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!