all originated many years ago when she simply just did not have milk for cereal on one Fourth of July. And it stuck. And most of that side of the family still observes the July 4th breakfast!

**When my aunt went off to college, my grandmother was very, very upset and didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. She pleaded with someone in the family to do something to make her laugh. So my father, frantic to find something to take her mind off of crying, took off his sock and started waving it at my aunt as she got in the car. It worked, my grandma didn’t cry and everyone laughed like crazy. Now, if you are in my family and you are leaving, to go on a trip or to go home after visiting (or whatever the case might be) be prepared for the sock waving. And no, it does not matter if you are in public. And it almost always occurs outside.

 

On another note, CONGRATULATIONS to a fellow blogger over at The Waiting who probably has a new addition to her family RIGHT NOW!!!

 

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Housekeeping!

Over the weekend, MB and I attempted to remedy some of the clutter that has started accumulating due to the abundance of new things we are acquiring for Baby L. We managed to clean out the closet in our bedroom and switch some things around, making more room in the spare bedroom and some other minor things, which was pretty satisfying. I have, despite the intense urge to organize, been so exhausted, that I have been unable to do little without MB’s help. That, my friends, is super frustrating. I wonder why the “nesting” part of this process can’t happen during the time when you aren’t narcoleptic and in severe pain. Who came up with this damn schedule? I feel frustrated with the progress (or lack thereof) that I feel we are making on things, but then I realize that I still have several weeks and will just have to start working at a pace that I can handle. And make lots of honey-do lists for MB. He doesn’t seem to mind cleaning things that I can’t reach. Or lifting boxes and moving them from one place to another. And he knows that soon, he will be assembling strange devices and massaging my calves, possibly simultaneously. The housecleaning thing has made me feel slightly more prepared, either way. I have a plan. And that is better than where I was two weeks ago.

Housecleaning is sort of liberating though. There is something really freeing about getting rid of old things and finding places for things that have sort of just lingered around for the past months. My urge to clean house is spreading to other areas of my life. Namely, Facebook. I will tell you, internet, Facebook housecleaning is more difficult than cleaning toilets, if only because I fear deleting friends will hurt feelings. And, well, to my knowledge, toilets are without feelings. I am, though, as I have mentioned before, very private about things and Facebook is one of those places where privacy is pretty hard to come by (duh, the internet). I can control what I post and who sees it, but I can’t control what people say to me on my page, therefore, trying to keep my personal life personal is a little difficult. To date, I have basically been managing my privacy settings on facebook by creating groups and adding people to a “restricted” list instead of deleting them. Why? Because I am a wuss. Do I want these people all up in my bidness? Evidently not. Can I delete them without the guilt of having done it? NO. Because I am a super-wuss.  But I’m just going to go ahead and rip off the band-aid. Because I really only want the people I actually care about to get to share my new life with me. Why is it so hard to passive-agressively tell people that they suck the life out of you and you don’t want them involved in the happy new life you’re leading? You would think that would be easy!

In other news, I have another sonogram next week and I am super excited about it. This should be the last time we see Baby L before she actually arrives. That’s kind of bittersweet, because I am already so tired of waiting but I am glad that we will at least get to see her one more time to hold us over. The last time I had an ultrasound, the tech said that the baby was breech and that “hopefully, she’ll turn before next time”, which, of course, made my mom a nervous wreck as I, too, was breech and premature and my mom has catastophic visions of everything because she is psycho. I’m not worried at this point, though, because I was only about 29 weeks at that point and I’ve read a lot that says that the baby will usually turn around 36 weeks. So, fingers are crossed there.

I also went ahead and scheduled our tour of the maternity suites at the hospital where I will deliver. I’ve been there before and am pretty sure that I know what I am getting into, I did choose to deliver there after all, but I am excited to do this with MB because every day he seems to be hit more and more with the “Holy shit, I’m gonna be a DAD!” realization. (Which, by the way, is super adorable.)

