burnt toast life

It’s not about the food (it was never about the food)

Try to contain your excitement…I figured out a topic to discuss other than indigestion.

I’m wondering if anyone feels the same way I do about this.

Friday was a coworker’s last day, and the tradition since I’ve been working here has been that he, another coworker, and I all go out to get lunch together on a fairly frequent basis. No one at my company takes full lunch breaks, but we do often run out to grab something from the myriad of nearby food places. As these things tend to be, it’s not so much about seeking sustenance – it’s about taking a much-needed break midday, breathing in some fresh air, talking, laughing, and generally bonding. At least, that’s how I think of it. Even when I bring my lunch, I usually go out with them and find something to purchase – a drink, some ill-advised chili cheese fries. These are trips that I wouldn’t bother to take by myself, but since they are going, I go along. Because… it’s not about the food. It’s not even really about taking a break. It’s about more than that.

So Friday, other coworker brought leftovers from home and decided she didn’t want to come to grab lunch…on his last day! I was trying to explain my whole theory of, “It’s not about the food…” but I realized that I was sounding nostalgic, needy, and perhaps a little silly. So I just let it go. However, it did make me think about how I always do this, and how maybe I’m the weird one. (And as a side note, we did eventually convince her to come and we had our final hurrah, so don’t worry).

Another similar example: Eric has skipped many a family dinner because he had just eaten, or wasn’t hungry for whatever reason. But even if I had just eaten or wasn’t hungry, I would still go… to HIS family dinners at his parent’s house. (I guess they are technically my family too through marriage). I’ve definitely said these words to him before – “It’s not about the food. It’s about seeing the family.” But he acts like I’m crazy for going to a so-called dinner with a full stomach. As the nieces and nephews continued to multiply and my retired in-laws started to travel more, the family dinners went from weekly to practically nonexistent. I understand that it’s a lot to take on (and clean up), but at the same time the absence of them makes me sad, and grateful for all the times I went. I love family dinners. Even when I’m not hungry. This is why Eric and I live within a 5 mile radius of his parents, my parents, my sister, and all three of his sisters. All the aunts and uncles on both sides are within driving distance, and we literally see both sides of our family for every holiday. Yeah, we talked about moving to Denver last year, but was it ever going to happen? No. We’re both hardcore family people (despite his willingness to skip the occasional family dinner). If my house were big enough to take on the responsibility of hosting weekly dinners, I would do it myself. My ultimate goal is to have that one day.

It’s funny because as I said, my little sister’s 9th birthday was last Thursday and all she wanted was for the family to come over and have cake with her. Despite the fact that she’s a little kid and loves sweets, I know her well enough to know that the cake was not the important part. She wanted everyone to come over and hang out for a little. We couldn’t do dinner because she had to go church to fulfill her First Communion requirement, and yeah it was late for my other sister’s kids to be awake, but we all came over at 8:30 p.m. on a weeknight because to Allie, that’s what matters – seeing her family. I’ve never met a little girl who appreciated family gatherings so much. But I totally get where she’s coming from, because I’m exactly the same way.

"What a beautiful, perfect backyard we have. We should sell our house."

“What a beautiful, perfect backyard we have. We should sell our house.”

Anyone else watch the show Parenthood? Anyone else irate that they sold that house? In case you’re not a fan, here’s the long story short: these parents have a positively gorgeous, craftsman-style home with a beautiful backyard adorned with twinkly overhead lights. This is the hub where the family gathers to discuss problems, have rowdy dinners, and just generally live out their lives. But the matriarch decides that she wants to be closer to the city so she can go to art galleries and stuff on a whim. Her husband, the ultimate homebody, is initially opposed but eventually bends to his wife’s wishes and sells the beautiful, perfect family home in the season finale. I understand that different people have different values, and that no one way is better or worse than another. But in this show, that whole scenario is exactly opposite of what I want for my life. I am seeking out that house where everyone gathers, and I would never, ever, EVER sell it. As my father likes to say, they’d be carrying me out feet first. There’s nothing I want more than an outdoor picnic table and some strategically placed Edison bulbs on a string for ambiance (can you tell I’m a little obsessed with lighting in general?). I want to create a warm, welcoming home where family comes together… even when they’re not hungry. Even when it’s not a special occasion. Even when it’s a random Tuesday.

Because it’s not about the food. It was never about the food. It’s about the family, and it’s about the friends, and it’s about the connecting with the people in life who mean the most to you. Who’s with me?

tum ta tum tums

So far, besides a very slight amount of morning sickness that was mostly just me trying to play up the severity of my symptoms for my own peace of mind, I’ve gotten through this pregnancy with very few negative side effects. The worst of these has been excessive weight gain (and in conjunction, the alarming appearance of stretch marks), which I’m kind of just filing away “to deal with later when I can diet and exercise and ingest nothing but ice cube smoothies for a few weeks.” That is, until the third trimester reared her ugly head. Now I’m suffering the torment of…INDIGESTION (dun dun dun!).

