And ... here's my marriage advice to girls! Why not, after yesterday's post? Girls, these are the two best tips I have right now on living with a husband.
1. Never stop laughing at his jokes. Men love to make chicks laugh, have you noticed? For a very long time, I thought guys grossly overrated the importance of humor in relationships. Well, it's finally dawning on me how much I cherish it too! Laughing with Anders might just be my very favorite thing to do.
2. Know in advance that you're going to forgive him for everything. This is why I like marriage better than dating (not that I recommend bypassing the one to get to the other). Pressure's off! The dating situation is saturated with responsibility. You have to analyze his every flaw and quirk to see whether it's merely a fleeting annoyance, or something much more ominous. A glimpse into a darker side of his personality? Evidence of a pathway he's treading that's headed nowhere good? Such heavy, worrisome questions every time he does something unpleasant. It isn't about forgiving him at this point, it's about your solemn duty to use as much wisdom as possible when two people's hearts are at stake. But now, thank goodness, the decision's been made! He's your husband! Whatever dark sides or troubled pathways are revealed now have no bearing whatever on whether you should stick around: you should. Which means instead of analyzing his flaws, you can jump straight to forgiveness.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
What a Guy
Anders is a really, really good husband. Ever seen the show 'Minute to Win It'? I watched half an episode once. The tasks are simple, like bouncing ping pong balls into glasses. They're pointless, repetitive, crude, and silly. The website uses descriptions like this: "Balance six dice on a popsicle stick held in your mouth"; "Transport all the gumballs from one soda bottle to another"; "Use 1 hand to run a piece of thread through the eye of 10 needles." Just boring, altogether stupid stuff. But to win it, you have to treat each task like it's of monumental importance. If you've seen the show, you know how the contestants apply their concentration to every assignment. Somehow they have to keep from getting flustered, even after a couple of errors. They use delicacy and finesse.
Well, that's kinda how I'd say Anders approaches life with me. Plenty of stuff in marriage is repetitive and crude, right? And sometimes even feels more or less pointless. But Anders pays attention to my moods and whims, and like the guy bouncing one ping pong ball after another into a row of glasses, he perseveres 'til he gets really good at opening me up. He treats the job of making me smile like it's tremendously important. He's so careful with me. Man oh man, what a guy.
I've known ever since we were married that he's a great husband. But now that he's gonna be a daddy, he fills me so full of affection I could just burst. The tenderness with which he just helps me off the couch! But he also dotes on Jabberwocky, and she hasn't even been born yet. The thought of him holding her melts me.
So I guess that's my marriage advice to guys: treat your wife's happiness with all the seriousness you'd use if the fortune from 'Minute to Win It' were hanging in the balance.
Well, that's kinda how I'd say Anders approaches life with me. Plenty of stuff in marriage is repetitive and crude, right? And sometimes even feels more or less pointless. But Anders pays attention to my moods and whims, and like the guy bouncing one ping pong ball after another into a row of glasses, he perseveres 'til he gets really good at opening me up. He treats the job of making me smile like it's tremendously important. He's so careful with me. Man oh man, what a guy.
I've known ever since we were married that he's a great husband. But now that he's gonna be a daddy, he fills me so full of affection I could just burst. The tenderness with which he just helps me off the couch! But he also dotes on Jabberwocky, and she hasn't even been born yet. The thought of him holding her melts me.
So I guess that's my marriage advice to guys: treat your wife's happiness with all the seriousness you'd use if the fortune from 'Minute to Win It' were hanging in the balance.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Baby Names
On the subject of names for Jabberwocky, we have, not so much a list, as a nebula. A cloud of names that hovers above the sleeping newborn baby we're picturing in our minds. Names float in and out, and every once in a while one gains weight and drops closer to the baby, bouncing there expectantly to see if it's a match. Then it will sore back up again into the cloud and another name will take its place, each in turn hoping for our nod of approval to make the final descent and land right on top of the baby's head. We don't have any winners yet, but a couple contenders are beginning to make this journey up and down through the Name Nebula more often than the others.
I really enjoy talking about names. I love it when expectant parents are willing to share the chosen name in advance. Turns out, however, that I don't really feel like publicly disclosing what's currently drifting through our nebula. I want to protect our name-options from inadvertent eyebrow wrinkles and lip curls, even if these reactions are brief and innocuous. I can't help it. Even blank looks of puzzlement make me defensive. I demand nothing short of a warm and accepting smile for every name I pronounce!
Anders and I pick up the name question at regular intervals, about once a week or so. Sometimes these conversations are productive. Very frequently they sort of spin out of control until we are both just blurting out the most ridiculous things we can think of. My favorite of these so far is "Mrs. Butterworth Helquist." This was from Anders, in response to my suggestion of Jemima (which of course made him think of Aunt Jemima).
I'd like to have between two and four names to take with us to the hospital when it's time for the baby, and to defer the final verdict until we meet and hold her.
I really enjoy talking about names. I love it when expectant parents are willing to share the chosen name in advance. Turns out, however, that I don't really feel like publicly disclosing what's currently drifting through our nebula. I want to protect our name-options from inadvertent eyebrow wrinkles and lip curls, even if these reactions are brief and innocuous. I can't help it. Even blank looks of puzzlement make me defensive. I demand nothing short of a warm and accepting smile for every name I pronounce!
Anders and I pick up the name question at regular intervals, about once a week or so. Sometimes these conversations are productive. Very frequently they sort of spin out of control until we are both just blurting out the most ridiculous things we can think of. My favorite of these so far is "Mrs. Butterworth Helquist." This was from Anders, in response to my suggestion of Jemima (which of course made him think of Aunt Jemima).
