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*
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
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.)
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.)
Thursday, November 18, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, November 15, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
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.
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