I know I am late in doing this, but we are still not signed up for a birthing class. The hospital where I am delivering offers several “marathon classes” which are held all in one day on a weekend so we are going to try and get into one of those in the next couple of weeks. They aren’t terribly expensive and I am pretty excited about attending. If you took a birthing class, how was your experience?

I think that’s about all that’s happening with me so far this week. You know, aside from trying to stay awake for more than two consecutive hours and not inhaling entire bags of Cheetos.

Metamorphasis

Oddly, the transition from Week 31 to Week 32 was really emotional for me. I had sort of been waiting for the moment that I would start the nesting phase of this whole thing. And the point where I started attempting to rearrange furniture and start cooking ridiculous amounts of food to store for the future when I have no time/patience/energy/brain power to cook. But the whole thing had been slow-going, it seemed. I was beginning to think that I might not start to “nest” and that I would be the first woman in the history of the whole Universe who was content to take it all in stride and not feel crazy stressed by the dust on the ceiling fan. Well, internet, I would like to announce that I have arrived in the nesting phase and no speck of dust is safe. I am a dust vigilante.

I feel that, even though my journey into manic cleaning mode was a little slow, I have made significant emotional progress (Read: had plenty of mini-breakdowns) during the last 32 weeks.

I think I have been weathering the emotional shit storm pretty well, considering that I can’t have a glass bottle of wine to calm my nerves. In fact, I am surprised at the amount of composure I have maintained through some of this insanity.

The first few months of pregnancy were sort of a mourning period for me. That sounds bad, I know, but I honestly felt that my life would never be a) the same or b) as good and fun as it was before learning that I was going to be a mom. Because my attitude was, “Who the hell wants to be a mom? Like, for the rest of their life?!” Immature? Maybe. But totally how I felt and I won’t apologize.

After that, the transformation really started. I stopped wanting to punch people when they asked me questions about breastfeeding or when they had a Rum and Coke in my presence. I started feeling the baby move and that, somehow, became more important than celebrating my birthday in a crowded, smoky bar.  (Even though I was still a little bitter about having to break tradition.) I started liking the way it felt to have something moving around in my belly. It felt like my little secret and I felt special to have been chosen to keep it. And I started not to mind the constant peeing and pain in my hips.

As I have inched into the third trimester, I have noticed the biggest of changes yet.

1. At the start of this whole thing, I felt abandoned by some of the people I considered to be friends. Some of them, good friends, even. Probably because I believe that people are inherently good and that when you are good to people, they will be good to you. I’ve learned that this is not necessarily true. And I am totally okay with it. I have taken an introspective look around and taken stock of the people in my life and have realized that the ones who are worth being there, are not going anywhere. And the ones who haven’t been there? Well, they never really meant anything to me to begin with. It was a shocking realization for me. But bringing a person into the world makes a girl pretty insightful, I think. Who knew?

2. I’ve realized that I can’t change the world. I can’t change that people are horrible to each other. But I can do my damndest to make sure that I raise a child who can be proud of herself. I can teach her to love people despite of their differences. I can teach her to be kind to people and to respect people and mostly, to stand up for herself and not let anyone beat her down. I can teach her to be an honorable, kind, strong and humane person. And that might not stop all the violence that happens every day, but I think, in a small way, it definitely, most definitely, will change the world.

3. I’ve begun to learn that nothing will ever be the same.  And, despite what I thought at the beginning, that’s not so scary. Of course, the prospect of bringing a child into the world is terrifying and of course I sometimes see kids walking home from the high school bus stops dressed like New Jersey prostitutes and I weep for the state of humanity. And sure, I don’t really believe that young girls have any positive role models to look up to these days. And yeah, that is all really disturbing. But I know I can do this. I know that I will, for the rest of my life, put her needs, safety and security above that of my own. And I know that this, RIGHT HERE, is the most important thing that I will ever do in my life and I know that I want, more than anything to keep her safe. And that it will be my job to show her positivity and teach her how to be a woman, not Snooki‘s.  I am totally up for that challenge. Because while I have made my share of bad decisions, that part of my life is over and I can recognize that I have made a hell of a lot of good decisions too. One of the best decisions I ever made is currently kicking me right in the bladder.

