So, Baby Daddy and I had a pretty crappy day and treated ourselves to Chinese to cheer us up. Afterwards, I don't know if I got jazzed from the sesames or what, but I had a burst of energy like you would not believe. So, I sat down and wrote out and addresses every single thank-you card that I had to write. Oh! What a good feeling to get that done. It hasn't even been two weeks, and I was already terrified that I was bordering on the obscenely rude.
After that, I still had some in me, so I attacked Baby Stuff Mountain. I won. I pulled out every single onesie, blanket, cap, pair of socks, swimsuit, sleeper, hat, and plushie and removed the tag and get them into her laundry basket so that everything will be freshly washed when she gets here. Everything...and I do mean everything...had a gigantic tag on it! Naturally, they must all be removed and garments thoroughly searched for the remaining little bits of plastic. We can put a man on the moon, but we can't figure out a better way to package socks? I'm not going to even start on the number of things that were taped together. I'll bet the petroleum wasted could have paid for my kid's college fund one day.
I got the bathroom stuff into the bathroom. I got the feeding stuff into the kitchen. I got the toys into her toybox. I'm on fire!
Except, I still don't have any room to put half this stuff, but at least now the rest of it is in a very organized pile.
You know, the first sign that you're becoming your mother is cleaning like her. Now, my mother keeps a house so clean, you could operate on her floors. She lives in fear that she'll die, and when the paramedics come, they'll find.....A DIRTY DISH IN THE SINK!!! Oh Lordy, no! So, she developed the completely rational habit of picking up every dish she sees and washing it. Even if you have food on it. Just made a drink? The fullness of the glass and the freshness of the ice can only mean that it's near to rotting and she must get it into the sink immediately.
So, as much as I generally hate to do the dishes, I've been thinking about attacking them next. Note, I said thinking. I may be nesting, but I'm not stupid. As long as I can keep Matt convinced that the sight and smell of them will make me throw up, I think I'll just leave them stacked neatly in his corner. After all, "I'm carrying your child, you have to do the dishes!!"
1.30.2008
1.28.2008
Shopping Fun
So, a well-meaning friend said to me in parting..."Next time we see you, you'll probably have a baby with you..."
An innocent enough remark, coming from a woman who merely stated it as a 'welcome to the club' type thing. Yet, it was enough to send me into a panic. I've got roughly 45 days left, and at that moment I was crushed under the avalanche of things left to do. My hands started spasming. So, I did what any rational, self-sufficient gal in my position would do. I cried for a few hours, then I went shopping.
Now, I've already had my shower, and was overwhelmed at the amount of giving my friends did. My heart was as full as my car was, and yes, I cried over that as well. It really meant a lot. But, I still didn't have everything I needed, and as my friend Charles is always so quick to point out, "Kate...you could have this child any minute now. I mean, you could have it by the end of this week." So yeah...I ventured out.
In one day, we acquired a kick-ass glider. I found that one on Craigslist, and even though the woman should be shot for charging that much for a used glider, it's worth it. It's got a custom hand-made cushion, in colors that won't make me throw up. It has this delightful creak, that reminds you you're doing important business in the glider. It matches the rug we bought. It's perfect.
After that, it was over to Target, aka, the mega-store I can shop at and be reasonably assured that their products aren't made by 6-year old children, and that their cashiers can afford to go to the doctor if they have, oh say, cancer. We bought the place out. We're now set for the first three months of this kid's life.
Except we still need to go pick up the crib. Oh, and the breast pump. It never ends.
But, I will say, the best piece of advice that I've neglected so far, is the parenting websites and magazines lists of essential items for baby. A wipe warmer? Crib bedding that costs $800? Shoes that the kid will wear one time that are $45? No. Thank you for the suggestion, but no.
I'm quite happy with the basics. Well...the rose-covered ballet slippers and the robot onesies might be a bit much but hey, shopping for kids is so much fun!!!
