I hate to say it, but I do think blondes may have more fun. I consider myself a blonde at heart. I was a white blonde kid, a medium blonde young adult, and full adulthood brought with it a shade somewhere between "cardboard box" and "dull tree bark". Not a pretty shade. Expensive, time consuming highlights ensued- I do believe that if I totaled up the amount spent on my blonde hue over the past 9 years, I could buy J that airplane he wants. Last fall, I had my beloved highlights filled in with lowlights and just let it grow. I was depressed, I felt dark, I just didn't care to deal with my blondeness. It was pretty at first, with the stylists' strategically placed mahogany pieces, but as that uninspired natural shade took over...not pretty. (Take a close look at the 20 week belly photo below for proof.) It became so homely that when I asked J last week if he'd mind me spending $200 on highlights (despite the fact that we're less frivolous with our cash these days, what with that mile long "ridiculously expensive and likely very useless things we need for baby" list) he responded with a cheery "yes! That's a GREAT idea! Shall I drive you?" Gotta love the man for his support. Or hate him for his closeted lust for blondes. Whatever.
I had my highlights, and I'm happy. I looked in the rearview mirror on the way home and thought- "now THIS is me". The dark hair didn't fit, seemed a disguise of sorts. It reflected a dark mood, a dark outlook, a desire to blend into the background. ((I mean NO offense to brunettes- those that are meant to be brunette are stunning and I'm envious of that "Kelly Kapowski" look I'll never rock- I'm just not meant for the darker tones.)) I can't help but think my lighter hair reflects my lighter place in life. Like maybe I'm restoring a part of who I was, allowing back a superficial aspect of the happy girl at heart.
My mood has lightened too. Wednesday was a tough day that moved into a tough night, and I woke up Thursday feeling a bit lighter. The fact that a year ago today I was in surgery, a surgery I never even knew existed before being told by the sad doctor that I'd need one, went by without any tears, just a sigh, a shake of the head. The crusty hospital, the shockingly insensitive anesthesiologist, the overwhelming feeling of emptiness that filled me as the drugs wore off- all seem so distant, so alien- like a story of another person's sad memory. Instead...onward and upward. Today marks 21 weeks. OVER halfway. Closer to the big, anticipatory third trimester than the frightful first trimester. I can't wait. Bring it on- all of it. Even that unsightly little spider vein that appeared overnight where my butt meets my leg, I'll take it- because I'm ready. Ready for what comes next, and just happy as a (pretty blonde) clam to be this damn close, this full of life and hope.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
one year ago
May 7, 2007. If I had kept a journal, that day surely would have been the most depressing entry of all my days, 26 years worth of days. That morning I woke up innocent. Blissfully naive. Unfortunately and stupidly confident. Truly believing all the contrived statistics that say once you have a heartbeat, you won't be miscarrying unless you're in that incredibly slim 2%- too tiny a number to even be considered real, laughable really. I drove downtown to the doctor's office excited to see our little one again, sure he/she would be wiggling about, more interesting than the creature we'd seen 4 weeks before. J and I waited forever for the doctor, reading In Touch, looking out the window at the steam rising off the street, eager to head out and over to Whole Foods, where I'd seen adorable natural onesies a few weeks before. I thought I would buy one as a celebration gift after my appointment.
Instead, the day became the one that cracked our surface, brought so much pain into a previously fortunate existance. The one that took away bits of my sunny nature and substituted some bitterness, a harshness that wasn't there before, a sadness that I just don't know that I'll ever entirely leave behind- a hole. I don't remember leaving the office. I remember crawling into the car, slumping into the seat, dialing my parents' phone number by instinct alone, and just wailing, wishing I was wrong, hoping they would make it better. I remember mom's tears, her shock. J's face, as he faked a mask of strength, pale complexion and watery eyes in contrast. His voice on the phone to his dad, a hushed voice, like he didn't want me to hear what he was saying, like I didn't already know. I felt empty, I felt robbed, I felt crushed beneath the weight of all my hopes and dreams and plans for our November baby. And then, the perinatologist's office, there for a second opinion I already KNEW wouldn't be any better, that had I been thinking clearly (thinking at all) we would have declined. Sinking to the cold tile floor as we waited for the doors to open, my head on my knees, the huge bellies too much for me to handle in the waiting room, being escorted to the privacy of an exam room to be signed in. Leaning against J as the world spun, my head spun, words like "social security number" and "primary OBGYN" bleeding together on the paperwork, foreign and meaningless to me. I wanted only my bed...my blanket...darkness...my baby. I wanted my baby. The baby still inside me, so still and lifeless on the screen, gummy bear arms and legs, vaguely human but so beloved. Gone. Without me ever knowing it. Gone while I continued to love, to plan, to share the news. I just kept murmuring "I wanna go home. I wanna go home. I wanna go home." Home, when I was there last, was happy, was safe. Where "if" wasn't a word that applied to babies...just "when".