I’m still sorting through a lot at this point. I’m constantly in a tizzy, trying to rearrange things or clean out a closet. And I am, surely, driving MB to an early grave. I have been trying to explain this period of pregnancy to him in terms of what is going on in my head right now. And it is really difficult to put into words. I want a perfect environment to introduce Baby L into the world with. I want her to be happy. And I am aware that she won’t know if there are dirty dishes in the sink or if her closet isn’t strategically organized, but for some reason, I need all that stuff to be taken care of, so I can devote every solitary second to making her happy. Sure, right now she is content to do flips at night when I am trying to sleep or punch me in the ribs, but when she is here, man, things are going to be a whole lot different. And I really don’t want to have to worry about dirty dishes.  You know?

Still working on balance. And in some ways, I am ready for her to be here YESTERDAY and, in other ways, I could use a few more months to get ready. 8 weeks to go, internet! 

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On Showering

Well, internet, I survived my baby shower and didn’t even have to punch anyone in the throat for molesting my “baby dome” (as MB is now calling it).

The big party was last Saturday (and pardon my absence here but there have been piles of goodies to sort through, appointments and a lot of eating. You know, because…well…eating is EATING.) I woke up Saturday morning (at 6 am), for the first time in a long time, completely sick. And when I say sick, I mean FIRST TRIMESTER sick. I felt ravenously hungry but totally nauseated and disgusting. I felt bloated and horrible and UGLY. So, as you can imagine, I was not too thrilled to have to try and make myself presentable to see all of my nearest and dearest. But, out of this disgusting funk came one of the best, most hilarious moments of my pregnancy thus far. I don’t know if I have mentioned to you, internet, that I can no longer reach my toes. In preparation, last week, for the shower, I attempted to paint my toenails. RED. (Why? I have no idea. My toenails are always done, but they are also always done in a french manicure because…I am really good without stencils and/or a huge belly.) I’m going to cut this short and just tell you that this was the longest process of my life and I believe I may have broken a rib. So, on Saturday, I asked MB (who had offered several times before) to help me to use a glorious salt scrub on my piggies so that they a) didn’t look so heinous and b) didn’t feel like sandpaper. (I know you guys are really intrigued by the state of my feet, so I will go ahead and tell you that, no, they are not yet swelling.) I am weird about feet and people touching mine (or having to touch anyone else’s) and am extremely ticklish, so I kept maintaining that I could scrub my own feet, until the broken rib happened. So I agreed to let MB help me out. OH. MY. GOD.

I situated my gigantic ass on the side of the tub and braced myself, but I swear I started laughing hysterically before MB even touched me. And I laughed like that and squirmed around for an entire 10 minutes while my wonderful, amazing, fiance attempted to beautify the piggies. I told him later that I wished that I would have had the whole thing on video because it was exactly the kind of thing that I would want my daughter to see when I explain to her what kind of man she should pick. One that will attempt to scrub your feet, even if you are dangerously close to kicking him in the face. That, my friends, is a good man. But I digress…