It’s kind of funny, and reminds me of the one and only time I suffered seasonal allergies. That probably lasted about a week. I remember calling my mom and saying, “I wake up with a stuffy nose and all this congestion, then it gradually fades throughout the day, then it comes back in the morning! What is wrong with me? Do I have a cold or not?” She laughed at me, and explained that yes, I was experiencing allergy symptoms, and how could I be so dense as to not recognize that when such a large part of the population suffers the same, especially in our pollen-laden geographical location. That’s sort of how I feel about indigestion. Like oh, I’ve seen 9 billion commercials for antacids and my husband laments his acid reflux after basically every meal, but still it took me a few days to comprehend what was happening. And now, oh, the torment!

It keeps me awake and plagues my entire day. It’s so uncomfortable! At first I sat there just kind of accepting the pain until one recent day when I discovered the magic of Tums. Now I pop those suckers like candy. No, they’re not just cleverly disguised Necco wafers – Tums are the antidote to all that ails! I had no idea. Magical, chalky little magicians, they are.

I suppose as symptoms go, this one isn’t so bad. I would definitely take this over morning sickness.

Also! Now that I’ve officially been off gluten for more than 7 months, I’ve been wondering what my reaction will be once I eat it again (I think maybe I’ve mentioned this before?). Since I’m not entirely convinced I even have a gluten intolerance, it should be interesting to see if anything happens. Well, yesterday, seeing as I was on a healthful eating kick AS USUAL, I went to Wendys for lunch and got an order of chili cheese fries. I did check ahead of time – their chili is gluten free, their cheese is gluten free, and their fries I have had before, even though they’re fried in the same oil as some breaded items, so they’re technically not GF. I’ve never been very stringent with things like cross-contamination, and I order French fries everywhere I go and never have reacitons. BUT, I will mention that yesterday was my first time specifically getting the chili cheese fries from Wendys (how I missed this on the menu prior to then is beyond me). Within 10 minutes of eating my glorious meal, I was struck down with the most intense headache of my life. Like, I wanted to bury my head in the sand ostrich-style, and possibly even die. It was definitely a food reaction headache, but why? I have no idea. My guess is that the fryer oil did have breading in it this time, and it touched my fries. When I told Eric about the whole event, his first question was, “How’s the baby?” which I found adorable. At this point I think she’s past the point of being affected by a tiny smidgen of gluten, though it was scary for a minute when I realized what I had done. Luckily she’s still kicking away in there (and during my indegestion episode last night at 1 am, incessantly hiccupping. Which is not conducive to sleep at all. But at least I had 2048 on my phone to keep me well occupied).

Can we please take note of how I am literally telling indigestion and food allergy stories on my blog right now? Is this seriously what my life has become? I’m sorry. If you’re still reading this and haven’t keeled over from boredom, I am eternally grateful. Any day now we’ll turn a corner and I’ll have more intriguing things to say.

Just one more (hopefully slightly more interesting) thing – today is my little sister Alessandra’s 9th birthday, which is pretty insane to think about. I am so proud of the young lady she has become. I thought I was pretty clever stealing a photo of her from a recent Easter photo shoot to post on my Facebook, and then as per usual, my other sister one-upped me with an adorable photo collage. I seriously can’t win with her; she always finds cuter pics to post. Oh well… I’ll just shamelessly repost what she made and admit my defeat to her superior photo finding skills. Here it is:

allie9

bathroom renovation: tomorrow!

Eric is brilliant. He figured out a way to totally distract me from the fact that the nursery is no closer to being done than it was a month ago. (OK, so we bought the paint for it. Did we crack it open? No. But we do have it).

Two words: bathroom. reno.

I know! Some of you may recall this post, in which I went into detail about just how miserable my bathroom is, with photographic evidence. But in case you don’t feel like clicking through again, here is a reminder:

ugbath2

Another angle:

ugbath

Yes. I’ve seriously been living with this hideousness for three years now. And finally… oh, finally… it is getting gutted. Down to the studs. We got an amazing, one-day-only deal on tile for the floor, plus we scored two gor-ge-ous vanities (to push together and turn into a double) for a STEAL. I am really excited about them, but I’m holding back on sharing any photos because I want the big reveal at the end to be super dramatic. Considering where we’re starting out, I suppose it’s almost impossible that it won’t be.

