Saturday, September 22, 2007
Meet Simon!
I know I haven't posted any birth stories yet, but while I figure out whether or not I want to go there, here are some long overdue pics of my Sy-guy and his frazzled (but happy!) parents.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Here goes nothing
I'm scheduled for induction tonight, assuming I'm not bumped for some reason. Matt and I are walking around with thousand-yard stares and useless demeanors, but wish us luck anyway!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Early riser
So here it is, 5:31 in the AM of the day in which is estimated to be the 280th of my pregnancy; as such, the date which I am "due" to give birth to my son. I do not, however, anticipate giving birth on this day, and probably not anytime in at least the next 48 hours ("although ya never know!" quotes the tiny, tiny voice of eternal optimism inside my head). Beyond that, it's anyone's guess.
This late-term pregnancy thing is more depressing than I thought it would be. I'm reminded of when I was about eleven or twelve years old, waiting for a different (but related) hormonal event to transform me into what I thought would be a new person, one that I was all too eager to become. By that time I was becoming extremely jaded from being a helpless little girl at the mercy of her immediate fucked-up surroundings...I wanted to be independent, in control of my own life, and (as lame and clichéd as it is), respected -- even loved -- by others.
With my primitive pre-teen sense of logic, I thought that reaching menarche and growing a pair of tits would help me to escape from a home life that I found to be oppressive, abusive and generally hideous. As it happened, this deduction was not entirely incorrect, even if it was overly simplistic and rather sad. Having not much in the way of other options, I eventually ended up taking the "ticket out" offered to me by way of relationships with men.
One after another, it was these relationships that described the arch of my adult life...only in the past few years has this pattern really changed. This isn't so much because of a lack of relationships with men, but of a change in the nature of the role these relationships played in my life. Which in turn is not to say that relationships are no longer important to me; especially in regard to my marriage, they are very much so. But I no longer feel entirely at the mercy of them; they're no longer my sole point of navigation, be-all-end-all, etc. Somehow during the past few years, something far truer to adult autonomy has emerged in my personality. I wouldn't say that it's the most stable of my character traits, but it's a major change from how I functioned in my teens and twenties.
But as I mentioned, in the here-and-now I'm finding myself on the verge of another biologically determined life-changing event. (Odd how the female life span seems to be gaged by biology...the "maiden, mother, crone" archetypes come to mind. Interesting how there doesn't seem to be such a triadic pattern with males, just one "boy --> man" transition. I guess we women must be more utilitarian, eh?). The calm before the labor and delivery storm is hard for me to deal with...the anticipation is driving me nuts, as is the inertia. But now that I'm some 25 years older, I'm not nearly so blinded by impatience or desire as I was as a young girl. I have a much better idea of what it is that I'm getting into, not to mention a hefty appreciation of what I'm leaving behind -- namely, the autonomy and independence that I wanted so badly. Having a child changes everything...for women, anyway. It reduces your options and makes you very dependent upon the goodwill of your husband / significant other / family...and in my past experience, having trust in these relationships is a tenuous proposition at best (and an invitation to hell at worst).
So I'm experiencing a pretty massive wad of mixed emotions here...on one hand I'm excited to meet my son and assume the role of "mother", but on the other hand I'm feeling very trepidatious about it the changes and sacrifices it will entail on a personal level. To make things even more arduous, there's my own unresolved angst over my nasty childhood family life. My relations with what little family I have remain unhealthy, even if they are far more distant, and I have no reason to believe that this will change -- no one seems interested in changing them, including (I'll admit it) myself. Too much water under the bridge, and at least on my part it would involve revisiting some history that I'd just as soon leave for dead.
One thing I do seem to have going for me is my relationship with my husband / father of my child. Matt and I have many problems, but we're also very close, and there's something to be said for that kind of intimacy. It doesn't make the issues go away, but it does make them easier to face with some semblance of perspective. Our life together isn't exactly bliss, but it's better than what either of us have known previously, and we're very dedicated to each other. That's nothing to take for granted.