The shower started at one, and despite all of my pleading with friends and family to properly RSVP, many more people showed up than anticipated which turned my mom into a raving lunatic. I, even though I felt like a total crap bag, was pleased that so many people showed up and were so ridiculously generous. My mom and sister (and even my step-dad, who painstakingly fashioned a beautiful banner welcoming Baby L) did a really cute job decorating and the food, I hear, was divine (thanks to my Uncle/Personal Chef) and mom and sister. I was disappointed that I didn’t even get to eat, partially because I was afraid that I might not be able to keep anything down and partially because the house was so crowded, I wasn’t really even able to get TO the food. (Except the cupcakes, because HELLO. CUPCAKES.) I have to say, it was pretty unlike any baby shower I have ever been to (for me) because a) there were men there, which made me feel better about the universe, and b) the only part of it that felt even remotely shower-y to me was the opening of the gifts. (Which took a really long time, but my sister was clever enough to distract guests with Bingo cards, so not only did people pay attention to the gifts, but they weren’t pissed off about having to sit there and do so for hours on end. I highly recommend…I felt less like I was the center of attention and more like I was working at the nursing home again, where I used to call Bingo for the Alzheimers patients. Not that I am comparing my guests to Alzheimers patients. Well…I mean, most of them are not at all like Alzheimers patients anyway. Either way, they didn’t really care about ME, they just wanted that bottle of wine. Can you blame them?) To be honest, though, the whole thing is kind of a blur. It was a really great day shared with really effing amazing people and I really appreciate all of the love we received (in the form of hugs and gifts and belly rubbing).

Now that I have mentioned the belly rubbing, I guess I should touch on that, since I was fairly certain that it would occur whether I liked it or not.

I have to say, I was actually surprised at the lack of belly rubbing. There were only a handful of people who actual dared to rub the dome. And to be totally honest, the people who did, did not offend me. My old friend TC, who I never get to hang out with and with the help of another of our friends, has now ousted me from the “No Babies for Me” Club, was the most belly-happy of the guests and, even though she probably knows and doesn’t care, (she’s a bad ass like that) that I didn’t want anyone touching it, she did it numerous times. And I didn’t even THINK about hitting her. It actually wasn’t as awkward as I thought it might be. But maybe it just depends on who does it. In fact, my mom has only attempted touching my belly ONE TIME. So, how the hell should I know how I am supposed to feel about it. After the shower was over, however, came the real belly extravaganza when my sister, Fish Head and her husband, Mr. Fish Head cornered me in the garage and while Mr. Fish Head attempted to rouse Baby L by singing Phil Collins songs or quoting Hitler (I think this was an attempt to really piss her off), my sister pressed her entire face to the other side of my belly. This, my friends, was a mite awkward. And really, if they hadn’t been Mr. and Mrs. Fish Head, I am pretty sure they would have been swimming with the fishes. Even that, though, really wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen. It was definitely less annoying than stretch marks. So…there you have it. Maybe I am not anti-belly-touching altogether. Who knew?

This used to be our spare bedroom. And then it exploded with baby items!

Anyway, I do want to thank all of the lovely people who came to celebrate our new addition. Sometimes, and I think this is common in people, I forget how many wonderful people I have in my life and not because I don’t appreciate you all, but because there might be distance, or our every day lives have made it hard to be together. You all just reminded me how truly lucky I am and how truly loved Baby L is already. THANK YOU. Each of you for all the love, and the loot!

 

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Of Things to Come

Baby Shower

Baby Shower (Photo credit: GraceFamily)

Now that I have established the much-needed prenatal care that I so deserve (in your FACE, universe!), I have stopped worrying so much about that part of pregnancy. This, as I stated before, is quite a relief. Now, however, I am starting to panic about other things. Because, you know, what else what I be doing if I weren’t completely freaking out?

MB and I are having a couples shower this weekend, thrown by my mom and sister (who, by the way, have been super awesome through all of this and are super excited to meet Baby L). I wanted a couples shower for a couple of reasons:

1. I hate baby showers. It is no secret. I will go to them and I will “ooh” and “awwww” at baby outfits and the like, but I am typically bored and counting the minutes until I can leave and have a cocktail. Spending all of that time and energy watching a bunch of women get starry-eyed over tiny outfits has never been a favorite activity of mine. I hate baby shower games. I don’t want to guess which melty candy bar is in that diaper, people. That’s gross.  Not only that, but why would we waste perfectly good chocolate for the sake of fake poo? Why?! Somehow, the idea of having men at the shower calms me. It makes me feel that some of that “oohing” and “awwwing” will be counteracted with…like…belching…or something. And that makes me feel normal. At least somewhat.

