The Proper Caring and Feeding of a Newborn

So you’ve decided to bring home a Newborn.

This high-cost, high-maintenance pet has been a favorite among humans for years now.  While most pet owners do their research in the nine months leading up to the actual Newborn coming home, many are surprised to find their Newborn is even more work than they bargained for.  I have compiled this handy guide after weeks of research for you to turn to in times of frustration.  Please keep in mind that all Newborns are unique, despite their similarity in appearance, so what holds true for one owner’s Newborn may not work for you.

Habitat

Before bringing home your Newborn, many guides recommend “baby-proofing” your house.  This is kind of stupid, considering your Newborn will be incapable of moving very far on its own for many months.  On the other hand, you will have about ten minutes a day to yourself when you bring your Newborn home, so if you’re a better pet owner than this author, you will probably “baby-proof” prior to its arrival.

Your Newborn will need somewhere to sleep.  This can be a crib, a bassinet, your bed, the floor, or a shoebox.  The experts recommend a flat, semi-hard sleeping surface without any blankets or toys around to prevent Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS), so the shoebox might actually be your best bet (Newborns come pretty long, so make sure it’s a large shoebox).  Your Newborn will not mind.  Honestly.

During the day, your Newborn will be in its sleeping place, if you’re lucky.  Otherwise it will be in your arms.  Before bringing your Newborn home, make sure to do lots of arm/shoulder/back days at the gym; you will need it.  If you have an even-tempered Newborn, it may let you put it in a wrap or a carrier during the day, which will save you from going insane and will allow you to do some chores.

You do not need a playroom for your Newborn.  They would lie on their back in the middle of the room and just wriggle.  Trust me on this.

Feeding

Newborns eat a lot.  Like, so much.  You can’t even imagine.  You will have just finished feeding them and they will get hungry again.  Unfortunately, this is not your Newborn being a whiner; their stomachs are tiny and empty very fast.  Into their diapers.  More on this later.  Be prepared to start feeding your Newborn again 2-3 hours after you started feeding them last (and feedings can take about an hour so…you will have no life.  Yay!).

There are several options for feeding your newborn; you can mix and match to your preference.

·         Stick your boob in their mouth (if you are the male in your relationship, let your female do this part).

·         Pump milk from your boobs like a cow and bottle-feed your Newborn (males, see note above for the pumping part, although you can definitely help with the bottle part).

·         Buy breast milk from a human female and bottle-feed your Newborn.

·         Mix cow colostrum and goat milk to bottle-feed your Newborn (one of The Man’s sisters had to do this with her son; the boy can now communicate with animals).

·         Feed your Newborn formula (formulas are actually getting better and better as the years go on, so don’t feel bad at all if this is your only option; your Newborn will survive and will still love you).

·         Hire a wet nurse (I wish).

When feeding your Newborn, make sure you burp them.  Yes, this pet is so high-maintenance it cannot even burp itself effectively.  Burp your pet by slapping it on the back repeatedly.  Seriously.  If you do not burp your Newborn, the gas will build up in its gastrointestinal tract and your Newborn will cry until you work the gas out.  You may also need to fart your Newborn.  Do this by pumping its legs in a running fashion while the Newborn is lying on its back, as well as bending your Newborn in half.  Again, that is not a joke.  Feces may explode from your Newborn’s nether regions when you fart it, so never fart your newborn while it is naked.  In fact, never let your Newborn be completely naked; it will leak on you in any way it can.

Clothing

While clothing other pets is deemed frivolous, many Newborn owners will look down on you if you do not clothe your Newborn.  This may seem unfair, but since your Newborn is relatively hairless it is actually recommended that you cover them in some way. 

Luckily, if you throw a pet-welcoming party (called a “baby shower” in some circles) EVERYBODY will buy clothes for your Newborn.  It seems to be irresistible for female humans of a certain age to buy tiny outfits.  Make sure you ask for outfits of varying sizes as your Newborn will, regrettably, grow.

The one item of clothing that you will DEFINITELY need is diapers.  Whether you go with cloth or disposable, your Newborn will fill diapers at an alarming rate; so make sure you have lots.

Due to the difficulty of engineering a diaper that will not leak in any way at all and your Newborn’s propensity towards puking, you will get stains on your Newborn’s clothing.  The Oxi-Clean gel stain stick is incredible at getting stains out (somebody tell Oxi-Clean I said this so they’ll send me more).

Hygiene

Unfortunately, Newborns are totally helpless.  You will need to bathe your Newborn semi-regularly from the time you take it home until it is about 4 years old (at which time it will finally be able to bathe itself to some degree).  Bathing is suggested because Newborns are often covered in some type of bodily secretion, be it feces, urine, or vomit.  If you decide to bathe your newborn every time you find some type of unsavory goo on it, you will spend more time bathing it than feeding it.  On the plus side, Newborns have sensitive skin and for a while you can get away with only bathing it once a week or so.  This may sound gross now, but after your first sponge-bathing experience you will be grateful.

Newborns also need their diapers changed regularly, sometimes 10 or more times a day.  When changing your Newborn’s diaper, speed is the name of the game.  If you are not fast enough, your Newborn may defecate or urinate on you (the urination is worse when your Newborn is male, as he has a farther reach with his stream).  When your Newborn excretes on you (not if; when) don’t freak out.  This is your new life.  Wash it off and get over it.

Entertainment

With limited vision and that all-around confused feeling, your Newborn will not react to any of your attempts to entertain it for a couple of months.  The best you will get is their eyes tracking your face.  Don’t let this keep you from trying, but just be prepared.

No, the best part of a Newborn is its entertainment for you.  Your newborn will often make hilarious faces, strange squeaking noises, and impressively loud farts.  You will also find great enjoyment from your Newborn’s startle reflex, which involves them throwing their arms out to the side any time they are surprised (even in sleep).

Other sources of entertainment include posing your Newborn, drawing on your Newborn, or scrunching up your Newborn’s chubby cheeks.  These will be all the more hilarious in your sleep-deprived state.

Sleeping

This subject is where you will find the most variation among Newborns.  Some new owners are blessed with pets that will sleep around 18 hours a day, in 3 hour increments.  These owners suck.  Other owners have Newborns that sleep 10 hours a day in 30 minute increments.  And sometimes your Newborn will jump all over the spectrum.

As an owner, you will get even less sleep than your Newborn, seeing as you have more requirements out of your day than being fed by someone, being changed by someone, being burped/farted by someone, being calmed and rocked to sleep by someone, and sleeping.  Prepare yourself for days when you are running on 3 hours of sleep.

If this is your first Newborn, you will have the ability to nap when it naps.  If this is your second, third, or fourth Newborn, you are masochistic.  If this is your fifth or further Newborn, you are probably mentally unstable and need to talk to your doctor.

Crying

Your Newborn has three stages of trying to communicate discomfort to you: quiet and kind of adorable whimpers, crying, and hysterical screaming.  Never let it get past the second stage (although this is terrible advice because it will go past the second stage no matter what you try.  Look up PURPLE crying).

Try your best to soothe your Newborn when it cries.  Some experts recommend turning on the washing machine or vacuuming the house.  These experts are men.  Unfortunately, they are also right.  Go figure.  Newborns also respond well to singing, rocking, walking, driving around in the car (make sure they’re sitting on your lap while driving, as their feet cannot reach the pedals), and chilling in the bathroom with the shower on.  If your Newborn does not respond to any of these soothing techniques, try anything you can think of.  If they’re still not calming down, the circus is always looking for more performers and may appreciate an orphan in a basket.

Don’t be afraid to cry with your Newborn.  You’re tired and you deserve a good cry.