There's more to this that I may add later. But for now I must pull myself from this reverie of depressive navel-gazing and go bake some pies with a friend and her two lovely daughters...life goes on. And to end on a bright, corny note -- may the life within my belly soon come out!
This late-term pregnancy thing is more depressing than I thought it would be. I'm reminded of when I was about eleven or twelve years old, waiting for a different (but related) hormonal event to transform me into what I thought would be a new person, one that I was all too eager to become. By that time I was becoming extremely jaded from being a helpless little girl at the mercy of her immediate fucked-up surroundings...I wanted to be independent, in control of my own life, and (as lame and clichéd as it is), respected -- even loved -- by others.
With my primitive pre-teen sense of logic, I thought that reaching menarche and growing a pair of tits would help me to escape from a home life that I found to be oppressive, abusive and generally hideous. As it happened, this deduction was not entirely incorrect, even if it was overly simplistic and rather sad. Having not much in the way of other options, I eventually ended up taking the "ticket out" offered to me by way of relationships with men.
One after another, it was these relationships that described the arch of my adult life...only in the past few years has this pattern really changed. This isn't so much because of a lack of relationships with men, but of a change in the nature of the role these relationships played in my life. Which in turn is not to say that relationships are no longer important to me; especially in regard to my marriage, they are very much so. But I no longer feel entirely at the mercy of them; they're no longer my sole point of navigation, be-all-end-all, etc. Somehow during the past few years, something far truer to adult autonomy has emerged in my personality. I wouldn't say that it's the most stable of my character traits, but it's a major change from how I functioned in my teens and twenties.
But as I mentioned, in the here-and-now I'm finding myself on the verge of another biologically determined life-changing event. (Odd how the female life span seems to be gaged by biology...the "maiden, mother, crone" archetypes come to mind. Interesting how there doesn't seem to be such a triadic pattern with males, just one "boy --> man" transition. I guess we women must be more utilitarian, eh?). The calm before the labor and delivery storm is hard for me to deal with...the anticipation is driving me nuts, as is the inertia. But now that I'm some 25 years older, I'm not nearly so blinded by impatience or desire as I was as a young girl. I have a much better idea of what it is that I'm getting into, not to mention a hefty appreciation of what I'm leaving behind -- namely, the autonomy and independence that I wanted so badly. Having a child changes everything...for women, anyway. It reduces your options and makes you very dependent upon the goodwill of your husband / significant other / family...and in my past experience, having trust in these relationships is a tenuous proposition at best (and an invitation to hell at worst).
So I'm experiencing a pretty massive wad of mixed emotions here...on one hand I'm excited to meet my son and assume the role of "mother", but on the other hand I'm feeling very trepidatious about it the changes and sacrifices it will entail on a personal level. To make things even more arduous, there's my own unresolved angst over my nasty childhood family life. My relations with what little family I have remain unhealthy, even if they are far more distant, and I have no reason to believe that this will change -- no one seems interested in changing them, including (I'll admit it) myself. Too much water under the bridge, and at least on my part it would involve revisiting some history that I'd just as soon leave for dead.
One thing I do seem to have going for me is my relationship with my husband / father of my child. Matt and I have many problems, but we're also very close, and there's something to be said for that kind of intimacy. It doesn't make the issues go away, but it does make them easier to face with some semblance of perspective. Our life together isn't exactly bliss, but it's better than what either of us have known previously, and we're very dedicated to each other. That's nothing to take for granted.
There's more to this that I may add later. But for now I must pull myself from this reverie of depressive navel-gazing and go bake some pies with a friend and her two lovely daughters...life goes on. And to end on a bright, corny note -- may the life within my belly soon come out!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
The Missionary Men
(Note: this entry is reposted from my myspace blog, in an effort to generate some interest in THIS poor attention-starved blog. Shameless, I know.)
