Goodbye 2010

I know I've been a slow blogger. I've had lots of posts swimming around in my head, just waiting for the clarity and free time to get them typed in. But our family seems to have slid into the holiday season, the year's end, panting and dirty and trying wildly to keep all our balls in the air. Somehow it feels like tomorrow morning will dawn and everything will have been reset. We suddenly won't be playing an eternal game of catchup anymore. We'll start fresh and new and ahead of the game. Or something.

But I owe it to tonight to give a brief glance back at the last 365 days, to give a nod of appreciation, one last smile, a mental note of thanks.

Thank you for every morning I woke up to Alina's laughter and exploration and growth.

Thank you for my daughter's sweet kisses, her toddler-version of "I love you," her hugs and her mischievous, crinkly-nosed smile.

Thank you for my son, kicking around inside me as I type. Thank you for the movement I can see in my belly right now.

Thank you for the growth in my marriage, for the father my husband has become, and the husband my babies' daddy has become.

Most of all thank you for the deep, soul-satisfying sense of peace and contentment I have.

It's been an incredible journey from January 1 to December 31. An incredible journey through the greatest year of my life. I can only imagine the heights that are in store for 2011. Double the crazy, double the fun.

Double the joy.

So happy OLD year and happy NEW year from our house and hearts to yours. (And I promise to get back to our regularly scheduled blogging next year...er...tomorrow!)

P is for Potential

**If you're new to the alphabet series, start here.**

Baby girl, there are so many important P's I wanted to talk to you about. Priorities. Principles. Patience. I got started on each one, and each time I stalled out, not really knowing what to say next, not really feeling like it was ultimately all that important. And then I realized I was talking to you about the wrong P.

Today, P is for potential.

For the last couple of years, I worked for a woman who was, in all honesty, fairly hard to work for. She had a short temper. She was driven and determined and knew exactly what she wanted. If you kept your head down and did an amazing job on everything, she was pleased and happy, but mistakes were hardly tolerated and when frustrated, her temper would flash, revealing a hard, cold, mean interior. She was divorced and childless. The quintessential career woman.

I was able to stay on her good side at first. I'm an excellent employee, smart, sharp, organized. I pleased her. I made her look good.

And then I got pregnant.

Slowly, subtly, she started giving me a hard time about my doctor's appointments. At first the message--to schedule them outside of work hours--came off as joking. But she got serious very quickly. I started taking whole days off work when I had an appointment so that she wouldn't feel like my appointments were interfering with my job.

Things only got worse after I had you. She told me to code time spent taking you to your appointments differently than time spent at my own doctor's appointments. She complained to her superiors about my pumping twice a day to provide milk for you (a complaint that fell on deaf ears). When I had to stay home with you when you were sick, she took projects away from me and wouldn't speak to me for days.

One day, I overheard her telling someone that women who have children lose their potential.

I had had enough. I documented everything and submitted a packet to our human resources department with a letter stating that I felt discriminated against based on my family status. Thankfully my company treated my complaints seriously, and--skipping the stressful process in the middle--I was shortly thereafter transferred to another team.

When I got pregnant with you, when I looked at that test and screamed with joy, when I became a mother, your mother, I believed I was joining a club of esteemed women. Mothers are loved. Mothers are celebrated. Mothers impress everyone around them with their ability to solve all problems, cure all pains, soothe all fears, and encourage and enable all successes. I never thought there would be people who actually thought less of me for being a mother.

Potential. She thought I lost my potential when I had a child.

I am here to tell you she could not have been more wrong. You have given me more potential than I ever knew I was capable of. Because of you, I am a better person. A stronger person. I can do more than I ever thought possible. I can love more than I ever imagined. I have accomplished more than I ever would have without you.

You didn't steal my potential. You enhanced it.

I tell you this so that you'll understand that one day, someone will look down on you for something, will think less of you. When that happens, ignore them. Defy them. Never let their limited understanding of you limit your actual beliefs and actions. You are better than them; it is they who lack the potential for greatness, the potential for understanding and appreciation. 

You can do anything. Anything. You are the embodiment of unlimited potential. You are smart and funny and confident and beautiful and determined and brave and tender and compassionate. There is nothing that is beyond your reach. Never let anyone make you think less of yourself. Never let anyone label you.

Ever the bit of a feisty one, it wasn't enough that I got myself off this woman's team. She had refused to speak to me after she met with HR. She refused to acknowledge her role, refused to take responsibility for her behavior. I wanted her to know how wrong she was. So when I got pregnant with your brother, I made a shirt that said "Full of Potential" right across my big, gorgeous, pregnant belly.

Because I am. I am a mother, and that makes me FULL of the most incredible potential for greatness. And in the other sense, my growing belly was full of you, of your brother, the embodiments of raw potential itself.


You not only allowed me to grow into my own potential, you yourself are potential in its most pure form. Go explore the unlimited reaches of it, and relish every second.

Holding Hands

there was a week, maybe two
when you were learning to walk
when you were unstable, unsure
when your determination outleapt your abilities
when you wanted to hold my hand

your tiny fingers fit comfortably inside mine
your hand relaxed, dependent, trusting
i walked beside you, slowly, every step of the way
and when there was a misstep, a trip, a fall,
i caught you before you ever hit the ground

one evening as we walked, two girls rode by
handle bar streamers flying
ponytails flapping in the wind, mixing with their girlish chatter and laughter
i thought about the speed of their wheels
the smoothness
the independence of riding a bike with your best friend through your neighborhood
such a different universe from your slow, shuffling, faltering step-step-step beside me
and i cherished the warmth of your hand in mine
knowing that, for a brief window, i could always catch you before you fell

only a few days later, your confidence abounding,
you stopped wanting to hold my hand.
aware of your new abilities, your new freedom,
my hand became a restriction, an anchor
rather than a comfort, a support

as i watched you stagger off on your own
full of glee and determination
i tucked the memory of your hand in mine into the folds of my heart
where i could revisit it, the warmth, the trust, the need
any time i wanted

bath time
a month of independence later
we splashed and played and chatted
until the cat, ever watchful, rose from his perch and stalked along the edge of the tub
something in his prowl caught your attention and,
startled, nervous,
you reached for my hand

and we sat,
hand in hand,
reconnecting, reassuring each other without words
you still need me
and i will always catch you before you fall

A Son

There are very few days in my life when I've had my mind completely and utterly blown. I love surprises . . . I'm just pretty observant and organized and goal-oriented, and the truth is there just haven't been very many instances at ALL where I've been truly and completely surprised. I'm very rarely caught off guard because I know where I'm heading and I know what to expect. I can usually spot something coming.

I didn't see this coming.

As predicted, I was a hot mess of nerves in the 24 hours leading up to my appointment. I was anxious that evening, trying to keep busy to keep my mind off of obsessing about the next morning. I had already been through all the "what ifs," had traveled down every road mentally. And I knew, KNEW what was coming. We went to bed that night talking girl names.

That night, I had a mildly disturbing dream. I was spending time with another man, a man I ended up kissing. I felt all the excitement of a first kiss, something I had given up on ever feeling again. Then I realized I had to tell him that I was married, and that I had to tell TH that I had kissed another man. Terrible, right? I woke up bothered and immediately told my husband about my dream that had bummed me out. He asked how I had felt kissing the other man, and the one clear emotion I remember was excitement. The excitement of something new. Then he wanted to talk about what would happen in real life if that ever actually happened, and I told him we might as well talk about what would happen if I had sex with a unicorn because that was an equally likely scenario. The we laughed and went on with our morning.

When we settled into the exam room, our nurse asked us if we were finding out the sex (which got a perhaps too-loud "YES!" from both of us) and if we had a guess.

"Oh, I am absolutely positive it's a girl." I said.

She laughed and I caught a hint of patronizing tolerance in her chuckle, and I got the sense she had heard that kind of thing before.
 
She could laugh all she wanted. I was positive. I had been over and over and over all the benefits of having two girls. My head and my heart were prepared for sisters.

This is when I let you in on a little secret: when TH and I decided to try for our second, even though I agreed not to temp and chart, I told him that we at least had to use OPKs so that I would know when I was ovulating so that we could try for a boy. I do believe in the science behind Shettles, and I told him that I wouldn't be able to be satisfied if we didn't at least try for a boy. He agreed. We got pregnant (surprise!) about three weeks before I would have started using OPKs. Through the first trimester, I realized that getting pregnant before I had "planned" was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. It removed all semblance of control, truly leaving everything up to chance and, if you believe in that kind of thing, fate. If we had actively tried for a boy, and still ended up with another girl, I would have been disappointed NOT in the girl, but in my own apparent lack of success. And I didn't want to EVER be disappointed in the sex of my child.

