I'm exactly thirty four weeks pregnant today, and it is becoming increasingly clear that this whole situation is going to end in a third member joining our family. John's movements resemble a dolphin swimming under the sea of my belly, and last night I very distinctly felt a hand (my husband says the baby's giving us "knucks"). My baby bump has gone from demure and rounded to an ever-shifting ellipse that frequently appears to have corners as John seeks out space to stretch.
I'm headed to the midwifery clinic today for another round of measuring and weighing, poking and prodding, and as I approach the front of the birthing center, I'll be very aware that at some point in the next 4-5 weeks (unless he decides to make us wait) when I drive up to that brick building, it will be in rather a different kind of hurry. I'm starting to think about packing my hospital bag, which includes the rather monumental task of picking out the baby's first outfit, as well as guessing what I'll fit into after he's vacated the premises.
As uncomfortable as I'm getting, I'm sure it's going to be a major adjustment to be un-pregnant again. Of course, there's the adjustment to being a mother and having a tiny person reliant on my rack for snacks and on my husband and I for his survival in this world, but I'm also sure I'll miss the science experiment of always having company in my belly and the constant sense that my body is doing something monumental and worthy of praise. I've struggled with body image throughout this pregnancy, but it's also one of the first times in a very long time that I've felt a constant sense of pride in my body rather than a low grade anxiety about if it's an ok one (body, that is). My body has been obviously and overtly busy making a life, which has felt like a hall pass when it comes to appearance, but pregnancy is finite and I'm guessing it will be a bit of a rocky transition for me to get reacquainted with myself as me alone.
I've also been aware of a shift in my attention away from externals (like checking facebook, keeping up with this blog, and traffic lights). It's as though my mind is going into hibernation in preparation for the big push that lies ahead. I walk around in a gentle fog, happily forgetting words, phone numbers, rules of the road and principles of therapeutic care. I think I'm also aware that those externals (well, probably not the rules of the road or how to be a therapist) are just not that important. Much of what I think I know about what it will be like to be the mother of an infant (much of which is probably wrong, but...) is that my world will be reduced and focused in on him like a homing beam. We will sleep, we will eat, we will try to keep up with bodily functions, his Daddy will make us laugh, and then we'll eat again. But you know what? Facebook and blogs can wait. Indefinitely, if need be.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Dude, that's my rib cage.
This baby is getting big! The first time I ever felt him move was at about 14 weeks, and it felt like a tiny school of fish were swimming around a few inches below and behind my belly button. The official gynecological term for those first movements is "quickening"; I love the poetry of that term because it's exactly what my heart would do every time I felt him stirring. I giggle when I look at the "baby bump" pictures we took at 12, 14 and 16 weeks because I felt sooooo pregnant, but from this vantage point, it's clear that the difference in my body was barely discernible.
During the second trimester, he progressed to distinct kicks and punches that I have to say were also totally delightful. I frequently sat staring at my belly for half an hour at a time, willing him to make his next move. There was something about those pokes and prodding that felt so reassuring and so magical. At a time when my belly was swelling, but not yet really "pregnant looking" (whatever that means) they convinced me that there really was someone (or something?) in there. It's one of the parts of pregnancy that I wish there was somehow a way to share with my husband. I kept wanting him to be able to feel our baby move, too, so that he could feel the same sweet reassurance and excitement. I know he felt those things when he first saw our son on the ultrasound, but it's just not the same.
However, now that I have landed solidly in my third trimester (exactly 32 weeks pregnant as of yesterday), the situation in my belly has gotten kind of out of control. It seems like my midsection swells just a bit more every day, but more than that, it is very clear that John is growing by leaps and bounds because what used to be gentle pokes and prods have turned into earthquakes and cartwheels.
Nothing he does hurts, per se, but it's often startling and bizarre enough that I gasp out loud. There's really no analogy that works to describe what this whole situation feels like. It feels exactly like a baby rolling around inside of me, but until you've felt that, it's wholly impossible to imagine. Naturally, like most first time moms, I'm completely fascinated by every single thing I feel. It's like a second life. I'm paying attention (mostly) to what's going on at work, or at home with Joe, but once the little guy gets going, my focus turns totally inward. The fancy psychological term for this is "primary maternal preoccupation," and it's certainly no myth!