Last night Matt and I had an unexpected (and unwelcome) interruption of our evening -- two high-ranking officials from the local ward of the Jesus Christ Church of Latter-Day Saints knocked on our door, wanting to speak with Matt. By name.
My spouse handled the situation with a commendable level of tact and composure but was very direct with them -- he was NOT interested in having them come into our house that evening, and was NOT interested in their coming back at another time. In fact, he told them (politely but firmly) not to return -- ever. Please and thank you.
This is not the first time that Matt's had to deal with visiting missionaries...the Mormon church maintains a notoriously thorough record of anyone who has ever been a member of their congregation (even if only as a child, apparently). A couple of times a year we get the odd phone call and / or visit from a pair of pimply but earnest-as-hell teenaged boys by way of Matt's name and address popping up on some list or another. These intrusions are irritating, but usually we just chalk it up to being par-of-the-apostate-LDS-course (either in actuality or by proxy) and then forget about it.
However, last night's visit got both of our backs pretty far up. First off, we've only been living at our current address for two months. Although our home telephone number hasn't changed in several years, the fact that the local chapter of the church knew Matt's new address so soon leads me to conclude that they didn't dig his information up via postal records / whatever, but were INFORMED of our new address by "someone on the inside", i.e., a church member. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that this "someone" is almost certainly a person in Matt's family, and very probably one or both of his parents.
This is further compounded by the fact that the individuals who visited us last night were NOT the usual and aforementioned 19 year old boys, but a 50-60 year old ward Bishop and his 1st Counselor -- essentially, two of the bigger guns in local-level Mormon missionary work. This makes me suspect that these officials went out of their way to make a personal visit to us by way of a personal appeal from whoever tipped them off to our address (again, probably Matt's parents). Both Matt and myself cannot help but be discomfited by such a breach of our privacy, not to mention rather flagrant disregard for our clear choice not to be involved with ANY church (Mormon or otherwise).
Most of my friends already know that Matt was brought up in a devout LDS family, but discontinued his own involvement with the church by about 14 years of age. Given that Matt is the eldest of seven kids (nearly all of which are boys), and that his entire immediate family (as well as some of his extended family) remains staunch practicing and tithe-paying Mormons, one can imagine how difficult his teenage and young adult years were.
It is both remarkable and praiseworthy that Matt and his family have been able to remain close despite this "schism" (for the lack of a better word), but understandably the subject remains an extremely tense one for Matt. For myself I can only say that the overt religiosity of his family made me pretty damn uncomfortable at first, but I've since become desensitized to it. In general, Matt's fam are a very kind and welcoming bunch of folks -- I like them, and in many ways they've been far more accepting and warm to me than my own family. I'm not nuts about the ever-present Mormon agenda, but I take it with a grain of salt -- there's no law that says everyone in the world has to think exactly like I do, and I accept their choice to bow before whatever imaginary friends they wish (snark snark).
That being said, by offering such tolerance I think that it's only fair to expect the gesture to be returned in kind. I fail to see how surreptitiously providing our contact information to church officials (combined with personal requests to visit with us?!) demonstrates anything resembling "respect", "acceptance", or even mere "tolerance". To be blunt, it seems underhanded, presumptuous and disrespectful (not to mention a smidge cowardly).
Neither my husband or myself wants to create a big shit storm out of this, but we feel that we may be forced into a situation where we have to "get up, stand up!" so to speak. Ignoring this elephant in the room for much longer will only cause more potential for tension and hurt feelings, and no one needs that.
Naturally, the fact that we have a child on the immediate horizon only makes this seem even more imperative. Forgive me for jumping to any conclusions, but finding out that my child was subjected to some sort of indoctrination in my absence / against my will is something that could push me well beyond my normal levels of tolerance and acceptance (not to mention tact!). Simply put: DO NOT GO THERE!