I'd like to have between two and four names to take with us to the hospital when it's time for the baby, and to defer the final verdict until we meet and hold her.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Crib Shopping
When you're looking for a stroller, you can come up with criteria. Like: I want it to fold up instead of down; I want easy maneuverability; I want readily-accessible underneath storage. Maybe I want a cup holder. Maybe I want a jogging stroller for all the times I will take Jabberwocky out jogging (okay, that is not going to happen).
But how on earth do you narrow down CRIBS? There are a couple things: the crib should be sturdy, and the baby shouldn't be able to get her head stuck between the rails. But seriously, don't those things go without saying? And haven't all the recalls pretty much taken care of safety issues? Most of the cribs we've looked at are these convertible/3-in-1 things, where you turn it into a toddler bed and then eventually use it as the headboard for a full-size bed. I kinda doubt we'll take advantage of that option, but it seems hard to avoid when shopping. So basically I feel like it comes down to price, and whether you like curves or straight edges. I've decided this: white. Maybe. Possibly medium brown or espresso, but definitely not black. Or a funky color. And also: I don't want one that looks like a piano with railings. So many cribs look like transfigured pianos.
But how on earth do you narrow down CRIBS? There are a couple things: the crib should be sturdy, and the baby shouldn't be able to get her head stuck between the rails. But seriously, don't those things go without saying? And haven't all the recalls pretty much taken care of safety issues? Most of the cribs we've looked at are these convertible/3-in-1 things, where you turn it into a toddler bed and then eventually use it as the headboard for a full-size bed. I kinda doubt we'll take advantage of that option, but it seems hard to avoid when shopping. So basically I feel like it comes down to price, and whether you like curves or straight edges. I've decided this: white. Maybe. Possibly medium brown or espresso, but definitely not black. Or a funky color. And also: I don't want one that looks like a piano with railings. So many cribs look like transfigured pianos.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Pregnancy: Week 29
I have dreams of unpreparedness almost every night. Things like: I'm up in the morning and look at the clock, and I'm ten minutes late for work and haven't started getting ready. Or: house-guests are on the doorstep, and I forgot to clean the house. I wonder if these dreams will subside once we get our nursery in order? I suspect this feeling of not being ready goes a little deeper in my subconscious than that! Nevertheless, there's no denying it will help to actually have a place to put a sleeping baby. If Jabberwocky came home today, we'd have to lay her in a laundry basket lined with blankets. I suppose worse things have happened.
In my waking hours, I'm still confident that we have time for all the essential arrangements. Certain things do keep catching me off guard, though. For instance, I'm now at the point of having a doctor's appointment every two weeks. So I'll now be seeing my doctor more often than I see most of my friends. More often than I go out for coffee. More often than I shop for clothes. I mean, we're talking a really regular kind of activity here.
My last appointment was a few days ago. The doctor measured my belly, poking around to find the top of my uterus. Amazing what a trained physician can interpret with her fingertips. Like a chef jabbing a piece of meat to tell the difference between rare and medium-rare. When I poke the top of my belly, it all just seems squishy. Anyway, she told me I'm right on track, saying "you just look small because you're so long." People have commented that my baby bulge isn't very big, and I figured it's because my five-feet-nine-inches give Jabberwocky a little extra room. "You just tell them you're at 26 inches!" said the doctor firmly. Right, that'll teach 'em. Since even to a pregnant person, hearing a measurement like 26 inches pretty much means nothing. Just as long as doc says things are good!
Jabberwocky kicks like the dickens sometimes for an hour straight, then sometimes I don't notice her for most of the day.
Today marks Week 29!
In my waking hours, I'm still confident that we have time for all the essential arrangements. Certain things do keep catching me off guard, though. For instance, I'm now at the point of having a doctor's appointment every two weeks. So I'll now be seeing my doctor more often than I see most of my friends. More often than I go out for coffee. More often than I shop for clothes. I mean, we're talking a really regular kind of activity here.
My last appointment was a few days ago. The doctor measured my belly, poking around to find the top of my uterus. Amazing what a trained physician can interpret with her fingertips. Like a chef jabbing a piece of meat to tell the difference between rare and medium-rare. When I poke the top of my belly, it all just seems squishy. Anyway, she told me I'm right on track, saying "you just look small because you're so long." People have commented that my baby bulge isn't very big, and I figured it's because my five-feet-nine-inches give Jabberwocky a little extra room. "You just tell them you're at 26 inches!" said the doctor firmly. Right, that'll teach 'em. Since even to a pregnant person, hearing a measurement like 26 inches pretty much means nothing. Just as long as doc says things are good!
Jabberwocky kicks like the dickens sometimes for an hour straight, then sometimes I don't notice her for most of the day.
Today marks Week 29!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Eye Delivery
Anders and I were snuggling on the couch Monday night watching TV, when his cell phone rang. He answered, and had a pleasant, polite, brief conversation, mostly saying "okay" and "thank you." I didn't even move from my spot with my head on his shoulder. When he hung up, he told me that the call was to let him know some eyes needed to be picked up and transported to Tomah, a town about an hour and a half from where we live.
Anyone else ever get calls like that? "Hey, come pick up the eyes"?
Let me clear up a couple things: 1.) by eyes, I mean human eyeballs; and 2.) no, Anders doesn't do anything related to the medical industry.
