burnt toast life

adventures in camping (with a newborn)

It’s funny to me how many people proclaimed that I was “brave” or “ambitious” to be camping with a newborn.

Maybe a little… but really, from what I’ve observed, I’d venture a guess that camping with a toddler or even a young child is a lot more ambitious. I mean, if I put Molly in her little rocker and turned my back for a second, I knew she’d still be sitting in that same rocker. Do the same thing with a 2-year-old, and she’d more than likely be riding a bear piggyback or something.

In other words, newborns are low maintenance. On our camping trip, she did the same things that she does at home – eat. sleep. poop. Yes, waking up to nurse in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night is not as comfy as doing the same in my own home, but still, we were in our camper. It’s not like we were tent camping.

It was very nice and relaxing, and we’re already making plans to go again and make good use of our new camper that we just purchased this year.

Here’s something I didn’t realize about our little camping excursion: one year ago last weekend, I was camping. I was also in the midst of a miscarriage. Sometimes I feel bad because I usually reference the miscarriage of the twins more often, and it almost seems like Baby Toast (who we lost on July 8th) is “forgotten about.” But how could I forget? This is a line from my post last year, the one entitled “camping and miscarriage are not mutually enjoyable”

It’s still possible to have a baby of our own to take camping next year. Far-fetched, perhaps, but possible.

I seriously want to go back in time and hug myself. I want to tell this sad, past version of myself that one year can make all the difference, and that camping will never be the same again. Then I want to show her (me) these pictures and say, “See? It all works out in the end.”

camping3

camping4

camping2

camping1

“no, not yet.”

People keep texting me.

“Any news? Any Molly? Anything happening???”

And…no.

I know they’re all just excited. But technically, we haven’t even hit DD yet. I’m a wee bit disappointed because as I think I’ve mentioned, I really liked the idea of Father’s Day. All of the girls in my family are born on Sundays, so it will be weird if she comes on a different day. But maybe it’ll just be the start of a new tradition.

On Friday morning at my weekly checkup, my blood pressure was high. This has kind of been the trend – the nurse takes it when I first get there, it’s pretty high, then the doctor comes in a few minutes later and takes it again. For whatever reason it usually goes down in that amount of time and they just caution me about preeclampsia warning signs and confirm that I don’t have any. This time, however, the numbers were high enough (though she didn’t tell me exactly what or I forgot) that I got sent over to the hospital for monitoring and blood work.

It felt like things were happening because I was going to the hospital. I got checked into triage on the labor and delivery floor, I got to wear the fun fetal heart rate monitor and listen to my little love chugging away in there. I put everyone on alert. It was Friday the 13th. It was a full moon. Mercury was in retrograde (I have no idea what that means). Oh, and my house was a mess, there were dishes in the sink, and I hadn’t shaved my legs. I had prepared to go to work for the day, not go have a baby. It seemed like this would definitely be it.

Nope! Eric left work early and was literally on his way to the hospital when they cut me loose, with a BP of 118/79. I don’t know why it fluctuates so wildly, but it’s very annoying. So I missed day of work for nothing (and they’re probably going to be confused to see me tomorrow). I guess it was kind of good – Eric went to some beer festival yesterday, and since he had pre-purchased his tickets at least those didn’t go to waste. My mom and I went to an outlet mall and walked around for a few hours, trying to coax her out. I debated the merits of castor oil (though ultimately decided against it).

So that’s really it… nothing to report. Still only 1/2 cm dilated. No cramps. No contractions. Lotssss of movement and discomfort – it feels like my stomach is a giant balloon that’s about to burst, and it’s just very crammed in there. Like I ate a huge meal or something, but a thousand times worse than that. It’s not the heat that’s bothering me. It’s this huge belly that’s more uncomfortable than anything. Also, the disappointment of having nothing to report every time someone asks.

I talked it over Friday with my OB/GYN and we agreed to schedule induction for Monday, June 23rd, so we’d go to the hospital next Sunday night on June 22nd. It makes me feel better to have an end in sight (It’s ridiculous, but part of me feels like I’m just going to be pregnant forever). So no matter what, by this time next week, we will be on our way. My whole family, including my mom who is a required attendant at the blessed event, is going camping next weekend. That’s why I just assume I’ll start labor on my own on Saturday night, when it’s highly inconvenient for her. She’s only going an hour away, so she’ll make it in time, but still I would essentially be ruining her camping trip. Oh, well.

I have a list of things to add last minute to my hospital bag, and my laptop is on there! I promise to do a quick update once she makes her big debut.