I'll state for the record that I have no proof that Matt's parents / family members had anything to do with this recent church visit (even if common sense and simple deduction leans strongly toward it). Therefore, I'll temper this blog-screed and extend the benefit of the doubt with the following logical statement: "IF Matt's family informed the church of our address change AND requested that they come and speak with us, THEN I accuse them of violating our privacy and disrespecting our wishes to not be involved with the church".
And THEN, boys and girls...we got a problem!
Last night Matt and I had an unexpected (and unwelcome) interruption of our evening -- two high-ranking officials from the local ward of the Jesus Christ Church of Latter-Day Saints knocked on our door, wanting to speak with Matt. By name.
My spouse handled the situation with a commendable level of tact and composure but was very direct with them -- he was NOT interested in having them come into our house that evening, and was NOT interested in their coming back at another time. In fact, he told them (politely but firmly) not to return -- ever. Please and thank you.
This is not the first time that Matt's had to deal with visiting missionaries...the Mormon church maintains a notoriously thorough record of anyone who has ever been a member of their congregation (even if only as a child, apparently). A couple of times a year we get the odd phone call and / or visit from a pair of pimply but earnest-as-hell teenaged boys by way of Matt's name and address popping up on some list or another. These intrusions are irritating, but usually we just chalk it up to being par-of-the-apostate-LDS-course (either in actuality or by proxy) and then forget about it.
However, last night's visit got both of our backs pretty far up. First off, we've only been living at our current address for two months. Although our home telephone number hasn't changed in several years, the fact that the local chapter of the church knew Matt's new address so soon leads me to conclude that they didn't dig his information up via postal records / whatever, but were INFORMED of our new address by "someone on the inside", i.e., a church member. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that this "someone" is almost certainly a person in Matt's family, and very probably one or both of his parents.
This is further compounded by the fact that the individuals who visited us last night were NOT the usual and aforementioned 19 year old boys, but a 50-60 year old ward Bishop and his 1st Counselor -- essentially, two of the bigger guns in local-level Mormon missionary work. This makes me suspect that these officials went out of their way to make a personal visit to us by way of a personal appeal from whoever tipped them off to our address (again, probably Matt's parents). Both Matt and myself cannot help but be discomfited by such a breach of our privacy, not to mention rather flagrant disregard for our clear choice not to be involved with ANY church (Mormon or otherwise).
Most of my friends already know that Matt was brought up in a devout LDS family, but discontinued his own involvement with the church by about 14 years of age. Given that Matt is the eldest of seven kids (nearly all of which are boys), and that his entire immediate family (as well as some of his extended family) remains staunch practicing and tithe-paying Mormons, one can imagine how difficult his teenage and young adult years were.
It is both remarkable and praiseworthy that Matt and his family have been able to remain close despite this "schism" (for the lack of a better word), but understandably the subject remains an extremely tense one for Matt. For myself I can only say that the overt religiosity of his family made me pretty damn uncomfortable at first, but I've since become desensitized to it. In general, Matt's fam are a very kind and welcoming bunch of folks -- I like them, and in many ways they've been far more accepting and warm to me than my own family. I'm not nuts about the ever-present Mormon agenda, but I take it with a grain of salt -- there's no law that says everyone in the world has to think exactly like I do, and I accept their choice to bow before whatever imaginary friends they wish (snark snark).
That being said, by offering such tolerance I think that it's only fair to expect the gesture to be returned in kind. I fail to see how surreptitiously providing our contact information to church officials (combined with personal requests to visit with us?!) demonstrates anything resembling "respect", "acceptance", or even mere "tolerance". To be blunt, it seems underhanded, presumptuous and disrespectful (not to mention a smidge cowardly).
Neither my husband or myself wants to create a big shit storm out of this, but we feel that we may be forced into a situation where we have to "get up, stand up!" so to speak. Ignoring this elephant in the room for much longer will only cause more potential for tension and hurt feelings, and no one needs that.