What Anders does do is serve on the board of the Lions Club. Apparently, the Lions Club has something called an Eye Bank (shudder). The Eau Claire members each sign up for a week of being on-call, in case any eyeballs get harvested and need immediate transport. Anders says the other Lions treat this charge rather reverently. In fact, one of the elderly board members offered to let him ride along on a trip once, thinking this would be some kind of treat. Anyway, when the sign-up sheet came into Anders' hands, he dutifully put his name down. And August 22 began his Eye Bank week. Thus, one of the stranger phone calls ever to reach our household.
The thing was, this was at 7:35 at night, and those eyes had to get to Tomah stat. It took me many minutes to be convinced the whole thing was really happening. I kept saying things like, "but you aren't driving to Tomah tonight, are you?" and, "but the eyes don't have to get there tonight, do they?" and, "but who's going to take them to Tomah tonight?" Finally, after speechlessly watching him call the lady back to tell her he'd make the Tomah drop-off around 9:15, and listening to his repeated assurances to me that he'd be home by 11, it sank in.
So, I tagged along. It seemed as good a way as any to get some quality time with my husband, and being an expert car-sleeper I knew I wouldn't even miss my bedtime.
The first thing to do was pick up the eyes in Eau Claire. At the hospital, Anders left me in the car while he went inside to get them. He came out holding a cardboard box at arm's length, which he deposited in the trunk (the back seat would have been too close for comfort).
He told me the nurse had seemed alarmed when he walked in and urgently asked if he needed help. "I must have looked like I was in some kind of trauma," he said. "I was just trying to figure out how to ask for the eyes!" Yeah, not your every-day request.
It wasn't until we were on the way to Tomah that he dropped this bombshell: the drop-off location was a gas station. Not a hospital, or a clinic, or the medical-research facility of a university. I would even have preferred to leave the box on some doctor's front porch. "I know," Anders said in response to my incredulity. "Then the guys who come pick them up are named Tony and Guido." (That part was not true.) Naturally, I began to imagine a black-market eyeball trade for people trying to avoid the government's retina-scanning tracking system like in Minority Report.
In Tomah, we pulled in to Kwik Trip, still not quite at ease with the situation, and went up to the girl at the counter. Anders couldn't resist prefacing his question by saying "this is a really odd question" (could you?), then asked if this was where one delivered "the tissue" for the Lions Club.
"You mean the eyes?" the girl asked flatly. So that answered that.
We have now made it over halfway through Anders' seven days of Eye Bank duty without another call (knock on wood! knock on wood!). Here's to hoping our fellow northwestern Wisconsinites make it through Sunday night with their eyeballs intact. I'm all for restoring the gift of sight to those in need through cornea transplants and everything ... I'm just hoping it happens some other week.
Anyone else ever get calls like that? "Hey, come pick up the eyes"?
Let me clear up a couple things: 1.) by eyes, I mean human eyeballs; and 2.) no, Anders doesn't do anything related to the medical industry.
What Anders does do is serve on the board of the Lions Club. Apparently, the Lions Club has something called an Eye Bank (shudder). The Eau Claire members each sign up for a week of being on-call, in case any eyeballs get harvested and need immediate transport. Anders says the other Lions treat this charge rather reverently. In fact, one of the elderly board members offered to let him ride along on a trip once, thinking this would be some kind of treat. Anyway, when the sign-up sheet came into Anders' hands, he dutifully put his name down. And August 22 began his Eye Bank week. Thus, one of the stranger phone calls ever to reach our household.
The thing was, this was at 7:35 at night, and those eyes had to get to Tomah stat. It took me many minutes to be convinced the whole thing was really happening. I kept saying things like, "but you aren't driving to Tomah tonight, are you?" and, "but the eyes don't have to get there tonight, do they?" and, "but who's going to take them to Tomah tonight?" Finally, after speechlessly watching him call the lady back to tell her he'd make the Tomah drop-off around 9:15, and listening to his repeated assurances to me that he'd be home by 11, it sank in.
So, I tagged along. It seemed as good a way as any to get some quality time with my husband, and being an expert car-sleeper I knew I wouldn't even miss my bedtime.
The first thing to do was pick up the eyes in Eau Claire. At the hospital, Anders left me in the car while he went inside to get them. He came out holding a cardboard box at arm's length, which he deposited in the trunk (the back seat would have been too close for comfort).
He told me the nurse had seemed alarmed when he walked in and urgently asked if he needed help. "I must have looked like I was in some kind of trauma," he said. "I was just trying to figure out how to ask for the eyes!" Yeah, not your every-day request.
It wasn't until we were on the way to Tomah that he dropped this bombshell: the drop-off location was a gas station. Not a hospital, or a clinic, or the medical-research facility of a university. I would even have preferred to leave the box on some doctor's front porch. "I know," Anders said in response to my incredulity. "Then the guys who come pick them up are named Tony and Guido." (That part was not true.) Naturally, I began to imagine a black-market eyeball trade for people trying to avoid the government's retina-scanning tracking system like in Minority Report.
In Tomah, we pulled in to Kwik Trip, still not quite at ease with the situation, and went up to the girl at the counter. Anders couldn't resist prefacing his question by saying "this is a really odd question" (could you?), then asked if this was where one delivered "the tissue" for the Lions Club.
"You mean the eyes?" the girl asked flatly. So that answered that.
