Baby Mine

For most of my adult life, I have longed for something.  I have wanted to live the fantasy of a daughter who has an *awesome* relationship with her mom. I have a dear friend who has this.  Or at least it looks like it to me.  I have often watched them with wonder and envy, wondering what it is that I am doing wrong. They are kind to each other and I have never witnessed a snide dig. The support each other completely: working out together, taking trips and her mom even helps out with childcare!  It's astonishing and beautiful. 
My mom and I love each other very much.  but about 10 minutes into a phone call, car trip, coffee date, we start picking each other apart.  I would like to be able to place the blame solely on her, but this is a cycle that we both are involved in. Both of us hate it and neither of us can stop.
In recent years, this has truly broken my heart on several occasions. Like when I began dating my now husband who had a child of 15 months at the time and my mom loudly asserted she refused to "get close" with the Little Man. or when I was getting married and my mom REALLY didn't want me to change my name and asked me repeatedly, "Is marriage really right for you?" or when I finished my graduate degree and graduation day became a day about her restaurant choice as we changed location 4 times. See, all I wanted was a mom who was so proud and excited that something big was happening for me.  I mean, it's lame, but I wanted it to be about me a little more.  admittedly, selfish. It' not just her.  I am sure I do all kinds of crap that drives her equally as nuts.
So when I called my mom the morning I took a positive pregnancy test and she told me I had probably taken the test wrong and that it was too soon to know, I wasn't shocked.  Four days later, after we had blabbed to our closest friends and family and were jumping up and down with glee, I was a little suprised when she called to ask if I was pregnant or not.  It turns out she just didn't believe I could have possibly known that I was pregnant. My expectations at this point were rather low for the mother daughter bonding that I had hoped for as my belly began to grow.
Then...something amazing happened. 
She started calling me and checking on me.  She started asking how I felt everyday.  She asked if she could tell her friends. She told me she had saved my bassinet and the rocker she used with me and she was pulling them out of the attic.  (She saved what??). She asked me about my nursery color scheme (truly insane).  She even made more than half of the Thanksgiving pies so I could sleep. I saw her friends and they all beamed at me with pride. Momma had been talkin.'
I had come to accept that my mom and I would never be loving and caring for each other in gentle way of a Hallmark movie.  I had given up on sweet grandmotherly scenes of her and my children.  I was wrong. 
I am almost afraid to believe it. Now I think my mom was just waiting all this time.  Now, I think she is here with me because I may finally start to understand just what it means to be a mom from start to finish.

Losing my Religion

So when this whole nausea situation started, I had to ask, "What is the biological purpose for this?" I mean, it really doesn't make sense that we would have evolved into a species which (at least in my case) cannot tolerate nutritional intake while we are bulding human beings inside of our wombs. If it was the case that only super nutritious, protein rich food could be tolerated, I would have invested in the idea that this is not a terrible evolutionary mistake a whole lot sooner.  Now, though, I think I am seeing the light.  Either that, or I am so hungry but unable to digest food that I can no longer think coherently.
In the day to day and up to the point that I became all pregnant, I generally thought of myself as a little bit (not a lot, just a little bit) of an ass-kicker. I like to move, work, get stuff done. I like to take charge and some people may have referred to me as "Type A, " "Red Zone," or "Crazy."  Once, I had a boss who only called me "Ballabusta."  I have taken pride in this.  The point is, I really don't have a slow button for my life that doesn't involve Benadryl. 
until. now.
Now, I cannot have a  normal adult conversation that is about anything but how it feels to be pregnant. I cannot talk about therapy techniques for ages without referring to my need to dry heave. I definitely cannot move my butt with authority.  I clock out at work for food/vomit breaks.
I have lost my definition of myself that was cultivated through years of emulating my workaholic father and overacheiving mother. 
It's so evdent to me now. The purpose of all this sickness isn't to change my diet, it's to change my mind. I am forced to focus on only the fact that I am pregnant no matter how it feels. And, biology be damned, my priorities are shifting whether I like it or not.

Yackety yack.

Don't talk back?  So recently, we went to the OB for our first sonogram.  Following the big to-do, we had some "quality time" getting to know our Dr's nurse practicioner. it started with her questions...then ours...