Eric’s cousin just moved back to the area from Colorado and does construction type work, so that’s who will be tackling this project. Eric has been promising me this reno for a long time (like, since he found out his cousin was moving back to PA), but you know… I was skeptical. Now that some of the materials are purchased and the room is emptied, I can finally believe that it’s actually a reality. And just in time. Because clearly I wasn’t going to be bathing my child in that monstrosity of a bathtub.

We do have a second “bathroom” in the basement, but I use the term bathroom very loosely. Basically there’s a functioning toilet, a decrepit sink, and an unusable shower area, all with some plywood propped up around it (and a handwritten sign that says “DUNGEON” that’s been there since we bought the house. It’s fitting, so we left it up). Eric’s initial suggestion was to renovate that bathroom first, then tackle the upstairs, but I didn’t think it made much sense since the rest of the basement isn’t finished. So essentially we’d have a really nice, out-of-place bathroom in a dark and dingy basement. Our money is much better spent on the main floor.

Soooo we don’t really have a bathroom for the next month… I mean, we have the scary toilet in the DUNGEON (which I’m super psyched about using twice in the middle of the night, by the way). But as for morning routine teeth brushing and stuff, it’s gonna be all kitchen sink for approximately the next month.

So our counter looks like this:

ugbath4

And showering? We’ll be doing that at my parent’s house, which is conveniently located two miles away and has an abundance of extra bathrooms, but still. It’s going to be a pain schlepping over there every single day. Will we get up super early? Or will we start showering at night? My hair is oily…I’m not really sure night showering is an option. I may have to try out that dry shampoo I keep hearing so much about.

BUT, I’m not complaining from this point forward, because I’m BEYOND excited that this bathroom is getting done. I mean, seriously, I’m over the moon.

Next up – nursery. For real.

so excited, and we just can't hide it

so excited, and we just can’t hide it

a good heart and a registry

Greetings, blog world.

I know I keep saying “things just got real,” but honestly that’s how it is – every day it sinks in a little further that this could actually be happening and we could be bringing home a baby in just a smidge more than three months. A baby! I guess the closest thing to compare it to would be our wedding, but even that was not quite so hard to picture since (much to my mother’s dismay) we were already living together for a few months before the event. So while I really had no concept of how it would feel to be “husband” and “wife,” envisioning myself in a similar close situation with a man I already knew, with the added security of a ring on my finger and a really nice Kitchenaid mixer, just wasn’t a stretch. I knew what I was getting into. I dipped my toes. With a baby, it’s like I’ve been sitting on dry land for so long and now they’re slowly lowering me over the water, about to loosen the net and throw me in. It’s gonna be crazy, I can tell.

But I digress. Yesterday I had an hour-long in depth fetal heart ultrasound at the Perinatal center. I was told that this is standard practice for all IVF pregnancies, as there is an elevated risk for heart defects for IVF babies as compared to naturally conceived babies. I wasn’t about to complain because I was hoping to get another 3D shot of her face on the fancy schmancy ultrasound equipment that they have there. (Unfortunately, my little contortionist was folded up like a pretzel the whole time, knees to nose, so no such picture was possible. She’s still cute though).

As I was lying there, I heard a song. It’s a song I haven’t heard in a long, long time – in fact, the last time I remember hearing it, I was lying in the pre-op area waiting to undergo my D&C after my miscarriage with the twins. Awful, right? I’m sure I’ve probably heard it since then, but that’s the last time it really stuck out as memorable. The contrast between these two situations – the feelings I had, the emotions, the outlook – it was just so different. Even though yesterday I was in a happy place and every couple of minutes the doctor kept saying, “Looks perfect. Everything looks just right,” I couldn’t help crying. Tears of happiness and of gratitude just started pouring out of me. How did I get here? How did I make it this far?

It’s funny, I have a lyrics analysis for this particular song in my drafts and I just never got around to posting it. I’m sure most of us have a song or songs that we relate to infertility and loss for one reason or another. I can’t even read the lyrics to Pink’s “Beam Me Up” without dissolving into a puddle of messy emotion (if you’ve ever had a miscarriage, go listen to it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s literally the saddest song ever). But in regards to infertility in general, and to having my baby, I’ve always been drawn to this one song – the one I heard yesterday. It’s from Twilight, please don’t judge me. The song is called “A Thousand Years” by Christina Perri. Here’s the chorus:

I have died every day waiting for you
Darlin’ don’t be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years
I’ll love you for a thousand more

It speaks to me. Dramatics? Check. Hyperbole? Check! It so perfectly puts into words the extremity of feeling that I’ve been carrying around for years now. I’ve DIED every day waiting for this child. Not just mourned, not just yearned – died. My love for her is so big, it encompasses a thousand years before I existed, and it will go on for a thousand years more. Plus, the singer’s voice is really beautiful. I know she’s technically talking about a guy who she’s pining for, but ignore a few obvious lines and the song could easily be about an unborn child. I’ll post the lyrics to the entire song below in case you’re interested.