We have now made it over halfway through Anders' seven days of Eye Bank duty without another call (knock on wood! knock on wood!). Here's to hoping our fellow northwestern Wisconsinites make it through Sunday night with their eyeballs intact. I'm all for restoring the gift of sight to those in need through cornea transplants and everything ... I'm just hoping it happens some other week.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Food
I have days where I eat so healthy I should win a prize from a woman's health magazine or something. I mean, I'm talking every deep-colored antioxidant-rich fruit and vegetable sold in grocery stores in a single day, along with salmon and bulgur and nonfat yogurt and sprouted-grain bread, and to top it all off these are also the days that I take walks and drink a ton of water. Really exemplary days.
Then I also have days where I eat nothing but Frosted Flakes and ice cream.
That's what I meant when I was talking about how nice 'What to Expect' is to read. 'What to Expect' forgives me for my bad diet days, and helps me aspire to have more good days than bad days. Or to have more good than bad in a single day. Or just, you know ... to try.
I love reading articles that sing food's praises. The ones that give you an A+ for eating avocados and potatoes and a round of applause for switching from regular pasta to whole-wheat, instead of being full of warnings about fat content and reminders that processed whole wheat is still processed. The latter versions are all written by mean-spirited nutritionists who also advise you to flee cheese at all costs, look down their noses at juice, treat eggs with distrust and hummus with positive disdain, and only mention dried fruit in order to tell you not to overdo it. Those things are so disheartening.
So, I'm not going to try to please those guys with my pregnancy eating habits. But there are a couple things I've picked up recently, which I like to imagine if I wrote down and presented to Heidi Murkoff, she'd proudly pin up on the refrigerator and pat me on the head for.
Now, when I see people blog or post facebook statuses documenting their oh-so-healthy homecooked meals, it usually just makes me want to kick them. So I'm not going to tell you about any homecooked meals. In fact, the first thing I'm going to tell you about is chocolate granola bars. See? Yum.
1.) I always love Nature Valley granola bars when I'm on my healthy kicks (then of course when the pendulum swings the other way I opt for pop tarts and gross stuff like that). They now have an oats 'n dark chocolate granola bar which is everything I've ever wanted in a granola bar. Not sugary. Delicious. Satisfying. With a list of ingredients you can be proud of. Go buy them.
2.) I have decided that Jabberwocky has a favorite snack right now, and it's a handful of raw walnuts combined with a handful of Ghirardelli bittersweet chocolate chips. That's it. Super easy, super great, super filling, and super good for you, right?
3.) Something I can't stop being enthusiastic about is this food-scoring system our grocery store has implemented called NuVal. Every item has a rating based on its nutritional value. I'm sure many people would find this a restricting and irritating way to shop, but for me, it just gets me excited for the products that score well. Yaaay sweet potatoes! Yay milk! Apples, you guys are totally superstars! etc. One of the areas in which NuVal has guided me is cereal. According to NuVal, the bags of Arrowhead Mills various puffed-whatevers (rice, millet, kamut) are waaaay healthier (and cheaper) than even the healthy-sounding boxed cereals like Raisin Bran. Admittedly, they are also practically tasteless. But I'm somebody who finds a bowl of cereal simply comforting, no matter what it is. Plus, you can add flavor with my Dietary Enhancement #4, below.
4.) I bought almond milk for the first time today (which my husband, who's a bit hippie-phobic, will probably be chagrined to discover). This is something else I've decided Jabberwocky has been telling me she wants. I guess that would fall under the category of a pregnancy craving, but it hasn't been the urgent "Mom! Baby needs almond milk! Now!" so much as it's been a mild "That sounds pretty good, don't you think, Mom? Maybe we should get some. Don't you think?" Apparently they don't sell it in entry-level sizes, so I had to get a whole half-gallon. Good thing I liked it quite as much as I expected to. And it combines great with the various puffed-stuff from #3 above. (Also the expiration date is two months out? Awesome?)
5.) I've already mentioned hard-boiled eggs, but it's worth repeating because it makes the difference between Tired Afternoon-Emily and Zombie Afternoon-Emily. That is, if I get protein in the morning, I still have pregnancy sleepiness after lunch and look forward to my post-work nap. But no protein means I become a shell of a person dragging myself to the finish-line in a trance-like state. So now I boil a few at once and keep 'em in the fridge.
Then I also have days where I eat nothing but Frosted Flakes and ice cream.
That's what I meant when I was talking about how nice 'What to Expect' is to read. 'What to Expect' forgives me for my bad diet days, and helps me aspire to have more good days than bad days. Or to have more good than bad in a single day. Or just, you know ... to try.
I love reading articles that sing food's praises. The ones that give you an A+ for eating avocados and potatoes and a round of applause for switching from regular pasta to whole-wheat, instead of being full of warnings about fat content and reminders that processed whole wheat is still processed. The latter versions are all written by mean-spirited nutritionists who also advise you to flee cheese at all costs, look down their noses at juice, treat eggs with distrust and hummus with positive disdain, and only mention dried fruit in order to tell you not to overdo it. Those things are so disheartening.
So, I'm not going to try to please those guys with my pregnancy eating habits. But there are a couple things I've picked up recently, which I like to imagine if I wrote down and presented to Heidi Murkoff, she'd proudly pin up on the refrigerator and pat me on the head for.
Now, when I see people blog or post facebook statuses documenting their oh-so-healthy homecooked meals, it usually just makes me want to kick them. So I'm not going to tell you about any homecooked meals. In fact, the first thing I'm going to tell you about is chocolate granola bars. See? Yum.