2. I really can’t imagine doing anything baby-related without including MB. He did help me make this little nugget, after all. Besides that, he actually WANTS to be included. And that, my friends, is totally the best thing ever. Because he restores the sanity in me, even when I think I am a lost cause. I feel that MB will also make it easier to take some of the attention off of me. Yes, I am the one with the belly and I am sure that people will want to touch it (God, help me) but at least he can intercept when I appear to be about to lose it.

3. One of my best friends is a dude. And, even though he is not a baby person, I feel that if he wasn’t there, it wouldn’t be right.

There is a fair amount of stress about the shower just because no one ever throws parties for me and I don’t quite know how to act. Aside from the fact that I am all huge and irritable. I mean, come on. Don’t get me wrong, I am SUPER GRATEFUL that my friends and family care so much about the start of my new family to throw and/or attend this party, it just makes things so much more…REAL!

What’s more than that is what comes after the shower. MB and I will have to bring a bunch of baby stuff into our already cramped apartment and then find places for it. And, as I have mentioned before, we are not really fashioning a nursery for the time-being because we don’t plan on staying in this apartment for much longer than 2-3 months after Baby L is born. During that time, I am planning to make do with the space that we have and I fully intend to have the baby sleeping in our room for that first few months anyway.  What will we do with all of this stuff?!

Then there’s after she is born. Oh. My. God. You guys, since I have stopped worrying about healthcare, I have started to think about all the stuff that comes with actually HAVING A BABY. Like…IN MY HOUSE. The diaper thing? I think I got it.  I am going to use a combo of cloth and disposable (at least at first) to save money and, at the same time, maintain some of my sanity and time. But now I am worried about SIDS and breastfeeding and birth defects and premature labor and lack of sleep and the possibility of postpartum depression. Does it ever end, internet?

My question to you, internet, is:

What books would you mommies recommend to walk me through the first months or year of baby’s life? I have been looking into a few but I am just totally clueless as to which ones are the ones to buy. You guys are the authority. Give it to me straight!

A Little Crazy, but Mostly Grateful

It has been ridiculously easy for me to find things about pregnancy to bitch about, which I am sure that some of you understand all too well. I have, between the heartburn, the pain of ten hammers banging against my pelvis (sometimes for days straight), the lack of sleep, and many, many other things, been pretty uncomfortable and, a lot of times really stressed and really unhappy. I have dreamed, since the day that I found out I was expecting, of the day that I would get this kid out of me. The reason, at the beginning, that I wanted her out, was because I wanted to feel normal. I wanted to sit on the porch at sunset and drink cocktails and talk to my girlfriends on the phone. I wanted to go to the dive bar down the street with MB and smoke cigarettes and listen to mediocre live music. I wanted a bloody mary with my breakfast on Sundays, for Christ’s  sake. I wanted my life to remain unchanged from the way it had been for the last several years.  And I couldn’t believe that I would have to sacrifice nine whole months of my life to grow this kid. And that I would have to do it with no breaks. NO BREAKS.

I still want this baby out, internet. SO BADLY. And not just because I want a cocktail (but oh.my.god, do I want a cocktail). I want to hold her and nibble on her tiny fingers and toes. And rock her to sleep. And see her expression the first time she eats peas. (Her father hates peas and his expression, while hysterical, isn’t cutting it anymore.)

It took me a long time to get excited about this pregnancy. And then it took even longer to admit that I had started to get excited about it. I guess because no one expects any of this from me. I got all mommy-fied, seemingly overnight and surprised even me.  I still find myself awake in the middle of the night, terrified and on the verge of breakdown. But then I remember how much I have overcome in my life and how strong I am. And then I remember how lucky I am to be doing this with MB, and with the help of my amazingly supportive family and friends. And I know I, with their help, can do it.  I feel confident that the people in my life right now are the right people. I feel that I am finally at a point where every relationship I have is healthy and reciprocal and I feel…damn fortunate.  And now, to top everything off, I am gonna have a little person all for myself. That I MADE.  And that still blows my mind.

