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.