This guide may have scared you off of wanting a Newborn, but just remember: humans have been bringing Newborns into their families for at least 40,000 years.  There must be SOMETHING worthwhile about them.  Good luck!

The Arrival of the Dark Lord

Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All, has arrived.

Since everybody else writes their birth stories, I figured I'd put my sleep deprivation to some good use and write mine.

I don't know when to start this story.  Thursday?  Let's say Thursday.

Thursday:

I had a dream Wednesday night where The Man's cousin told me my baby would be born on the 17th (Friday).  Since at this point I was tired of being pregnant, I decided that this dream would come true.  I cleaned the entire house, did all the laundry, and even mowed the lawn.  Semi-painful contractions started happening every ten minutes or so, but then subsided.  I went to bed positive I'd have the baby in 24 hours.

Friday:

Woke up at midnight: painful contractions, 8 minutes apart.  They went away after an hour or so.

Woke up at 4 am: painful contractions, 6 minutes apart.  I called my mum, packed my hospital bag, and walked around the block with The Man.  Contractions went away after two hours.

Woke up at 8 am: painful contractions, 6 minutes apart.  Went away after two hours.

Decided to walk around and induce labor.  Walked for a couple of hours, went to little sister's class (she's a student professor), and started having semi-painful contractions every 3 minutes.  They went away after two hours.

Saturday:

Nothing.  Not a peep.  Felt awesome.

Sunday:

See note on Saturday.

Monday:

Went to doctor's appointment, got checked, no progression of the cervix since the week before (contractions are supposed to help your cervix prepare for labor).  Around 2pm I started having semi-painful contractions.  They didn't go away.  They didn't get any worse.  They were just painful enough that I could still be quiet through them, but I kind of wanted to moan a bit.  And they were about 6 minutes apart.  The Man told me he had a meeting at 8 he needed to be at, but I was free to have the baby after that time.

Around 6:40 my contractions were painful enough that I was crying out a bit, and they ranged from 4 minutes apart to 1.5 minutes apart, but they weren’t lasting super long.  It hurt quite a bit though, so I called The Man, apologized about making him miss his meeting, and made him drive me to the hospital.  When I got there they watched my contractions for an hour, noticed no change in the cervix, gave me a shot of morphine to slow down my contractions, and sent me home.  Apparently the contractions were too close together and too short to actually change my cervix.  The morphine shot would end false labor – if that’s what I was having – and regulate the contractions a bit more if I was in real labor.  I remember The Man driving me home from the hospital, me asking for a root beer float (the treat I wanted after I delivered), The Man not knowing where to go for a root beer float, me being sad, and then…I was home.  And asleep.

Ten minutes later I was crying out in pain.  And again ten minutes after that.  And so it went all night long.

Tuesday:

I eventually got out of bed because I didn’t want to keep waking up The Man anymore with my cries of pain.  I curled up on the couch and called my parents.  I don’t remember exactly what was said, but I remember whining to them about the pain and explaining what had happened the night before and going through several painful contractions while on the phone with them.

The Man started getting ready for school, and I got a text from his sister saying she was coming to pick me up so I could take a bath (our apartment only has a shower).  Apparently my mother had called around and let people know that I was hurting, and The Man has some awesome sisters.

So The Man went off to school, and I went off to his sister’s house – crying out in pain every few minutes.  I took the bath, passed a mucous plug (oh yeah, you didn’t see that piece of nastiness coming, did ya?), and sat on her couch while she timed my contractions on her phone.  Eventually it got to the point where I called The Man and told him he needed to come take me to the hospital.  Right before his afternoon class.

We get to the hospital, and I make it all the way to the reception desk before I have to lean against the wall crying out in pain because of a contraction (those poor people in the waiting room…).  They got me a wheelchair, and I made it all the way to the room and got in the hospital gown in record time before climbing onto the bed, resting on my hands and knees, and letting out an animal scream of pain.  Seriously guys, I have never screamed with so much emotion in my life.  I was holding nothing back.  My nurse turned out to be the lady who taught the “coping with labor” class The Man and I had taken a few weeks back, and she had me work on my breathing during the contractions.  I was at 8cm (you start pushing at 10).  I had been having contractions for 24 hours.  I asked for drugs.  Once they came, it was awesome.

Okay, it wasn’t ALL awesome.  My legs were completely numb, so they were flopping around everywhere.  I farted on a nurse because I had no control of my anal sphincter.  If I hadn’t have had drugs I probably could have had him in a couple hours, instead it took five.  He pooped in the amniotic sac (a sign of stress), and we had to have NICU staff and a respiratory doctor in the room for the delivery.  I tore in four places; one of which was actually inside what we’ll call “the passageway.”  It took the midwife literally an hour to stitch me all the way up.  But you know what?  At the end of the night I had a baby.  And he was healthy and adorable and cuddly.

It’s funny and unfair, but after all the work that I did to get him here, the little punk came out looking exactly like his dad.  He even makes a lot of the same faces.  I guess his dad is pretty handsome though, so that’s good for little Stormageddon.

First Day in Radiology

I volunteer at the local hospital and I recently changed from the Mother/Baby ward to the Radiology department (the place where I wanted to be when I first came on as a volunteer).  Last night was my training/shadowing/first night on the job. 

For those of you who don’t know much about radiology, the term is used to cover pretty much all body scans.  Some of those include ultrasound imaging, x-rays, MRIs, and CT scans.  I’ll be working with the CT scan staff.  CT machines are pretty darn amazing (well, all the technology is amazing, if you think about it).  You lay down on a slab and are run back and forth through a giant donut-shaped machine, which takes images of your body in tiny transverse slivers (see fig. A below).  These images are sent to a computer, which compiles them and creates a 3D image of your body.  CT machines can also do contrast scans, where Barium is injected into your bloodstream, making the images of your vessels extremely clear (see fig. B below) and allowing for the technicians to see if you have an aneurysm (bulgy spot, basically) or a clot.  Very cool, right?

Fig. A

Fig. B

The first hour and a half of training was pretty routine; I helped a few patients on and off the slab, transferred them back to the ER, stocked some cupboards, and watched a few scans from the control room.  I discovered that I’m actually pretty good at determining which organs are being shown on the images, which was a happy surprise.  It was all going swimmingly and I was excited for the constant moving/learning, which I hadn’t had volunteering in Mother/Baby.  Then the control room received a call about a trauma patient being life-flighted in; a motorbike accident.

Internal organ scans can be vital for trauma patients.  They help the surgeons know exactly what needs to be operated on and what they’re going to see when they get in there.  Because of this, most trauma patients that come in to the CT room are pretty fresh from the accident.  This means blood. 

I kind of knew what I was getting into with the transfer to radiology.  I knew I was going to see people from the ER.  I knew some of them would be trauma patients.  I also knew about my reaction to other people’s blood and pain - I’ve always been squeamish.  One time at girls’ camp we did a first-aid training where the older girls applied make-up to recreate injuries like a nail through the hand, an arm fracture where the bone pierced the skin, and more.  I had to be escorted back to the cabin so I could calm down.  It’s not that I scream or anything; I just stare in shock and horror and my insides twist up in sympathetic pain.  I even get that way when hearing stories about injuries; I get it from my dad.  It’s actually the biggest reason I went into teaching instead of medicine.  I wanted to be a physical trainer for a while in high school, all the way up until the day we had a PT as a guest speaker and he brought in pictures of some of the injuries he’d seen.

Anyways.  Back to the story.  So they got the call that this young man was being life-flighted in.  No known name, but they guessed he was about 22.  I quietly started hoping that I would be gone and done with training before he came in, but my luck had run out. 

The story’s about to get a little graphic.  If you get queasy like I do, now might be a good time to skip down a few paragraphs.