With my due date less than three months away, I am starting to feel, though ill-prepared, that this is all coming together. I have cut people out of my life who were self-absorbed and self-involved and have started to focus on me. And my little family-to-be. And I might be an emotional wreck sometimes, and I might go completely insane because I can’t wear pants that don’t come up to my eyebrows, and I might even start crying because my DVR didn’t record the newest Law and Order: SVU episode. But at the end of the day, it’s all good. I have a lot of things to be grateful for right now.

And who am I kidding? Law and Order: SVU reruns are on all day, every day.

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A Hero

Well, it is official, the shower invitations have been sent out and some RSVPs have even been received. It is pretty crazy to think that, in less than three weeks (THREE WEEKS!) we will be having a baby shower (A BABY SHOWER!).  MB and I have been pretty good at pretending that we are not parents-to-be and that we are just highly boring individuals who can never, ever have any alcohol. It still doesn’t really feel real. But there it is, right around the corner. Imma have a baby, y’all.

Holy crap.

I have had a lot of fun picking out outfits and furniture (even though we are trying to keep things to a minimum until we make the big move which will most likely happen in August) and learning about how other moms’ experiences have been.  I never really thought that I would be reading articles (or blogs) about parenthood or posting about diapers but here we are. 27 weeks along and ready to start a whole new journey. I can’t help but feel a little bit lost about the whole thing though. I guess a lot of women can use this time to bond with their mothers over parenting and all that jazz (which, don’t get me wrong, I guess I am doing, but I have never been all that close with my mom and, well…it is all very new to me). This is exactly the kind of experience I would have wanted to share with my grandmother. She died on my 23rd birthday, so she has been gone a long time, but her absence takes away a lot of the excitememnt for me. I would have loved for her to be here to help me prepare for and to meet her first great-grandchild. I would have loved for my child to experience the same kind of love and…gosh, there are no words for the kind of beauty she brought to be…I won’t even try to explain all of that. I will just say that, holy crap, she would have been so excited. And my baby would have been so lucky to have met her. She just had a way of making me…better…and I try to remember her as often as I can to remind MYSELF to be a good person. And a good friend. And just…overall good. I really hope I can instill this in my child. I have a going list of things that I want to pass down. That I feel I need to pass down.

1. Lefse. My grandparents were both full Norwegian and when I was very young, my grandma taught me how to make lefse and it was my FAVORITE THING EVER. I learned, after my grandfather passed and the family was together for the first time in years, that, not only was I the only grandchild that she ever taught to make it, she never even taught her own kids. (Two of whom are actual chefs!) So, yeah, I was totally her favorite.

2. Humility. My grandparents were poor. They worked as missionaries in New Guinnea when their first three children were small. They were Christians and they were damn good at being Christians. (I’m not gonna lie, internet, the mere mention of Christianity makes me cringe because I…well…am not a fan of religion at all…)  They were the kind of people who were respectful of everyone. And genuinely LOVING to everyone. EVERYONE. My grandmother would have given the shirt off her back. She helped whomever should could, whenever and with whatever resources she had. I definitely was raised, (mostly by my grandparents) in an environment RICH with love. They showed me the true meaning of agape.

3. Sense of worth. My parents weren’t really all that accessible when I was a kid. My dad wasn’t around and my mom worked full-time to support herself, my sister and I. And when she wasn’t working, she was partying. Luckily for us kids, our grandparents moved all the way across the country when our parents decided to move to Florida and became our caretakers when our parents weren’t.  I can’t speak for my sister, but I can say that I never really got any positive reinforcements from my mom. That I was smart. That I was pretty. That I was a worthwhile person. (I was informed, much of the time, that I was getting fat or things of that nature, but…you know…) My grandma, on the other hand, made me feel like a rock star. And not because she was a liar, but because she saw those things in me. She believed in me, like, for real.  I need to make sure, more importantly than all else, that my daughter knows she is SO. FUCKING. SPECIAL. And so loved. And that she can do whatever she wants to do. And it doesn’t matter if her nose is pointy or she has freckles. Or if her ass is a little big (which she would have inherited from her mother), she is amazing. And she is worthwhile. And the world is hers.  I want to make sure she knows I am her biggest fan.