An innocent enough remark, coming from a woman who merely stated it as a 'welcome to the club' type thing. Yet, it was enough to send me into a panic. I've got roughly 45 days left, and at that moment I was crushed under the avalanche of things left to do. My hands started spasming. So, I did what any rational, self-sufficient gal in my position would do. I cried for a few hours, then I went shopping.
Now, I've already had my shower, and was overwhelmed at the amount of giving my friends did. My heart was as full as my car was, and yes, I cried over that as well. It really meant a lot. But, I still didn't have everything I needed, and as my friend Charles is always so quick to point out, "Kate...you could have this child any minute now. I mean, you could have it by the end of this week." So yeah...I ventured out.
In one day, we acquired a kick-ass glider. I found that one on Craigslist, and even though the woman should be shot for charging that much for a used glider, it's worth it. It's got a custom hand-made cushion, in colors that won't make me throw up. It has this delightful creak, that reminds you you're doing important business in the glider. It matches the rug we bought. It's perfect.
After that, it was over to Target, aka, the mega-store I can shop at and be reasonably assured that their products aren't made by 6-year old children, and that their cashiers can afford to go to the doctor if they have, oh say, cancer. We bought the place out. We're now set for the first three months of this kid's life.
Except we still need to go pick up the crib. Oh, and the breast pump. It never ends.
But, I will say, the best piece of advice that I've neglected so far, is the parenting websites and magazines lists of essential items for baby. A wipe warmer? Crib bedding that costs $800? Shoes that the kid will wear one time that are $45? No. Thank you for the suggestion, but no.
I'm quite happy with the basics. Well...the rose-covered ballet slippers and the robot onesies might be a bit much but hey, shopping for kids is so much fun!!!
1.26.2008
TMI Warning
An interesting side effect of pregnancy? I've lost the ability to wipe my own ass. Not the knowledge necessary, of course, but I've simply become to large for the task.
I've been experiencing the problem for a while. I can't turn my head to check the other lanes while driving. I can't bend over, because this belly doesn't fold the way I need it to. I grunt and struggle to get my shoes on. I take back every nasty thing I ever said about the way Crocs look and wear a pair that I stole from my mom.
I have gotten used to a nine-point turn over every time I need to switch sides while lying in bed.
But nothing has prepared me for the events that just unfolded in my bathroom. It started out like every other BM. I went fine. I was even a little relieved that some of my constipation seemed to be gone. Then, I went to wipe. It's at this time that I realize that I can't bring myself into position. Front-to-back, Back-to-front, I just can't reach. Either way, I can kind of half get in there.
It's starting to get disgusting. I'll spare you the goriest of details. Suffice to stand, it took some clever acrobatics and an amazing amount of willpower to get it done.
By this point in time, I've figured out that all women who have already had a child are lying bitches. They talk about how happy an experience it is, and they leave you to find this kind of stuff out on your own. There's no solidarity among us. It's a dog eat dog world, and I think I've finally identified that little gleam in an other woman's eye when she finds out I'm pregnant. It's pure trickery.
I've been experiencing the problem for a while. I can't turn my head to check the other lanes while driving. I can't bend over, because this belly doesn't fold the way I need it to. I grunt and struggle to get my shoes on. I take back every nasty thing I ever said about the way Crocs look and wear a pair that I stole from my mom.
I have gotten used to a nine-point turn over every time I need to switch sides while lying in bed.
But nothing has prepared me for the events that just unfolded in my bathroom. It started out like every other BM. I went fine. I was even a little relieved that some of my constipation seemed to be gone. Then, I went to wipe. It's at this time that I realize that I can't bring myself into position. Front-to-back, Back-to-front, I just can't reach. Either way, I can kind of half get in there.
It's starting to get disgusting. I'll spare you the goriest of details. Suffice to stand, it took some clever acrobatics and an amazing amount of willpower to get it done.
By this point in time, I've figured out that all women who have already had a child are lying bitches. They talk about how happy an experience it is, and they leave you to find this kind of stuff out on your own. There's no solidarity among us. It's a dog eat dog world, and I think I've finally identified that little gleam in an other woman's eye when she finds out I'm pregnant. It's pure trickery.
12.20.2007
First Rule of Fight Club...