When he was wheeled in to the room he had a whole team with him: two surgeons, a respiratory doctor, four RNs, a PCT (patient care technician), and a pharmacologist [?].  One of the CT technicians rushed in to help with set-up, as did my trainer.  She motioned that I should stay where I was in the control room.  During the scanning I really couldn’t see much, except that he had bled through the blanket in several places and the PCT had fresh blood on his scrubs when he entered the control room.  I could see his foot sticking out of the blanket – it was swollen and yellow. 

As I sat in the control room I listened in on what the doctors where saying about his condition: I heard hypotension and tachycardia (low blood pressure and fast heart rate), which signal a lot of blood loss.  The scans showed internal bleeding, at least one severed ureter (the tube that leads from the kidney to the bladder), several broken bones, and more.  The young man was not in good condition.  When the scans where done, my trainer motioned for me to follow the procession back to the ER, so my first good look at the patient was in the hallway.  It’s only been a few hours, but every time I close my eyes I can see it.  He had been wearing a helmet, so the top of his head looked relatively unhurt, but the injuries started at his jaw and covered his entire body.  Let’s just say there was a lot of blood. 

Okay, the graphic part is over.  You can start reading again.

Suffice it to say that it was an interesting night.  While working in Mother/Baby I finally started getting excited about my own little poop machine coming soon.  The few hours I’ve spent in Radiology have made me terrified to lose him or his dad.  That 22-year-old might not have made it through the night; I’ll probably never know.  I do know that when I saw The Man after my shift I didn’t want to do anything but hold him close.  I know that when Stormageddon ninja-kicked me at 3:40 this morning I hugged my belly as best I could and prayed that he’d never ride a motorbike.  I know that I’ve been extremely blessed because my parents, brothers, sisters, and husband have never been seriously injured (The Man likes to joke about that one time as a kid when he almost got stung by a bee).  So in a way, I’m really grateful for this experience for reminding me of how much I love my family.  It’s just making it hard to sleep.  Hello, 5 am.

Update: So I'm posting this way after writing it because I don't have internet at home.  I'm not nearly as traumatized now as I was last night/this morning.  So that's good.

Adventure vs Stability

There is a strange paradox that I’ve encountered; I feel a little short-changed because of my stable life.

Now, I don’t mean for this to be a “woe is me, I’m rich and white and life is so hard because of it” exposition, merely an opportunity to step back and see what is valued in life.

I grew up in a family where all of my siblings came from the same parents, and those parents are still together.  My father has been blessed with a good job, and consequently my mother has been able to spend her time at home with the kids.  For as long as I can remember, my parents have been homeowners, and those homes always had nice-sized yards.  I’m happily married to the first man I really dated.  Life has been very good to me, and yet I sometimes feel it’s not enough.

The best art seems to be about overcoming adversity, rising above the hand you’ve been dealt, and changing your life for the better…but what if you have a good life?

The Man and I recently watched “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.”  It’s a fun movie with a good soundtrack and it leaves you feeling uplifted.  At the same time though, I had a nagging thought in the back of my mind: his life wasn’t all that bad before his life-changing experience.

If you haven’t seen the movie, it’s about a man named Walter who works in a managerial position at Life magazine.  He’s close with his family, he’s paid relatively well (enough to not give a second thought to upgrading his mother’s living arrangements), he has friends that he works with, and he’s starting out a relationship with a pretty girl in his office.  And yet the movie hints that because he’s not out there flying across the world on a whim, he’s not fulfilling his destiny and he’s going to be bored and lonely forever.

It’s not really that uncommon of a theme, either.  I mean, yes, there’s the problem of people not living up to their potential, but I feel like a lot of media kind of demonizes an average life.  It’s not enough to have a stable life with a loving family – you need to be out there adventuring.

And you know what?  Adventuring is awesome!  It’s great to go to new places, to meet new people, and to be constantly learning new things.  But what about paying for those adventures?  What about when you find someone you love and you reach the “boring” part of the relationship?  If your whole life you’ve been trying to reach that higher plane at all times…a good life can seem like a bad thing.  Now of course, there are exceptions.  Some people have jobs that allow them to travel the world constantly.  Some people have significant others who also have that luxury and they’re the exciting traveling couple that you see on Facebook and get supremely jealous of.  Not many people are as jealous of the mum posting her 100^th baby picture or the college student who just aced an exam.

So what do we value in life?  Do we value excitement and adventure and thrill-a-minute lives?  Or do we value families that settle down and live the “boring” life with full-time office jobs and lawns to mow and recitals to attend?  Is it honest to say that you can value one without looking down a bit on the other?

This is something I’ve been struggling with a lot lately.  I always wanted to be the adventurous type.  I like spontaneous trips and getting lost in new places.  I used to plan out weekend trips to places across the world like Ireland, New Zealand, Germany, and Greece.  And you know how far I’ve gotten?  Canada and Mexico.  Once to Hawaii, and that was a big deal for me.  And The Man hates traveling.  It’s hard because I WANT to be happy in this life I have.  I WANT to be okay being the housewife or even (gasp!) the working mum.  I WANT to enjoy quilting or scrapbooking or laundry or whatever it is you’re supposed to do when your husband is off at work and you’re stuck alone with your cat and your fetus and no money.  It’s just hard when everything seems to be telling me that I’m not living life to the fullest.

Diary of a Rapidly Expanding Mama Part...3? 4?

30 weeks pregnant and feeling a bit like a water balloon – round, bouncy, and over-stretched.  If you’re weirdly observant you may have noticed that I haven’t really kept to a certain calendar about how far along I am; that’s due to a few things:

1.       Officially I gain a week every Tuesday, due to LMP calculations

2.       When I did my 20 week ultrasound on a Tuesday, the technician said Stormageddon was measuring 20 weeks and 4 days

3.       Last time I was measured I was a week bigger than expected (not that sticking measuring tape on my belly is all that accurate)

4.       I’d really like to have this baby sooner rather than later (smaller babies for the win!), so I’m erring on the hopeful side

So, according to my LMP, I am officially 30 weeks today.  I could be 29, or 31, or any number of week and day combinations, but who really cares besides me and my mother?

This past weekend The Man’s dad and grandfather came into town to have lunch with us (and drop off some gear that we’ve been storing in his dad’s basement), and when asked about the baby I brought out the pictures from his ultrasound.  You never realize how unimpressive those are until you’re trying to show off your baby.  “And here’s his face…It’s a little creepy…Ya, that’s his eye…And here are two pictures of his penis.  And here’s the side of his face…”  Needless to say, they weren’t super impressed.  I keep trying to tell The Man’s dad that he needs to love this baby most out of all the grandchildren because he’ll be the first to carry on the surname, but I think he’s holding out to see if he’ll even want to claim this creature as his grandchild.  There were quite a few unclaimed pronouns in that last sentence; I hope it made sense.

Speaking of the ultrasound, I had a realization this morning: Stormageddon is three times the length he was when those pictures were taken.  And five times the weight.  And his skin isn’t transparent anymore.  So the only pictures I have of him are no longer accurate.  Ah, woe is me…too cheap to pay for extra ultrasounds, and WAY too cheap to get a 3D one.  I’m sure he’s fine and cute and all that.

I’m really learning a lot about myself through this pregnancy.  For example, I am super vain and I’m constantly making sure the stretch marks haven’t come yet (I know, I know, they’re coming…but I keep telling myself that maybe I’m part unicorn and they’ll never show up).  I also get really frustrated with myself when I can’t do simple tasks: walking quickly up hills/stairs, tying my shoes, weeding in the yard for more than fifteen minutes, et cetera.  I gave myself a pedicure the other day; I had to stop every minute or so to sit up straight and breathe again.  And I REALLY get frustrated when I’m confused and lost – enter the baby registry.