So through the first trimester, I prepared myself for the girl. I brainstormed all the pros. I focused on all the benefits. And along the way I realized that a little girl would, actually, be perfect for our family. Yes, we'd get to reuse all of our stuff, all of our gear, all of those tiny, adorable outfits that baby girl only got to wear once or twice before outgrowing them. Yes, baby girl would get a sister, a soul mate and confidant to share her life with. Yes, I'd get another child who is, let's face it, the calmer and easier of the two sexes, at least for the first 10 or so years. But really what got me was that I'd get another sweet, cuddly girl, who makes my heart explode with her smile and her lilting laughter and the twinkle in her eye. Basically, I couldn't imagine a boy making my heart explode into a million pieces every second the way my daughter does. I fully understand that this is because I only have a little girl, so I can only understand feeling this way about a little girl. I know that moms of boys feel this way, too, about their sons. But still. There it was. In my efforts to see the benefits of having another girl, to prepare myself, to keep myself from being disappointed if that were the case . . . I ended up in a place where all I wanted was another little girl.

And maybe it was because I was thinking about girls so much that girl-girl-girl was just always on my mind. Or maybe it was because I have only ever been pregnant with a girl, so I couldn't really imagine being pregnant with anything but a girl. Or maybe it was because the heart rates were so similar for each appointment of this pregnancy as they were with baby girl. Whatever the reason, not only was I ready for it to be a girl . . . I honestly believed it was a girl in there.

Hopefully now you have some sense of my mental state going into that appointment yesterday, climbing up on that exam table and answering the nurse's question. Why I said I was positive it was a girl, and why there was such a smile on my face when I said it.

She then asked TH what he thought. "A boy," he said. "I think it's a boy." This wasn't a surprise to me. He thought it was a boy simply because, he said, I was SO sure it was a girl.

The nurse seemed relieved that at least each of us thought different things, so we wouldn't both be shocked if the outcome were something unexpected.

She began the ultrasound.

Immediately my baby's beating heart flashed onto the screen. Arms moved, and we saw long legs bent at the knees. We watched as the baby waved at the camera, then moved a hand toward its mouth. We saw the mouth open to suck on the hand. We saw the two halves of the brain and the stomach bubble that meant that amniotic fluid was already been swallowed, like it should be. Then, when we had oo'd and ahh'd and laughed over ever little squirm and detail, it was time.

"You want me to take a guess," the nurse asked one last time, "if I see something?"

"Yes!" we replied excitedly. My eyes were glued to the screen as she started flashing back and forth across the babies butt, trying to get a good angle. She seemed to be struggling to find the right view, but with each move, I strained to see if I could tell what was there before she said anything. And with each flash, though she was dissatisfied with her angle . . . I started to see something.

Flash (what the hell was that?)

Flash (uhh . . . there's something pointing OUT from my baby's genital region.)

Flash (no really. there's something THERE.)

I became aware that my heart had started pounding in my ears.  I realized that was what people were talking about when they wondered if other people could hear their heart beat.

Flash (holy shit. That's not three lines on the inside.)

And then she caught her angle. And there it was, plain as day. And she laughed and said, "Woah! Uhh . . . . I think . . . no, I'm pretty sure we're seeing a boy here! I mean, there's not really any mistaking that!"

And I, somehow with my chin hanging on the floor, managed to say something along the lines of "Oh. My. God."

And I laughed. And stared. And TH laughed. And looked at me. And I said, "Oh WOW." In fact, I think I said "Oh WOW" like 50 times. No lie. I would start to say something, begin to put together a coherent thought and sentence, and then just trail off and say, "oh WOW!"

My mind was officially blown. For the first time in a long time, maybe even for the first time ever, I was utterly and completely caught off guard. Despite the fact that this all started, three short months ago, with the goal of trying for a boy, I had spent the interim time preparing myself for a girl. I was emotionally unprepared to see a penis on the screen.

What an incredible, amazing rush of emotions that was.

The nurse left, with a still shot of my son's very obvious penis on screen, and we waited for the doctor to come in to confirm. That period, between nurse and doctor, was full of incredulous laughter and wide eyes and me putting my hands to my cheeks and over my eyes, full of incomplete thoughts and sentences, full of "WOW." I wanted to yell and run around, shaking people by the shoulders. I wanted to give release to the overpowering swell of emotions that was swirling inside me. And the only thing I could do was sit on the table, tummy still goopy from the ultrasound gel, and cry. Not cry-cry per se, but amidst the wide smiles that cramped my cheeks and the wide eyes and the "wows," tears leaked sweetly from the corners of my eyes, the only release my body had left available for the emotions within.

I think my husband was worried my reaction was negative, that I had spent so much time thinking about and preparing for a girl that I was disappointed in my boy. And I think I freaked him out a little by not being able to speak coherently.

He reached out a tentative hand to touch my back, as if worried I might explode upon contact.

I had to eek out a breathless, incredulous, "I'm happy!!"

And I was. Beyond happy. Thrilled. Ecstatic. Shocked. Incredulous. Elated. I wasn't getting my girl. It was true. There would be no sharing of clothes, no sisters. My vision of my children was gone in an instant.

But I was getting my son. A new adventure. Something exciting that would keep at bay the feelings of "been there, done that" with this pregnancy. I haven't been here! I haven't done this! A new experience that made my feelings of excitement about this pregnancy and this sibling relationship infused with new found intensity. (It was only later, when the storm of emotions had rolled through and I was left, exhausted, limp with bliss, that I realized that maybe, just maybe the mystery man dream, with the new guy who I had kissed and had such feelings of excitement about, maybe that wasn't a cheating dream after all. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . it was my body's way of preparing me for something that was coming.)

The "boy" verdict was confirmed ("110%, without a doubt at all!") by my doctor.

A son. We are having a son.

I do still feel a sense of loss over the girl. I feel pangs of sadness over the loss of my vision of two girls playing together, sharing clothes, sharing the bond that is the sweetness of sisters. We may not ever have another child, so that vision, that reality might very well be gone for good. And I certainly feel justified and right in mourning that. And there's still a twinge in the back of my heart when I tell people we are having a boy, and they explode with happiness in a way that I think may be more exuberant than it would have been with a girl, and when they say things like, "One of each! The perfect family." Two girls would have been no less perfect than one of each. I feel defensive of my second daughter who may never be.

But that's not to say that I am disappointed about the outcome. Quite the opposite. I didn't think I could ever feel so excited about something. I don't think I've ever bee so happy about any outcome before.

There's a lot to get used to now. Using the pronoun he has been a big one. The idea that there's a boy inside me rather than a sweet girl. Hearing the terms son and grandson and nephew have made me explode with incredulity and happiness all over again. We have never looked at the male side of the name books. We have never looked at the boy clothes in stores.

On the way out of the office, we kept repeating something that I hope will stick with me for the rest of my life. "I can't believe how blessed we are." "Blessed beyond deserving."

I am having a son.

I can't believe how blessed I am. Blessed beyond deserving.

Wordless Wednesday

Win/Win

My 16-week appointment is tomorrow. For my doctor's practice, this is the standard appointment for sex determination.

Tomorrow I will find out if we are having a baby girl or a baby boy.

Oh. Em. Gee.

The emotions swirling around this question have been so much more intense the second time around than the first. We always knew we wanted multiple kids, so the first time we found out boy or girl, it was largely inconsequential. It was simply finding out which sex we were starting out with.

This time though. This time carries so much more weight. So much more to think about. On the one hand, it might be a girl. A sister. The gift of a sister is something that is so incredibly precious. I have two brothers and a sister, and though I am closer in years to one of my brothers, the relationship I have with my sister is so different, so much more intimate and honest and close. We share clothes and talk about boys. The blessing of a sister is something I would LOVE for my children to have. Plus we could reuse all of our stuff. So, a girl would be a win.

On the other hand, a boy. One of each. Everyone's idea of the perfect family. A new adventure, a new experience. A brother to protect baby girl, a boy to teach her how to interact with the opposite sex. A boy would be a win, too.

So we head into tomorrow's appointment looking at a win/win scenario. There can't be a bad answer. What a wonderful position to be in.

And then my mind wanders there. To the other side of the coin. We may very well be done after two kids. So whatever the outcome tomorrow is, there is a very real possibility that will be the final outcome for our family. Either baby girl will never have a brother, and I will never have a son, or she will never have a sister, and I will only ever have one of each. In my emotionally, hormonally charged existence right now, both possibilities make me cry. Find out you are having one sex, and that means you have lost the other, possibly forever. Looking at it that way makes it a lose/lose.

And if I'm being totally honest with myself, I know what I think it is (girl). I know what I hope it is (girl). It's possible that the most appealing thing about the other option (boy) is that I feel like people expect me to want it. I feel like people will be disappointed for me if it's another girl. I feel like my dad will continue to lament his lack of a grandson. And my cousin will snicker about us not having done the Shettles method to ensure having a boy. And people will cluck their tongues and say, softly tilting their heads to the side and looking at me with gentle eyes, "Ah, you didn't get your boy." And I don't want to deal with people thinking I'm disappointed. I don't want to deal with people asking me if I'm disappointed. Because truth be told I wouldn't be. At all. When I sit down and think about the pros and cons of boys vs girls, the girl's "pro" side is WAY longer than the boy's. And of course that's likely because I HAVE a girl, and I know all the wonderful things that come along with it. But the fact remains that one of the most appealing things about having a boy to me is that it would shut everybody else up. And that's not a good enough reason.

Whew. Sorry. Side rant about societal and familial sex expectations.

That line of thinking, that lose/lose mentality, that "I secretly (not-so-secretly) hope it's a girl" mentality, just leave me feeling gloomy. So I'm resolving to focus on the win/win.