Anyway, the song played, I cried, we finished up the ultrasound and everything looked great. She has a good, strong heart, as far as they can tell.

Eric and I had been throwing around the idea of going to register (reality: I’ve been nagging, he’s been procrastinating). We finally decided that going out right after work might be easier since we’d already be out and about, plus the store was likely to be less crowded. In a sort of impromptu move, we decided to go last night, on Thursday. He made me swear we’d only be there for 30 minutes (for anyone who has ever done any kind of registry: this is your cue to laugh heartily).

We got to the store and were sitting down to relay pertinent information and get our handy dandy scanner, and you’ll never guess what song came on over the store’s loudspeakers. Yes! I haven’t heard it in ages, and then twice in one day? In such baby-centric situations? So bizarre. This time I didn’t cry…I smiled.

Registering was overwhelming, to say the least. Since my sister, my mom, and some of my friends who are done having kids are giving me a bunch of stuff, I almost felt like we wouldn’t need to do one at all. We have the crib… the changing table… swings, papasans, and a bassinet. Tons of clothes. (Mountains of clothes. I mean… she is fully clothed and covered for hourly outfit changes for 6 months solid. No lie). I went in to the store knowing that I needed to get a new Bobby cover, a Sophie the Giraffe, and a car seat. Other than that I figured we needed nothing. Ha. Ha. Ha.

As we walked and scanned and got fawned over by the employees who were obviously bored out of their minds working on a Thursday night (I can’t recommend weeknight registering enough. It’s the perfect time to go), I was completely floored by how many things we actually DID need. Bottles, pacifiers, bath towels, diapers, nursing covers… as much as we were getting secondhand, we still needed so much. And I’m sure the store is meant to make you feel that way. Like, duh, it’s a store.

I knew to pass over silly things like wipes warmers. I’ve read the articles, I’ve talked to the experienced moms; I sort of know what’s just a waste of time and money. But all that crap aside, we still just need so much stuff. And don’t even try to talk me out of the $188 Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bag, because at heart I am a total bag snob (I worked at Coach for 3 years), and I’ve been coveting one of those since my days of selling them to the snobby new moms at Nordstrom. Eric may have begrudgingly scanned it, but it’s a need, not a want. It has a fold out changing pad! Genius, I tell you!

Plus, a funny thing happened over the course of the night. I started to think, wow, this is not just stuff… this is stuff for a real live child who will be joining us in our house soon. That little pink sun hat will go on her head at the beach. This stroller that folds so conveniently will come with us to Musikfest in August, so instead of filling a mug with straight vodka and staunchly avoiding eye contact with pregnant chicks at the ‘fest (like I’ve done every year so far), I’ll be pushing my baby in a stroller. My baby. This baby who I’ve loved for a thousand years, and who I’ll love for a thousand more.

We have so much to do. Completing the registry was supposed to make me feel accomplished, but instead it made me feel woefully unprepared. And yet, at the same time, I feel a sense of calm. No matter what we do or don’t do, my baby is coming. She may not have all the stuff yet, but she’ll get what she needs. In the end, what more does she really need than so much love and gratitude for her existence?

Oh, that’s right. She does need that Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bag.

Here are the words to that song I was telling you about:

Heart beats fast
Colors and promises
How to be brave
How can I love when I’m afraid
To fall
But watching you stand alone
All of my doubt
Suddenly goes away somehow

One step closer

I have died every day
waiting for you
Darlin’ don’t be afraid
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I’ll love you for a
Thousand more

Time stands still
beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let anything
Take away
What’s standing in front of me
Every breath,
Every hour has come to this

One step closer

I have died every day
Waiting for you
Darlin’ don’t be afraid
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I’ll love you for a
Thousand more

And all along I believed
I would find you
Time has brought
Your heart to me
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I’ll love you for a
Thousand more

One step closer
One step closer

I have died every day
Waiting for you
Darlin’ don’t be afraid,
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I’ll love you for a
Thousand more

And all along I believed
I would find you
Time has brought
Your heart to me
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I’ll love you for a
Thousand more

small things with great love

So, I found out that I’m a total nag/bitch. A nitch?

Here’s what happened: over the weekend, I was babysitting my little brother Michael and, unbeknownst to me, he used his iPod to record my dog running around the house. So as you may imagine, I kept on living my life and being myself without the self-conscious restraint that comes from knowing that your every word and action is being documented. Once we figured out he’d been recording us for like ten minutes, Eric and I immediately made him play it back. And I did not like what I heard. In the video, I sound harpy, squawky, and annoying. I got caught on film going on some rant about undone chores, as per usual. I hated the way I sounded.