Guys, I seriously almost broke down crying the other night just THINKING about putting together a list.  There are so many products out there and so many “necessities” that I’m pretty sure I never saw my mother use…so thank you to everyone who told me to sit back and chill because nobody knows what they’re doing the first time around, and for the succinct lists that DIDN’T include bottle sanitizers and wifi monitors and wipes warmers.  I needed that.   And The Man thanks you for calming his anxiety-ridden wife, even if only for a while :P

I apologize that I haven’t written about anything other than Stormageddon for a while; it’s just that with being unemployed for the summer and only really leaving the house to go to the gym or pick up more books from the library I don’t really have much to contribute.  Terry Pratchett is great.  Rearranging furniture is cool.  Aqua Zumba is quite entertaining to watch.  My cat is the bestest (she’ll even go a whole day without biting me sometimes).  Flies bring out the serial killer in me.  The other day a fly landed on my belly, so I caught him in my hand, transferred him to a tissue, and squished him until I heard the crunch.  Then I squished him a bit more and threw him away.  That was kind of a scary moment, considering I’ve always been the type of person that catches insects (and arachnids) in the house and then releases them into the yard.  It’s just…flies buzz around your face.  And after the hundredth time, it gets a little old.  And then annoying.  And then it makes you want to murder.

It’s ridiculous because we try to keep our doors closed, but we still get so many insects in the house (after my entomology course a couple years ago I just can’t bring myself to call them bugs anymore because they’re not all hemiptera).  The other night The Man and I both had about seven mosquito bites on our backs.  Seven each.  Not counting the bites on our arms and legs.  So last night when a silent mosquito landed on The Man’s sleeve I found myself exclaiming, “it’s quiet, so it’s a female!  Kill it!  Kill it!”  Dang bloodsuckers.

That’s pretty much my life now, though.  A big fetus that seems to be constantly kicking, punching, kneeing, or just sticking appendages in uncomfortable places and pushing; an insect-infested house; way too many fantasy books (like, one 400-page book a day); low-impact workouts; and being excited to have a baby while at the same time being terrified that it’s coming so soon.  Hurrah!

The Highlight of this Post is a Vomit Story

I have officially purchased baby gear.

This is a big deal for me.

See, I'm still in the frame of mind where I KNOW the baby is coming soon and he kicks me so much that I really can't ignore that he's there (plus my burgeoning belly) but I'm still not ready to buy baby stuff because that's just too final.  It means my plans could be officially over once that crib actually has something in it.  I was talking to The Man the other day and I mentioned how the rest of my life (schooling, jobs, etc.) depends on how I handle Stormageddon; I don't think he understands how scary it is because he just laughed it off.

The gear I bought was a Pack 'n Play.  It was selling online for a quarter of the original price and had everything that I wanted - if you're super curious, it's this one.  It is currently folded up and hiding in my house so I don't have to be reminded that I'm never sleeping again.

Oh, speaking of never sleeping again, I had that realization this morning.  It was 4am and probably the fifth time I'd woken up since I'd fallen asleep at 1am and I realized that I really will never sleep again.  I mean, I'll never get to sleep like I used to.  Either I'll be uncomfortable during pregnancy or waking up to feed a newborn or being woken up by kids with nightmares or staying up worrying about if I'm doing things right...I'm going to miss the good old days of a full eight hours.  I'm also going to miss my dreams.  I used to have these crazy vivid dreams and I thought they were supposed to get weirder with pregnancy, but they're starting to get more and more boring, if I even have them.  I honestly believe it's because I'm never asleep long enough to hit my REM cycle.  What else can I whine about?

Ah, the glucose test.  So when you reach around 28 weeks you're supposed to do a glucose tolerance test since maternal diabetes is on the rise.  You drink a super-sugary drink and then get your blood tested an hour later to see how well you're taking in the glucose.  Everyone said it just tasted like flat orange soda and the only complaints are of slight headaches.

I threw it up.

I took small sips, I made sure I wasn't taking it on an empty stomach, and I tried as hard as I could to keep it down, but I failed.  The Man was in bed at the time; his version of what happened went a little something like this:

I heard you talking to yourself as you drank it, saying things like, "oh, I don't feel so good" and "please please please stay down!"  Then you started getting angry at yourself for feeling sick.  Then you said, "okay, okay, I'm getting up!"  and I heard you run to the bathroom and start puking like crazy.  I considered calling the bishop to report a possession (he was joking here...I think).

We then made the obligatory exorcise/exercise joke and he patted my belly and I curled up in the fetal position and tried to not think about what had come out of me just minutes before (a bright orange liquid with chunks of egg and toast in it, if you were wondering).

So yeah, pregnancy is gooooood.  It's fun feeling him move.  It's nice not having to suck in my belly all the time (when I do, it gets all triangular; it's actually kind of fun).  I like having an excuse to lay around reading books in front of the fan all day.  I'm not sure how I feel about The Man grabbing my belly and going, "belly, belly, belly!" in a gravelly voice while shaking it, but I'm getting used to it I guess.

I was measuring 29 weeks yesterday (for those of you who've never been pregnant, they just get measuring tape and see how many inches there are between your pubic bone and the top of your uterus; 29 inches = 29 weeks), so home stretch, here I come!

Uterine Update

Well, I’ve reached 25 weeks of being pregnant!  With the nausea gone, it’s gotten to the point where I often forget I’m even pregnant.  And then Stormageddon moves or I look down and notice that I’ve gained quite a few inches around the waist.  I’m pretty proud about the fact that the rest of my body is staying pretty fit though; thank you so much for your genes, Mum!

I was trying to explain what it feels like when the little man moves to The Man the other night, and I came up with this explanation: You know how sometimes you can feel gas bubbles moving through your colon?  It feels like that, except it’s a much bigger gas bubble so I feel it throughout my entire belly area.

Speaking of big gas bubbles (haha, if you read “big gas” as one word that phrase is much better), apparently Stormageddon is about the size of an ear of corn right now.  I’m not sure if that “measurement” is from head to butt or head to toe though, because I’m right around the time where they stop measuring one way and start measuring another.  Either way, he’s getting big enough that delivery is starting to be more real and scary.

I’m actually getting more scared about delivery by the week.  See, I’ve started volunteering at a local hospital, and since all the radiology volunteer spots were filled and I can’t stand the sight of blood, I signed on with the mother/baby ward.  It’s where the mums go after they deliver, and the nursery is on my floor too.  I mainly set up rooms and make sure everything is ready for when the mothers and babies come down.  Here’s what I’ve been reminded of: I will be in pain and exhausted after Stormy pops out (to the point that the nurses will be excited if I feel well enough to walk around the ward).  I will be bleeding like the dickens (seriously, I have to put so many blood-catching devices in their rooms…).  Babies are tiny, but still big enough that just imagining them crowning is painful.  A lot of crying is in my near future, but at least it will be the tiny newborn cry for a while (how long exactly, I’m not sure).  Breastfeeding sucks for a time (ha…haha…).  And most importantly: I need to remember to listen to my nurses.  They know what they’re talking about and I just won’t half the time.

New topic: the name.  Everyone wants to know what names we’ve thought of and here’s the problem: The Man and I aren’t good namers.  We named our cat “C.A.T.,” for goodness’ sake.  At the same time though, we’re super stubborn and independent and we want to come up with the name ourselves.  So we’re kind of in a rut.  It’s so bad we’re even considering bad puns for his name (Otto Maddoc is one of them – my dad likes it so much he’s decided to call Stormy “Otto” regardless of what we actually name him).  Then there’s the problem of wanting to honor grandparents but having to make a decision about which one you’re going to honor first.  I don’t know.  We’ll have a name eventually, just…ask me when the kid is born.  We have no idea right now.