Yesterday was my grandma’s birthday. I’m a little sappy about it. I miss her. She was my hero. I just hope I can make her proud.

Pregnancy vs. A Tape Worm

So, when we were kids, my sister had this unending appetite. Like, she would eat all the food that was put in front of her and then slyly crawl into some unsuspecting victim’s lap and start to munch on their dinner, either while they weren’t paying attention or because she was so ridiculously adorable that they didn’t mind giving away all of their french fries. It could have gone either way. Everyone always joked that she MUST have a tape worm because no two-year-old could eat like that. Right? Well, internet, I am starting to truly identify with this insatiable desire for all things edible and I have been doing my research. As it turns out, pregnancy symptoms are a lot like having a tapeworm.

1. Nausea. Okay. This one is just too easy. Of course there is nausea.

2. Weakness. Ummm…yes. Sometimes, my poor legs can’t bear to carry my gigantic ass to the kitchen to stuff my face full of Cheez-its.  That has never happened before.

3. Diarrhea. This one I honestly haven’t had any trouble with personally, but I have heard that many preggos do.

4. Hunger or Loss of Appetite. Is that a sandwich you’re eating, internet? I am going to need to confiscate that. Thank you. Also, can you please fetch me a couple of blocks of sharp cheddar cheese, some french fries, and a strawberry banana smoothie? Wait. What was I talking about?

5. Fatigue. Zzzzzz…

Let’s face it, internet, a tape worm is a parasite that drains you of all your necessary nutrients, makes you weak, tired and constantly hungry and a fetus is a parasite that drains you of all your necessary nutrients, makes you weak, tired and constantly hungry.

(Also, this just in: Someone just found my blog by searching for “fetus is a parasite”. In my head, while reading this, I put it to the tune of “Your Body is a Wonderland”. While I hate this song, I really do enjoy the new lyrics.”)

It’s All Downhill From Here…

But totally in a good way!

Yesterday, the wee one hit the 20 week mark! This is amazing news because it means (gasp!) that this whole pregnancy thing is HALF OVER! I know that this doesn’t necessarily mean that I am out of the woods and that it is going to be a piece of cake from here, but it definitely means that I only have to be pregnant for as long as I have been pregnant so far and this, my friends, is awesome news. I know that there are many trials and MUCH growth to go, but it will be over SOON(ish) and then we will have a real, live, honest-to-goodness baby. And then I will freak out for a whole new set of reasons. Hooray!

Since the sonogram and the announcement to the family of the sex of our little bean, I have actually (slowly but surely) been taking on a new attitude. The excitement of the whole thing is starting to outweigh the longing for a girls’ night out complete with a giant, dirty martini. I am not saying that I spend every minute of every day super excited and nesting and running around like a momzilla or anything, but I definitely feel more moments of intense joy than I did, well, probably ever before in my life. The more the wee one moves, (which let me tell you, she is definitely fond of doing) the more I feel connected to her. Sometimes she doesn’t move all day and I have a mini coronary, thinking that something might be wrong. But then I lie down in bed with My Beloved and he puts his giant hand across my belly and there she is, flipping around like a little dolphin. I think she is showing off for her daddy. Already a daddy’s girl, I see. (As it should be, I guess. I am totally prepared to take on the role of the evil mother and disciplinarian since, like most daddies I’ve seen, MB is already melting at the idea of having a little girl and will likely be useless as far as discipline goes…)