There is no bad answer tomorrow.

Note to self: schedule all future doctor's appointments for first thing Monday morning. This waiting a couple of days into the week and obsessing about things is for the birds.

22 hours and 10 minutes to go. And counting.

The Second Gets Shafted

I've heard this all along. The second kid gets shafted. When you're pregnant the first time, you have nothing to do but sit around all the time and think about and prepare for your child. You read all the books. You do the exercises. The name is picked out early. The nursery is finished early. You do research into the best baby gear. You play classical music to your stomach. You carve out time each week with your spouse to read the Pregnancy Week by Week book together, cuddled on the couch, spending time thinking about each other and the miracle inside. When baby finally arrives, there are a million pictures taken a day. Oh, look at that! First bath. First smile. First time the cat showed any interest. First time in your alma mater's gear. Not one second of your child's life is undocumented. And the attention. Oh, the attention. Your first child's cries are tended to immediately. They are held constantly, passed from one loving set of arms to the next. Not one moment of their life is void of attention and entertainment.

And then you get pregnant again. And already you start to notice the difference. Rather than sitting around researching the newest trends in gear or playing classical music to your belly, you are chasing around your toddler, trying to get them fed, trying to get them to put their clothes back on, trying to pick up their toys after they fly through your living room like a banshee. When baby is in bed, rather than snuggling on the couch, thinking about the new baby, you and your spouse do chores, attempt to get the house back in shape, attempt to prepare for the next day, and if you happen to have an hour left before passing out into the sweet oblivion of sleep, you tend to want to do anything BUT talk about babies. You long for 30 minutes to yourself, your adult thoughts, your adult world, your adult television shows and your books that have nothing to do with parenting. When the baby finally arrives, after an initial flurry of photos, there's just no way to keep up with the precedent set by your first. Rather than taking 50 pictures of your child in a cute new dress, you are busy trying to keep your first from coloring on the walls while just be grateful your second hasn't spit up on the dress yet. The nap times that were spent uploading all the pictures the first time around are now spent with whichever child is NOT napping. When your second cries, you rush to him or her . . . as soon as you are done getting your first down for a nap or disentangling them from your leg where they've wrapped themselves so tightly they simply move along with you when you take a step. You can't hold your second all the time because you have to share your lap and your arms with your first. Everyone learns the art of sharing, including mom.

So yeah. The second kid gets relatively shafted.

But what I'm also learning is that the second pregnancy gets shafted to. Not from the kid's perspective. From MY perspective.

When I was pregnant with my first, TH was concerned and attentive, sometimes to the point of overbearing. He'd keep me off my feet. He'd do all the chores. He'd ask how I was feeling and if he could rub anything. He wouldn't let me lift anything or climb anything or do anything. He'd be sensitive when I felt flooded by hormones, defaulting to be more easy going than ever. He'd ask me things like, "Where do your hormones want to go for dinner?" He wouldn't look at me like a crazy woman when I cried over nothing. He would listen to my often illogical ranting and make me feel like I was completely justified in everything I was feeling. In short, he was the perfect pregnant-woman's husband.

I once heard mention on a message board to enjoy the first-pregnancy husband while he lasts, because everything changes with the second. I scoffed at the idea. I didn't believe it. Not MY husband. He is unique. Different than the rest. Surely his attention would never wane, his gentleness would never harden. Those poor women who had hard, uncaring, insensitive husband's. Poor them.

And then I got pregnant again.

And from the get-go, things were different. One of his first questions was, "We don't have to read all those books again, do we?" As if it were a chore. As if they were something he had suffered through. Weeks passed, and we rarely talked about the newest baby on the way. We were busy with our first, busy with our lives. He still expected the normal amount of help from me with keeping up with the house, the laundry, the chores. He didn't understand when I would snap emotionally about something, and he'd often snap back. A totally justified response normally, but gone was the man who understood the hormones racing around inside, making my already emotional personality magnified to the nth degree. He even admitted one day that he'd forgotten about the pregnancy emotions. But then after that realization, he seemed to forget about them right over again. I tried to tell him that I felt like we weren't doing anything to get ready for the baby, and he took it as a criticism and was defensive. I tried to ask him for help in the evenings and he snapped back about his job and how he can't please everyone. He says things like, "What's with the attitude?" rather than already knowing and understanding what is with my attitude.

He is, of course, still a wonderful husband and father. He does chores and our finances and bath time with baby girl of his own accord and nearly always without any complaints. He makes a lunch for me and baby girl every morning. If I tell him I need something, he wants me to have it. He wants to take care of me and our family.

But this second time around just isn't like the first.

So ladies out there, if any of you are pregnant with your first, enjoy. Enjoy the time you have to sit and wonder and imagine and plan and prepare and dream. Enjoy the attention your first is already getting in utero. And enjoy the husband, who, no matter how sweet and attentive he naturally is, will never again match his own sweetness and wonderfulness during this time.

Dos and I already have something in common, something we can bond over in the days and weeks and months to come. Seconds.

Hello First Tri

What? What's that you say? According to my ticker, I am solidly into my second tri??

You should let my body in on that little secret. 'Cause I thought it had gotten the memo. For the last two weeks, I've felt glorious. Return of energy. Return of my sex drive. Return of being able to eat raw vegetables. Then three days ago, I just felt really tired. Then two days ago, my headaches came back. Then yesterday, I threw up after dinner. Then today, the return of my FAVORITE pregnancy symptom, food aversions.

Right now I am sitting in my office, slumped down in my chair so low I'm practically laying in it, yawning, totally crashing. Like clockwork. Between 2-3 o'clock. It's not food related, because I had some grapes (okay, some = like 40) right at 2 to try and bolster my blood sugar.

It's not food related, it's pregnancy related, and it's kicking my ass.

I was enjoying the second tri. Enjoying being able to help my husband do chores in the evenings again. Enjoying being able to eat whatever I wanted rather than a strict diet of Honey Nut Cheerios and bananas. Enjoying having a clear head and the focus to be productive at work.

But I appear to have done the impossible. My body has figured out how to reverse the flow of time and I am now back in the first trimester.

On some level I'm really irritated by this.

But in practice, I'm kind of too tired to care.

*yawn*

Ten on Tuesday: Thanksgiving Edition

1. I am thankful our first (and second) solo flight(s) went VERY smoothly and that baby girl charmed the socks off of everyone around.

2. I am thankful neither flight was full and she had some room to move around.

3. I am thankful I found that travel-sized magnetic drawing board (you know, the kind you can erase the picture with one swipe?). It kept her entertained for a solid 30 minutes both trips!

4. I am thankful that she positively convulsed with delight when she saw G-Mommy and Granddaddy waiting for us at the airport. She love love LOVES her G-Mommy and Granddaddy, and I'm so glad!!

5. I am thankful (amused? in love with the way?) that anytime I tell baby girl to "go ahead" and do something, she looks at me, smiles, and pats her head. Get it? Go aHEAD? Smart girl.

6. I am thankful for the stretchy maternity pants that I wore while consuming full Thanksgiving feast.

7. I am thankful that Dos gave me a week of blissful normalcy, allowing me to eat anything and everything to my heart's content, before dropping me back into food aversions, barfing, and headaches this week.

8. I am thankful I was able to spend the holiday with my family so easily since we know that next year will be a tad more difficult logistically.

9. I am thankful TH came home safe and sound from his business trip (even though I still harbor a grudge against the Germans who schedule their yearly trade show right over Thanksgiving week).

10. I am thankful my daughter is SUCH a daddy's girl. She saw him at the airport, said, "Dada?" and then yelled "DAAAAAAA!" while running to him with her arms thrown wide. Sweetest.Thing.Ever. (And then it was quickly back to wanting Dad to give her her milk, and wanting Dad to walk with her outside, and wanting Dad to hold her. Not so cute anymore. But, c'est la vie.)

Ten on Thursday

Yeah, I know I'm jacking with the delightful alliteration of the title. But three wasn't enough, thirteen is unlucky, and there's nowayinhell I could get to thirty. It is what it is. You'll live.

1. We had our first parent-teacher conference yesterday. I know I ended that sentence with a period, but I really want to end it with ten thousand !!!!!!. How on earth am I old enough to have a child who is old enough to have a parent-teacher conference?? It makes me feel like giggling maniacally when I think about it. Is that natural?

2. At aforementioned parent-teacher conference, I got to hear all about my daughter's strengths in the various areas of achievement. She is vocal. She is social. She is protective of her belongings. (ha!) She is strong-willed and definitely knows what she wants and doesn't want. (ha ha!) She is a social leader and wants to make sure her friends are being taken care of (an example given was wanting to make sure all the kids in the class got a snack when she was eating--awwww). The two areas they wanted us to work on is showing her how to stand from a squat (oh Lord, they're asking this pregnant woman to stand from a squat unsupported?? This will likely become a Daddy task) and showing her pictures of other girls and talking about how she is like these girls (I found this one interesting--she has long been the only girl in her class, but I never thought about needing to socialize her to identify with females. Huh.).