...don't have fight club in Mommy's belly. Please.
So, I've been getting these great little flutters from the baby. Sort of like gas, but it's adorable, because, you know...it's your unborn child and everything. All were greeted with the appropriate response, I grab Matt's hand and we gaze into each other's eyes, swooning with delight at the active little person we've managed to create.
Which brings us to this morning. I wake up at 4:30am, getting the crap beaten out of me from the inside. I'm not seriously begging for this to be a boy, because I'm not sure I can handle a girl child that is holding in that much aggression.
That was nearly 8 hours ago. It hasn't stopped. You know how when your neighbor is doing construction, and it's loud and you want it to stop, and finally it does and right around the time you get comfy again, after ten minutes of perfect silence, they start the saw back up? That's how this feels.
I get it. You're cute. You're alive and happy to be swimming around in my belly. But, if Mommy doesn't get some sleep soon, it won't be pretty for any of us.
Besides that, everything is going super! Pregnancy really is a joy, and all jokes aside, I'm not sure if I would take back this ass kicking for anything. In two more weeks, we get to find out if it is indeed a masculine child, like all the kind strangers at HEB keep insisting, or if it's a girl. I'll keep you guys posted!
(First published: December 20, 2007)
So, I've been getting these great little flutters from the baby. Sort of like gas, but it's adorable, because, you know...it's your unborn child and everything. All were greeted with the appropriate response, I grab Matt's hand and we gaze into each other's eyes, swooning with delight at the active little person we've managed to create.
Which brings us to this morning. I wake up at 4:30am, getting the crap beaten out of me from the inside. I'm not seriously begging for this to be a boy, because I'm not sure I can handle a girl child that is holding in that much aggression.
That was nearly 8 hours ago. It hasn't stopped. You know how when your neighbor is doing construction, and it's loud and you want it to stop, and finally it does and right around the time you get comfy again, after ten minutes of perfect silence, they start the saw back up? That's how this feels.
I get it. You're cute. You're alive and happy to be swimming around in my belly. But, if Mommy doesn't get some sleep soon, it won't be pretty for any of us.
Besides that, everything is going super! Pregnancy really is a joy, and all jokes aside, I'm not sure if I would take back this ass kicking for anything. In two more weeks, we get to find out if it is indeed a masculine child, like all the kind strangers at HEB keep insisting, or if it's a girl. I'll keep you guys posted!
(First published: December 20, 2007)
10.06.2007
The Best Part
the best part of being pregnant so far? Besides the guilt-free indulging in McNuggets, SpaghettiO's, 5 solid meals a day, popcorn, etc, etc, etc, it's the happy wash. I'll be walking along, not really thinking about anything, and then I'll feel this warm glow coming from the inside. Man, I know this sounds lame, but the sun comes out from behind a cloud and I get this huge smile on my face. I feel loved, I feel loving, I feel that everything is going to be okay in the world.
You see, I'm a worrier. I worry about, well, pretty much everything. I worry that I'll never be able to afford a house on a social worker's salary. I worry that I won't be a good social worker. I worry that my kid and I won't get along. I worry that my kid is going to be into 50-Cent. I worry that someone will buy my kid a Bratz doll and I will have to be the mean mom and throw it away and it will scar them for life. I worry that I won't be able to afford a prom dress. I worry that we'll still be at war and that my child will get drafted, and he'll return as a triangular flag. I worry that civilized society will have completely and totally broken down, and that life will resemble Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451." That one I really worry about.
So, when I'm walking along and someone sets off the happy wash, it's even better if I've been deeply eembedded in Operation WorryNow all day. Because for a few minutes, the world is a safe and lovely place, where people are kind. Kids are only interested in furthering their education and the pursuit of music, poetry, photography. For a minute, I can go back to my PollyAnna roots, and remember that we'll always have enough. That I'll always be enough for my kids, and that they'll never forget where they came from.
It's at that moment that I can say with complete and total plausibility that life is really, really swell.