1.) I always love Nature Valley granola bars when I'm on my healthy kicks (then of course when the pendulum swings the other way I opt for pop tarts and gross stuff like that). They now have an oats 'n dark chocolate granola bar which is everything I've ever wanted in a granola bar. Not sugary. Delicious. Satisfying. With a list of ingredients you can be proud of. Go buy them.
2.) I have decided that Jabberwocky has a favorite snack right now, and it's a handful of raw walnuts combined with a handful of Ghirardelli bittersweet chocolate chips. That's it. Super easy, super great, super filling, and super good for you, right?
3.) Something I can't stop being enthusiastic about is this food-scoring system our grocery store has implemented called NuVal. Every item has a rating based on its nutritional value. I'm sure many people would find this a restricting and irritating way to shop, but for me, it just gets me excited for the products that score well. Yaaay sweet potatoes! Yay milk! Apples, you guys are totally superstars! etc. One of the areas in which NuVal has guided me is cereal. According to NuVal, the bags of Arrowhead Mills various puffed-whatevers (rice, millet, kamut) are waaaay healthier (and cheaper) than even the healthy-sounding boxed cereals like Raisin Bran. Admittedly, they are also practically tasteless. But I'm somebody who finds a bowl of cereal simply comforting, no matter what it is. Plus, you can add flavor with my Dietary Enhancement #4, below.
4.) I bought almond milk for the first time today (which my husband, who's a bit hippie-phobic, will probably be chagrined to discover). This is something else I've decided Jabberwocky has been telling me she wants. I guess that would fall under the category of a pregnancy craving, but it hasn't been the urgent "Mom! Baby needs almond milk! Now!" so much as it's been a mild "That sounds pretty good, don't you think, Mom? Maybe we should get some. Don't you think?" Apparently they don't sell it in entry-level sizes, so I had to get a whole half-gallon. Good thing I liked it quite as much as I expected to. And it combines great with the various puffed-stuff from #3 above. (Also the expiration date is two months out? Awesome?)
5.) I've already mentioned hard-boiled eggs, but it's worth repeating because it makes the difference between Tired Afternoon-Emily and Zombie Afternoon-Emily. That is, if I get protein in the morning, I still have pregnancy sleepiness after lunch and look forward to my post-work nap. But no protein means I become a shell of a person dragging myself to the finish-line in a trance-like state. So now I boil a few at once and keep 'em in the fridge.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
My first look ahead ... to the labor part
'What to Expect When You're Expecting' is one of the most encouraging, nurturing, motivating books ever written. Author Heidi Murkoff reminds me of my friend Biene. Biene was the person we'd go to in college, tearful and anxiety-ridden, knowing that our stress would soon be caressed away by her compassionate understanding, wise advice, and unfailing ability to help people just put one foot in front of the other. This book is just like that. There are all of these gentle asides, parenthetical comments that feel like a reassuring hand squeeze, a nudge, a little pat on the shoulder. It's fantastic.
I was reading it in the car on our way to Chicago this weekend. After getting the most I could out of the seventh-month chapter (and finding it cheering and informative), I decided to skip ahead to "Labor and Delivery." I guess my purpose in this was to see if I could make myself pass out. I am squeamish. And all I know about child-birthing I learned from sitcoms.
Well, that section is written in the same gentle tone, but that doesn't change the fact that the physical processes being described border on horrifying. I read along through Early Labor, Active Labor, and Transitional Labor, increasingly feeling faint as the author pleasantly chatted about things like "blood-tinged mucus," intensely painful contractions, cervixes effacing and membranes rupturing. Then I got to Pushing and Delivery. I was especially struck by this line: "Don't become frustrated if you see the baby's head crown and then disappear again." I know babies are born every day. I know it's happened billions of times since the earth was created. But I still can't help but feel that we have entered the realm of the bizarre here. She might as well have said, "Don't be nervous if you notice your right arm suddenly fall off and reattach itself at the elbow." Or, "Don't be alarmed if your feet sprout a few extra toes at this stage of labor." I mean, what's a human head doing down there? Doesn't this sound crazy to anyone else?
But that's how I've felt all pregnancy long. People calmly ask if the baby is kicking or whether she's had hiccups, when I feel like they should stare at me in shock and exclaim, "Wait a second, there's a little person in there? How on earth does that happen?" It's actually kind of funny, isn't it, how lightly we take this miracle?
I was reading it in the car on our way to Chicago this weekend. After getting the most I could out of the seventh-month chapter (and finding it cheering and informative), I decided to skip ahead to "Labor and Delivery." I guess my purpose in this was to see if I could make myself pass out. I am squeamish. And all I know about child-birthing I learned from sitcoms.
Well, that section is written in the same gentle tone, but that doesn't change the fact that the physical processes being described border on horrifying. I read along through Early Labor, Active Labor, and Transitional Labor, increasingly feeling faint as the author pleasantly chatted about things like "blood-tinged mucus," intensely painful contractions, cervixes effacing and membranes rupturing. Then I got to Pushing and Delivery. I was especially struck by this line: "Don't become frustrated if you see the baby's head crown and then disappear again." I know babies are born every day. I know it's happened billions of times since the earth was created. But I still can't help but feel that we have entered the realm of the bizarre here. She might as well have said, "Don't be nervous if you notice your right arm suddenly fall off and reattach itself at the elbow." Or, "Don't be alarmed if your feet sprout a few extra toes at this stage of labor." I mean, what's a human head doing down there? Doesn't this sound crazy to anyone else?
But that's how I've felt all pregnancy long. People calmly ask if the baby is kicking or whether she's had hiccups, when I feel like they should stare at me in shock and exclaim, "Wait a second, there's a little person in there? How on earth does that happen?" It's actually kind of funny, isn't it, how lightly we take this miracle?