3. We also talked about transitioning her up to the toddler room. The TODDLER room. Where they take naps on the floor on a nap mat. ONE nap a day. eeek! That's a lot of changes for baby girl. The idea of her laying down on a nap mat and sleeping with a blanket is so foreign to me, I can't even imagine her doing it. And apparently, if a kid wakes up before the end of nap time, they are expected to sit quietly on their mat and read a book. :::blank stare::: I asked her teacher if she could imagine Ali sitting quietly on a mat and reading a book. She laughed. Yep, that was about my reaction, too.

4. Yesterday was also school picture day (awwww) AND her school's Fall Festival. TH and I met at her school after work, ate spaghetti dinners, and traveled from room to room, getting face painted and making foam frames for our family picture. Baby girl was NOT a fan of the face painting, so the attempted purple butterfly turned into the purple outline of a flower on her cheek. It's a start. She was really much more concerned that we were still at school when it was dinner time than enjoying the festivities.

5. Yesterday ALSO marked the official beginning of my second trimester. Parent-teacher conferences. A daughter in the toddler room. The 2nd tri. When did life start moving in fast forward?

6. I was enjoying the glorious 2nd tri earlier this week. A return of my energy. The departure of all food aversions and nausea. The resurgence of my sex drive (woohoo!). And then the last two days hit and brought with it exhaustion, food aversions, and nausea. Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. My body must not have gotten the memo. 2nd tri! Move along, first tri symptoms! The gig is up!

7. I was snacking on potato chips while writing the beginning of this. I just looked down and there was an errant chip sitting on my shirt, just above my left boob. It must have been there for at least ten minutes. I'm so classy.

8. Baby girl is a walking machine now. This might be my most favorite stage yet. It's for sure the most adorable. I love love LOVE her toddling steps, mechanical, robot-like, her little arms held out to the side and a bit in front for balance, her lips pursed in concentration. Melts. My. Heart.

9. She also picked out her own outfit today. I was holding her in her jammies, flipping through the shirts in her closet. We flipped by a blue one with a heart on the front and she said, "More! More!" (she signs at the same time for emphasis.) To test her, I flipped to the next shirt, and she shook her head and said "No!" I went back to the blue one and she smiled and said "More!" Well alrighty then. Blue shirt it is. I know this could (will) come back to bite me in the butt at some point, but my heart just about burst at having a kid who knows what she wants to wear. You want the blue shirt, baby girl? You got it.

10. Molars. I was sitting here, wracking my brain for what else is going on in our merry little lives, and then it hit me. Molars. Molars are going on. She's got one officially in (damn those things are huge), and THREE OTHERS breaking at the same time. Poor baby. Molars can officially suck it.

To Be a Woman

If I could have chosen, before coming into the world, whether I wanted to be a man or a woman, I would have chosen woman hands down.

Heck, maybe I did get to choose. Maybe that's why I'm here, wearing a bra rather than scratching my nuts.

From where I stand, being a woman truly is the better of the two experiences. We get to be strong and soft, without getting judged for either. We get to be pampered and spoiled. We have doors opened for us, and strangers rush to help us lift heavy bags into airline overhead bins. We are, let's face it, the more physically aesthetic of the sexes. And we can get free shit just by batting our eyes, smiling coyly, twirling a strand of hair around a finger, and adding the slightest gentle lilt to our dialogue.

Yes. Being a woman is awesome.

But there's another reason being a woman is awesome. Why it's the most incredible experience possible.

Look at that.

I mean, really, stop and look.

Being a woman, being a mother, means getting to do THAT.

Getting to grow a life inside of me. Getting to GROW a LIFE INSIDE of me.

My daughter? That funny, sassy, independent, loving, strong-willed, curious little girl who will one day grow into an adult, a fully functioning, contributing member of society? I grew her. She started out tiny, and grew and grew and grew. I surrounded her tiny body with warmth and protection, a perfect environment in which to nourish her.

And now I'm getting to do it again. Right now. Inside me. Dos is that size. Tiny. Vulnerable. Amazing. Miraculous.

And I get to be part of that miracle. I'm a part of that story.

What an incredible thing it is to live life as a woman. I am so incredibly thankful for this experience.

He's a Problem Solver

TH doesn't like me having problems. He wants my life to be easy-breezy-beautiful. So when I come to him with a problem, he wants to solve it. Right then. Done.

My current problem? I can't find any clothes that fit me. I'm too big for my regular clothes and still too small for my maternity clothes from last time around (I also started the last pregnancy about 12 pounds heavier than I started this one). Every morning is an exercise in frustration. Every morning I try on at least ten different possibilities. Every morning I feel crappy about the way I look.

When lamenting about this to TH, he immediately jumped in with a solution: go buy all new maternity clothes.

I told him I hated spending all that money on clothes that I'm just going to wear for five months and then (quite possibly) never again.

True to form, he had a fix.

"Maybe you'll end up really fat, and then you can keep wearing them for years."

Thanks, babe. You always know the right thing to say.

We're Done

I breastfed my daughter for 1 year, 1 month, 3 weeks, and 5 days.

421 days.

Tonight we will end play time and move straight to the bath. Then jammies. Then books. Then put her to bed. Tonight, for the first time in 421 days, I won't nurse her before she sleeps for the night.

I thought about not weaning yet. About waiting until we hit the 14-month milestone, just to be able to say that we did. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that's just my panicked reaction to thinking about not nursing her tonight. There's nothing inherently better about nursing another four days. I don't get more credit for that. And the fact is that when 14 months arrives and it's time to wean (again), I'd feel just as nervous, just as not-ready as I do today. And I'd probably look for another milestone in the future to hit, just so that I wouldn't have to say, "We're done."

But, we are done. My body is done. My milk is all but gone, my body's resources and efforts turning to to Dos rather than to making milk for baby girl. When she nurses now, it's more out of habit and involves a lot of pulling and pushing and twisting and other breast gymnastics that make mammograms look like sensuous massages. A lot smacking her little hand on my chest because she likes the sound it makes because she's bored because she's not getting much at the breast anyway. A lot of pointing out Mommy's nose and eyes and mouth and chin and ears and hair and forehead and earrings, a lot of trying to say those words while maintaining her latch, a lot of laughing on both our parts at her muffled attempts.

We're done, and I'm okay with it. I'm not ready to be done, and if I weren't pregnant, we wouldn't be. We would continue nursing in the morning and at night as long as my supply held up, as long as she still wanted to. But I am pregnant. My supply is gone and my body is trying to grow our second child and I'm okay with being done nursing my first.

When we first started nursing, I never could have predicted we'd make it this far. She was such a slow eater. She was so slow gaining weight. She was impossible to keep awake at the breast. I cried every single time she nursed, out of worry and out of frustration. My goal was to make it to 6 weeks. Then to 12 weeks, 'til I went back to work and had to become a working mom, a pumping mom. Pumping at work was a game changer and I was not going to set myself up for misery by having any expectations on myself for how long I could or would keep that up. But then the days passed. And months. She turned 6 months old. We introduced solids. I stopped getting up at night to pump extra, to build my stash. And then 10 months hit, double digits, and I knew that I would be okay with weaning at any point after that. Not ready, but okay. To me, 10 months was no different than 12 months. And then her birthday came, and we saw that positive test, and my supply started to drop, my body started to change its priorities. I stopped pumping at work. Around 13 months, I dropped the morning session. I tried to enjoy the luxury of sleeping in, for the first time in more than a year, but my body was so used to waking and seeing her that sleeping in has been a giant fail. And for the last few weeks, we nursed once a day, at night, before bath time, before bed. It's been our time to cuddle, to stop the constant motion of our lives and just be.

I've been able to nurse her long enough to see her sign milk as she drank. She looked up at me, her beautiful, bewitching hazel eyes gazing into mine, and she signed milk. She acknowledged the gift she was receiving from me.

And that's when I knew I was okay to let it go.

I nursed my daughter last night for the last time. I whispered to her while she drank that I loved her, that I loved the time we had shared together. She smiled and pulled and slapped my chest and pointed out my nose.

I can't imagine any more perfect ending to this chapter of our story.

The end.

Hello Baby

In just five short weeks, from a tiny little jellybean to a baby with arms and legs and fingers and toes. Dos was stretched out, low-rider style in my ute at the appointment yesterday. Chillaxin' is the word that comes to mind. Everything looked perfect. Everything measured perfect. Everything is perfect. We didn't get any 2D shots, but we did get some 3D ones.

Hello there, baby.

Why I Hate Russian Women

This last weekend we traveled to Dallas to celebrate both my mom's and my MIL's birthdays. For her birthday, my MIL decided that she wanted professional pictures done of the family. If you'll remember, dear reader, we just HAD professional pictures taken of the family. Here. At baby girl's birthday. One of which we had framed and gave to her as a birthday present. 6 weeks ago. Have we really all changed so much in 6 weeks that we need to redocument this time in our lives? No? Well, the only reasonable explanation that is left is that she thought the pictures WE arranged to have done were not good enough. (Eff you #1.)