A year. A year that has been the fastest and the painfully tortured, slowest year of my life. A year that aged me. A year that, despite my hesitation to tack anything positive onto this experience and turn this into some BS "on the bright side" posting (there is no bright side), will make me a better mother. A strong, thankful, gracious mother. Has made me a better friend. Has taught me who I trust and whose love is pure...has shown me who was never really there, not in the way I thought. A year that has shown me who J really is, his strength, his unfiltered optimism, his refusal to let me slip away into dark places, irretrievably. The limitless patience of his love for me, so unlovable in my misery. A year that has shown me the unshakable love of family, the instinctual, unquestionable support they offer, the safe place they hold in my world.
And as I sit here sobbing, American Idol blathering in the background (just get to it, already, we all know that stupid puppy faced kid is safe), Baby Boy kicks at my belly button. I imagine him saying "mom...you're okay! I'm okay! We're okay! More Sunkist!" I hate to let this day be one of sadness, because it somehow cheapens my love for this baby boy, makes me ungrateful, takes away some of the joy I should feel, the joy of a mommy to be, the joy that has been tainted by the fear, the memories, the tears of this past year.
That's all. I'm eager for 12:00am. A new beginning, this date no longer looming dark on my calendar. One day closer to THIS baby, to the peace he'll bring, the love he'll be born into. The other babies are forever loved. No amount of love lavished on this baby (and those I hope will follow) will detract from that. I hope they know.
Instead, the day became the one that cracked our surface, brought so much pain into a previously fortunate existance. The one that took away bits of my sunny nature and substituted some bitterness, a harshness that wasn't there before, a sadness that I just don't know that I'll ever entirely leave behind- a hole. I don't remember leaving the office. I remember crawling into the car, slumping into the seat, dialing my parents' phone number by instinct alone, and just wailing, wishing I was wrong, hoping they would make it better. I remember mom's tears, her shock. J's face, as he faked a mask of strength, pale complexion and watery eyes in contrast. His voice on the phone to his dad, a hushed voice, like he didn't want me to hear what he was saying, like I didn't already know. I felt empty, I felt robbed, I felt crushed beneath the weight of all my hopes and dreams and plans for our November baby. And then, the perinatologist's office, there for a second opinion I already KNEW wouldn't be any better, that had I been thinking clearly (thinking at all) we would have declined. Sinking to the cold tile floor as we waited for the doors to open, my head on my knees, the huge bellies too much for me to handle in the waiting room, being escorted to the privacy of an exam room to be signed in. Leaning against J as the world spun, my head spun, words like "social security number" and "primary OBGYN" bleeding together on the paperwork, foreign and meaningless to me. I wanted only my bed...my blanket...darkness...my baby. I wanted my baby. The baby still inside me, so still and lifeless on the screen, gummy bear arms and legs, vaguely human but so beloved. Gone. Without me ever knowing it. Gone while I continued to love, to plan, to share the news. I just kept murmuring "I wanna go home. I wanna go home. I wanna go home." Home, when I was there last, was happy, was safe. Where "if" wasn't a word that applied to babies...just "when".
A year. A year that has been the fastest and the painfully tortured, slowest year of my life. A year that aged me. A year that, despite my hesitation to tack anything positive onto this experience and turn this into some BS "on the bright side" posting (there is no bright side), will make me a better mother. A strong, thankful, gracious mother. Has made me a better friend. Has taught me who I trust and whose love is pure...has shown me who was never really there, not in the way I thought. A year that has shown me who J really is, his strength, his unfiltered optimism, his refusal to let me slip away into dark places, irretrievably. The limitless patience of his love for me, so unlovable in my misery. A year that has shown me the unshakable love of family, the instinctual, unquestionable support they offer, the safe place they hold in my world.