What else?  I haven’t really had cravings yet (no more so than before I was pregnant).  Stormageddon is big enough that when he moves, I can see it (still no differentiation of body parts though).  He gets super excited after I exercise.  The other day I did yoga for an hour and then swam laps for a half hour; when I sat down to rest he decided to perform Riverdance to show his appreciation.  He already likes to kick CAT, but she ignores it.  He is SUPER stubborn about not kicking for The Man.  Seriously, he’ll be moving like crazy, and as soon as I grab The Man’s hand so he can feel, Stormageddon just stops moving.  The Man takes it as a sign that Stormy will be a rebellious kid that does stuff behind his back.  Honestly though, I think Stormy will like his dad more when he comes out; The Man likes babies a lot more than I do.  I struggle with breathing sometimes, I’m hot all the time (one reason to stay home: you don’t have to wear clothes), and I’m convinced I will never sleep comfortably again.  I hate sleeping on my side SOOOO much.  And I’ve tried pillows, different surfaces, being exhausted, and everything else they suggest; I just can’t get comfortable.  The night this kid is out I’m sleeping on my belly again and it’s going to be awesome.  Unless I have to have a C-Section.  Then I will curse Stormy’s name (whatever it may be) for months.

A House without the Web

So remember how I said we got a new place?  And I was all excited about it?  I left something out: we don't have internet.  We could have internet, if we wanted it, but The Man and I opted out.  And guess what?  I can survive without internet at home!

There were a few things that went into our decision, including our mutual addiction to Netflix and my addiction to just being on the computer all the time when I'm bored.  No internet at home means when The Man comes home from school, we have to spend time together, and not just sit next to each other on the couch looking at cat videos.  No internet means we have to plan ahead when we want to go do things (like looking up movie times earlier on in the day when The Man's on campus).  No internet means I'm reading more books, hanging out in the yard, and organizing my house more.  No internet is actually pretty cool sometimes.

On the downside, I CAN'T be spontaneous about some things.  I don't have the ability to look up exercise videos anymore.  When I want to learn about something new (or I'm having an argument with the man about some piece of trivia), I have to go to campus to learn/answer the question.  Also, Netflix just released the 7th season of Doctor Who.  Like, the day that we moved.  Seriously not cool.

I'm still not sure how I feel about having no internet at home.  I just might die when I'm stuck at home in the winter with a newborn.  First world problems.

Stormageddon's 2nd Photo Shoot

Today is my halfway point in the pregnancy; I bought myself some popsicles as a reward.  The Man and I also went to the ObGyn today for the anomaly/anatomy ultrasound on Stormageddon.  The last time we saw Stormy it looked like a grey jellybean, so we were pretty excited to see an actual humanoid creature in there.  And it turns out the glossiness of the photos they give you is SUPER annoying when you're trying to take a picture of them, hence the reason you can see my reflection in many of these.

Anyways.

Stormageddon's lovely face.  When I saw that eye, I was a little creeped out.  No less creeped out now.  I guess looking bad in photos is hereditary.  In this picture you're being looked at straight-on, and you can see a bit of the thoracic cavity to the right (virtual high-five if you can see one of the heart's chambers).  

Side note: Stormageddon was so dang squirmy that even the ultrasound tech was a little frazzled by it.  She kept trying to take pictures and an arm would jump in to block the shot, or the entire baby would flip.  She turned to me at one point and said incredulously, "can you feel it moving like this all the time?"  I smiled and said, "oh yeah."  Seriously, this kid is a mover.  Kind of scared for when it comes out.

A side view of our squirmer.  Already looking kind of like me; my family's pretty well-known for our large noses.  I thought it was weird how the whole bottom half of Stormy's face jutted out like that, but after comparing with other 20 week ultrasounds I determined this is normal.  Wow, I AM shallow...

And lastly, the big reveal.  Baby's first chance for public indecency.  Before I show the picture, I have to tell you some stories though.

When I was little my mum showed us the thread and needle trick for gender determination.  She says it predicted all of her kids in order (quite a feat when there's nine of them).  According to the thread and needle, I was going to have a girl first.  Then when I was about nine weeks along, my dad told me that he'd seen my baby in his mind.  It was a girl, and she was tiny with delicate facial features.  When I first heard the heartbeat, it was around 155 beats/minute, and Mum told me that was a sure sign of a female.  The Man has been hoping for a little girl, and he was pretty sure that's what we were going to have because both his sisters had girls first.  All the wives' tales pointed to me having a girl: craving sweets, throwing up more, looking haggard, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.  My coworkers bought me some diapers and a little pink outfit.  So I wasn't too surprised to see: 

PENIS!  No, not THAT big; that's a leg :P

See, when everyone was counting on me having a girl, I wasn't so sure.  I kept telling them that wives' tales were full of crap and my baby could be either no matter what.  Hurrah for my little rebel!

Since I am an educated and classy adult, I sent my dad the picture you see above with the only text being the word "penis" over and over again.

When I dropped The Man off at campus after the visit, he was really sad and quiet.  I asked him what was wrong; turns out he REALLY wanted a girl.  I smiled sadly, hugged him, and whispered in his ear, "well, you know it's all your fault he's a boy, right?"  Because I am an evil spouse.

So, Stormageddon is healthy and super active and has a Y chromosome.  Science!

The Problem with Being She-Ra

The Man and I recently signed the lease on a new place.  It's a fixer-upper and a downsize, but we get a fireplace, a yard (also a fixer-upper) and my cat back.  The landlord has pretty much given us free reign with the place, and has even offered to reimburse us if it turns out nice.  We're actually super excited about it.

See, The Man and I both work in areas where it's sometimes hard to see the fruits of your labors.  He'll program for 20+ hours and end up with a tiny blob that reacts to other tiny blobs on the screen.  I'll lesson plan and grade and stress and end up with kids that don't even try to turn in any of the work they do.  You feel like you're putting in all of your time for a thankless task, and it can get really depressing.

Cleaning, remodeling, and yard work are the opposite.

We are so dang excited about this new place because we've been setting goals, planning actions, and working with our hands, and at the end we can actually see what we've changed!  Yesterday we spent over 4 hours just cleaning up the house and yard, and it felt awesome.  It's nowhere near where we want it to be, but we can actually see a change in the place already.  Hurrah!

It was a conversation during yesterday's cleaning that inspired this post.
Me: Hey [The Man], can you help me with this?
TM: Definitely.  Actually, let me do it; you're pregnant.
M: Hah.  I don't like using that; it feels like an excuse to-
TM: An excuse for me to be manly?  An excuse for you to be womanly?
M: Am I not usually womanly?
TM: Well you're not like, "oh, TM, I'm so helpless!"  You're pretty independent.
M: Huh.

It's not like The Man has a medieval view on gender roles; he's very supportive of my goals in life.  When I told him I'd like to try to go back to school for sonography he got excited and encouraged me to take the online class I needed.  We've talked a lot about the possibility of both of us working when our kids are in school.

At the same time though, I think it bugs him a bit that I'm more of a Wonder Woman than a Lois Lane.  I rarely give him the opportunity to be the big strong man.  And aye, there's the rub.

See, I LIKE being independent.  I'm proud that I can change a tire, move heavy furniture, be the breadwinner, and stand up for myself.  I'm not going to change that.  I am not the type of person to let someone else make all the big decisions without my say in the matter.  I know that I am capable and intelligent and hard-working and I'll be damned if I pretend that I'm not.  I want my daughters to have that same sense of self-worth; that same ability to function on their own and be tough.