Monday, August 15, 2011
Bobbleheads
I don't know whether it's possible to have such a thing as a legitimately impressive bobblehead collection, but I think ours is hilarious. Here it is:
2. Worst idea for a bobblehead ever? A nice, fat hot dog, flesh-colored, that stands about yea high, and bobs up and down, up and down ... WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?? Okay, to be fair, it makes a little more sense when you realize this guy is one of the famous Miller Park Racing Sausages, whose companions are the Brat, the Polish Sausage, the Italian Sausage, and the Chorizo. It's an actual character with an actual tradition, not just ... a fat flesh-colored bobbling hot dog. Still, one wonders if there was a missing step somewhere between the idea of the hot-dog-bobblehead, and actually placing an order to China for fifty thousand of them (to be handed out at Miller Park on free bobblehead day), that would have made someone scream No! This is a bad idea!!
3. Not pictured: Craig Counsell in a Diamondbacks uniform. I think I may have left this one in Arizona when I moved. Hopefully it is safe at my parents' house and I can retrieve it.
4. Craig Counsell in a Bierbrauer uniform. That's right: Craig Counsell accounts for half of our bobblehead collection. What makes this funny is that it's Craig Counsell. He's days away from turning 41, with a batting average around .151, whose recent 0-for-45 streak at the plate was poetically described in the newspaper as "a gut-wrenching run of futility." Not exactly the Brewers' star player. On the other hand, this bobblehead was also the main reason we made the trip to Milwaukee this weekend. Craig Counsell happens to be my favorite baseball player of all time. Yes he is. I loved him when he played on the D-backs World-Series-winning team, so much so that when my then-boyfriend Anders heard he was being traded, he hastened to secure me Bobblehead #3 (see above). It turned out, of course, that he was traded to Wisconsin. So, I came here too.
Okay, it wasn't just for Craig that I moved to Wisconsin. Definitely a bonus though. So when we heard that Craig Counsell Bobblehead Day landed on our anniversary weekend, and that the forecast showed the most perfect weather conditions ever to grace the planet, we went for it. Craig Counsell Bobblehead Day also landed on German Heritage day - thus "Bierbrauer" instead of "Brewers" on the jersey.
And my goodness, was it a lovely weekend. We spent Saturday night with Anders' sister Anika and her husband Jon, in the Chicago suburb where they live. There was just enough time that night to go out for ice cream and then engage in a hotly-contested game of Settlers that made Anders vow never to play the game again (sober). Yesterday all four of us went straight to Milwaukee and tailgated. The temperature at game time was 73. The sun was continually in and out of great big white clouds, and the breeze was gentle, cool, and nearly continuous.
Plus, the Brewers won. So our newest bobblehead was well worth the trip.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Diapers
Today we are three months away from Jabberwocky's due date.
Wait a second, WHAT!?
[Recalculating, staring at calendar, counting on fingers, thinking nervously about the state of the nursery, breaking into a sweat, adding 'Attend birthing classes,' 'Find a daycare,' 'Read parenting books,' 'For goodness sake buy a crib' to the to-do-list]
That's right: 8-11-11 + 3 = 11-11-11
Yesterday I went to Target. I got all kinds of cheap notebooks at the back-to-school sale and tried to think of an excuse for buying a backpack. I sure do love new backpacks. I also spent some time in the maternity-clothes section, wandered dreamily through the baby-girl clothes, looked with happy anticipation at My Little Ponies, and made my usual rounds through the dishes, Brewers and Packers apparel, and storage/shelving solutions (anyone else think purchasing storage shelves is a special treat?). And all of this browsing was just to give myself time to ask myself, where at Target would one find diapers?
Diapers were my sole reason for going there. Target's running a deal right now that you can buy two packs of Pampers and get a $20 gift card. So I showed up and went straight to the baby section. Once there I realized I'd gone wrong. I did a visual sweep of the store, pondering.
During my subsequent wanderings I passed about a dozen red-shirt-clad Target employees, whom I stubbornly refused to hail for help. As an expectant mother and a very frequent Target shopper, it seemed impossible that 'diapers' registered nothing in my brain. I pictured the employees glancing down at my six-month-big belly, and raising an eyebrow in silent judgment at my diaper-aisle ignorance. Shouldn't I somehow have found this out earlier? Does 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' have store diagrams with the diaper aisles marked with a red X?
Anyway, I finally found them by groceries, and thus began the even more humiliating task of deciding which ones to buy. Not seeing an advertisement anywhere, I called Anders to have him look up the details for me. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: "So do I get 'swaddlers' or 'cruisers'?"
Him: "What's the difference?"
Me: "I don't know. They have numbers on them but I don't know what they mean. This one says '3' and this one says '4.' Oh here we go: this is for babies 22-27 pounds."
Him: "How long does it take for a baby to get to 22 pounds?"
Me: "I have no idea."
Whereupon he told me to use my discretion, apparently imagining my maternal instinct would be of some assistance (what! it takes me an hour to find diapers!), whereupon I told him I'd just grab the two gigantic packages of 'swaddlers.' When he expressed hesitation over such a large amount of diapers of one size, I began to feel tired, hungry, and inadequate, and asked if I should just forget it. He again left the matter to my discretion, whereupon a $20 Target gift card began to have less appeal than just getting the heck out of the store.