And as I sit here sobbing, American Idol blathering in the background (just get to it, already, we all know that stupid puppy faced kid is safe), Baby Boy kicks at my belly button. I imagine him saying "mom...you're okay! I'm okay! We're okay! More Sunkist!" I hate to let this day be one of sadness, because it somehow cheapens my love for this baby boy, makes me ungrateful, takes away some of the joy I should feel, the joy of a mommy to be, the joy that has been tainted by the fear, the memories, the tears of this past year.
That's all. I'm eager for 12:00am. A new beginning, this date no longer looming dark on my calendar. One day closer to THIS baby, to the peace he'll bring, the love he'll be born into. The other babies are forever loved. No amount of love lavished on this baby (and those I hope will follow) will detract from that. I hope they know.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
bellies
I'd venture to say that at this point, 20 weeks, my midsection can no longer be mistaken for a gut- the belly looks less "beer" more "baby". And J.....well, he just wanted his picture taken. We were on our way out for a rare dinner date, thanks to J being off work before 8pm for the first time in a million zillion years. 
Nothing else to report. An uneventful weekend in store. J's working, I'm supposed to be cleaning, doing laundry, proving myself useful. Instead, I'm eating a hot dog and watching Girls Next Door. (Yes, a hot dog. Heated to steaming. Back off.) It's looking increasingly likely that the most ambition I'll display today will be cracking open my new UsWeekly and putting the backyard lounge chair to use. So be it.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
hormonal hungry hippo
It's been a long day. While nothing bad or worthy of distress actually happened, I've cried more times than I can count. But here, for the hell of it and because Wheel of Fortune college week bores me, I'll try.
Episode #1. 8am. Breakfast table. George jumped into my lap. He rubbed his little kitty face up to my chin, and I burst into tears. I don't know if it was the pure, unfiltered look kitty adoration in his eyes that got me...or the realization that he's just left the litter box and probably had crap on his feet.
Episode #2. 9am. Shower. I'm all soapy and warm when I realize there's not ONE towel in the bathroom. I'd hauled each and every dirty towel down to the washer an hour earlier (and by each and every dirty towel...I mean our entire towel stock. I'm a bit behind on laundry.) I'm nakey and wet and have no towel. Tears flow. I haven't vacuumed in days, so rolling around on the carpet isn't appealing. My sweatpants worked in a pinch.
Episode #3. 3:30pm. Wallyworld. Some mental midget was hangin' outside the store, greasy mullet blowing in the wind, likely waiting for his ball and chain to come out with his Natty Lite and nudie magazines- it's pay day, folks. Smoking away. Beside his FREAKING NEWBORN BABY. The poor bambino (who looked to be all of a week or two old) sat innocently in her infant seat, stacked precariously atop the Walmart cart, while Father of the Year puffed away. The wind was positioned just right to waft the second hand smoke right into her tiny little defenseless face. I bit my tongue and kept walking as tears sprung at my eyes. Not my baby, and certainly people do FAR worse, but it made me sad. Made me pissed as hell that people like him have kiddos while so many more worthy people don't. And also made me wonder how harshly, exactly, the state of Texas punishes kidnappers. I sat in my car and cried for a few minutes, then left before I stole a baby.
Episode #4. 4pm. The big kahuna. When I came home from lunch, a large box was waiting. This, I knew, was the bridesmaid dress I'd ordered for my cousin's wedding. The one that's in 5 weeks. The dress I had to get into a screaming match with the bridal store over in order to get it in time for alterations. The dress I purposely ordered a whopping 4 sizes up from normal, thinking I'd have enough fabric left over to fashion a jacket, purse, headband and some leggings. Maybe even a boutenairre for J. I dash inside, rip open the box, and think...hmm...looks small. Up in my room, I realized the dress was HOPELESS. Wouldn't zip over my bum, squeezed me in all the wrong places, basically looked like something I'd stolen from a kindergartner. MAJOR, HEAVING SOBS. The wedding's in 5 weeks! My cousin doesn't need this stress! I'm so faaaaaaat! $200 in the toilet! No dress for the wedding IN 5 WEEKS! I called mom and all that came out was "waaaaaaaaahhhh!!!!" which of course, scared the daylights out of poor mom. Imagine her relief upon finding out it was a stupid dress inducing the hysteria. (Update: found new dress, spoke to designer's rep, will be here by May 16. Halle-freakin-lujia. Even better, because I was STILL crying like a lunatic when I called about the dress, they dropped the standard $75 "mega super crazy rush" charge.)