On the other hand, I sometimes wonder how much my independence bulldozes The Man's independence.  He's such an easy-going guy that it's I often find myself telling him what to do, and that's no good either.  And just like I sometimes want to be told that I'm beautiful and appealing, he sometimes likes to show that he's strong and capable of providing for me; it's kind of cruel for me to deny him those opportunities.

I think I just need to find a balance.  Somehow.

My Strange Addiction (which isn't all that strange)

I have an unhealthy addiction to the internet (says the girl writing on her internet blog).  When I am home alone and bored, I find myself visiting the same sites over and over again: Facebook, Pinterest, Cracked, and Buzzfeed.  Literally for hours.

It started off innocent enough; Pinterest helped me shut off my brain after a long day because I could just stare at pretty pictures as I scrolled down the never-ending page.  Facebook let me stalk my friends and family so that when I saw them next I could ask them what was new and pretend like I had no idea.  Buzzfeed let me look at gifs of puppies and kittens.  Cracked taught me things (mostly useless things, but things).  I was learning and being entertained; life was good.

The tipping point came when I read an article from one of the magazines my church publishes; you can read the article here: https://www.lds.org/liahona/2014/06/media-with-merit?lang=eng&query=media+with+merit

I realized that although I was keeping my brain occupied, I wasn't really doing anything.  I was passively staring at the screen taking in information, and because of that I was wasting hours of time.  So The Man and I sat down the other night and talked about the article and things we could do when we got home that maybe didn't involve the computers (a great one for me right now would be grading, seeing as there's only two days left of school...oh well).  It's weird, because I always thought of myself as an active person until I looked at what I really did during the day.  So I resolved to make a change.

Yesterday I did not visit Pinterest, Cracked, or Buzzfeed at all.  I did check Facebook, but for no more than 10 minutes.  Since I wasn't glued to the screen, I did four loads of laundry (washed, dried, folded, and put away), made dinner (meatloaf, due to a craving), graded some papers, washed all the dishes, picked The Man up from school, got some supplies from the store for school today, and cleaned the microwave.  Which doesn't seem like a lot, but keep in mind this was after 10 hours of being at school, and I'm pregnant.  So, I feel pretty dang accomplished.  I just got home from school half an hour ago, but here's to hoping for another successful day.

I figure that if I talk to you about it, dear interwebs, it will give me more resolve to stay away from useless sites (at least until I can self-regulate my usage).  Want to join me?  Could be fun!  We could whine about our withdrawals together!

Ugly Babies and Heartless Robots

You know what's a scary thought?  Having an ugly child.  I mean, sure, they'll have to grow a better personality because of it and looks aren't SUPPOSED to matter, but let's be honest: looks matter.  And, since I am well-versed in Genetics, I decided to find out if The Man and I would have an ugly baby in the most scientific way possible: one of those face-morph websites.  Stormageddon will 100% without a doubt look like this:

Sadly, those beautiful lips come from his dad, not me.

So that's not too bad.  Our child will at least have a more symmetrical face than his mother (thanks, Hubby!).  I'm going to stick with this website's interpretation of our children instead of the interpretation I made with paint a couple years back:

So scarring...

I really shouldn't care so much about how Stormageddon is going to look though.  Right now I guess I'm just trying to find ways to get myself excited about having a baby.

Weird, right?  I mean, I try to get pregnant for a year, I purposefully take myself off birth control, and then once I get what I wanted I'm just...meh.  This article actually explains how I'm feeling pretty well: http://pregnantfeminist.wordpress.com/2012/02/16/thirteen-weeks-on-being-a-heartless-robot/

I'm so grateful that I was able to get pregnant.  I am relieved beyond belief that I've made it this far without a miscarriage.  I REALLY want to have a child with The Man, but that's the thing: I want a child, not a baby.

I've never really been that into human babies.  Growing up I was more excited about getting stuffed animals and taking care of them than I was about baby dolls.  And it wasn't due to lack of exposure; remember, I come from a family of nine kids.  There was always a baby in the house.  I've changed diapers, helped with bathtime, dressed babies in their annoying onesies, watched them learn to walk and crawl...I just wasn't all that impressed.  

I mean, for the first couple months they can't really interact with you besides crying when they need something.  After that they start to get squirmy, but once you put them down they start crying.  After that comes teething.  After that comes throwing and hitting.  Plus most babies take about 6 months before they even start looking cute.

Baby brother at 4 months (left), and holding his nephew earlier this year (right).
Took him a bit, but he got cute.

There have been a few moments that I've gotten excited about having an infant.  One was when I remembered what it was like cuddling with my youngest brother (seen above).  I used to come home from school and Mum would hand him off and I'd go sit on the couch with him.  He always fell right asleep (thanks, boobs!).  So snuggling is a good thing to dwell on.  The other moment came VERY briefly when my coworkers gave me a present: some baby pajamas and a pack of newborn diapers.  For a moment I imagined a tiny little baby in a tiny little diaper and the mothering instinct way down deep inside of me gave a little squee...then it was gone.  And...that's about it.  I'm not one to get overly excited about tiny baby clothes or diaper bags or strollers (those rocking chairs though?  Heck yeah!), so I haven't really had those moments shopping where I just swell in excitement.

I don't feel as bad about it because I've brought it up when talking to The Man, and he's been feeling the same way.  He's excited to have a child as well, but right now the whole thing is just surreal.  I just feel bad though, because when people find out I'm pregnant one of their first questions is always, "are you SO excited?"  And I usually give a half-hearted, "yeah, I guess."  Can I blame my apathy on pregnancy hormones?  Let's blame it on that.

The Perfection of Imperfection

For some reason Stormageddon has decided that it's not going to let me sleep comfortably anymore, even though I'm not that far along and my belly isn't that big.  Due to that inconvenience, I have a lot of time to think in bed now.  Tonight I was thinking about my family.

My family has seen some trials.  These people that I love have dealt with divorces, drug addictions, alcohol abuse, jail time, houses burning down, the mistreatment that can come with homosexuality, and much more.  They are truly incredible.  And it's going to sound cruel of me to say this, but I am so glad that I've been able to see my family struggle.

For one, their struggles have taught me what it means to be strong.  I have seen (or heard about) how my family members have reacted in the face of trials, and it is beyond impressive.  Whatever the problem, my relatives seem to be able to face it head-on and kick its butt.  They don't whine and cry and mope about, they deal with the situation and get on with life.  I'm so impressed by them.

Their struggles have also taught me compassion.  I can't say that all drug addicts are stupid and useless because someone I love has had that exact struggle.  I can't say that every divorcee just didn't try enough in their marriage because I've seen how hard they try to keep things together.  I can't say that everyone below the middle class is just lazy and not trying hard enough because I have family members in that category, and they work harder than most people I know.  My family's struggles have taught me that every situation is unique, every person has someone who loves them, and judgmentally stereotyping is totally unfair.

I am so grateful for my imperfect family.  I'm grateful for their examples, for their acceptance, and for their love.  They may not be perfect, but I wouldn't have them any other way.

Hey! Teacher! Leave those kids alone!

So, this thing happened.

I was all set to teach part-time in the fall.  I had maternity leave all set up, we'd discussed pay rates, my little sister created a school schedule so she could watch Stormageddon in the mornings; everything was in the works.  Even though I had it all set up though, I was super conflicted.  I mean, could I honestly grade at home with a newborn?  Would my students suffer because I wouldn't be putting the time in at home?  What about feeding my baby?  (TMI?)