Naturally, the fact that we have a child on the immediate horizon only makes this seem even more imperative. Forgive me for jumping to any conclusions, but finding out that my child was subjected to some sort of indoctrination in my absence / against my will is something that could push me well beyond my normal levels of tolerance and acceptance (not to mention tact!). Simply put: DO NOT GO THERE!
I'll state for the record that I have no proof that Matt's parents / family members had anything to do with this recent church visit (even if common sense and simple deduction leans strongly toward it). Therefore, I'll temper this blog-screed and extend the benefit of the doubt with the following logical statement: "IF Matt's family informed the church of our address change AND requested that they come and speak with us, THEN I accuse them of violating our privacy and disrespecting our wishes to not be involved with the church".
And THEN, boys and girls...we got a problem!
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Should this blog die?
I haven't had so much as one comment on this blog since March. I am beginning to think that I should delete it. Talk me out of it, I dare you.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Friday, July 06, 2007
32 week ultrasound images, as promised
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Moving, nesting, anxiety and reassurance
The latest of what seems like a zillion apartment moves over the past few years has come and gone...Matt and I have been established in our new pad for nearly a month now. Of course not everything has been put away, but we're diligently fighting our usual pattern of get-things-functional-then-slack-off, leaving boxes of crap unpacked, pictures un-hung, and generally ensuring that our domicile looks like the home of a couple of wayward drunken college students.
We've had to throw out / sell some old crap, but that's way past due anyway, given that my husband is a pack-rat and I'm swinishly lazy. In any case, getting rid of some of the clutter has actually been somewhat liberating, although I suppose it's only a temporary lull before the tide of baby gear begins to fill (nay, overflow!) the void.
I guess this recent futzing about is my manifestation of the "nesting" instinct -- and why not, given that there's roughly two months before arrival of Screaming Infant. In my case, "nesting" isn't so much a matter of cleaning as it is "sort, organize, arrange, and streamline"...perhaps the cleaning will come in later, but for now the relative lack of uncluttered surfaces to clean is forcing me to be generalized in my approach. (This is just as well...I'd hate to see myself morph into some kind of OCD maniac, although given my slacker personality this seems nearly impossible.)
I'm not claiming that I've become a marvel of productivity, mind you -- only somewhat more productive than usual. Hell, on most nights Matt and I are both pretty wiped out by the time we get home from work, and the notion of home-making of any sort doesn't really appeal to either one of us (even under the best of circumstances). Nonetheless, we're getting things done...kudos are especially due for Matt, who has to take on the lion's share of the heavy work but has been extremely patient and good natured about doing so. (To my spouse: baby, yer da bee's knees. :-*)
I'm anxious about the pending childbirth ordeal, but far more so about the responsibilities of motherhood that will follow hot on the coattails of the labor and delivery experience. It's occurred to me that I'm feeling isolated...not in the sense that I'm living in outer Mongolia, of course. Essentially, I'm beginning to recognize the lack of female presence / friends in my life, and wondering how this may effect my attempt to take on the role of "mother".
Not that this dearth of female companionship is any sudden or even recent development -- I've always been sorta-kind of a loner; my close friends are few, and I usually prefer to spend my time by myself or with my significant other. Also, I seem to get along better with men...my attempts to form close friendships with females have historically ended badly, beginning in childhood and continuing more or less along the same path to the present. (Come to think of it, many of my friendships with men haven't exactly been stellar either, but that's another story.)
Anyway, until I got pregnant this lack-of-female-energy dynamic wasn't anything I thought about much. But now it seems like it may be time to make an effort to find some female friends -- and yes, including those who have children of their own. I guess that must sound pretty lame, but it seems to be the right thing to do, along with donning a cheerfully patterned house dress, bobbing my hair in a matronly fashion and accessorizing with June Cleaver pearls. Next thing you know, I'll be taking up knitting. *rolling eyes*
Maybe it's not so odd how the notion of joining the ranks of the child-ed makes me so uneasy. I can take my tongue-in-cheek pot-shots at cornball "mommy" stereotypes all I want, but I think the underlying issue is that I'm feeling insecure about my own abilities to negotiate this incredible change looming before me. The "mommy" lifestyle (and all the un-hipness it may entail) is about to become my lifestyle, and damned soon at that.