Also, my sister recently posted an FB status about how despite the fact that her husband isn’t a typical “manly man” who is super into sports and good at swinging a hammer, he’s a great husband and father because he helps her out with chores around the house. Eric left a comment on her status saying that what she was describing, “sounded like my dream husband” (because that’s precisely the kind of thing I’d been nagging about and we’d been bickering about all weekend), and that comment made me feel kind of crappy. It made me feel like I don’t appreciate my husband. And you know what? Maybe I don’t appreciate him enough.

I think the problem lies in trying to change someone when you already know who they are. Case in point – one of my chores is doing the dishes. And sometimes I let the dishes go…for a couple days (and sometimes even a couple more days after that). When it comes to chores, I have two modes: psycho OCD dirt abolisher, or lazy, lounge about I-don’t-give-a-shit-I-will-just-live-in-my-own-filth-forever super-slob. So this weekend I was feeling like the latter and started harping on him that MAYBE he could NOTICE that the sink was full of dishes, pick up a sponge, and DO SOMETHING about it. But you know what? He didn’t notice. He totally didn’t.

Like the other day, I bought all new K-cups for our Keurig and put them in the k-cup holder directly adjacent to the Keurig. For a few days, he kept using regular Folgers coffee, until I finally asked him, “Why aren’t you using the new k-cups I just bought?” Well, guess what? He didn’t see them. Literally, did not see them. Despite the fact that they were right in front of his face, brightly colored, and totally obvious, he did not see him because he was not looking for them. That, ladies and gentlemen, is my husband.

In a similar vein, I really doubt he “saw” the overflowing dishes in the sink. Sure, he saw them… as much as you see anything that’s in your way, and I’m sure he did his share of adding to the pile, too…but it literally did not cross his mind to wash them. It wasn’t a conscious act of defiance or laziness, but rather a complete lack of thought altogether. It would have been just as logical (in his mind) for him to smear on some lipstick and start lip-syncing to Justin Bieber as it would have been to do the dishes. I was home, it was my job, and I slacked on it. So why should he take up the burden?

And that’s the real crux of the problem here. I was mad at myself for being so lazy, and I was taking it out on him, who was just as lazy, but in no way more punishable for this laziness than I. What did I do this weekend? I napped. I read for long stretches until my eyes got heavy, then I napped, then I woke up and read some more, and then I napped again. Oh yeah, swinging social life right here. I stayed in yoga pants and didn’t leave the house (well, until I went to book club Sunday night to talk about what I read). It was really nice, and sadly, very similar to how I’ve been spending most of my weekends lately. But you know what? He didn’t bother me or wake me up or ask me why the hell I was neglecting the gross sink full of dishes. He just let me be a bump on a log. He let me sleep.

And it’s not like he does nothing. Yes, my chores are more numerous, and more “year-round.” But when the grass is long, I certainly don’t get out the lawn mower just because I notice it. When it snows, I don’t pick up a shovel. It really is the same concept.

This extends to pregnancy, too, and my last post about expectations for being pregnant. I expected to be put on a pedestal throughout the whole time. I expected things to just be…different. But they’re not. We still have the same fights, we still interact the same way. Much to my dismay, he’s not fascinated by my doppler and doesn’t kiss my belly every night. However…I think he’s just as scared as I am to believe it’s really going to happen, and is maintaining some level of detachment from the whole thing in case things go south. I know he’s excited, to an extent… but why get your hopes up over something that’s not guaranteed? He’s like that about everything. Plus, there’s the oft-quoted phrase, “A woman becomes a mother when she gets pregnant, a man becomes a father when he holds his baby for the first time.” So true, so relevant. I think it feels more real because at the moment it’s happening mostly to me, but come June there will be no denying that it’s happening to BOTH of us.

Back to chores. I’ve decided that as a late new year’s resolution, for as long as I can last, I will do all my chores without the usual chip on my shoulder. (You’re all my witnesses that I’m saying this!) I’ll stop being such a martyr about it. I’ll remember why I do them: because I love my family, my messy husband and my messier dogs. Chores aren’t meant to be enjoyable, and no matter how much I complain, they’ll still need to get done. So I can either undertake these unpleasant tasks with a scowl and a snarky comment, or I can do them with a smile. My attitude is my choice.

greatloveI keep going back to the Mother Theresa quote, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” I’m sure she wasn’t talking about laundry and dishes, but I do feel that the concept is applicable here. That’s my new mantra: small things, with great love. Chuck the sarcasm at the door. Save the martyrdom for the real martyrs. And start appreciating all of the things that my husband does do for me.

And that way, when he does pick up the sponge unexpectedly and do the dishes, I’ll be oh-so-pleasantly surprised.

any questions?

Here’s something that’s been bugging me for years – why do people say, “Oh, from behind you couldn’t even tell she was pregnant!”