Episode #5. 10 minutes ago. My DVR is broke and is forcing me to choose between Grey's, The Office, and CSI. How unfair is life? My remote broke too, so my night's pretty much shot.
Yeah, I realize life is pretty good when my litany of complaints includes a misfunctoning DVR box. But, too bad. It's my blog, and I'll cry if I want to.
Episode #1. 8am. Breakfast table. George jumped into my lap. He rubbed his little kitty face up to my chin, and I burst into tears. I don't know if it was the pure, unfiltered look kitty adoration in his eyes that got me...or the realization that he's just left the litter box and probably had crap on his feet.
Episode #2. 9am. Shower. I'm all soapy and warm when I realize there's not ONE towel in the bathroom. I'd hauled each and every dirty towel down to the washer an hour earlier (and by each and every dirty towel...I mean our entire towel stock. I'm a bit behind on laundry.) I'm nakey and wet and have no towel. Tears flow. I haven't vacuumed in days, so rolling around on the carpet isn't appealing. My sweatpants worked in a pinch.
Episode #3. 3:30pm. Wallyworld. Some mental midget was hangin' outside the store, greasy mullet blowing in the wind, likely waiting for his ball and chain to come out with his Natty Lite and nudie magazines- it's pay day, folks. Smoking away. Beside his FREAKING NEWBORN BABY. The poor bambino (who looked to be all of a week or two old) sat innocently in her infant seat, stacked precariously atop the Walmart cart, while Father of the Year puffed away. The wind was positioned just right to waft the second hand smoke right into her tiny little defenseless face. I bit my tongue and kept walking as tears sprung at my eyes. Not my baby, and certainly people do FAR worse, but it made me sad. Made me pissed as hell that people like him have kiddos while so many more worthy people don't. And also made me wonder how harshly, exactly, the state of Texas punishes kidnappers. I sat in my car and cried for a few minutes, then left before I stole a baby.
Episode #4. 4pm. The big kahuna. When I came home from lunch, a large box was waiting. This, I knew, was the bridesmaid dress I'd ordered for my cousin's wedding. The one that's in 5 weeks. The dress I had to get into a screaming match with the bridal store over in order to get it in time for alterations. The dress I purposely ordered a whopping 4 sizes up from normal, thinking I'd have enough fabric left over to fashion a jacket, purse, headband and some leggings. Maybe even a boutenairre for J. I dash inside, rip open the box, and think...hmm...looks small. Up in my room, I realized the dress was HOPELESS. Wouldn't zip over my bum, squeezed me in all the wrong places, basically looked like something I'd stolen from a kindergartner. MAJOR, HEAVING SOBS. The wedding's in 5 weeks! My cousin doesn't need this stress! I'm so faaaaaaat! $200 in the toilet! No dress for the wedding IN 5 WEEKS! I called mom and all that came out was "waaaaaaaaahhhh!!!!" which of course, scared the daylights out of poor mom. Imagine her relief upon finding out it was a stupid dress inducing the hysteria. (Update: found new dress, spoke to designer's rep, will be here by May 16. Halle-freakin-lujia. Even better, because I was STILL crying like a lunatic when I called about the dress, they dropped the standard $75 "mega super crazy rush" charge.)
Episode #5. 10 minutes ago. My DVR is broke and is forcing me to choose between Grey's, The Office, and CSI. How unfair is life? My remote broke too, so my night's pretty much shot.
Yeah, I realize life is pretty good when my litany of complaints includes a misfunctoning DVR box. But, too bad. It's my blog, and I'll cry if I want to.
Monday, April 28, 2008
my poor neglected blog!
There's really no good excuse for my recent lack of blogging. Too busy? Nope. Too sick? Nope. Just kind of lazy and a lack of anything remarkable to write about? Ding ding ding! But just for Monica...because she asked so nicely and is buying me a Bugaboo (I kid, I kid)....a new post. This might be a whopper. Get a drink.