For this second round of professional pictures, we had to get matching outfits. Not coordinating outfits, as is the newest trend in family shots. Matching outfits. I'm sure it doesn't take too much mental exertion to figure out that she was thinking the old-school "white shirts and blue jeans" look. Fine. Whatev. It's her birthday, right? That's what I thought, that is, until I went shopping for a white shirt. It was at the store that my train of thought turned more along the lines of "Who the fuck's idea was it to put the 'Is she fat or is she pregnant??' girl in a WHITE shirt for cheesy studio shots, anyway??" Of all the colors of the rainbow that I should NOT be wearing right now, white tops the list. But of course there was no consideration given for that, seeing as how it was her birthday and this was what she wanted. (Eff you #2.)

After the photo shoot, which I did manage to smile through, thankyouverymuch, we had a birthday dinner. One of my MIL's Russian friends joined us. She walks in, we are introduced, and she starts in with the small pleasantries. "So, when are you due?" she asks me. Ignoring the fact that the news was not supposed to have been shared yet, I smile and say "End of May." "Really??" she responds, incredulously. "Well, I guess you do show sooner with your second pregnancy." (Eff you #3.)

Super-awesome-Russian-guest-lady then follows her stunning intro with, "My daughter-in-law is due only a week after you, at the beginning of June. She's not showing yet, but she's very skinny." (Eff you #4.) 

I'm pretty sure TH saw the die-bitch-die lightening bolts shooting out of my eyes, because he quickly steered the super-awesome-Russian-guest-lady into a separate conversation, and then proceeded to tell me the rest of the weekend how much he appreciated me, how beautiful I am, how sweet I was to put up with his family, and on and on and on.

I have no witty ending, no nice conclusion to wrap this all up. I hate Russian women.

Hello Worry, My Old Friend

"Hello {worry}, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence." 

What's one great thing about second pregnancies? That you've done it all before. That you know everything will be fine and you can relax and not spend all of your time stressing out. You can stop worrying and enjoy the ride for what it is. Well, that and you're too busy chasing around your toddler to spend all your time worrying about your growing fetus.

Right?

I mean, that's what I was told. And for the most part, it's proven true over the last month or so. We were more comfortable telling people earlier this time around, once we saw the beautiful beating heart. When it came time to schedule the second appointment, I opted for the 12-week mark rather than the offered 11-week mark, even though it meant a wait of five weeks between appointments rather than four. I mean, let's have the appointment when we're supposed to, right? I'll be fine for five weeks. Busy. Tired. Much too busy and tired to worry.

Right?

And here we are. Four and a half weeks later, and I am counting the hours 'til that appointment. 

It's true that it's always darkest before the dawn. That the wait for something is always hardest in the last moments before you get it. That your worry about something peaks in the hours and minutes before that thing should be yours. 

I want to feel her. I want to see her. I want to know that everything is fine, that she's happily tucked away inside her own little space bubble of safety, waving her little limbs and growing contentedly in her warm, dark world. 

(Yeah, I said it. Her. I think she's a she. And quite frankly I don't want to mess with the whole "his/her" thing right now.)

So here I sit. Four days before our appointment. Busy as ever. Tired as ever. But sinking into that old familiar worry all the same.

And to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't really have it any other way. The life inside is too precious to be taken for granted, to be regarded complacently. 

My worry is my protectiveness. My worry is my desire. My worry is my love. 

And so begins another lifetime of worry about a child. What a terribly wonderful thing it is to be a mother.

Breaking the News . . . Again

(The last of my catch-up posts. Written 9/20; published 11/1.)

The first time we told our families we were pregnant, the reactions were priceless. Memorable.

My mom screamed and cried.

My dad wouldn't really talk to me and drank heavily.

My father-in-law didn't get it at first, but when he did, he started having hot flashes that apparently only were calmed by spilling stories of the atrocities of pregnancy and childbirth in Soviet-era Russia. Sweet.

This time, we were conflicted. The weekend before we saw two lines on a test we spent in Dallas, helping my MIL who had been in a serious car accident and suffered a facial gash (read: got rear ended and has a bump on her nose). Apparently she had spent some of the time with TH volunteering advice on when we should have our second child. It's important to note here that she had her two children SEVEN YEARS APART. On purpose. So her admonitions about not having another child anytime soon must be taken with a grain of salt. TH responded with all of our well-thought-out arguments about how close the siblings would be if they grew up together, about how nice it would be to have the baby stage over and done with earlier in our lives. And he assured her that we were most definitely NOT pregnant right now.

::cough::cough::

His first thought was to wait to tell them that we're pregnant until I went into labor. Surely they couldn't say anything bad at that point.

After I pointed out to him the futility of hiding a gigantic pregnant stomach all that time, he suggested waiting at least until 12 weeks. That would give us time, time to settle into the idea, time to know the baby was thriving and healthy, and, well, time to NOT have to deal with the comments.

I agreed. That is, until I realized that meant I couldn't tell my family, either. You see, I don't really keep secrets from my family. Or, at least, from my mom, stepdad and siblings. My dad probably couldn't care less if I kept secrets from him, but there would be hell to pay if he ever caught wind that he was last to know something like this.

Then we thought about just waiting until after the first doctor's appointment. Until we saw the heartbeat.

Then we realized that everyone was coming into town for baby girl's birthday party, and that we would be meeting with a professional photographer for family photographs, and that we would have the perfect opportunity to do something I've always wanted to do: have someone capture in a photograph the moment after I yell, "Okay, on three, everybody say, 'Ali's going to be a big sister!!'" What an awesome photograph that would be! What a memory preserved!

So there we were: tell everyone all at once, in this really fun way . . . or wait two weeks longer and tell everyone separately, over the phone.

Once again, we determined that we couldn't live our lives ruled by fear. The only reason we wouldn't tell everyone all together is fear: fear that something might happen and we'll have to "untell" them, fear that they won't react well . . . fear.

With a deep breath, another "holy shit, are we really going to do this?" look, we made the call: the fun reveal.

There were a thousand moments during the day on Saturday I wanted to tell my mom. Laughing about not being able to eat the sandwiches we had catered. Ruminating on the fact that this would, God willing, be baby girl's only birthday to ever celebrate by herself. I don't know how I held onto this secret, how we got through the party with no one suspecting a thing.

We met the photographer at a park after the party, taking family pictures, different groupings of different generations. And then it was time. No more groupings. No more delaying. We gathered everyone together into one giant group shot. I took a breath and somehow, without my voice shaking, without my brain revolting against what I was about to do and clamping my mouth shut, I yelled out, clear and joyful, "Okay, everybody, on three, say, 'Ali's going to be a big sister!!!!!'"

I distinctly remember hearing a "WHAT?!?!!?" before the general roar of the crowd drowned all sensible thought out. Or maybe it was an "OH MY GOD!!!!" I honestly can't remember now. All I remember is that someone, I think it was my mom, yelled, and then everyone yelled, and then I was grinning foolishly and trying to focus on one person's voice, on one train of thought. The general melee scared baby girl and she started crying and hugging my neck. I was trying to take it all in, trying to gauge everyone's reaction. I remember turning to see how my dad was reacting, and he was staring at me, expressionless. My mom leaped into my arms, smothering me with hugs and congratulations. I got the general sense that the Russian consortium was probably mobbing TH because they certainly weren't mobbing me. I heard my dad say "I'm going to go get the car."

Yeah, that stung a little. But hey, it's my dad. The guy who didn't think he was old enough to be a grandfather. The guy who didn't think I should get married, or go on trips, or make any of the other adult decisions that I make. He reacted to the first announcement with heavy drinking. It's what he does. At least by now I recognize that.

So I knew my dad was, well, if not pissed, then highly disapproving. Expected. I hadn't yet really interacted with the Russian coalition much, but I could imagine their disapproval as well. I was relying on my parents, on my awesome, supportive, everything-is-going-to-be-great parents. And they came through. Kind of. At first.

By the time we got home and put the partied-out birthday girl to bed, my parents had gone from congratulations to . . . I'm not sure what to call it. Comments? Jokes? Good-natured ribbing? "Wow, you guys just were able to catch your breath!" "Oh my goodness, a baby and a toddler? :::insert clicking of tongue and shaking of head:::" I think that was probably harder for me to take than any other reaction. I expect my dad and in-laws to be insane. I don't put a lot of stock in their reactions to things. But my parents? My parents are kind of my guideposts through life. And it sounded like even they thought we were nuts.

That was hard.

I went to bed, exhausted. Too much had gone on that day. Too much to process. My brain and body shut down in self-preservation.

And I woke up in the morning . . . myself.

Defiant.

In what TH calls my endearing "punk-ass-ed-ness," my response to anyone who tells me I can't or shouldn't do something is usually a resounding "you wanna bet?"

And Sunday morning, for the first time that weekend, a sliver of that girl started shining through.

I realized that I don't give a flying flip if other people think it's too soon to have another baby. It's not their life. It's not their family. It's ours. And we picked this! Logically. Conscientiously. And we are happy! Yes, it's going to be crazy. Yes, it's going to be hard. But I am so, so excited about the adventure we have just embarked on, everyone-else-be-damned!

So our families know. And their reactions were . . . actually . . . not all that important. Happy, shocked, disapproving . . . it doesn't really matter.

What matters is that it helped us realize what our reaction is.

I've had a secret little smile on my face since Sunday. I can feel my cheeks glow with warmth. I can feel my heart flutter.

I was waiting for that.