Nevertheless, I DID leave Target with exactly two hundred and twenty-four Pampers, a $20 gift card, and a receipt for just under $100, once you add the diapers with the back-to-school supplies. What moved me to action was simply the sight of another mom-to-be rounding the corner with a shopping cart. There were only three diaper boxes left of the kind I was sure qualified for the $20 gift card. We couldn't both take advantage of the sale. Hardly had she waddled into sight before I snatched two boxes at once and loaded them up in the blink of an eye. Selfish, selfish me.
We played a baby trivia game at my shower a couple weekends ago. One question asked how many diapers a typical baby goes through in one year. The answer was a devastating 3,650. Ten a day. So I realize 224 wasn't much to sweat over.
Wait a second, WHAT!?
[Recalculating, staring at calendar, counting on fingers, thinking nervously about the state of the nursery, breaking into a sweat, adding 'Attend birthing classes,' 'Find a daycare,' 'Read parenting books,' 'For goodness sake buy a crib' to the to-do-list]
That's right: 8-11-11 + 3 = 11-11-11
Yesterday I went to Target. I got all kinds of cheap notebooks at the back-to-school sale and tried to think of an excuse for buying a backpack. I sure do love new backpacks. I also spent some time in the maternity-clothes section, wandered dreamily through the baby-girl clothes, looked with happy anticipation at My Little Ponies, and made my usual rounds through the dishes, Brewers and Packers apparel, and storage/shelving solutions (anyone else think purchasing storage shelves is a special treat?). And all of this browsing was just to give myself time to ask myself, where at Target would one find diapers?
Diapers were my sole reason for going there. Target's running a deal right now that you can buy two packs of Pampers and get a $20 gift card. So I showed up and went straight to the baby section. Once there I realized I'd gone wrong. I did a visual sweep of the store, pondering.
During my subsequent wanderings I passed about a dozen red-shirt-clad Target employees, whom I stubbornly refused to hail for help. As an expectant mother and a very frequent Target shopper, it seemed impossible that 'diapers' registered nothing in my brain. I pictured the employees glancing down at my six-month-big belly, and raising an eyebrow in silent judgment at my diaper-aisle ignorance. Shouldn't I somehow have found this out earlier? Does 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' have store diagrams with the diaper aisles marked with a red X?
Anyway, I finally found them by groceries, and thus began the even more humiliating task of deciding which ones to buy. Not seeing an advertisement anywhere, I called Anders to have him look up the details for me. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: "So do I get 'swaddlers' or 'cruisers'?"
Him: "What's the difference?"
Me: "I don't know. They have numbers on them but I don't know what they mean. This one says '3' and this one says '4.' Oh here we go: this is for babies 22-27 pounds."
Him: "How long does it take for a baby to get to 22 pounds?"
Me: "I have no idea."
Whereupon he told me to use my discretion, apparently imagining my maternal instinct would be of some assistance (what! it takes me an hour to find diapers!), whereupon I told him I'd just grab the two gigantic packages of 'swaddlers.' When he expressed hesitation over such a large amount of diapers of one size, I began to feel tired, hungry, and inadequate, and asked if I should just forget it. He again left the matter to my discretion, whereupon a $20 Target gift card began to have less appeal than just getting the heck out of the store.
Nevertheless, I DID leave Target with exactly two hundred and twenty-four Pampers, a $20 gift card, and a receipt for just under $100, once you add the diapers with the back-to-school supplies. What moved me to action was simply the sight of another mom-to-be rounding the corner with a shopping cart. There were only three diaper boxes left of the kind I was sure qualified for the $20 gift card. We couldn't both take advantage of the sale. Hardly had she waddled into sight before I snatched two boxes at once and loaded them up in the blink of an eye. Selfish, selfish me.
We played a baby trivia game at my shower a couple weekends ago. One question asked how many diapers a typical baby goes through in one year. The answer was a devastating 3,650. Ten a day. So I realize 224 wasn't much to sweat over.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
What will Jabberwocky call her relatives?
My mom and dad will be "Oma" and "Opa." Those are the terms of endearment for grandparents in German. Dad's heritage is almost entirely German, as far as we know, though we haven't really kept track of any German relations. He studied the German language (and once spoke it with something he could almost pass off as fluency!) and has maintained one of the greatest traditions known to mankind - the annual baking of Lebkuchen, a German spice cookie, for the holidays. My sister Elisa studied German for seven years between high school and college. She was a German major and has been to Germany. I took four years in high school (and then "tested out" of it to get my two college credits). We both have German Bibles. I like to quote Psalm 1 and John 3:16 in German. Martin Luther is a bit of a family hero. Elisa gave me a VHS of 'The Fellowship of the Ring' that has been dubbed over in German. She and I call each other Schwester.
The actual words for "grandmother" and "grandfather" are "Grossmutter" and "Grossvater." Oma and Opa are more like Grandma and Grandpa. My nephews Kiefer and Cooper already know Mom & Dad as Oma & Opa, so it will be natural for our daughter to call them the same thing. Isn't it cute?
There's no German on Mom's side (again as far as we know). She says she's Scotch-Irish. I inherited some kind of feeling of belonging to the country of Ireland, though I've never visited. If Gaelic had been offered as a language course, you bet I would have taken it. Based on the Google results for the Irish words for grandparents, however, I don't think I would have been pushing for that route. ("Seanmhair/Seanathair," anyone?)