(First published: October 6, 2007)
You see, I'm a worrier. I worry about, well, pretty much everything. I worry that I'll never be able to afford a house on a social worker's salary. I worry that I won't be a good social worker. I worry that my kid and I won't get along. I worry that my kid is going to be into 50-Cent. I worry that someone will buy my kid a Bratz doll and I will have to be the mean mom and throw it away and it will scar them for life. I worry that I won't be able to afford a prom dress. I worry that we'll still be at war and that my child will get drafted, and he'll return as a triangular flag. I worry that civilized society will have completely and totally broken down, and that life will resemble Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451." That one I really worry about.
So, when I'm walking along and someone sets off the happy wash, it's even better if I've been deeply eembedded in Operation WorryNow all day. Because for a few minutes, the world is a safe and lovely place, where people are kind. Kids are only interested in furthering their education and the pursuit of music, poetry, photography. For a minute, I can go back to my PollyAnna roots, and remember that we'll always have enough. That I'll always be enough for my kids, and that they'll never forget where they came from.
It's at that moment that I can say with complete and total plausibility that life is really, really swell.
(First published: October 6, 2007)
10.01.2007
My Heart Is Now Spoken For...
...I've been feeling this horrible pain in my stomach lately. Love's lost or past regrets? Neither. My jeans. While I'm not exactly at that stage in the pregnancy where I've got the big belly, I'm just at the 'my pants are a wee bit too tight mode.' Unbuttoning them in the car was always an option, but when I gave up whatever dignity I had and did it in class today, I decided enough was enough.
I went to the store, not knowing what to expect. I'd seen maternity jeans, but had never put them on. I have a pair at home, that were passed down from my sister. They are designed so that the whole thing goes up and over your belly with a cotton panel and drawstring to keep the whole thing in place. In three more months, these jeans will be what I wear night and day, but for the moment, I need something a little different.
So, I grab the first pair, and begin the examination. The wash is downright fashionable without being too trendy, the pockets look about right, I like the cut of the leg, and the 4-inch wide elastic waistband is both intriguing and ingeniously colored so as not to be noticable.
I grab a pair in my current size, and in the next size up. Hey, who know how large this Czech ass will become? I go off to the dressing room, to meet my destiny.
Oh, what joyous events unfolded. I slip ever so slowly into the pair in my current size. They fit beautifully. Better than beautifully. Jeans have never made me feel so lovely, not even my ridiculously expensive Lucky's or Seven for all Mankind's. I do some squats to test their stretchiness. I do some high-kicks. I could a couple of Chuck Norris roundhouse kicks to an imaginary attacker. At this point, satisfied my jeans will move ever which way, I stop because it's just depressing to see myself doing roundhouse kicks and not-so-high kicks, especially after this weekend's marathon "Making the Team" where really, really skinny women try to become Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. (By the way, did anyone see the girl, who not only thought Condoleeza Rice was a man, and called her Condoleeza Jones, she said she didn't know who she wanted for the next pres, cause she was so happy with our current one? Yikes!) I could squeeze a family of four in there, and still look stylish. The elastic waistband sits ever so comfortably right underneath the "bump and beer" I have, the pooch I have that's equal parts baby and the many, many, many lagers, hefeweizens and ales I consumed before I knew this seamonkey was coming. I can stretch out the ass, stretch out the belly, I'm golden. Just in case, I try on the next size up. Luckily for me and everyone here, I'm swimming in them, no way would they ever fit.
I grab a few new shirts to go with, some actual maternity tees, that look like everything else in the world, except they say 'Mom-To-Be' on the label and some organic stretch mark cream and belly oil, and I'm off to the races.
Who knew that an elastic waistband, could make one woman so happy? So my advice to you, go get some maternity jeans, even if you aren't pregnant. If they increase the happini like I think they will, well then, Mister, I'll have created Utopia.
(First published: October 1, 2007)
9.13.2007
September Update
Ok, so at this point, I'm coming up on 3 months preggo, and I still don't have an exact due date. Extremely scientific resources have indicated that it might be March 18th, and since this, according to St. Bede, was the day the world was created, I'll take it. They never hatch on their due dates to begin with.