And I was praying about this every night, asking for some confirmation that I was doing the right thing.  Well, I got an answer.  A few days ago my administrator and I sat down and had a talk; the school is growing a LOT next year (like, 70 new kids) and they really need more than a part-time science teacher.  So I was let go.

I didn't expect it to be such a relief.

That afternoon I started looking for jobs (I kinda like the sugar momma feel), and I kept shying away from education jobs.  See, I don't know if I want to be a teacher anymore.

I usually do enjoy teaching.  The kids are really fun and we can have some awesome discussions.  It's just...the parents and the meetings and the grading and the countless hours put in once I've finally gotten home after 10 hours at the school and the early mornings and...I'm tired.  The time in the classroom, actually interacting with the kids?  Phenomenal.  The time at home, feeling beat and stressed and drained?  Not so fun.

Now, I know my friends with kids have to deal with children 24 hours a day, seven days a week, but...it's different.  I am responsible for the academic future, behavioral growth, and mind-stretching of over 100 teenagers.  Half of whom don't want to be there.  At least with your own child there's some type of primal love between you, and when other parents get upset about your parenting style you can just blow them off.  With teaching (especially non-contracted teaching like with my charter), my job is on the line every time a parent gets upset with me.  And I'm kinda done.

And yet a part of me wonders if this is just typical Spotalotamus ennui.  I have this problem of being addicted to change and new experiences.  I like to move.  I like to cut and dye my hair.  I like to run away and roadtrip.  Looking at my past jobs (and past dream jobs), I can't help but wonder if my wanderlust has creeped into the job section of my life as well.  I've been a concessions worker, a data entry monkey, an apartment leasing agent, and a teacher.  And I've seriously considered options like firefighting, zookeeping, massage therapy, cosmetology (go ahead, people that know me; take a minute to laugh at that last one considering my fashion and make-up knowledge), and now...sonography.

I'm keeping all the curricula I've made this year, and I'll be keeping my teaching license up-to-date, but I'm going to try for a new direction.  For the first time since...2009, I'm really excited about my career possibilities for the future.  Bouncing around in my chair, huge smile on my face excited.  I may fall flat on my perfectly sculpted bum, but I'm going to try.  I've already applied to a few hospitals for some experience (volunteer; no way am I qualified for the other stuff) and I'll be taking a medical terminology course online (the only pre-req for schooling I haven't met).  Stormageddon may have other ideas when it gets here, but I'm going to ignore the fact that I'm pregnant and just chase this dream for a bit.

A Glut on My Gut

The news is out: I got knocked up.

If you're a dedicated reader, first of all, kudos to you for remaining dedicated.  I mean, I haven't posted in months.  If you still check this page you're incredible.  Or crazy.  Second of all, you know that I struggled with getting pregnant for about a year and then just decided to give up for a while.  The Man and I decided early this year that we'd try to get pregnant by October so I could have my baby in the summer (yay for teaching making maternity leave so hellish!), and since it took so long last time we thought we'd be safe trying in January.  Two weeks later I was pregnant.  So...that was unexpected.

Due to my background of trying and failing to get pregnant, I'm going to try my hardest to limit how much I talk about it on Facebook; I know how much it hurts reading those posts.  However, this post is for everyone who wants to know everything about my pregnancy so far (which isn't much), so consider yourself warned.

Um, I guess I'll start at the beginning.  Well...how about a couple of weeks after the beginning.  I don't want you scarred for life.

My brother got married on Valentine's Day this year, and The Man and I drove up to attend (with lil' sis in tow).  That whole weekend I just felt...fat.  Everyone I've talked to has said something like, "oh, my first symptom was my incredible sense of smell!"  or "oh my goodness my boobs started hurting out of nowhere!"  Not me.  Just fatness.  And a brief memory of smelling someone's bad breath from across the kitchen.  On the drive back home from the wedding The Man and I talked about the possibility of me getting a motorbike this summer, but since I had missed a period (pretty par for the course for me) he said that we'd wait to decide until I took a test.  If I was preggo, no bike-o.  After that conversation a tiny bit of me hoped I wasn't pregnant.

I took a test on Monday, and the second line showed up immediately.  No "waiting 2 minutes" crap.  I nervously laughed to myself, then called The Man over:
"So...I'm definitely pregnant."
"Oh..."
I've lived with this guy long enough you'd think I would have expected the look of terror and lack of excitement, but I was still a little upset.  To be fair, I probably had the same look on my face.

Now, don't get me wrong, we WANT a baby.  Getting pregnant so soon just...changed things.  Suddenly we realized that I probably wouldn't get another year of full-time work in to make bills easier.  Suddenly The Man would be a dad before he graduated college.  Suddenly I would be going into the labor in the middle of his midterms.  Suddenly life was real.  And it was scary.

We decided to call the baby Stormageddon, because we're nerds.

A week went by without us telling anyone.  Then I went to visit a good friend.  This was the friend that I always talked to when I was struggling with not having a baby, because she was going through the same crap (and she went through it longer than I did).  She kept asking what was new in life and I kept biting my tongue until she let it slip that she wouldn't be able to go hot-tubbing in the summer and then had to admit to me that she was pregnant and she'd been really scared to tell me because of our history.  So of course I admitted that I was pregnant too; we're two weeks apart.  It's been awesome having someone to confide in/commiserate with from so early on.

The rest of my pregnancy has all been the same: constant nausea, some heartburn, food aversions (like...all food), and exhaustion.  I've thrown up in the middle of teaching four times now; I kind of feel hardcore when I puke in the middle of a lecture and then continue on like nothing happened.  I've thrown up quite a bit in the mornings (brushing teeth is the worst), and a few times in the afternoons.  I guess the throwing up is the weirdest part for me.  I mean, before my first puke of pregnancy (chocolate milk, yum!) I hadn't thrown up in...6 years.  I forgot about the noises you make.  And the snot.  And the watery eyes.  So weird.

Smells are also stupid now.  The Man bought some meatballs (because I specifically asked for them) and it turns out I can't stand the smell.  The faculty room during lunch makes me gag a bit.  Even going to the produce section of the grocery store can make me queasy; I have no idea how I teach hordes of unhygienic teenagers every day.

We've now seen the baby (it looked like a grey jellybean) and heard its heartbeat (sounded swishier than I expected), and I'm out of the first trimester (for those of you who aren't good at math, I'm due at the end of October). No weight gain, no maternity clothes, and nobody but me has noticed that I'm getting "micker around the thiddle*."  I'm still planning on teaching next school year, but I'm dropping down to part-time.

Any unanswered questions?  I think I got it all...

*Runny Babbit, by Shel Silverstein

Pain Is Weakness

I really hate the phrase "pain is weakness leaving the body," because it's just not true.  Pain is your body's weakness crying out in stress saying, "I really am struggling with coping right now!"  Pain isn't weakness leaving; it's weakness asserting itself.

For an example, let's talk about lifting weights.  When you lift weights (or do any exercise meant to make you stronger) you aren't just making thicker muscle cells.  You are literally ripping your muscle cells (tiny rips, but still rips) when you work out, then letting them heal over.  Everyone used to think that the pain you felt after a workout was your lactic acid buildup after anaerobic respiration, but the more we learn about lactic acid, the more we doubt that.  See, lactic acid is awesome.  It builds up, yeah, but as soon as you start getting enough oxygen again it will turn back into pyruvate, which we can put through aerobic respiration to get some sweet, sweet adenosine triphosphate (molecular energy, if you will).  Tears can't transform and be recycled; tears just hurt for a bit until they heal over.  Hence the days of pain after especially hard workouts.  So the pain of a workout is not weakness leaving the body, it's your body becoming brutally aware of its weaknesses.