I guess that I could be bracing myself for a hefty dose of return Karma for my years of ruthless bashing of all things family-oriented during my early to mid twenties. I mean, the laws of poetic justice surely demand that such atrocious behavior in an overindulged, arrogant young woman is CERTAIN to result in her having a demonseed child which destroys her body and soul, don't they? I'm sure that there are some women out there who may have wished something like this happening to me when they heard me spouting off my booze-fueled ignorance back in 1994. When I think about this, oh how I cringe...laugh away, ye smug middle-aged family gals!
Alright, alright...shout it from the fucking rooftops; I was a an idiot when I was younger and I was very wrong about many things in which I was convinced that I was right. But there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then, and I've learned a lot about myself, and such is life. My transition from "snarky, cynical, self indulgent and sacred-cow-torching smart ass" to, well, "whatever-the-hell-I-am-now" has been interesting for me, and perhaps pretty amusing to anyone who's known me for a while. I expect to be teased ruthlessly during the approaching transition into motherhood by some of these folks, but what the hell...humility builds character, or is that adversity...?
It makes no odds; I suspect that there will be plenty of adversity and humility on my plate soon enough. And (these days at least) I try not to take myself too seriously anyway...putting myself on any sort of pedestal seems like a pretty efficient way to ensure that I'll be knocked right off of it, ass over tit -- and usually by my own hubris and stupidity. Now, can I have some hot sauce with this big slice o' humble pie, pretty please?
In the meantime, I keep moving forward in my efforts to muster the energy to provide an acceptable level of sane, responsible and loving parenthood -- an intimidating proposition, but hardly a unique one. Emotionally, I think that the whole motherhood picture is still fairly abstract for me, but it's not as though the calendar will pause for the sake of my confusion, wariness, insecurity or general lack of having my shit together. Appropriately enough, I can feel Sy kicking around inside of me as I type this, and it's giving me an odd mix of reassurance and anxiety...I really, really hope I can do right by this little guy.
Okay, I'm off to the perinatologist's this afternoon...I should have some new ultrasound images posted soon. Happy fourth!
We've had to throw out / sell some old crap, but that's way past due anyway, given that my husband is a pack-rat and I'm swinishly lazy. In any case, getting rid of some of the clutter has actually been somewhat liberating, although I suppose it's only a temporary lull before the tide of baby gear begins to fill (nay, overflow!) the void.
I guess this recent futzing about is my manifestation of the "nesting" instinct -- and why not, given that there's roughly two months before arrival of Screaming Infant. In my case, "nesting" isn't so much a matter of cleaning as it is "sort, organize, arrange, and streamline"...perhaps the cleaning will come in later, but for now the relative lack of uncluttered surfaces to clean is forcing me to be generalized in my approach. (This is just as well...I'd hate to see myself morph into some kind of OCD maniac, although given my slacker personality this seems nearly impossible.)
I'm not claiming that I've become a marvel of productivity, mind you -- only somewhat more productive than usual. Hell, on most nights Matt and I are both pretty wiped out by the time we get home from work, and the notion of home-making of any sort doesn't really appeal to either one of us (even under the best of circumstances). Nonetheless, we're getting things done...kudos are especially due for Matt, who has to take on the lion's share of the heavy work but has been extremely patient and good natured about doing so. (To my spouse: baby, yer da bee's knees. :-*)
I'm anxious about the pending childbirth ordeal, but far more so about the responsibilities of motherhood that will follow hot on the coattails of the labor and delivery experience. It's occurred to me that I'm feeling isolated...not in the sense that I'm living in outer Mongolia, of course. Essentially, I'm beginning to recognize the lack of female presence / friends in my life, and wondering how this may effect my attempt to take on the role of "mother".