Along with the seismic rolling, twisting and bucking, he's gotten himself appropriately turned and headed (head down) in the right direction, and sometimes it literally feels like he's trying to squirm his way out of the womb. Other times it feels like he's grabbing or stepping on a variety of my other internal organs, but I'll spare you the details on that one.
With each passing day, I'm more acutely aware that we are moving towards the actual birth itself, which is exciting, terrifying, overwhelming and awesome to contemplate. His nursery is on the way to completion, the diaper service is scheduled, my maternity leave paperwork is being processed, but really, how could we possibly prepare? I really want to meet this little dude, and even though I've been around plenty of babies and basically know how to keep one alive, there's so much mystery.
So, John, we're waiting for you out here. We love you so much already, and I forgive you for the ridiculously uncomfortable thing you keep doing to the right side of my rib cage with your foot.
During the second trimester, he progressed to distinct kicks and punches that I have to say were also totally delightful. I frequently sat staring at my belly for half an hour at a time, willing him to make his next move. There was something about those pokes and prodding that felt so reassuring and so magical. At a time when my belly was swelling, but not yet really "pregnant looking" (whatever that means) they convinced me that there really was someone (or something?) in there. It's one of the parts of pregnancy that I wish there was somehow a way to share with my husband. I kept wanting him to be able to feel our baby move, too, so that he could feel the same sweet reassurance and excitement. I know he felt those things when he first saw our son on the ultrasound, but it's just not the same.
However, now that I have landed solidly in my third trimester (exactly 32 weeks pregnant as of yesterday), the situation in my belly has gotten kind of out of control. It seems like my midsection swells just a bit more every day, but more than that, it is very clear that John is growing by leaps and bounds because what used to be gentle pokes and prods have turned into earthquakes and cartwheels.
Nothing he does hurts, per se, but it's often startling and bizarre enough that I gasp out loud. There's really no analogy that works to describe what this whole situation feels like. It feels exactly like a baby rolling around inside of me, but until you've felt that, it's wholly impossible to imagine. Naturally, like most first time moms, I'm completely fascinated by every single thing I feel. It's like a second life. I'm paying attention (mostly) to what's going on at work, or at home with Joe, but once the little guy gets going, my focus turns totally inward. The fancy psychological term for this is "primary maternal preoccupation," and it's certainly no myth!
Along with the seismic rolling, twisting and bucking, he's gotten himself appropriately turned and headed (head down) in the right direction, and sometimes it literally feels like he's trying to squirm his way out of the womb. Other times it feels like he's grabbing or stepping on a variety of my other internal organs, but I'll spare you the details on that one.
With each passing day, I'm more acutely aware that we are moving towards the actual birth itself, which is exciting, terrifying, overwhelming and awesome to contemplate. His nursery is on the way to completion, the diaper service is scheduled, my maternity leave paperwork is being processed, but really, how could we possibly prepare? I really want to meet this little dude, and even though I've been around plenty of babies and basically know how to keep one alive, there's so much mystery.
So, John, we're waiting for you out here. We love you so much already, and I forgive you for the ridiculously uncomfortable thing you keep doing to the right side of my rib cage with your foot.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Middle School State of Mind
So, today the coolest girl from my whole Middle School came into Pinch while I was working behind the counter. I know her name, but I immediately wanted to hide because that is what Middle School memories do to a person. I immediately went into trying-to-shrink-or-die mode, even though this girl (who is now, like me, an almost 30 year old woman) was never overtly cruel to me. It was more that I didn't exist, compared to her, at a time in life when I really, really wanted to exist, to be noticed and to be loved and to belong, which pretty much sums up what it feels like to be 13.
It's amazing how quickly a person's entire sense of self can deflate. I am actually wearing a pretty cute outfit today, especially considering that there is a seven and a half month old person hanging out inside of me with one foot shoved securely under my rib cage. However, the second she walked through the door, I started comparing myself to her and coming up short, just like the old days. Blonde-r? Check. Thinner? Check (duh, Katharine, you're pregnant, but Middle School knows no logic). More hip? Check... and so it went.
I was really hoping that she would not recognize or remember me, but of course she marched right up to the counter, gave me a warm smile, and said hello. So, I had to talk to her. I tried to remember that I am almost 30 and not in Middle School, and actually quite happy with my life as we chatted. But, she kept being so cool and hip and has lived in Brooklyn and was wearing these amazing sneakers that I could never pull off and my jeans have never, ever fit like that, ever because tapered-ankle-natural-waist-skinny-jeans look really stupid on me.