Who looks pregnant from behind?

I get it. These people are talking about ladies of a small build who have huge baby bumps that are shocking to behold. I have a friend like that – she’s super thin, and while pregnant it looked rather dramatic, like she swallowed a watermelon seed and somehow it sprouted inside her. But come on. Even larger women don’t look PREGNANT from behind – a little fat, maybe, but not pregnant. I’ve never looked at the back of someone and said, “Oh yes, she must be pregnant.”

It drives me crazy. Maybe it’s because I gained back all the weight I lost from going gluten-free (an all-sweets diet does have that effect), and not just in the belly, but in the hips and thighs. Maybe I’m bitter. But you know what’s really cool? I can wear any shirt I want and it all looks good now. Like before I had a pile of shirts that accentuated my stomach fat, so I put those aside for when I got back to my “thin days.” Not anymore! Now, it’s the tighter the better, and all those spandex-y shirts that made me cry hot tears into my bowl of ice cream are back out in their full glory. It’s GOOD for me to have a big fat belly. And even when I gain some weight in my thighs, my stomach is so big by comparison that it doesn’t look as bad. So far, besides the baby itself, this is the best thing about being pregnant.

At my last OB/GYN appointment, the doctor kept asking if I had any questions or concerns. She seemed disappointed that I didn’t, to the point that I found myself racking my brain for something – ANYTHING – to ask about. But the truth is, I got nothin’ (besides the whole ‘pregnant from behind’ thing).

I thought by now I would have devoured What to Expect and would be endlessly poring over nursery idea boards on Pinterest. I’m not. I’m just kind of stuck in the middle, and trying to figure out if my lack of intensity (not enthusiasm, mind you, because I sure as hell am excited) is because I don’t believe it’s actually happening, or if it’s because everything still seems a long way off.

Look, I’m a procrastinator. I work well under pressure. I sincerely doubt that we’ll have the baby’s room done in a timely fashion…I’m picturing nailing up artwork and frantically painting the trim in between contractions. That’s just how we roll. Right now I’m at a weird in-between stage and it seems to be going soooo slowly. Because something weird happened after I spent all that time waiting to get pregnant… now I don’t want to be pregnant anymore. I just want to meet my baby. Maybe I’m destined to always be impatient about something. Last night we were at Eric’s sisters house, the one who is now a week past her due date and eagerly anticipating baby’s arrival. I was super jealous that she gets to meet her baby – this week! I know I need to chill out and just appreciate this time (hey, I slept in super late today and have been a lazy bump on a log for most of it), and of course appreciate being pregnant. And I do. But the more real this baby becomes, the more I want to see him/her.

Realistically, it wouldn’t make sense to start on the baby’s room anyway because we still don’t know if we’re going pink or blue (theoretically). Only a little over a month until we find out. Insanity. Eric is team blue, and yeah, I am totally team pink. Of course I say, “as long as it’s healthy…” but I mean, no duh. I think anyone who has been following along can figure out by now that I’ll take a boy, a girl, an alien, whatever. I just want something. But deep down, I always pictured having a girl first.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about why it’s so important for me to have a girl, and what I came up with is that if I was ONLY able to have one child, I would definitely want a daughter. But I think we will have more than one. We still have three embabies on ice and I’m slowly becoming more confident in my body’s ability to sustain life. So a girl, eventually, would be all right. At the church Christmas service I tried to pay special attention to the message that God sent his only SON to save the world. Then there was a pageant of first graders acting out the nativity story and the wee lad who they had cast as the little drummer boy literally brought tears to my eyes. He was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. A boy would be good. I’m happy; I’m happy either way.

Alert: abrupt topic change! So I’ve been wondering – any bloggers out there have this problem? I’m out and proud and lots of my real life friends and family read this blog. That’s cool. But sometimes I have issues that I simply can’t discuss because I’m not anonymous. Like right now this HUGE thing is going on that I would love to vent, bitch, and moan about, but I can’t because of certain people who read this blog. It sucks! Sometimes I yearn for anonymity. It’s not even that you guys would be able to help with my problem, it’s more that I get so many warm fuzzies from your commiseration that it would really help me out just to have that. I’m sorry for cryptic blog posting, that’s really mean of me. 98% of you can probably know my issue, so if you’re dying of curiosity, shoot me an email and I’ll tell you. It’s not even that interesting, it’s just annoying, and is one of the (few) things going on right now. It feels weird that I can’t blog about it. I’m an open book about boobs and vaginas, but when it comes to personal matters, some things must remain secret.

