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.