Oh, and how could I leave this post without THE picture?? Here it is . . . our big reveal:

Understanding Polygamy

I'm approaching 11 weeks pregnant. My stomach has started to round in a way that no amount of sucking in can hide. (Thank you, second-pregnancies-show-earlier.) And I have found my hands making their way to it, time and again, of their own accord, to sit and stroke. I have found myself imagining that tiny baby inside me, now with arms and legs and hands and feet and fingers and toes, now stretching and moving and waving, found myself smiling at it. Loving it.

And then I find myself feeling guilty.

I know what it is to love a child. To feel your heart grow beyond your body to consume you. I know what that special kind of love feels like, so very different from any other kind of love, so very unique. I know because I have a child, a precocious, funny, confident, loving, sweet daughter of 13 months, a child who has brought me more joy, more love, than I ever knew possible.

And now I'm feeling that love again. That special kind of love that only a mother and child can share. I find myself beginning to create that bond with another child, a new child, and I feel pangs of guilt. I learned that love with my daughter, and now I'm sharing that love with another.

I feel like I'm cheating on her.

I know about how love grows, not divides. About how my love for Dos will never impact my love for baby girl. And it's not that I feel like I'll love baby girl any less. It's just that it feels strange to be bonding with another child, when the only child I've ever loved this way is her.

And I guess that's what it's like for polygamists, no? Maybe I ought to cut them a little more slack.

Oh, and have I said this yet? Damn I love being pregnant.

No, No, No

Baby girl has taken to dropping food over the side of her high chair.

We're working on it.

At first we shook our heads. Then she started holding the food out, shaking her head, and then dropping it.

Funny girl.

Then she started holding the food out, saying, "uh oh!" dropping it, and then holding her hands up innocently, like, "ohmygosh, what happened?"

Ha.   Ha.

Last night at dinner, she dropped an orange slice over the side.

"Alina!" I said in a stern voice. She gets her whole name when she's in trouble.

She looked up at me, waggled her finger, and said, "No! No! No!"

It's hard to discipline when you're laughing.

Your Questions . . . Answered!

Thanks for playing along with the questions. They are great! Here I will attempt to do them all justice. Enjoy getting to know me a little better.

Q: What's your favorite indulgence?
A: Oh, I have such a hard time with "favorite" questions. I don't have a favorite movie, song, food . . . nada! I feel picking one favorite is so limiting. So, we'll go with what one of my most favorite indulgences is . . . getting a massage. But not at a massage parlor! At any of those little shops or massage chairs set up in malls or airports. It seems so spontaneous at those places, so self-indulgent.  Getting a massage at an official parlor seems too planned and formal. I love the feeling of spotting a massage chair somewhere and thinking, "Yes! I'm so doing that because I WANT it and I DESERVE it!" And then the pleasure of the massage is just multiplied by the feelings you get of delicious indulgence.

Q: What is the one baby item you are most looking forward to using again with the new babe?
A: I think I'll have to say my Moby wrap! I loved wearing baby girl in it when she was all itty-bitty, loved the feeling of freedom it gave me and the inherent snuggles it provided. I can't wait to have all that newborn sweetness wrapped up against me again.

Q: What is the one baby item you are Least looking forward to using again?
A: The baby tub. That thing was a royal PITA. Water all over the counter. Lugging it back and forth. We switched to co-bathing with baby girl pretty early on, and we'll likely do the same thing with Dos.

Q: What is your go-to way to unwind?
A: This one's easy--snuggled up on the couch, in my pjs, wrapped in a blanket, watching one of my DVR'd shows (seriously, does anyone watch live TV anymore???).

Q: What is your dream job?
A: Well, if we're talking dreams here, I'd love to be that chick who gets paid to travel the world and do shows on luxury resorts! I'd also love being a photographer or writer. Hmmmm . . . those would parlay well into my luxury resorts idea . . .

Q: What is your dream vacation?
A: This one was hard!! TH and I are (were?) avid travelers. It's our top way to spend any extra money we have (though that is suddenly a lot harder to come by than it was before having a kid!). We've backpacked across Europe, toured Ireland, seen China. There are so many places left on our list: Macchu Pichu, New Zealand, SE Asia, Egypt, Petra . . . . . But in the spirit of the question, I'd have to say that if I could put together a single dream vacation, it would be a cruise around the Mediterranean, with a focus on Greece but a foray into Russia so that I could see where he grew up.

Q: What is your favorite book?
A: Again, I hate the "favorite" questions! I'm an editor! An ex-English teacher! I have a thousand and one favorite books. I can say that I LOVE Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice is at the top of the list, but I also adored her lesser-known Persuasion) and Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card.

Q: What's the biggest challenge to being married to someone from another culture/country? The best part? How do you think that it impacts your parenting?
A: Oh my. I can tell you that living with and raising a child with a "foreigner" is a constant source of amusement. He doesn't know the traditional American nursery rhymes. Remember this version of This Little Piggy? Animals made different sounds in Russia. Apparently roosters don't say "cocka-doodle-doo," they say "cooka-ri-coo!" And children's cartoons? Check out the Russian version of Winnie the Pooh, or TH's childhood favorite, Cheburashka.

I think the most challenging part is actually dealing with my in-laws. Especially when baby girl was an infant, they had SUCH different ideas about what we should be doing with her, how we should hold her, dress her, care for her, etc. I kept trying to explain to them that things have changed in the 30 years since they have had an infant, especially since their experience was in Soviet-era USSR. It took a long time for them to trust that we were competent doing things differently than they expected.

The best part is that baby girl will grow up having a much broader cultural exposure than she would have with two American parents. She'll speak some phrases in another language, she'll understand different cultures and practices, different foods, etc.

As far as an impact on our parenting, I just have to remember to make a concerted effort to continue to expose her to Russian language, stories, cartoons (eesh!), etc. TH actually does not really try and speak to her or read to her in Russian, so I try to do a little every week, just to make sure that she's getting some exposure.

Q: Do you have any gut feeling about the sex of Baby #2? Are you hoping for a boy or girl? If you have a preference, why?
A: Actually, I really, really, really, really, really think that Dos is another girl!! Maybe it's because having a girl is all I know, so that's where my mind goes. Maybe it's because I kinda want Dos to be a girl. At one point I wanted nothing more than one of each. But the more I think about it, the more awesome I think it would be to have sisters. (1) We can re-use all our stuff. Score. (2) We know what to do with a girl, how to care for her girly parts, what to be on the lookout for, etc. (3) I have an amazing relationship with my sister. Yes she drives me crazy sometimes, but she and I have something special that my brother and I, even though we are also very close, just don't share. I would LOVE for baby girl to experience the blessing of a sister relationship. And (4), even though I know this is a sweeping generalization and OF COURSE there are exceptions, in general, everyone I talk to agrees (can you tell I'm tiptoeing up to this?) that baby girls are, in general, "easier" than baby boys. They are calmer and quieter and more gentle. And quite frankly, having two kids this close together, the idea of a calmer, quieter and more gentle Dos is appealing to me. (The caveat to that is that boys start out harder but get easier as they age, whereas girls start out easier but when they reach the teen years . . . Lordhelpus.) So while one of each would be unbelievably amazing . . . there's something about the idea of two girls that just charms me.

Q: Describe your feelings when you first met your husband.
A: LOL! Oh if only I had been blogging back then. The short version is this: I thought he was someone else. We met the first day of 11th grade, and I had met another guy, a football player, earlier in the morning who had gorgeous eyes--deep brown, almond shaped, dark lashes. Lo and behold I turned around in my Pre-Cal class to pass back some first-day paperwork and the same gorgeous eyes were staring into mine--deep brown, almond shaped, dark lashes. I'm normally a pretty socially shy person, but I was smitten, so I took a deep breath, turned back around, and asked him  if he played football. He laughed in my face. I kid you not. I blinked a couple of times and took another look, a look beyond the gorgeous eyes. He was skinny. He was wearing a comic-book T-shirt, purple-and-black striped jeans, and Doc Martins that he had sprayed painted silver and gold. So. Not. A. Football. Player. But he was charming. And smart. And funny. And friendly. And, let's face it, foreign and alluring. We immediately became best friends and it just kind of went from there!


Q: Any name ideas for the new baby on the way?
A: NONE! Isn't that awful? Well, that's not entirely true. We still kind of remember our "maybes" from the first name-choice round with baby girl. We learned our lesson, though, and likely won't start talking names until we find out if Dos is a he or a she. Boy names are SO much harder for us than girl names! What we do know is that if Dos IS a boy, his middle name will be Alexander. It's a Russian tradition for the son to take the father's first name as his middle name.

Q: How did you choose Ali's beautiful name?
A: That one is all thanks to TH! His name is Alex and the Russian version of my name is Kalina. Put them together and you get Alina! And she goes by Ali, a combination of Alex and Kelly. It works. And it's pretty. And unique-but-not-weird. Perfect.