Related to that, I’ve been thinking a lot about my last post and I’m hoping I didn’t come off sounding like a total bitch. As I said, a lot of the ‘mommy club’ friends read my blog and there I was whining about not being part of their club. Well, the mommies I know are nothing but accepting and understanding, and while I still maintain that I’ll never really be part of the club, that’s not for lack of their trying. I’m the one who feels awkward and inferior, but not because they try to make me feel that way. Just the opposite, in fact. A few have even said things like, “I have no idea what you’re going through, but I want you to know I’m here for you.” Yeah, there’s nothing better than hearing that. So to my mommy friends, I’m really sorry if I sounded ungrateful for your friendship. You’ve all been amazing at making me feel loved, and asking all the right questions. Sometimes I write without thinking, or think I sound a certain way when really I sound like a huge ungrateful jerk. Again, I’m sorry.

I suppose I should do a little bit of year-end recapping. A year ago yesterday I started my Lupron injections. I showed up to a New Year’s Eve party late because I had to swing by my mother-in-law’s to get the shot (the first of how many – hundreds?). I remember that day so well – taking the bus into the city, rushing uptown to the pharmacy to fill the script before it closed, hurrying in to the party and breathlessly explaining what was going on. At the time it felt like things were happening so quickly. How could I possibly know what 2013 had in store for me? So many ups and downs, so many periods of time that dragged and so many that flew by. I can’t help but believe that this year will be so much better, and that when 2014 comes to a close, I’ll be holding my daughter or son and marveling at how it all happened.

Wishing you all a joyous, drama-free new year that’s filled with love and happiness (and babies to everyone who wants them). Yeah, it’s cliche, but I mean it. We all deserve it.

it’s taco tuesday!

Oh hey, y’all. Is it weird that we only eat tacos on weeknights that start with “T” because I’m that obsessed with alliteration?

Is it also weird that the most interesting thing I have to talk about is what I had for dinner tonight?

And furthermore…is it weird that I looked forward to this aforementioned meal all damn day? This is what my life has become.

Fact is, my food tastes have changed dramatically from what they used to be. I’m operating on some kind of “food craving pendulum,” where one particular meal that’s so amazing right now will be much hated in a week, but then could potentially become essential a week after that. That’s why I had to throw out a whole batch of those peanut butter cookies…because as much as I loved them a couple weeks ago, right now I cannot bear the thought of them. And what’s weirder is that despite my affinity for burnt toast and my conviction that inanimate objects have feelings, I’ve had absolutely no problem throwing away food lately. This is completely out of character for me.

While I don’t have any cravings per se, I can tell you that all I want is carb loaded items (GF pasta and Annie’s GF macaroni and cheese) and sweets of all kinds (GF cupcakes, granola bars, cookies that aren’t peanut butter, brownies, and the like). If it’s loaded with sugar, sign me up. I don’t want vegetables. I don’t like salmon! It’s so bizarre to still be myself but to not want to eat the foods I usually love most in the world. I feel like my body has been taken over. These particular cravings coupled with how I’m carrying both have my mom convinced it’s a boy… and truthfully, I think she’s right. And that mystery shall be solved on February 3rd (woo hoo)!

14 weeks

14 weeks

Speaking of… I’m overdue, so to speak, for a bump picture. I don’t think it’s that different from the last pic I posted, but this shirt really accentuates it with the stripes. I’m going to add a “bump pictures” tab to the blog simply because it’s something I ALWAYS gravitated towards on other people’s blogs when we were TTC. I think it was part masochism, and part obsession with when I might realistically start to show when I finally got pregnant. I used to bump-stalk people and live vicariously through their photo progressions. So I’m here to satisfy that curiosity for any other bloggers who feel the same, and to record this unlikely journey for myself, too. That said…while I do think my bump is excessive in the grand scheme of bumps, I am only 5’1. There’s not much room for this uterus to expand besides straight out. I accurately predicted that maternity clothes would become necessary sooner rather than later.

And for those of you on symptom watch or disappointed at your lack of symptoms, I’m here to say that I still have very, very few. I get nauseated from my prenatal every morning (which is something that often happens even when I’m not pregnant), but other than that, the weird food aversions, and the bump, I’m just feeling regular. I don’t even pee that much! I scaled back on my impressive 2 gallon/day water consumption, so now I’m back to hitting the bathroom a normal amount.

Yeah, that’s really it. This week is freakin’ dragging…I took off the two days after Christmas so I’ll have a nice 5 day break next week, and I’m really looking forward to it. My husband has off straight through from the 20th – January 2nd (jerkface). Oh, and our next ultrasound is on Monday! Isn’t it funny how I’m not so obsessed with ultrasounds anymore now that I have my handy dandy doppler? I mean, it’ll be great to see the baby on screen again, but I’m no longer counting down the days with bated breath. It’s such a nice feeling…I think it’s called confidence? Weird.