And then I realized something. She was comparing herself to me, too, and I do not think that she felt superior. Actually, it seemed quite the contrary. When I was describing having moved back to the Pioneer Valley with my husband because this is where we want to raise our son, she looked downright sad and wistful. She leaned conspiratorially over the counter and said in a hushed voice that her super-hip Brooklyn fiance couldn't hear "I really miss it here. You're so lucky. I'm hoping someday we'll get to move home and have a kid out here."
After she left, I was talking the interaction over with my lovely friend (and sometimes boss) Jena, and I realized/remembered these things:
In Middle School.
After she left, I was talking the interaction over with my lovely friend (and sometimes boss) Jena, and I realized/remembered these things:
- "Boyfriend" jeans with big cuffs (like the ones I was wearing today) look really cute on me, especially with flats (like the ones I was wearing today).
- I have chosen my current life and devoted myself to some wonderful relationships and a valuable and fulfilling career, and I made it that way on purpose.
- Everyone in Middle School is 13 and comparing herself to someone else and coming up short, but...
In Middle School.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Style Inspiration: Smile and Wave
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| Smile and Wave entryway |
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| Smile and Wave kitchen |
Yes! This is the look I'm going for. I love finding images that so perfectly capture the vintage-inspired look I've worked so hard to create/achieve in the various spaces I've lived in during my adult life (as in many, many apartments, 10 since I turned 18, to be precise). Rachel has a wonderful white backdrop to work with in the kitchen, and has kept things "happy" (as she says) without becoming cluttered. Also, her Thermos, Pyrex & Typewriter collections make me smile. Here's to one very stylish lady!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
It's happening.
I have often wondered, in a friendly, loving sort of way, what made my mom so totally nuts.
Let me be more specific. Generally speaking, my mom is no more crazy than the rest of us wandering around on this wacky planet. In fact, she's a lovely lady who has gone through a series of intense challenges in her life and has come out the other side with deeper faith and a better sense of humor. Granted, I'm biased, but you get the idea. This is not a complain about my mom or make fun of my mom post. This is an I'm-becoming-a-mom post.
Here's where this all starts. I was at work out in Worcester yesterday (and for those you not familiar with the commute to Worcester from the Pioneer Valley, let me just say how happy I am to be transferring to my agency's Northampton site on Thursday... but, I digress) and realized that I hadn't really packed a very satisfying dinner. Nutritionally speaking, it was ok, but I just had the feeling that it wasn't going to cut the mustard. And, when you're pregnant, tired and hungry, whatever you're about to eat needs to be appealing. Trail mix and a peach yogurt were not calling my name, so I went over to the cafe next door to find something else. That's when it happened.
Well, actually, two things happened. I'm not sure if anyone else has noticed, but food has gotten really expensive along with the rise in gas prices. A cup of coffee is pushing $2, it's hard to find a sandwich under $7, and a week's worth of groceries? Yeah. Yikes. Anyway, I was looking up at the menu and noticing just how pricey things have gotten in the eating department, and I started to think about all the other things I could do with the $8 I was about to pay for a chicken wrap with a small side of fruit salad. Now, that's not that unusual because I tend towards the thrifty side of things, but what was unusual was that everything I was thinking about was for my as of yet unborn son. Like, that $8 could go towards baby wipes, or that $8 could go in his piggy bank and send him to college. The only way I was able to rationalize buying the damn sandwich was to tell myself that it was for him. That we needed this sandwich.
This is where my mom comes in. For my entire life, although I didn't really realize it until I hit adulthood, she's been making sacrifices for me. Once I did realize it, I couldn't really figure it out, it being what made my mom so totally nuts. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all of her help and the way she supports me, but when a person can barely get over their happiness at being able to fold your laundry for you, you start to wonder... Until now.
Now, I get it. This little man is taking me over, and he's not even born yet. I guess pregnancy is a good metaphor, a good preparation for the way in which you will be totally willing to sacrifice it all, give anything that is needed, to secure your child's happiness to the best of your ability. Not that $8 is really that big of a deal, but it's not just that sandwich. John is starting to be a factor in every decision I make. Not, "would this be good for me?", but "would this be good for John?".