Thankfully, blessedly all seems to be well. 19 weeks, 2 or 3 days. As of Friday, I'll be in the second half of my pregnancy. Thank you, God. Seriously- I could NOT be more thankful for a healthy, happy pregnancy thus far. My daily heartbeat checks are reassuring. Well, to me- the cats are still a little tripped out by that creepy, wooshing doppler, and George did try to chew the cord apart the other day in protest. 2 weeks ago, at 17 weeks on the dot, I felt the little guy move! I was sitting at the computer working on a Saturday morning (woe is me) when I felt a tiny, vague rumble. Honestly, my first thought was "oh, crap!" Literally, oh- crap? Nope! A second later, another nudge. As the ingeniously funny Amy Poehler says in my recent favorite movie "Baby Mama"- indirect quote here- it's like you ate a meatball sandwich, and now the meatball sandwich is moving inside of you. I feel something every day now, nothing steady or dependable, but it's fun and reassuring. When I have a Sunkist, which is a rare but delectable treat, Baby zooms around in there like he smuggled a trampoline up there or something. I am sleeping pretty heavily these days.... The tummy is taking on a life of its own. My belly button, day by day, is shrinking and threatening to disappear. Thank GOODNESS the girls in my sorority house were wrong- that belly button ring hole (that has refused to close in the 5+ years since I removed the ring) is NOT ripping open and turning into a big, ugly hole now that I'm pregnant. I'm loving this stage of pregnancy. My sickness is all gone, I eat when and what I want, and I've got a bit more energy than I did a month ago. That said, I'd still be thrilled if I could just fast forward directly to September and be holding the little guy. The control freak in me feels like only when he's HERE, when I can micromanage his every move, will he be safe. And then I'll breathe again. When I remember to in my sleep deprived haze, i guess.
Now that I'm really showing, I have moments of feeling like a traitor- like I crossed the picket line and became "one of them". Case in point: I was at Walmart (yeah, I know, ew) last week and wearing a tank top that clearly outlined the belly. Okay, it was a wife beater. I was wearing a wife beater in Walmart. Call the cops, hand over the keys to the trailer park, whatever. I'd just run in for some Tums, that hot dog I chowed was NOT working for me. As I'm reading each antacid bottle's label for any sign of any potential danger to the fetus, I look over toward the pharmacy and notice a girl about my age glaring at "the bump". At first, I thought she was just some bitchy chick. But when I looked back a moment later and found her STILL staring at me with a mix of anger and what now looked a bit like sadness, I looked down at my obvious belly lump, and my heart sunk. Because, and it still hurts to think about this day, 5 months ago, I was glaring down a pregnant woman while waiting at the Target pharmacy for meds to kick start my period, which had disappeared seemingly for eternity after my second miscarriage. I was miserable, bloated, crushed, a little buzzed, and mad as hell that we even HAD to try again and my body refused to cooperate to LET us try again. A mom sauntered by with a cart, toddler in the front of the card, tiny baby in a baby carrier, nonchalant and in my eyes totally undeserving....and I'm pretty sure the look I gave her (through puffy, grief hazed eyes) could have melted metal. Wherever I went in those awful days, my heart sunk whenever I saw a pregnant girl. More than once, just the sight of one sent me in tears to my car or the privacy of the nearest restroom. Remember Big Butt Becky? Who knows. Maybe the girl at Walmart hated my purse or found my grown out roots distasteful. But in that moment, I felt ashamed, guilty, and sad to be "the pregnant girl" who may or may not have ruined someone's afternoon with my presence. It shatters my heart a bit to know it may be me stomping my belly through someone else's sad time with my happy pregnancy glow, it may be me who sends someone to their car in tears cursing that it's not THEM. If only they knew, I always think! How many pregnants did I let crush my spirit, never once thinking getting (or staying) pregnant may not have been a picnic for them, either? Short of donning a hooded sweatshirt for the next 4.5 (hot and sweaty) months, I'm not sure there's much I can do but remember Big Butt Becky and keep my banal, obsessive nursery decor conversations to a hushed minimum.