Gotta go, I’m off to stuff my face full of ice cream and cookies! Nom, nom, nom.

we’re not getting a tree this year

At first I was disappointed, but I’ve come to terms with it.

Here’s the deal: we have been married for three and a half years, and the past three Christmases together we have had Christmas trees.

In 2010, we got a dinky little fake tree from a present exchange that actually fit perfectly in our dinky little apartment. It was adorable.

small, sparse, and special: our first tree

small, sparse, and special: our first tree

In 2011, we got all ambitious since we had just purchased a house and went to a tree farm to cut down our own tree. It was hard work (not that I did any of it besides voice my opinion, ha). The experience proved interesting because we actually had a nest of praying mantis babies living in the tree, a phenomenon that occurs in approximately 1% of all trees sold or something crazy like that. Praying mantises are said to be good luck, so I took it as a sign that 2011 would be *our year* and that we’d finally have our baby. Yeah, you can see how well that worked out.

overcompensating for the previous year?

overcompensating for the previous year?

I don’t remember exactly why, but last year we were feeling a bit Grinch-like around the holidays. Eric didn’t want to get a tree at all. Since I’m a huge sucker for Christmas, I finally convinced him to let me go down the street and buy one from the Boy Scouts who sell trees outside the gas station about a half mile from our house. Despite its sketchy origins, it was the best looking tree so far and a fantastic bargain at a cost of just $30. Gas station trees: don’t knock ’em til you try ’em. (And as a side note, there are still pine needles embedded in the back of my car from that half mile drive back to the house. No clue how that’s possible).

the perfect gas station tree

the perfect gas station tree

That brings us to 2013. I’ve made no secret of the fact that money is tight around here, and the impending arrival of this child is a very real and pressing financial concern. Spending $30 on a tree is just something that isn’t logical at the moment. And sure, my parents would probably buy one for us if I really wanted them to… but Eric also brought up the good point that since we agreed not to exchange gifts this year, it seems a little depressing to have a tree with no pretty presents underneath it. I totally get that logic. And what’s more, I know one thing for certain…this will be our last year without a tree.

Yes, next year (God-willing), we will have a baby at home. A six-month old who will certainly have gifts from Santa piled high on Christmas morning (OK, piled modestly. Still piled), so clearly we’ll NEED a tree. And the year after that, (s)he may even have an idea of what’s going on. Each year thereafter will get more and more magical, and if all goes to plan, we’ll add more sweet babies to the mix as the years go by. Christmas will never be the same again.

So how can I be sad? Even if we don’t exchange presents on December 25th, I’ve already been given the greatest gift I could ever hope to get. And even if we made the financially responsible decision and decided to “skip” Christmas this year, I know that we will never do that again. For once, I can wait. I can make it through the rest of 2013 with dreams of 2014 dancing in my head.

That’s enough for me.

wake me up when it’s all over

Anyone else feel like the blogosphere becomes a total ghost town on the weekends? Am I the only one having a lazy Saturday morning with copious amounts of time to blog?

I’m pretty sure I’ve expressed my love of anesthesia before. I was driving home from work yesterday and a super popular song came on the radio. The more I listened to the lyrics, the more I started to realize why I’m so obsessed with anesthesia.

The song was “Wake Me Up” by Avicii, and it said:

So wake me up when it’s all over // When I’m wiser and I’m older

…and I started thinking, YEAH. Wake me up when it’s over. When this shit is all resolved; when I have a definite answer. Wake me up when we make it past that impossible first trimester. Wake me up when I’m holding my newborn baby in my arms. Or, wake me up when I’ve resolved myself to being childless and I’ve come to terms with that decision. But either way… just wait to wake me until it’s over.

With anesthesia, you know something awful is right around the corner. The first time I had it, they said, “OK, now we’re going to rip four teeth out of your head.” The second, it was, “OK, now we’re going to enter your vagina and pluck out all your eggs.” Third and final time – “OK, we’re going to remove your dead babies from you.” None of these things are pleasant, right? So I was nervous. But then that magical fluid dripped into my veins and the next thing I remember, someone was telling me, “It’s over. You’re done now. You did great.”

There’s such relief in that! It feels so good to sleep right through the bad stuff. That’s why I’ve decided I need “life anesthesia” for the next couple of months. I don’t want to miss out on pregnancy completely, so I’d be OK with being woken up at the start of the second trimester. That would be acceptable (plus, that’s right around the holidays. I wouldn’t want to miss out on a visit from Santa).

I’m so tired. I’m a huge napper/sleeper to begin with, but the drama of all this has pushed it over the edge. Now I’m fairly certain that I’ve been using sleep as a coping mechanism. Now I really don’t want to wake up…like, ever. But I do want the end result. So if someone could come over and put me under into that gorgeous state of slumber for the next three months…. that would be great. Thanks.