Q: If you could do anything right this very moment (not including the obvious spend time with your beautiful little girl or husband) what would you do if you could just drop everything? Just for you!
A: I would go on a girl's trip with my friends to a resort in Mexico and spend a week sipping non-alcoholic drinks and gossiping and talking sex and relationships and parenting and friendships and jobs and all the other wonderful things girlfriends talk about. Of course, this would only work if my girlfriends could also drop everything and come with. ;-)

Q: How many brothers and sisters do you have? Does Ali get to see them often?
A: I have a truly "All American" family. I have one "full" brother, one "step" brother, and one "half"sister. (I'll spare you the history of how we got there.) My two brothers are both older than me, and my sister is the baby of the family. Ali gets to see my sister pretty frequently since she only lives about 3 hours away. Unfortunately, both of my brothers and their families live on the east coast, so Ali has only gotten to meet them a couple of times.

Q: Is there anything you are going to do differently with baby #2? If so, why?
A: We are pretty pleased with how we did everything with baby girl. If anything changes with Dos, it will change out of necessity, not choice. For example, we probably won't be able to be as structured about Dos's schedule as we were with baby girl's. But for the most part, I'm treating pregnancy the same and I really hope to treat the first year the same as well. I would hate for Dos to get shafted on anything simply for the uncontrollable fact of being "dos!" 

Q: Now that you have another little one on the way, do you have any dreams of how you want to see your children interact as siblings?
A: We always knew we wanted our kids close in age. My brother and I are 20 months apart and grew up as best friends, never lacking a playmate, never being bored. TH and his brother grew up 7 years apart (!!), and though they are still amazingly close, I can't help but think about how different it must have been for TH to not have any siblings as playmates as a young child. So, I guess my dreams are just of them playing together, interacting with each other, entertaining each other. I cannot wait to hear the sound of their laughter mingled together, mixed inextricably from each other. I know there will be fights and tears and anger . . . but I also know that they can be best friends, and what a gift to live with a sibling so close to your age and your heart.

Phew! Thank you for all the great questions and for following this blog. I am humbled and delighted that there are so many out there who enjoy taking part in this ride!! You are always welcome to keep the questions coming. If ever you are reading and are curious about anything, just let me know and I'll do my best to satisfy your curiosity!


THANK YOU!!

Blogging Milestone!

I logged in this morning to check my feed for my Monday-morning updates on all my friends in real life and in the blogosphere (NOT to blog myself, since Lord knows the only thing I have to write about this  morning is how I had to do daycare drop off today and there is a REASON moms don't do the drop-offs, especially pregnant, in-the-midst-of-weaning moms, and how I burst into tears when I made it back to my car, the sound of my baby's cries and tears still echoing in my head because of COURSE on the morning I had to do the drop-off, the normal teacher wasn't there and baby girl decided the new teacher was clearly the most horrible thing EVAH) . . . where was I? Oh right. I logged in just to catch up on everyone else, and there I saw it:

50 followers!

50 people who are actually interested in what I have to share about our simple, crazy little lives. I'm flattered and humbled.

I tried to think of a fitting way to thank you all, to involve you and celebrate you. Since I don't do giveaways, how about an ask-anything post?

So here you go, friends. Here's your chance to ask me anything you've ever wondered about me, my daughter, my husband, my family, my in-laws, my cats, my job . . . or anything else. I promise to answer openly and honestly (as long as your question isn't asking me to reveal our address or my social security number).

Ask away . . . and thank you for following!

The Cutest Thing I've Ever Seen

...and it wasn't even my kid who did it.

Baby girl has a boyfriend. She loves her daycare class, loves her teachers, but one boy in particular she became fast friends with, a little boy named Aiden. The teachers would tell me that Aiden and baby girl would chase each other around the classroom all day, roll balls back and forth between them, share toys, etc. On a day he was having a particularly hard time, crying inconsolably, she went over and laid her head on his lap until he stopped crying. They would even give each other kisses. When I came to pick her up every day, he would follow us around the room while I gathered her things; then he would follow us to the door and stare at her as she left, waving bye-bye with both hands.

Aiden is an "older man." He's two months older than baby girl, and about a month ago, he moved up into the toddler room. I figured their friendship would fade . . . at this age, memories don't last, right? I don't know how often they see each other during the day anymore, but I figured it couldn't be much if they were in separate rooms.

Yesterday when I went to pick baby girl up, as we exited her room and walked by the toddler room, I noticed several of her old classmates, including Aiden, playing busily in the toddler room. He was in the back corner, working on figuring out how to pick up an unwieldy elephant, stand up, and walk with it. Without fail it wobbled and fell before he got even a step or two of progress, but he was determined to figure it out. The teachers throughout the school know of Ali and Aiden's affection for each other, so the toddler teacher started calling Aiden's name to get his attention. He was intently focused on his uncooperative elephant, so it took several attempts to finally get his attention.

"Aiden!" the teacher said again and again. "Aiden! Look up! Aiden!"

He finally took a pause from his mission to throw a curious, "What?!?!" look at his teacher.

"Aiden, look! Ali's at the door!"

He didn't turn to face the door like, "I understand the word door, I'll look that way to see what teacher is talking about," he turned to face the door like "OH MY GOD SHE SAID 'ALI'!!!" It was immediate and disbelieving and hopeful all at once.

Baby girl and I stood there at the window, waving and grinning. His eyes locked into hers, and he dropped his elephant and threw his arms out, feet already churning toward us. The elephant, ever the bane of his afternoon, tripped him up, and he fell. But even as he stumbled, even as he dropped his hands to catch himself, he never once took his eyes off my girl. He knocked the elephant to the side, got back on his feet, threw his hands out toward us again, and toddled as fast as his little feet would carry him across the room. The look on his face was one I've seen in romance movies: desperation, a wild desire to know if the face he was seeing was real or just a figment of his memories.

He stopped at the door, he on one side, me and my sweet girl on the other. He didn't cry out. He didn't wave. He just stood there, hands on the door, eyes locked onto baby girl. She, ever the charmer, smiled and said, "hi!" and beat the glass with her tiny little hands.

I started to feel bad. There I was, standing there on the other side of an impassible obstacle, taunting him with something he so clearly wanted but couldn't have. I told baby girl to say "bye." She didn't. She wouldn't. She just looked at him and smiled. And he, seeming to realize that we weren't coming in, that we were about to leave, took a couple of steps back away from the door. There were no tears. No cries of frustration. Just slow steps backward, eyes never leaving each other, her face lit with a sweet smile of affection, his face blank, all his effort pouring into not letting her out of his sight.

And then we left.

This is Aiden's last week at our school. His family is moving. I don't know if he and baby girl will ever see each other again, and part of me laments that. Aside from silly notions of young love, a part of me, a very deep, human part of me, rejoices at their affection for each other, at the friendship that has so clearly bonded these two. It will be a loss for both of them to be permanently split apart.

I realized on the way home that he would only be the first of many boys, of many men, to lose their hearts to my daughter, to feel like they can't get enough of drinking in her face, her eyes, her smile, to feel a desperate need to be near her. The power that she will have one day over another human being, and the powerlessness that she'll feel, consumed by her own feelings in return, is the quintessential human experience. To love and be loved, that is really what it's all about.

How amazing to see that played out so early, so innocently, so sweetly, and so honestly.

Since we haven't come out on FB yet...

Here are the plethora of FB status updates that I've wanted to make, but couldn't.

1. Have reached that stage where I just look fat. Good times.
2. Cruel pregnancy joke: when you are insatiable but the thought of food makes you want to barf.
3. Would like to apologize to work; the baby has eaten my brain. Hope that meeting went well.
4. Would like to apologize to my husband; the baby has eaten my brain. You can't tell those clothes are dirty, I promise!
5. Would like to apologize to the cats; the baby has eaten my brain. I'll feed you twice to make up for it.
6. Has discovered the cause of baby brain: my body is trying to run a large program in the background, making all other systems operate more slowly.
7. had forgotten how powerful pregnancy is as an excuse for giving voice to my inner crabbiness. I promise not to use these powers for evil. Muahahahahaha
8. already feeling the guilt set in that I'm not paying enough attention to Dos because I'm too busy playing with Uno...and that I'm not paying enough attention to Uno because I'm so tired from trying to build Dos. Le sigh.
9. Ah, old wive's tales, how I love and loathe thee. 
10. That's one doodle that can't be un-did, homeskillet.

All Puffed Out

One of baby girl's favorite books is the Itsy Bitsy Spider. It tells all about Itsy's various attempts of outsmarting the rain and the sundry adventures he gets into along the way. There's one page where he's running away from some birds; it says, "Itsy's running, all puffed out." When we get to that page in the book, without fail, baby girl pants along with Itsy, huffing out a "huh-huh-huh" the way we taught her.

That's where we are right now as a family. All puffed out. Panting. Catching our breath.

In the last 6 weeks, we've had one emergency trip to Dallas, two first birthday parties, one positive home pregnancy test, one family vacation to Florida, one doctor's visit where we saw a beautiful little heartbeat, one big job change, one trip to California, and one week of my mom and grandma visiting because TH was in Zurich on business.

We are all.puffed.out.

The good news is that 95% of our business the last 6 weeks was wonderful, exciting, happy, thrilling events. It is definitely easier to go through a stretch like this when that is the case.

The bad news is that we allowed it to all snowball in on itself. We've neglected our cats, our home, our cars, our blogs, our friends, and our laundry trying to keep up with our schedule. Never again (well, at least not until the next time) will we allow such a long, hard stretch with no break.