Me: so, is theere any extra paperwork or anything we need to fill out to make sure we can take our placenta home?
Nurse: What?  Why would you want to do that?
M: to have it encapsulated
N: what is that?
(okay, why all the questions, just tell me yes or no, right?)
M: well there is some anecdotal evidence that it may prevent post-partum depression.  I am a fan of that.
N: we'll just have to see what the doctor thinks.

now wait a minute here. Really.  We have to see what the doctor thinks?  Why?  Why don't we just tell me what extra legwork needs to be done. because it doesn't matter if you agree or not with this approach, this is what we want.
moving on...

N: how do you feel about induction
M: well, we would only do that if it was medically necessary
N: well, we induce EVERYONE.
M: We want our baby to be safe, but we would like to avaoid induction if we can. I really worry about the unnatural strength and cycles of the contractions with induction as well as other complications.
N: listen, a contraction is a contraction. induction won't make a difference. induction is best.

WHAT?!  When did this lady get the piece of paper that makes her my medical power of attorney?  Don't I get to have a say in what is best?

N: so how do you feel about an epidural?
M: I do not want an epidural. I want to feel to push.
N: *chuckling* we'll see about that. you can feel with an epidural.

Don't even get me started on our discussion about midwives in the maternity ward.

This whole situation made me feel super nervous and crazy. I mean, this nurse's approach is EXACTLY why I want to have a natural childbirth. I don't want to be under the influence and have some whack job deciding what they think is the right thing in the moment. I want to decide what is getting cut, drugged and stitched.

ABSOLUTELY, I want what is safest for the little babe. If that means I have to get all drugged, get cut open like a fish and am half asleep, then so be it. That being said, if this is a healthy low risk pregnancy, then why all the intervention?  My body was specifically designed for this purpose, why do we have to throw all the extras in? 

I think that there is a problem in this entire approach. I am an intelligent, well informed human being. I work in the medical field. Why is it that someone else feels it is at all appropriate to go any further than explaining options and offereing me choices?  I cannot imagine ever treating my patients in the way I was treated.  And worse, it seems to be the routine.

Dreaming my dreams with you

Ok, this is gonna be short because I am exhausted.  Sonogram 1: check! Heartbeat: Check! our new estimated zygote age is 6 weeks and 4 days. Our baby is due on Bastille Day! I have so much more to say, but they gave me some nausea meds which also make me go to sleep.  Which is what is about to happen after I choke down my sawdust shake. goodnight.

Yummy yummy yummy I got Love in my tummy

..and honestly, it doesn't make me feel that great. When I first learned I was pregnant, I was immediately all about the nutrition. Man, I was gonna be the champion of healthy pregnant eating.  I was chowing down 2 spinach salads a day, tomatoes, organic fruit, hardboiled eggs, milk, veggies.  I was awesome!  As I type the names of these food now, it's really hard not to barf all over the keyboard. seriously.  The day we rolled into week 7, something happened.  Food had already started to taste kinda...meh...but all of a sudden it was nasty.  I mean, how do people eat ANYTHING?  Even sprite and crackers are disgusting.  So now I am force feeding myself.  Honestly, as I sit here drinking my whey protein shake that is supposed to be "vanilla creme and strawberry"  and is a whole lot more like "cold sawdust" I think, well, maybe nutrition isn't that important.  Who needs a big ol brain anyhow? I am living...and my poor hungry blueberry sized baby is too...on rice, pudding, oatmeal and club soda. I was rocking the ramen noodles for a day, but sadly, their time has passed. Thank goodness for Matt, who stares at me with the, "what the hell can I even do to help," look and then goes to the grocery store to try and find me something I will eat...for the 4th time in a day.

She's Got the Way to Move Me

or why I will now wear a disguise to the grocery store.
So something happened today that I can only blame on being pregnant.  Normally, under these circumstances, I am certain I would have had more restraint.  but not today.  It's not that the setup wasn't there.  let's review the facts.
I have been known to have some , let's call them 'quirks,' about the appropriate preparation and consumption of certain foods. 
I may have a small obsession with pie in particular. 
This is a truly big time of year for me; I refer openly to November as "the Month of Pie."
Also, I may be experiencing the worst breast pain of life to date today. 
I was very hungry at the time. Hunger has been know to be a problem for me; my dear friend coined the phrase, "feed the bitch," or , "FTB," specifically because of some of my more alarming hungry moments.
Now let's set the stage.
It's a busy day at Tom Thumb. It's bustling with pre-Thanksgiving madness and full of endcaps dedicated to stuffing, sweet potatoes, cocoa...and pie.  I am on a mission with Little Man following close behind. All I really need is spinach, tomatoes and tart water packed cherries.  These cherries are the building blocks of my cherry pie.  There are no substitutes.  Alas, they are not to be found as I scan the baking and canned fruit aisles with what can only be described as perseveration.  I cannot accept the fact that there are no cherries to be found.  Finally, I realize they must be in the back.  Of course.  There's no need for alarm.  So I request assistance.  The gentleman offering his help looks at me like I am speaking a foreign language.
"Cherries?"
"Yes, like for a pie."
"Ooooh, you mean pie filling."

big mistake mister.