We think Anders' mom will be Grammie. That name fits her. She likes it and said she has thought of herself that way. My grandmother is Grammy, so I already love that name, but it will be nice to distinguish it by spelling it differently. Anders' dad will probably be Grandpa or Papa. To me, he looks and feels like a Papa. At first I was rooting for the Swedish word, spelled "Farfar" but pronounced "Fafa." Given the very Swedish names Anders and Anika, you probably won't be surprised to learn that there is Swedish on both sides of Anders' family. In fact, he has an aunt and uncle spending some time in Sweden right now. This is the same uncle who delivered part of his daughter's wedding toast in Swedish. Maybe Jabberwocky will have some kind of Swedish name for him, if not for Anders' dad.
One idea I really like - if permission is granted - is to have Jabberwocky call Elisa "Sisi," instead of Aunt Elisa. As I've mentioned before, Anders and his sister grew up calling their aunt Carla "Sasta." I don't know why, but I love it. Sisi is already an occasional nickname of ours for Elisa, and I love how affectionate it sounds.
To all: don't hesitate to submit your requests for the name by which you would like Jabberwocky to know you. :)
The actual words for "grandmother" and "grandfather" are "Grossmutter" and "Grossvater." Oma and Opa are more like Grandma and Grandpa. My nephews Kiefer and Cooper already know Mom & Dad as Oma & Opa, so it will be natural for our daughter to call them the same thing. Isn't it cute?
There's no German on Mom's side (again as far as we know). She says she's Scotch-Irish. I inherited some kind of feeling of belonging to the country of Ireland, though I've never visited. If Gaelic had been offered as a language course, you bet I would have taken it. Based on the Google results for the Irish words for grandparents, however, I don't think I would have been pushing for that route. ("Seanmhair/Seanathair," anyone?)
We think Anders' mom will be Grammie. That name fits her. She likes it and said she has thought of herself that way. My grandmother is Grammy, so I already love that name, but it will be nice to distinguish it by spelling it differently. Anders' dad will probably be Grandpa or Papa. To me, he looks and feels like a Papa. At first I was rooting for the Swedish word, spelled "Farfar" but pronounced "Fafa." Given the very Swedish names Anders and Anika, you probably won't be surprised to learn that there is Swedish on both sides of Anders' family. In fact, he has an aunt and uncle spending some time in Sweden right now. This is the same uncle who delivered part of his daughter's wedding toast in Swedish. Maybe Jabberwocky will have some kind of Swedish name for him, if not for Anders' dad.
One idea I really like - if permission is granted - is to have Jabberwocky call Elisa "Sisi," instead of Aunt Elisa. As I've mentioned before, Anders and his sister grew up calling their aunt Carla "Sasta." I don't know why, but I love it. Sisi is already an occasional nickname of ours for Elisa, and I love how affectionate it sounds.
To all: don't hesitate to submit your requests for the name by which you would like Jabberwocky to know you. :)
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Pregnancy update
The only times of day I don't have to go to the bathroom are for the first five minutes after every time I go to the bathroom. After that, it's just varying levels of urgency. In fact, if I take more than that amount of time in the bathroom, fixing my hair or something, by the time I'm about to leave, I change my mind and just sit down on the pot again. Yes, really. I think we're going through toilet paper and liquid hand soap like twice as fast as previously.
In general I've been feeling great, in answer to a frequently asked question. By which I mean I feel mostly normal most of the time. The main thing is tiredness. First trimester I could hardly cope with how tired I was. Those weeks are a blur. I remember the painful effort of simply staying awake through a work day. Besides that I remember very little, because the rest of the time I was sleeping. Around 18 weeks my energy levels normalized. Now I'm almost at 26 weeks and have taken up the afternoon naps again!
I find that a hard-boiled egg in the morning does help keep me going.
Jabberwocky is big enough now that I'm starting to feel the stretch. Anders has felt her a number of times by laying a hand on my belly.
Sorry to disappoint, but I can't rattle off any weird cravings I've had. At first the only foods that sounded good were pepperoni pizza and french fries. I even got a slice of pepperoni pizza at a gas station once. It came in a triangle-shaped cardboard box, and I devoured it with sincere gratitude. But recently my appetite has been unnoteworthy. I love the same things I loved before, but maybe cereal and yogurt more so.
It's nice having the pregnancy card to play, though. I can use it when I want ice cream, when I'd rather sleep than go out, when I'm forgetful, when I'm too lazy to get up. Since there are so many kind-hearted people in my life, it doesn't take much to play on their sympathies. :)
In general I've been feeling great, in answer to a frequently asked question. By which I mean I feel mostly normal most of the time. The main thing is tiredness. First trimester I could hardly cope with how tired I was. Those weeks are a blur. I remember the painful effort of simply staying awake through a work day. Besides that I remember very little, because the rest of the time I was sleeping. Around 18 weeks my energy levels normalized. Now I'm almost at 26 weeks and have taken up the afternoon naps again!
I find that a hard-boiled egg in the morning does help keep me going.
Jabberwocky is big enough now that I'm starting to feel the stretch. Anders has felt her a number of times by laying a hand on my belly.
Sorry to disappoint, but I can't rattle off any weird cravings I've had. At first the only foods that sounded good were pepperoni pizza and french fries. I even got a slice of pepperoni pizza at a gas station once. It came in a triangle-shaped cardboard box, and I devoured it with sincere gratitude. But recently my appetite has been unnoteworthy. I love the same things I loved before, but maybe cereal and yogurt more so.
It's nice having the pregnancy card to play, though. I can use it when I want ice cream, when I'd rather sleep than go out, when I'm forgetful, when I'm too lazy to get up. Since there are so many kind-hearted people in my life, it doesn't take much to play on their sympathies. :)
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