I don’t really know when this change happened but I feel a mixture of things. I feel calmer than before. It sounds weird, but I haven’t really been nervous about actually having a child. I feel completely confident and confident that I will figure it out. Yes, I have moments of crazy panic and irrational spaz attacks, but for the most part I am sure I will be a good mother. I know what kind of little person I would like my little person to be and I will do my best to make sure that she knows that she is loved and special and wanted, every, single day. Because I never really had that. And I think that is the most important thing  a child needs to know. “You are a miracle and we love you very much.” I know that this pregnancy, expected or not, is something that was meant to happen, and despite my cynicism and sarcasm, I don’t take it lightly, and I won’t take being a parent lightly either. I may not know the specifics of HOW to do it yet, but I have a pretty good idea of how NOT to do it, so, that’s a start.

I also feel, sometimes, that I am completely unprepared and ill-equipped. Again, parenting, though I know it won’t be easy, is not what scares me. What scares me is the uncertainty of our situation right now. Obviously, it is not ideal. My unemployment, while we are working it out quite well, has been a blow that has caused a lot of extra stress. And I have had to keep reminding myself of how much I hated that hell hole I was working in. And how much happier I am now that I don’t have to be there with those people. Plans have just changed because of it. Things will have to be re-planned and reconsidered. The move that we have planned will have to be delayed until we can figure out how to make it happen with a newborn. Things that will ultimately be beneficial for all of us, as a family, will still happen, but the plans will need tweaking.

Overall though, internet, I am optimistic. I feel fresh and clean. Like I have a new lease on life. Even though I am fat and cranky and my body will never be the same. And even though, my neurosis will be amplified infinitely after this kid pops out. I know we will make it work. And dammit, I am so glad that this is half over. Because I am ready to hold this little girl already…

Woohoo! (Now With Added Ooomph.)

So, my lovely sister, *Fish Head informed me the other day that I had been honored with another blog award from my bloggie friend over at The Waiting! (I can’t tell you how much I love this news!)

I am truly honored that people like this blog as much as I have enjoyed writing here! Woohoo! Non-alcoholic drinks for everyone! (Ugggggghhhh…Someday, I will no longer be pregnant and there will be champagne. And delicious beers. And maybe some vodka. Because…well…I am sure I will be ready for some vodka by that time.)

In turn, I would like to go ahead and recognize some of the bloggers I enjoy for their awesomeness and share them with you. (It is of note that I was instructed to post 15 blogs that I like, but I am only going to do ten  five because I am pregnant and peeing is going to have to happen about 37 times during the time it takes me to write this. And 37 is my limit.) Anyway, here goes (in no particular order, and please know that if you are not on this list, it is because of my bladder, not because I don’t like you.)

1.  The Bloggess. Oh my GOD, you guys. I love this blog. I love this blog so much that I read it even though it makes me have to pee more. And harder. And with more intensity. And possibly ON MYSELF. Please read this post! It makes me happy. (You may want to wear a diaper, though.)

2. Painting Chef. This is a seriously smart, witty and adorable lady who cooks and paints and is obsessed with shoes. What’s not to like? And she’s super snarky! I dig it!

3. Hyperbole and a Half. Okay, so I totally ACCIDENTALLY stumbled upon this blog a while back and I laughed so hard at this post that I cried. Because spiders are terrifying and I can totally identify.

4. This Fish Needs a Bicycle. I have been reading this blog since I learned how to read blogs.

5. And Baby Makes Three. YAY! Another pregnant lady! In Germany!

Goodness. I had to cut that short because I have already peed 36 times and am dangerously close to the limit. Either way, part two of this post (wherein I will give you seven little known facts about yours truly) will follow! (Hopefully tomorrow. But this depends on whether or not I can break myself away from my bathroom for long enough to post again.)

* I call my sister Fish Head because of a little film called “Mermaids” starring Cher, Winona Ryder and Christina Ricci. And yes, she calls me Sergeant.

**Update**

Just for the record, I feel bad that I did not add this blog to this list. I cannot let this slide. SHAME ON ME.  Go here. She is funnier than your grandma. I swear.