I've even started separating our returnables from the rest of our recycling, which I never did before because eighty cents just didn't seem like that big of a deal. But, in John's piggy bank, it seems like a very big deal. I actually almost yelled at my husband the other night for crushing a soda can beyond recognition because that was John's five cents he was destroying.
So, yeah. Totally nuts.
Let me be more specific. Generally speaking, my mom is no more crazy than the rest of us wandering around on this wacky planet. In fact, she's a lovely lady who has gone through a series of intense challenges in her life and has come out the other side with deeper faith and a better sense of humor. Granted, I'm biased, but you get the idea. This is not a complain about my mom or make fun of my mom post. This is an I'm-becoming-a-mom post.
Here's where this all starts. I was at work out in Worcester yesterday (and for those you not familiar with the commute to Worcester from the Pioneer Valley, let me just say how happy I am to be transferring to my agency's Northampton site on Thursday... but, I digress) and realized that I hadn't really packed a very satisfying dinner. Nutritionally speaking, it was ok, but I just had the feeling that it wasn't going to cut the mustard. And, when you're pregnant, tired and hungry, whatever you're about to eat needs to be appealing. Trail mix and a peach yogurt were not calling my name, so I went over to the cafe next door to find something else. That's when it happened.
Well, actually, two things happened. I'm not sure if anyone else has noticed, but food has gotten really expensive along with the rise in gas prices. A cup of coffee is pushing $2, it's hard to find a sandwich under $7, and a week's worth of groceries? Yeah. Yikes. Anyway, I was looking up at the menu and noticing just how pricey things have gotten in the eating department, and I started to think about all the other things I could do with the $8 I was about to pay for a chicken wrap with a small side of fruit salad. Now, that's not that unusual because I tend towards the thrifty side of things, but what was unusual was that everything I was thinking about was for my as of yet unborn son. Like, that $8 could go towards baby wipes, or that $8 could go in his piggy bank and send him to college. The only way I was able to rationalize buying the damn sandwich was to tell myself that it was for him. That we needed this sandwich.
This is where my mom comes in. For my entire life, although I didn't really realize it until I hit adulthood, she's been making sacrifices for me. Once I did realize it, I couldn't really figure it out, it being what made my mom so totally nuts. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all of her help and the way she supports me, but when a person can barely get over their happiness at being able to fold your laundry for you, you start to wonder... Until now.
Now, I get it. This little man is taking me over, and he's not even born yet. I guess pregnancy is a good metaphor, a good preparation for the way in which you will be totally willing to sacrifice it all, give anything that is needed, to secure your child's happiness to the best of your ability. Not that $8 is really that big of a deal, but it's not just that sandwich. John is starting to be a factor in every decision I make. Not, "would this be good for me?", but "would this be good for John?".
I've even started separating our returnables from the rest of our recycling, which I never did before because eighty cents just didn't seem like that big of a deal. But, in John's piggy bank, it seems like a very big deal. I actually almost yelled at my husband the other night for crushing a soda can beyond recognition because that was John's five cents he was destroying.
So, yeah. Totally nuts.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Things I learned from my (delightful) baby shower
We had a lovely baby shower yesterday, and I've been smiling to myself all day today reviewing the experience. Maybe I'm just feeling meaning-of-life oriented lately because I'm in the process of making a life, which tends to bring out one's inner philosopher, but I just keep realizing lessons lately. So, here's what I learned from my (delightful) baby shower:
1. Be Open and/or Let It Go:
As is often the case in my life, I had a whole vision about what our shower would be like right down to the smallest details, and how I would prepare for it. I've never actually been to a baby shower before, but I had lots of ideas from past parties and finding inspiration online, and I wanted everything to be just so. I had a total vision of myself cleaning and setting up with just the right music playing, getting ready and picking my outfit, and then being a hostess. Except that I sprained my left sacroiliac joint (with the help of 20 lbs of baby, uterus, various fluids and my mommy padding) a few days before the party. In spite of a fairly successful initial chiropractic adjustment and liberal icing, I was physically incapable of some pretty basic tasks like bending down to use a dust pan, let alone climbing up to hang the back drop for the "photo booth" our wonderful friends Eric and Ibby, of Rzescotti Photography brought to the party.