I'm gearing up for my big summer trip- a 3 week "Tour De Midwest". Could I BE more excited? NOPE! My baby sister graduates college, my baby brother graduates high school, and my wonderfully unbridezilla-ish cousin/pretend sister gets married (I'll be the fat one in the pink pup tent crying my eyeballs out, if you're looking for me). I leave May 22 and will be gone a whopping 3 weeks. The puppers will be safe and sound (and likely thrilled exhausted by her trademark, boundlessly energetic walks) at Grandma Frazier's. The kitties will have to deal with 3 long, boring weeks without their human entertainment/treat dispenser. They'll be lucky if J, after his 13 hour workday, remembers to dump some kibble in their bowl once a week or so. Poor guys. I'm sure they'll retaliate, like the time we left them to go to Hawaii and they clawed a hole through the back of our leather (okay...pleather) couch. The trip will be one laced with bittersweetness. In preparation for the big CA move, mom and dad's Madison house is on the market (and will quite possibly have an accepted offer in the next day or two). This house has been our "home" for longer than nearly any house we lived in as kids. There are so many memories there, and it's tough to think that there will no longer be a home there for us. We'll still have Rhinelander securing our Wisconsin roots, thank GOD- the thought of never again trolling Walmart for mullets or tasting Rhinelander Cafe & Pub's hash browns or living somewhere where a hunk of cheese is appropriate attire is heart wrenching at best. When we're homesick, the cabin on the lake will beckon, and a'home we will go. Anyway, leaving Madison in June will be tough. I'll never be back to that house, never again see the backyard ducks, and Madison will be a place we used to be, a memory, our past. Megan will depart shortly after for a yearlong consulting job, Michael will leave for college, I'll become a mama and my Lambeau Field pre-game keg stands will be history (I kid again, that never happened)...lots of changes in our happy family.
What else. It's getting hot already. It's April. It's snowing in some barren parts of the world (helloooo, North Dakota). But in Texas, we're smoldering. Can I just say how excited I am, despite my Madison nostalgia, to jet off to the 'rent's new place in (comparably) cool, coastal Orange County when I start feeling like a (gigantic, bloated) ant under a magnifying glass? Wanna guess where I'll be hiding out for a week or so come July, when it's 300 degrees in the great state of Texas and the siding is melting off of our house? Not after July, though. Mom said if the baby is born in Newport, it becomes a citizen, and is no longer allowed to leave the State of California, by law. I've never heard of that, but she sounded serious.
All right, I've exhausted myself. I hereby do solemnly swear to stop neglecting my blog. Stay tuned.
OH PS- how FREAKING EXCITED AM I THAT IT'S BACHELOR NIGHT?! SO excited, THAT'S how excited! And Gossip Girl! Off to get some Ben & Jerry's to prepare.......
Thankfully, blessedly all seems to be well. 19 weeks, 2 or 3 days. As of Friday, I'll be in the second half of my pregnancy. Thank you, God. Seriously- I could NOT be more thankful for a healthy, happy pregnancy thus far. My daily heartbeat checks are reassuring. Well, to me- the cats are still a little tripped out by that creepy, wooshing doppler, and George did try to chew the cord apart the other day in protest. 2 weeks ago, at 17 weeks on the dot, I felt the little guy move! I was sitting at the computer working on a Saturday morning (woe is me) when I felt a tiny, vague rumble. Honestly, my first thought was "oh, crap!" Literally, oh- crap? Nope! A second later, another nudge. As the ingeniously funny Amy Poehler says in my recent favorite movie "Baby Mama"- indirect quote here- it's like you ate a meatball sandwich, and now the meatball sandwich is moving inside of you. I feel something every day now, nothing steady or dependable, but it's fun and reassuring. When I have a Sunkist, which is a rare but delectable treat, Baby zooms around in there like he smuggled a trampoline up there or something. I am sleeping pretty heavily these days.... The tummy is taking on a life of its own. My belly button, day by day, is shrinking and threatening to disappear. Thank GOODNESS the girls in my sorority house were wrong- that belly button ring hole (that has refused to close in the 5+ years since I removed the ring) is NOT ripping open and turning into a big, ugly hole now that I'm pregnant. I'm loving this stage of pregnancy. My sickness is all gone, I eat when and what I want, and I've got a bit more energy than I did a month ago. That said, I'd still be thrilled if I could just fast forward directly to September and be holding the little guy. The control freak in me feels like only when he's HERE, when I can micromanage his every move, will he be safe. And then I'll breathe again. When I remember to in my sleep deprived haze, i guess.