Maybe she just really wants to be a Cancer and not a Gemini. Maybe she’s waiting for summer. I don’t know! I’m just very impatient and very excited and very, very nervous.

a nursery for Molly

Two days shy of 39 weeks and the nursery is finished. I told you we’d be cutting it close.

Ready? Here we go.

First, the crib. Last night my good friend (and talented artist) Ashley was here until 2 am painting a custom mural on the wall (that’s the tree). She was the one who did the sweet dreams owl in the corner, too. As I mentioned before, the crib belonged to my little sister Alessandra and I’ve been waiting a looong time to finally use it. I scored the rocking chair in my sister’s basement. It doesn’t really match, but it’s incredibly comfortable, and best of all… FREE!
image_4

I am obsessed with this antique cradle! My grandmother actually found it at a yard sale and gave it to my sister, but again, it was just sitting in her basement. The moment I saw it, I knew I had to have it. It’s not really practical to use for the baby, but I like it as a stuffed animal holder.
image_3

The closet. I can’t even handle the tiny dresses hanging there. Is this real life?
image_2

Bookshelf/artwork area.
image_1

OK, now this part is funny. So you might have noticed from these pictures that I kind of have a theme going here – mint green, white, pink, gray. Soft, pastel colors. Soothing. Well, at the baby shower my mom’s cousin got us these bright, primary colored floor mat tiles and I remember thinking, “Hmmm…I do not remember registering for these.” But then when I got home from the shower and we were going through all the gifts, Eric got SO excited that he got the tiles. Apparently he had gone rogue with the scanner and I never noticed! I tried to argue that they don’t match (at all) and that they’re kind of masculine, really, but he immediately disagreed and said he confirmed that the child pictured on the packaging was a girl (and triumphantly proved this to me by shoving the packaging in my face). He insisted that he picked them because Molly would love the bright colors. The clashing bothered me at first, but he is so proud of these damn tiles that I just have to let it go. That’s why our nursery is 98% coordinated, 2% not at all coordinated. Pick your battles, right? (And perhaps discreetly tone down the brightness with a strategically placed puppy play mat).
image

I love this little corner. The Star Wars prints are perfect (thanks, Aunt Sarah!) and that lamp was a total score for $17 at Hobby Lobby (officially my new favorite store). The changing table/dresser combo is the other part of the set from Allie’s old nursery.
image_5

There you have it! We have a nursery.

I had an appointment today and let’s just say… no progress. My OB/GYN tried to be encouraging and reassure me that it can happen really quickly with your first, but in the next breath she was saying things like, “scheduled induction.” Who knows.

At least now I can say I feel mostly ready for her to get here. Mostly.

home stretch

I can’t believe it’s June.

I’m really trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m due to have a baby in 17 days. Seventeen days! I started doing that thing where I relate it to the mundane tasks I’m doing – as in, “The next time I purchase new face wash, I’ll have a baby,” or “The next time I have to refill the sugar bowl, she’ll be here.” We haven’t quite reached the point of, “the next time I put gas in my car…” or, “the next time I buy milk,” but we are close. Very close.

I have a lot of random thoughts, so I’m just gonna do bullet points. Lately my mind has been on a constant loop day and night and I literally have to carry around a handwritten list of “things to remember” so I don’t go insane. Physically, I feel like I’m 87 years old. Mentally, I’m more similar to a 20-something that just did a few lines and drank a pot of coffee. It’s an interesting combination.

-I’m very sick and miserable. It started out as a common cold (or maybe allergies??) with just a lot of congestion and subsequent congestion headaches, but now has become a hacking cough/super sore throat due to the post nasal drip (gross, I know). As if it wasn’t hard enough to get a few hours of sleep here and there.

-That “burst of energy at the end” thing totally exists. I no longer have any desire for naps on the weekends, and would much prefer to rush around the house completing random, urgent tasks such as vacuuming the ceilings of every room (true story). I can see why women tend to go on maternity leave before the baby arrives – sitting at a desk working for 9 hours per day Monday through Friday seems like such a waste when there are ALL THE THINGS to do at home. Plus, it doesn’t really help that when I am at home tackling my endless to-do list, I have to keep stopping to take breaks because of the physical strain of gettin’ stuff done. I’ve also had a bunch of events these past few weekends (picnics, dance recitals, book club) that took up some time and energy. The good news is that this coming weekend my calendar is totally clear. I guess that means there will be lots of ceiling vacuuming in the near future.