Now, me from a few years ago (ok, me from not so many months ago) probably would have just done it all anyway, but I'm starting to get that there's actually no prize for unreasonable self-sacrifice and stoicism, in spite of all that my puritanical New England upbringing might have me believe. So, I called my sister, who drove into town from college in Maine just to attend the shower, and asked her if she would come over and help me. This was huge. I don't ask for help, particularly not when I've got a vision or something I'm trying to accomplish that I believe requires my total creative control. But, guess what? She was fantastically helpful, from holding the dust pan to teetering on one of our kitchen chairs with a hammer and a mouthful of finishing nails to hang the photo booth back drop, and we ended up having a wonderful time together getting ready for the party that we wouldn't have otherwise had.
Some things didn't happen exactly as I had envisioned. For example, the rug in the hallway didn't get vacuumed, but it turned out that there were so many people happily squished into our apartment that you couldn't really see the floor anyway. We didn't clean the porch, but it was such a sunny day, and we don't have the screens up yet because it still freezes some nights, that it was too hot for people to sit out there at our fantastically cute cafe table (as per my vision). What did happen is that we had a lovely shower, and I got to spend some extra time with my wonderful sister, which is precious indeed because we're both so busy with our burgeoning adult lives.
2. College Students Are Really Thirsty
We had about four times as much soda, seltzer, juice, beer and wine as we actually needed. I think this happened because most of my more recent party beverage buying experience has been for small dinner parties with friends where it's obvious that a couple of bottles of wine will suffice. My only other point of reference for party beverage buying is parties in college, and no matter how much liquid enjoyment was provided, we always ran out and had to get more. I guess it's time to re-calibrate. And, since we've got a refrigerator full of soda, maybe I'll be able to try out this cake recipe I've been meaning to try.
1. Be Open and/or Let It Go:
As is often the case in my life, I had a whole vision about what our shower would be like right down to the smallest details, and how I would prepare for it. I've never actually been to a baby shower before, but I had lots of ideas from past parties and finding inspiration online, and I wanted everything to be just so. I had a total vision of myself cleaning and setting up with just the right music playing, getting ready and picking my outfit, and then being a hostess. Except that I sprained my left sacroiliac joint (with the help of 20 lbs of baby, uterus, various fluids and my mommy padding) a few days before the party. In spite of a fairly successful initial chiropractic adjustment and liberal icing, I was physically incapable of some pretty basic tasks like bending down to use a dust pan, let alone climbing up to hang the back drop for the "photo booth" our wonderful friends Eric and Ibby, of Rzescotti Photography brought to the party.
Now, me from a few years ago (ok, me from not so many months ago) probably would have just done it all anyway, but I'm starting to get that there's actually no prize for unreasonable self-sacrifice and stoicism, in spite of all that my puritanical New England upbringing might have me believe. So, I called my sister, who drove into town from college in Maine just to attend the shower, and asked her if she would come over and help me. This was huge. I don't ask for help, particularly not when I've got a vision or something I'm trying to accomplish that I believe requires my total creative control. But, guess what? She was fantastically helpful, from holding the dust pan to teetering on one of our kitchen chairs with a hammer and a mouthful of finishing nails to hang the photo booth back drop, and we ended up having a wonderful time together getting ready for the party that we wouldn't have otherwise had.
Some things didn't happen exactly as I had envisioned. For example, the rug in the hallway didn't get vacuumed, but it turned out that there were so many people happily squished into our apartment that you couldn't really see the floor anyway. We didn't clean the porch, but it was such a sunny day, and we don't have the screens up yet because it still freezes some nights, that it was too hot for people to sit out there at our fantastically cute cafe table (as per my vision). What did happen is that we had a lovely shower, and I got to spend some extra time with my wonderful sister, which is precious indeed because we're both so busy with our burgeoning adult lives.
2. College Students Are Really Thirsty
We had about four times as much soda, seltzer, juice, beer and wine as we actually needed. I think this happened because most of my more recent party beverage buying experience has been for small dinner parties with friends where it's obvious that a couple of bottles of wine will suffice. My only other point of reference for party beverage buying is parties in college, and no matter how much liquid enjoyment was provided, we always ran out and had to get more. I guess it's time to re-calibrate. And, since we've got a refrigerator full of soda, maybe I'll be able to try out this cake recipe I've been meaning to try.
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