What about the pain of loss?  To keep things light, we'll use a hypothetical situation in which I steal a candy bar that The Man was saving for a hard day.  The pain is not weakness leaving him; it's him realizing that he is weak because he has trouble living without his candy bar.

The pain of being fired?  Realizing that you are weak without an income.  The pain of getting blisters on the bottom of your foot?  Realizing that you are weak because you are not a hobbit.  The pain of hemorrhoids?  Uh...let's stop there.

I also think I don't like that phrase because it implies that weakness is a bad thing and needs to be gotten rid of.  We need to be hard, unfeeling, and apathetic.  I disagree.  I think we need weaknesses.  

I need weaknesses to keep me humble.  Maybe you need weaknesses to keep you kind.  Weaknesses shape us just as much as strengths do.  Now, one could always make the counter-point that some weaknesses should be gotten rid of, like cowardice or greed, and I wholeheartedly agree.  However, not all weaknesses are bad.  Just something to chew on.  Now get the computer out of your mouth.  Gross.

Why I Won't Be Teaching Creationism in My Classroom

Ever since the Bill Nye/Ken Ham debate I've been kind of on edge.

I am a science teacher, and I spent years learning about how the world around us functions.  I am also a Mormon, and I've spent my whole life trying to gain a personal understanding of how God functions.

In about a month I'll begin teaching my students about evolution.  I will give them the evidence scientists have found over the years and I'll encourage them to research the information for themselves.  I will not be teaching creationism.

Even though it confuses me (and frustrates me when they speak out against evolution), I have no problem with people who believe in Creationism.  If you have your facts straight and you still choose to not believe, go on with your bad self.  I don't care.  My problem is when you try to force it into school curriculum.

See, scientists are not content with "I don't know."  One of their biggest goals in life is to better understand how something works; whether it's the transcription and translation of DNA, the reasons behind earthquakes, or how fast a feather will fall, they strive to learn more.  It goes against their nature to say, "this happens because of unknown forces that we can never understand."  If I'm trying to teach my students the nature of science, why would I ever say, "here's the evidence we have, but there's also the option of going back in time before you knew any of this and just saying we have no idea how it works?"

From my experience, that is pretty much what Creationism is.  A whole lot of "I don't know, and I don't care to find out," all because they're okay with keeping the workings of God a mystery.

Isn't that kind of against what God wants for us though?  We read the scriptures and pray in order to better understand the mysteries of God.  The leaders of the LDS church encourage us to go out and get as much education as we can so that we can better understand the mysteries of God.  We're supposed to be hungry for information, not content with a lack of understanding.

On top of that, how would you feel is scientists treated everything that way?  "Oh, cancer.  Yeah, we're not sure how that works.  We're pretty sure it's just a punishment."  "Volcanic eruptions?  There are no signs to prepare you for those.  Nobody knows when God is going to make a volcano erupt."  "Angels fly; I'm pretty sure physics is just a philosophical discussion."  It just doesn't make sense to me.  Creationism is not a science, and it has no place in a science classroom.

And to close, some Avatar:

But Practicing Is Hard!

The Man once had a coworker who asked me the question "if you could do anything - including the stuff you're not talented enough to do right now - what would you want to do with your life?"

I told him I wanted to be a writer, and I meant it.

Writing letters, e-mails, and Facebook updates comes easy to me; it's just the beautiful stuff that is hard.  Every time I try to write something thought-provoking, it comes off as pretentious.  Not even a good pretentious; my words are vapid and fall flat.  I keep thinking that I have these great ideas for stories and then when I try to put the words down it's just...Twilight-esque.  Hard to create a novel on the grey lines of war when the only dialogue you can come up with could have been written by a twelve-year-old.

Or there are those moments of utter clarity when the words seem to flow from my fingertips so beautifully and I write for an hour or so (usually these moments happen when I'm sleep-deprived).  I get so excited about the world I'm creating, and then when I get a few hours of sleep in me I re-read my masterpiece and realize how ridiculous it is.  It's quite...well, I was going to say infuriating but that's not really it.  It's depressing.  I feel this gigantic urge to create, but I don't have the ability.

Then it hit me today; I don't practice writing.  I dabble, but I don't practice.  Barring select individuals, I'm pretty sure all greatness comes with the price of time, humiliation, and frustration until you get that stinking thing right.  I see great writers, great musicians, great artists, and I automatically assume that they just "have it;" I don't know why it never occurred to me that they "have it" due to a shed-load of work put in (heard that on Doctor Who today; decided to start using it.  Not so sure on "squeaky bum time" yet).

So, here's my plan: I'm going to write something every day.  Maybe a short story, maybe a poem, maybe a chapter of a greater plot, but I'm going to be writing.  I'll leave a sample now and maybe put a new one down monthly so I can track my progress.  The following story was from a sleep-deprived moment.

I walked solemnly down the dirt path.  It was dusk; dinner time.  My hand tightly clenched the wooden handle as I tried to push my feelings of guilt aside.  We needed to eat.  There was no other option.

The gate creaked open, causing sparrows in a nearby orchard to take flight.

As I entered the enclosure I could hear it; the sound of tens of quickened hearts thumping softly.  I knelt down and wrapped my hand around one's neck.  "I'm sorry.  I really am."  Its pulse beat faster and faster as I sunk my trowel in the soft earth beside it, pushed down, and lifted the carrot from its ground.  An arrhythmic drumbeat filled my ears, then faded into silence.

The worst part of death isn't the screaming; it's feeling something's heart die in your hands and knowing that you caused it.

*Prompt taken from a student's question: Do plants have hearts?  They don't, but if they did vegetarians would still be safe - yay Soylent!

My Two Cents on Amy Glass

So everyone's all upset over Amy Glass's recent article.

I have friends violently for it and friends violently against it; I'd like to be the person in the middle.

Yup, she hated on mommy bloggers and people that get married young.  Yup, she said some hurtful things.  And...dare I say it...She made some valid points.

We definitely do have a bias when it comes to congratulations and celebrations.  When someone gets married we jump up and down in joy with them, we go to their bridal shower, bachelorette party, wedding, and reception, and we throw gifts their way almost every time.  When someone gets a new job they're really excited about or a promotion that they've been waiting on for years we smile at them, maybe go out for a celebratory dinner, and then forget about it.

I realize that comparing marriage to a job promotion may seem like comparing sprouts to actual food, but here's the plain truth:

Not every woman WANTS to be a mother.  Not every woman WANTS to get married.  Some women truly, honestly, cross-their-hearts-and-hope-to-die LOVE their careers and feel very fulfilled with their choices in life.  And why shouldn't they?  We are individuals.  We are unique.  We have different desires and life goals.  And sometimes we're stupid and we look down on other people for not having the same life goals.  Amy did it to mommies and mommies did it to Amy.  Not cool on either front, but there you have it.

Maybe we should take a different approach.  Maybe instead of hating Ms. Glass for being a career-driven woman, we could put ourselves in her shoes.  How many of you congratulate your female friends with successful jobs?  How many of you tell single women things like, "oh, I can't wait until you have a boyfriend so we can double-date!"  Can you imagine how much that sucks?  I know for a fact that I'm guilty of being a biased congratulator (not a real word, but roll with it).  I'll briefly congratulate friends on promotions or new jobs, but for someone whose big life goal is to be a successful businesswoman to be constantly ignored in favor of puking babies and sickly-sweet engagement photos...It must be terrible.  I totally understand why she would lash out like that.

We need to recognize that it's okay for people to have different goals, and we need to be excited for what they achieve instead of what we think they should be achieving.  I have some amazing friends who are stellar at academia and in the workforce, and I never tell them how impressive they are to me.  I'm kind of grateful to Ms. Glass for reminding me to do so.