I felt my face turn bright red and my whole body flashed hot. I heard my hysterical voice...
"NO!  We do not use that crap! It's Thanksgiving! We have pies to make! How are there no cherries in this whole store??"
seriously.  out of control.

The man just stared at me. Little Man giggled.  Sheepishly, I looked up. in my very smallest voice, "I'm sorry,  I just need to make some pie."
Before security could be called, we checked out quickly and quietly.

You Could be Happy...

So, after much anxiety and ridiculousness and general heightened preggo emotionality...I accepted the job and decided to do a little extra work on the side.  A friend told me today, after I shared the news, that she just wants us to be able to enjoy this part now.  I like that.  I feel like now the decision is made. It's outta my hands.  Now I think we should just choose to be really happy that we are in this bind anyway.  We're gonna have a little baby and I am going to have my dream job and the hubs is going to have his soon too.  I guess I don't need to get all greedy about the pistachio nursery when we have all that going for us!  I mean, some people never have babies or even like their jobs.  So There. 
Bonus, my mom is actually super excited now about this baby stuff.  So she bought me a body pillow and a mattress topper for my old lady hips.  I don't like to capitalize on her concern, but it's nice to know she is in!

Living the Dream

Recently, I started working in a position which ended up being...my dream job.  Amazing, right? 
Also recently, I got knocked up. 
So this week, I learned that to remain in my dream position, I would have to take a significant pay cut which is more than what was originally presented to me.  Now let me tell you, this is a job where I walk in and can't help smiling. The people I work with are wonderful, I feel secure safe and supported. I feel like I am doing the work I was always meant to do. 
So here's the deal. My husband and I have been busting our little behinds to "break free." we are SO close to owning a house. You know, one with a nursery with pistachio green paint and a little rocker and crib.  One with a kitchen where I have space to make a pie unobstructed. We are also so close to buying me a new car.  One where the defrost works in the winter and rain. One with a door handle on the driver's side. One that doesn't make that very scary clackety-clackety sound when I start it.

so

What am I to do?

Do I sacrifice my happiness and feeling of security for these things that we have both worked so hard for in this critical pre-baby time?
or
Do I sacrifice all our hard work and committment to this vision so that I can be happy in my work?

Am I a bad mother before my baby is even born if I choose my own happiness at this time?
Am I a bad wife?

It's Business Time

About a month ago...well 24 days to be exact, the hubs and looked at each other and said, "what the hell?" That is why today, I went for my first obstetrical appointment as a knocked up lady.  Turns out that when you say, "what the hell," sometimes god says, "that'll show you to deviate from your carefully laid plan." God is funny like that.  I thought that when I had this little visit to my new baby birthin doctor that there would be this, like, silent amazing moment right after she said, "Yes, you gorgeous and fabulous female, you are about to bring forth the gift of life from your very intelligent loins." Shockingly, that did not happen. instead we barely brushed past the yes, your pregnacy test (s) were all correct and yes, your boobs are already ungainly and yes, you are gonna maybe have a little person on an unspecified date in July. (I have carefully calculated the exact moment of conception and that date is already etched like a rat in brain, but I wanted a medical professional to say it).
So here we are, we've been married a year, we are working our little tails off to make ends meet and we are gonna have a little baby.  even though that is supposed to be completely truly and terribly terrifying...I can't help but grin from ear to ear. 
Whether the doc said it or not, my gorgeous lady self is gonna bring for some life.  Though I really don't know if loins can even be intelligent. Stay tuned for sonogram updates right before you eat your turkey & pie.

Hello, World

I am finally diving in off the high dive.  It's bloggin' time.
As a lady who is continually searching for that one blissful moment when I can sit down, look at my life and say, "ok, good job," I manage to generally embarrass and humble myself on a daily basis. Sometimes, I even see a glimmer of perspective whilst careening from one extreme to the other. Mostly, though, I am just trying to be happy, no matter how gracelessly I happen to leap when something great happens.