But we made it. Like Itsy, we made it back to our spout. Time to turn again and start to get our footing back in our normal lives.

It would be way too hard to do a fair job of recapping the entire six weeks. The last month has been amazing for baby girl. The most amazing yet. Her language and communication capacities have exploded. She went from speaking about 5 words on her first birthday to having more than 30 words now. More than THIRTY. She says book, ball, more, duck, go, out, no, blue, green, dada, mama, kitty, dog, bus, please, boo, bye-bye, night-night, boat, hi, cracker, there, hot (she says hot and then blows and shakes her hand for this one . . . SO cute!), eye, mouth, and bubble, and can make the animal noises (we're counting these as "words") for a dog, cat, snake, lion, monkey, elephant, cow, bird, and rooster. Her signs have also exploded in the last month. She now signs more, all done, please, milk, hat, diaper, thank you, and book. The rate at which she is learning things now is astonishing. She is a little sponge, listening to us, watching us, and learning, usually after only a few repetitions. What a cool age this is!!!

Oh, and one other little thing. She's walking. Or toddling. Or whatever you call it. She's been taking 2-3 falling steps between me and TH for about a month now but seemed to kind of plateau out there (apparently she was focusing on her language skills this month!). But while TH was in Switzerland and my mom and grandma were here, something snapped and she took 5, 6, even 7 solid steps between us, even stopping halfway and standing for a minute before starting back up again! We are on the brink of a totally new world with her, and as usual, I can't wait.

And an update on Dos? Ah, sweet Dos. How different this pregnancy is than my first. With baby girl, we had nothing else going on. Nothing to do in the evenings except daydream about babies and paint nurseries and talk names. I had all the time in the world to think about her and bond with her. But now? Now I spend most of my awake time with my daughter, entertaining and laughing and helping her walk and talking to her and making sure she doesn't get into anything. And then she goes to sleep and I do all the rest of our typical life-maintenance kind of stuff (dishes, laundry, cleaning, prepping for the next day, uploading pictures, writing thank-you notes, etc. etc. etc.) for as long as I can before collapsing into bed and passing out in sleep in about 0.7 seconds. I often forget that I am pregnant. I often struggle with feelings of guilt that already Dos is getting shafted. On the bright side, I have way less time to sit and worry than I did the first time around.

So, we're here. We survived the six weeks of insanity. We are all puffed out and looking forward to spending a few weeks at home, recovering our sanity and our lives. Along the way, life happened. Baby girl grew and gained amazing capabilities. She laughed and made us laugh. Our family grew. Life goes on, even when you are too busy to be able to stop and celebrate it the way you should.

What a ride.

I Believe

I'm participating in my first-ever blog link-up. You should join!

I believe . . .

 . . . that sleep is good for the body, and that not enough sleep will eventually lead to your body telling you, "Eff you, I quit."

. . . that husbands and wives have to remember to fight for each other, not with each other, and that this is never harder--or more important--than when you're both exhausted and your child is losing her freaking mind on a late flight.

. . . that it doesn't really matter who is right or wrong in a fight; all that matters is that you both remember that neither of you wants to be mad at the other and that it only takes one person to swallow their pride and begin the making-up process.

. . . that when one person is pregnant and exhausted, and the other person is only exhausted, it's the latter of the two who will usually need to initiate the make-up process, as the former will be likely be too pissed and stubborn to do it herself.

. . . that bananas are the single best middle-of-the-night snack to ward off nausea.

. . . that my husband is stronger and does more for our family than he could ever realize.

. . . that most of the time, it really is just all details.

Here's the button to the link-up originator (I hope this works!):







Join in! What do you believe in this week?

Ten on Tuesday: Travel Edition

Inspired by our recent trips to both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts.

1. Baby girl hates sand. Apparently grass leg (see month 9 photo on right) translates into sand leg as well. I think it's a texture thing. I think it freaks her out that it sticks to her. This isn't so great when you want to sit in the sand and build sand castles together, but it ended up working out in our favor when we discovered that we could just plop her on a beach towel and that served as a make-shift playpen since she wouldn't move off the towel onto the sand. Win.

2. Baby girl love love LOVES the sea breeze, the birds, the ocean, the sound of the waves, the taste of sea shells . . . in short, everything about the beach except the sand.

3. Things I recommend:
--getting a suite hotel room so that you can put the kiddo to bed and still stay up and visit, watch TV, etc.
--bringing the stroller to the airport. Even if you end up holding your kiddo most of the time, the stroller can hold three bags plus a giant car seat, much more than any mere mortal.
--early morning flights. You are well rested. Your kiddo is well rested. Chances of anyone melting down, young or old, are much smaller.
--thick skin. You'll get eye rolls and looks of exasperation when people see that they are seated next to a baby. Brush them haters off. 

4. Things I don't recommend:
--late flights. You'll regret it. If your kid is anything like mine, they are too social and into all the people to chill the eff out and sleep. Until they finally reach their breaking point and scream bloody freaking murder while the entire plane tries to give you sympathetic smiles but really are thinking in their heads, "What the hell is wrong with that child? Why can't her parents calm her down? Why aren't they doing anything about it? Why is she still awake at this hour? Why did they book a late flight, those IDIOTS!" (I may be projecting on that last part.)
--planning back-to-back cross-country trips during your first trimester. Traveling is tiring. Traveling with a baby is exhausting. Traveling with a baby when all you want to do is sleep and puke is no bueno.

5. Going on a pure-fun family vacation (a la our trip to Florida) is waaaay different than going somewhere for a purpose (a la our trip to California). Florida was delightful. Relaxing. Soul-cleansing. We had no where to be at any given time. Our hardest decisions were something along the lines of where to eat? Pool or beach? You get the idea. California was stressful. We had to meet with people for meals. We had to be certain places at certain times, and of course none of those events were planned with a baby's nap schedule in mind. Poor baby girl got only one nap a day the entire trip, at some point in the afternoon, whenever we managed to make it back to the hotel. She also stayed up way late every night. She is a total trooper and still managed to charm the pants off everyone, but I felt guilty the whole time. The second trip just felt like one big fat chore.

6. No matter how much I rationally reminded myself, again and again, that TH was IN the wedding, that these were HIS friends, that he needed to go be social and participate in all of the activities and could not possibly be expected to leave anything early, by the last evening, when I was leaving the wedding reception early, by myself, once again, to get baby girl home and in bed finally, I still resented it. I felt like a nanny he had brought along so that he could go out and party with his friends every night, unhindered by his parental responsibilities. That resentment, coupled with a first-trimester exhaustion and nausea, coupled with a melting-down child on the flight back, did not end well for us.

7. Did I mention my exhaustion? Our flight landed at 11:30 p.m. last night. We finally made it home by 1 a.m. I was up at 6 for work. I am worthless today. Worthless. I've downloaded the file I'm supposed to be working on, but it is 1:07 in the afternoon and it's still just sitting on my desktop because I can't garner my thoughts well enough to put together coherent sentences. Exhibit A: I kept thinking, I should do a trip recap like a ten on Tuesday. Darn, too bad it's not Tuesday. I honestly thought this exact thing two or three times before realizing that it was, in fact, Tuesday. Exhibit B: I went to pee for the third time at work this morning (aw, frequent urination, how I've missed thee!) (<--sarcasm font), at which point I realized I had put on my pants backwards. Funny #1: putting on your pants backwards. Funny #2-#4: not realizing your pants are on backwards until the THIRD time you go to the bathroom.

8. My first-trimester symptoms, combined with my exhaustion from all the travel and my irritation with how the California trip was going down, did not bode well for my tolerance levels with my mother-in-law. Everything out of her mouth seemed trite, whiny, and self-indulgent. I'm really, really hoping there was still some veil of politeness on my exterior that hid my interior dirty looks and eye-rolling.

9. I'm not around other babies a lot. I'm around my baby a lot. So I think all babies are like my baby. Talkative. Outgoing. Energetic. Expressive. Charming. The bride and groom have a 15-month-old daughter, who, literally, just sat and stared all weekend. I swear I never once saw her smile. Never heard her vocalize anything. Bored look? Impassive staring. Excited look? Impassive staring. They could plop her and prop her in all manner of positions (she was wheeled up the aisle in a red flyer wagon, sitting amidst a nest of tulle and flowers, and she literally just sat and stared, whereas my child would be eating the tulle, pointing to all the people, and trying to dive out of the wagon to pet the koi in the pond. While I was a little envious that their girl fell asleep at the reception, never once uttering a peep, while my baby girl sort of morphed into a maniac who laughed and shouted "Buh! Buh!" and signed more whenever she saw bubbles floating around, I was also reminded how absolutely amazing my child is. Damn I love her.

10. Ultimately, I came out of these experiences, as I have all others, more in love than ever with my girl. Through flights and car rides and screwed up schedules and screwed up eating and being kept up late and woken up early, she was a total rock star. She was funny and sweet and charming and made every second of both trips enjoyable. (Okay, maybe not those ten minutes she lost her freaking mind on the flight last night. That wasn't enjoyable. But other than that.) She is a trooper, and I can't imagine any cooler kid than she is. I know I'm not supposed to compare, but Dos is going to have one helluva example set for him/her!