Now that I'm really showing, I have moments of feeling like a traitor- like I crossed the picket line and became "one of them". Case in point: I was at Walmart (yeah, I know, ew) last week and wearing a tank top that clearly outlined the belly. Okay, it was a wife beater. I was wearing a wife beater in Walmart. Call the cops, hand over the keys to the trailer park, whatever. I'd just run in for some Tums, that hot dog I chowed was NOT working for me. As I'm reading each antacid bottle's label for any sign of any potential danger to the fetus, I look over toward the pharmacy and notice a girl about my age glaring at "the bump". At first, I thought she was just some bitchy chick. But when I looked back a moment later and found her STILL staring at me with a mix of anger and what now looked a bit like sadness, I looked down at my obvious belly lump, and my heart sunk. Because, and it still hurts to think about this day, 5 months ago, I was glaring down a pregnant woman while waiting at the Target pharmacy for meds to kick start my period, which had disappeared seemingly for eternity after my second miscarriage. I was miserable, bloated, crushed, a little buzzed, and mad as hell that we even HAD to try again and my body refused to cooperate to LET us try again. A mom sauntered by with a cart, toddler in the front of the card, tiny baby in a baby carrier, nonchalant and in my eyes totally undeserving....and I'm pretty sure the look I gave her (through puffy, grief hazed eyes) could have melted metal. Wherever I went in those awful days, my heart sunk whenever I saw a pregnant girl. More than once, just the sight of one sent me in tears to my car or the privacy of the nearest restroom. Remember Big Butt Becky? Who knows. Maybe the girl at Walmart hated my purse or found my grown out roots distasteful. But in that moment, I felt ashamed, guilty, and sad to be "the pregnant girl" who may or may not have ruined someone's afternoon with my presence. It shatters my heart a bit to know it may be me stomping my belly through someone else's sad time with my happy pregnancy glow, it may be me who sends someone to their car in tears cursing that it's not THEM. If only they knew, I always think! How many pregnants did I let crush my spirit, never once thinking getting (or staying) pregnant may not have been a picnic for them, either? Short of donning a hooded sweatshirt for the next 4.5 (hot and sweaty) months, I'm not sure there's much I can do but remember Big Butt Becky and keep my banal, obsessive nursery decor conversations to a hushed minimum.
I'm gearing up for my big summer trip- a 3 week "Tour De Midwest". Could I BE more excited? NOPE! My baby sister graduates college, my baby brother graduates high school, and my wonderfully unbridezilla-ish cousin/pretend sister gets married (I'll be the fat one in the pink pup tent crying my eyeballs out, if you're looking for me). I leave May 22 and will be gone a whopping 3 weeks. The puppers will be safe and sound (and likely thrilled exhausted by her trademark, boundlessly energetic walks) at Grandma Frazier's. The kitties will have to deal with 3 long, boring weeks without their human entertainment/treat dispenser. They'll be lucky if J, after his 13 hour workday, remembers to dump some kibble in their bowl once a week or so. Poor guys. I'm sure they'll retaliate, like the time we left them to go to Hawaii and they clawed a hole through the back of our leather (okay...pleather) couch. The trip will be one laced with bittersweetness. In preparation for the big CA move, mom and dad's Madison house is on the market (and will quite possibly have an accepted offer in the next day or two). This house has been our "home" for longer than nearly any house we lived in as kids. There are so many memories there, and it's tough to think that there will no longer be a home there for us. We'll still have Rhinelander securing our Wisconsin roots, thank GOD- the thought of never again trolling Walmart for mullets or tasting Rhinelander Cafe & Pub's hash browns or living somewhere where a hunk of cheese is appropriate attire is heart wrenching at best. When we're homesick, the cabin on the lake will beckon, and a'home we will go. Anyway, leaving Madison in June will be tough. I'll never be back to that house, never again see the backyard ducks, and Madison will be a place we used to be, a memory, our past. Megan will depart shortly after for a yearlong consulting job, Michael will leave for college, I'll become a mama and my Lambeau Field pre-game keg stands will be history (I kid again, that never happened)...lots of changes in our happy family.
What else. It's getting hot already. It's April. It's snowing in some barren parts of the world (helloooo, North Dakota). But in Texas, we're smoldering. Can I just say how excited I am, despite my Madison nostalgia, to jet off to the 'rent's new place in (comparably) cool, coastal Orange County when I start feeling like a (gigantic, bloated) ant under a magnifying glass? Wanna guess where I'll be hiding out for a week or so come July, when it's 300 degrees in the great state of Texas and the siding is melting off of our house? Not after July, though. Mom said if the baby is born in Newport, it becomes a citizen, and is no longer allowed to leave the State of California, by law. I've never heard of that, but she sounded serious.