So I'm approaching this milestone, the blessed end of the first trimester, and I've noticed that a lot of people are commenting on the 'changes your body will go through.' Very Disney, and nowhere near accurate. You wake up one day and you are PREGNANT. It's very disalarming.
Here are some changes I've noticed.
1. Instantly, I feel ten years older. I'm surrounded by children at school all day. Sure, they're only a few years younger than me, at most, but they just feel so, well, child-like. I just want to mother them all.
2. I realized that if anything besides Trivial Pursuit was going to make me competitive, it's motherhood. Holy crap. I find myself judging other's kids, their baby accessories, their parenting styles. Likewise, I am now in admiration of "the perfect kid," but I realized that I am much harsher on other moms than I thought I would be.
3. Suddenly, I'm a big fan of milk. And pickles. And Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Oreo Cakesters, Helene's Applesauce Bread, cookies of any sort, and peaches. And don't get me started on the birthday cake craving.
4. My concentration is nil.
5. We've picked the girl's name. The whole name. Not that we know it's a girl, but just to be ready. This is information that I would like to call everyone in the world and impress them with. I'm not. I'm kind of tossing the first name out there, but I'm guarding the middle name with my life.
6. I have the overwhelming urge to become as self-sustaining as possible. I want to garden, so that my child can have homemade baby food with Mommy's fresh asparagus. I bought a sewing machine, so that all my kid's Halloween costumes and blankets and prom dresses can spring out of Mommy's bare hands. It's kind of sick, actually.
7. And the biggie. Time. Time used to be this ever expanding thing, I never really cared about. I had plenty of it, I could waste a day or two of it. Now, (with the exception of nausea so horrid I'm suddenly a big fan of the couch) I feel as though every wasted day was an affront to humanity. I FEEL every day. It's as if I'm suddenly budgeting time and realizing how little of it one actually gets. I can stay in the present, but I feel the future weighing down pretty heavily. Odd.
So, there you have it. Expect more news as it happens, but I'm saving the updates for the bigger moments.
(First published: September 13, 2007)
So I'm approaching this milestone, the blessed end of the first trimester, and I've noticed that a lot of people are commenting on the 'changes your body will go through.' Very Disney, and nowhere near accurate. You wake up one day and you are PREGNANT. It's very disalarming.
Here are some changes I've noticed.
1. Instantly, I feel ten years older. I'm surrounded by children at school all day. Sure, they're only a few years younger than me, at most, but they just feel so, well, child-like. I just want to mother them all.
2. I realized that if anything besides Trivial Pursuit was going to make me competitive, it's motherhood. Holy crap. I find myself judging other's kids, their baby accessories, their parenting styles. Likewise, I am now in admiration of "the perfect kid," but I realized that I am much harsher on other moms than I thought I would be.
3. Suddenly, I'm a big fan of milk. And pickles. And Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Oreo Cakesters, Helene's Applesauce Bread, cookies of any sort, and peaches. And don't get me started on the birthday cake craving.
4. My concentration is nil.
5. We've picked the girl's name. The whole name. Not that we know it's a girl, but just to be ready. This is information that I would like to call everyone in the world and impress them with. I'm not. I'm kind of tossing the first name out there, but I'm guarding the middle name with my life.
6. I have the overwhelming urge to become as self-sustaining as possible. I want to garden, so that my child can have homemade baby food with Mommy's fresh asparagus. I bought a sewing machine, so that all my kid's Halloween costumes and blankets and prom dresses can spring out of Mommy's bare hands. It's kind of sick, actually.
7. And the biggie. Time. Time used to be this ever expanding thing, I never really cared about. I had plenty of it, I could waste a day or two of it. Now, (with the exception of nausea so horrid I'm suddenly a big fan of the couch) I feel as though every wasted day was an affront to humanity. I FEEL every day. It's as if I'm suddenly budgeting time and realizing how little of it one actually gets. I can stay in the present, but I feel the future weighing down pretty heavily. Odd.
So, there you have it. Expect more news as it happens, but I'm saving the updates for the bigger moments.
(First published: September 13, 2007)
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