-I’ve been banished from the bedroom. Well, sort of. Every night Eric gives me the option of couch or bed, but he now refuses to sleep next to me because I toss and turn and get up too many times in the middle of the night to pee (I think I’m up to like 5 or 6 times per night now. It’s preposterous). Anyway, it’s been keeping him up and making him cranky at work from being so tired, so alas we had to part ways. I’m actually more comfortable on the couch for some reason, plus there’s a TV out in the living room to keep me company. It’s kind of nice to have it on low volume in the background, which is weird for me, because I’m one of those people who HATES when TVs are just on and no one is watching them. Ugh! That’s partly why I established the bedroom as a TV-free zone, because in our apartment I used to hate when he fell asleep with it on all the time. But right now, at least, I find the background chatter soothing since I can’t really sleep anyway. The one downfall to this is that the infomercials have me convinced that I need SEVERAL items. Every morning I tell Eric what my latest obsession is (this morning it was the Dessert Bullet). Luckily for him and our bank account, I’m way too lazy/beached-whale-like to actually go get my credit card and order any of these things at 4am. But I do fall for it each and every time.

-The nursery is still not finished, but it’s MUCH, MUCH closer. My friend came over and helped me do stuff on Saturday (thanks, Ash!!), plus Eric brought the furniture down from the attic and set it all up. I’m not taking photos until it’s all the way finished – art on the walls, clothes folded, ready for action finished. But don’t worry. I think that day will get here soon. Dare I say… sooner than she gets here?

-I’ve been going to the perinatal center monthly for growth scans, which started to seem a bit unnecessary, but at least it was an excuse to get some of those awesome 4D ultrasound images. Anyway, Eric and I are total weirdos and like to joke that “maybe she’s not our kid” since it’s IVF and all and technically that could happen. Since the majority of the patients at New Hope are of Asian descent, I think it would be obvious fairly quickly. But I think about this pretty often – what WOULD we do if that really happened?

Anyway, I don’t think I have to worry about it because at her last growth scan, everything was measuring perfectly right on time except for one thing…her legs were measuring 3 weeks behind. So proportionally, her legs are short for her body. And this is the part where I mention that while I have a torso comparable to a friend who is 5’5, I am only 5’1 because of – you guessed it – my short legs. For some reason it was incredibly reassuring/adorable to hear that she’s just like me in this respect.

I guess that’s all for now. I’m just gonna say it again… I cannot frickin’ believe it’s finally June.

The next time I flip my calendar, I’ll have a baby. Damn.

Friday night caption contest!

Ever go through a bunch of old photos on Facebook just for fun? I do. And I found this gem below.

This was take in June of 2011, and that’s me with the BITCHY look on my face, and the full cup of vodka and Diet Coke right in front of me. The pregnant person I’m sitting next to is Rachel, Eric’s cousin’s wife, who had come up to hang out and play cards on our Father’s Day weekend camping trip. She’s about a month away from her due date here and only now can I appreciate how miserable she must be in the heat.

I just find it funny because I always thought I was hiding my emotions quite well, but clearly I never could. And Rachel – if you ever noticed me making this face at you – I’m SORRY! It has more to do with me than with you.

So tell me – any caption suggestions? :)

campingphoto

on this day

Hope everyone survived May 11, 2014 relatively unscathed.

You know, I was really impressed with the way my church handled things today. And last year, for that matter.

First of all, during the homily the priest made it a point to mention that we should take a moment today to think of the women who want nothing more than to be mothers, and who may not have any children. Then they took things a step further during the Supplication part when we prayed for specific things (Followed up with a “Lord, hear our prayer.”) One of the supplications today was, and I quote, “For all women struggling with the pain of infertility, that their hearts may find comfort and that their prayers may be answered…LORD, HEAR OUR PRAYER.”

It was nice. We were recognized.

Last year, they had all the mothers stand up. This might have been awkward as I had just suffered my miscarriage and was gearing up for IVF round two. But then the priest clarified, “And when I say mothers, I mean can all of the mothers, grandmothers, godmothers, aunts, or anyone who has ever shown love and motherly compassion towards a child please stand and be honored.”

Pretty cool. I felt OK standing up. I’m definitely a godmother, an aunt, and I’ve definitely mothered children. And yeah, this year I might be more noticeably a mother, but I’m no more a mother than I was last year.

So on this day, I want to continue that tradition. Because whether or not you’ve physically birthed a child makes no difference. We are the mothers – the ones who have mothered a child, any child at all, or even the ones who have longed to.

This is our day.

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

every kick is a triumph

You know how when you’re really, really, sick and then you get better and for those first couple of days immediately after you just totally appreciate feeling well? And then of course it fades and you start taking it for granted again, but in that brief window of time, you just experience gratitude for every snot-free sniffle, every deep breath with no cough, every meal without nausea, every pain-free joint and every energy-filled moment?