All right, I've exhausted myself. I hereby do solemnly swear to stop neglecting my blog. Stay tuned.
OH PS- how FREAKING EXCITED AM I THAT IT'S BACHELOR NIGHT?! SO excited, THAT'S how excited! And Gossip Girl! Off to get some Ben & Jerry's to prepare.......
Friday, April 4, 2008
a son in september
Well....helllllo! As you see in the above posting (I'm finding I have to post pictures seperately or the text morphs into some itty bitty unreadable mess that gives me a headache to try to read)....we're having a SON! It's DEFINITELY A BOY! Our appointment wasn't technically until Monday, but I've had some discomfort this week that kept me up with worry most of last night, which made me call in this morning to see about a nurse visit today. I was uneasy and knew the weekend would drag if I didn't just go in and get seen. Stress isn't good for me or the bambino, I figured. They brought me right in and I even got a bonus Dr. S visit!
The ultrasound began and.....wow! He's a HE! How's this for a typical boy- the nurse first tried for a cute face shot. Moved all around, jiggled at the tummy, no go. His hands were firmly in front of his face, rubbing at his ears, blocking our view, wiggling fingers in front of our faces. She then decides to head to the nether region. What happened to the modesty, kiddo? There it was! Legs spread, unmistakable penis. I saw it before the nurse even said anything, and my belly laugh sent the little guy jumping all about in there. Thrilled, in awe, relieved. The other issue I was there to check on turned out to be absolutely nothing, but I was reminded once again how fortunate I am to be under the care of Dr. S. He came in to do the measurement and put me totally at ease.
He's measuring big- 17 weeks today (I'm 16 weeks along)! Mom's measuring big too- let's just say the scale hit an all time high this morning, and I'm not so upset about that. It means I'm growing, it means he's growing, it will come off next fall. Or winter. Spring. Whatever. Definitely by summer. Our test results from the 12 week testing were gorgeous. Our risk for Downs Syndrome and another disorder called Trisomy 18 are as low as can be- 1:10,000 chance. Happy day!
We still go back on Monday for our "official" 16 week ultrasound and gender check. I'm playing coy with J and telling him I know for sure what we're having after today's ultrasound (he wasn't there) but that he has to wait for Monday to see for himself. Cruel, I know. But I just want to see the look on his face when he discovers for himself that his first child will be a SON!
16 weeks already. 4 more weeks until halfway. 11 more weeks until the 3rd trimester. So incredibly grateful and ecstatic to be here, and so thrilled to be expecting a son. My son. Our SON!
The ultrasound began and.....wow! He's a HE! How's this for a typical boy- the nurse first tried for a cute face shot. Moved all around, jiggled at the tummy, no go. His hands were firmly in front of his face, rubbing at his ears, blocking our view, wiggling fingers in front of our faces. She then decides to head to the nether region. What happened to the modesty, kiddo? There it was! Legs spread, unmistakable penis. I saw it before the nurse even said anything, and my belly laugh sent the little guy jumping all about in there. Thrilled, in awe, relieved. The other issue I was there to check on turned out to be absolutely nothing, but I was reminded once again how fortunate I am to be under the care of Dr. S. He came in to do the measurement and put me totally at ease.
He's measuring big- 17 weeks today (I'm 16 weeks along)! Mom's measuring big too- let's just say the scale hit an all time high this morning, and I'm not so upset about that. It means I'm growing, it means he's growing, it will come off next fall. Or winter. Spring. Whatever. Definitely by summer. Our test results from the 12 week testing were gorgeous. Our risk for Downs Syndrome and another disorder called Trisomy 18 are as low as can be- 1:10,000 chance. Happy day!
We still go back on Monday for our "official" 16 week ultrasound and gender check. I'm playing coy with J and telling him I know for sure what we're having after today's ultrasound (he wasn't there) but that he has to wait for Monday to see for himself. Cruel, I know. But I just want to see the look on his face when he discovers for himself that his first child will be a SON!
16 weeks already. 4 more weeks until halfway. 11 more weeks until the 3rd trimester. So incredibly grateful and ecstatic to be here, and so thrilled to be expecting a son. My son. Our SON!
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