Well, to some extent I’m taking aspects of this pregnancy for granted, as human beings (yes, even infertiles) are destined to do. It’s very hard to stay 100% grateful every moment of every day. But the one exception to this reality is when it comes to kicks.

I use the term “kicks” loosely to include any and all movement, including blips, punches, butt bumps, head butts, and bladder sits. I have a very active girl on my hands here, and literally every single time I feel her move, even the tiniest of tiny bits, I stop and say, “Thank you.”

It’s crazy, and it’s time-consuming. But seriously, the whole movement thing totally blows my mind. At any given time, I am either saying silent prayers of thanksgiving for her solid, strong kicks or saying silent prayers of pleading if it’s been too long since I’ve felt anything (it’s never more than an hour, but this is one aspect of my anxiety that I can’t seem to shake). Hands down, kicks are the number one best thing about being pregnant so far. I may bitch and moan about weight gain and pains and stretch marks and waddling when I walk, but for this one thing – well, this is just as good, or perhaps even better than I imagined.

The kicking is impossible to tune out and ignore. I could seriously just sit around all day and feel it – press on my belly and jiggle it to make it happen, or lay on my right side to really get her going. It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about as I’m falling asleep. Whenever I’m stressed about anything, I sit back, take a moment, and pay close attention to her kicks.

Plus it’s really, really obvious, and it certainly makes me question shows like “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.” I’ve never actually seen an episode, but to some extent I can understand that very obese or very tall and thin pregnant women might not really “show.” So ok, let’s say you’re one of those women who just does not look pregnant. What I want to know is, how do those women explain this feeling of fetal movement? On Wednesday I’ll be 28 weeks, and from what everyone says, the movement I’m feeling now will only increase in frequency and intensity as time goes on. In my (albeit limited) experience, it’s a completely foreign, magical, observable, joyous feeling when your baby kicks you. How could anyone not notice?

Each of her kicks is like a one-sided conversation:

Kick! – “I’m here, mom!”
Kick! – “I’m healthy!”
Kick! – “I’m still alive and thriving!”
Kick! – “Hey there, mama…I’ll be out before you know it!”

Oh, it’s so great. It’s really, really, great.

So anyway, this weekend was fun. I never did make it to Ben & Jerry’s because the mountain pass is closed during the winter, so traveling the distance of a few miles would have taken over an hour because you had to go all the way around. Go figure.

But the resort had a B&J scoop shop, and honestly that was enough for me. I love how going away for the weekend really does wonders to reignite a relationship, or at least it does for us. I think it has to do with our moods in general – we’re less stressed, so we bicker less, and inevitably we end up being nicer to each other all around. I like us on vacation, and even in the couple of days afterwards before we remember to be snippy and rude to each other again. KIDDING. (Sort of).

Eric’s two friends came along with us (another reason we get along so well, because the two of us relate with each other better when we’re in a group. Weird, but true). We got to talking about infertility and all that jazz, and for some reason the topic turned to what may have caused it in the first place. I think I’ve mentioned before that Eric had a hernia when he was a little boy, and we think that may be the reason for his low SA numbers. It got me going on that whole “what might have been” line of thinking.

Let’s say the hernia never happened. Let’s say that really is the “cause” of our infertility. How would things be different? Without going into detail and embarrassing him too much, I’ll say that my husband definitely got around to sowing his wild oats before we got together… like, a lot. And chances are he wasn’t always 100% careful (OK, he definitely wasn’t). So without the hernia that potentially caused infertility and therefore built-in birth control, he probably would have had a child long before we conceived this one in a petri dish. Maybe several children.

Would I have dated a single father? Maybe. But that’s assuming he didn’t opt to marry one of the preceding baby mamas in his life. Maybe he would have gotten a different job, a higher paying job to deal with all the child support payments, and he and I never would have met. Maybe he really wouldn’t have knocked up any of those other women, but in the eleven years we’ve been together it would have been ME with the oopsie. I can tell you with some amount of certainty that it wouldn’t have been this particular child, and at this point I am quite fond of her. I don’t want a baby. I want THIS baby.

There’s no real point to this whole long “what if” scenario other than to illustrate that perhaps it all worked out how it was supposed to. I won’t pretend that it always does for everyone (because it doesn’t) and I won’t claim to be “happy” for our infertility (because I’m really, really not). But maybe I’ve finally reached a point that’s far enough removed from that fresh pain and heartache to admit to myself that this is how it was supposed to go down. This timing. This moment. This baby. These little reassuring kicks.

I’m just feeling very thankful.

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.