Not that this dearth of female companionship is any sudden or even recent development -- I've always been sorta-kind of a loner; my close friends are few, and I usually prefer to spend my time by myself or with my significant other. Also, I seem to get along better with men...my attempts to form close friendships with females have historically ended badly, beginning in childhood and continuing more or less along the same path to the present. (Come to think of it, many of my friendships with men haven't exactly been stellar either, but that's another story.)
Anyway, until I got pregnant this lack-of-female-energy dynamic wasn't anything I thought about much. But now it seems like it may be time to make an effort to find some female friends -- and yes, including those who have children of their own. I guess that must sound pretty lame, but it seems to be the right thing to do, along with donning a cheerfully patterned house dress, bobbing my hair in a matronly fashion and accessorizing with June Cleaver pearls. Next thing you know, I'll be taking up knitting. *rolling eyes*
Maybe it's not so odd how the notion of joining the ranks of the child-ed makes me so uneasy. I can take my tongue-in-cheek pot-shots at cornball "mommy" stereotypes all I want, but I think the underlying issue is that I'm feeling insecure about my own abilities to negotiate this incredible change looming before me. The "mommy" lifestyle (and all the un-hipness it may entail) is about to become my lifestyle, and damned soon at that.
I guess that I could be bracing myself for a hefty dose of return Karma for my years of ruthless bashing of all things family-oriented during my early to mid twenties. I mean, the laws of poetic justice surely demand that such atrocious behavior in an overindulged, arrogant young woman is CERTAIN to result in her having a demonseed child which destroys her body and soul, don't they? I'm sure that there are some women out there who may have wished something like this happening to me when they heard me spouting off my booze-fueled ignorance back in 1994. When I think about this, oh how I cringe...laugh away, ye smug middle-aged family gals!
Alright, alright...shout it from the fucking rooftops; I was a an idiot when I was younger and I was very wrong about many things in which I was convinced that I was right. But there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then, and I've learned a lot about myself, and such is life. My transition from "snarky, cynical, self indulgent and sacred-cow-torching smart ass" to, well, "whatever-the-hell-I-am-now" has been interesting for me, and perhaps pretty amusing to anyone who's known me for a while. I expect to be teased ruthlessly during the approaching transition into motherhood by some of these folks, but what the hell...humility builds character, or is that adversity...?
It makes no odds; I suspect that there will be plenty of adversity and humility on my plate soon enough. And (these days at least) I try not to take myself too seriously anyway...putting myself on any sort of pedestal seems like a pretty efficient way to ensure that I'll be knocked right off of it, ass over tit -- and usually by my own hubris and stupidity. Now, can I have some hot sauce with this big slice o' humble pie, pretty please?
In the meantime, I keep moving forward in my efforts to muster the energy to provide an acceptable level of sane, responsible and loving parenthood -- an intimidating proposition, but hardly a unique one. Emotionally, I think that the whole motherhood picture is still fairly abstract for me, but it's not as though the calendar will pause for the sake of my confusion, wariness, insecurity or general lack of having my shit together. Appropriately enough, I can feel Sy kicking around inside of me as I type this, and it's giving me an odd mix of reassurance and anxiety...I really, really hope I can do right by this little guy.
Okay, I'm off to the perinatologist's this afternoon...I should have some new ultrasound images posted soon. Happy fourth!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
More photos of the burgeoning belly
These were taken during a brief excursion into the mountains this past Sunday (26 weeks, 3 days -- you're damn right I'm still counting!).
Here's my impression of a hippy chick giving whole-wheat dolphin-safe birth to a mystic granola baby. Behold, the miracle of life...
And because I didn't want to hog the spotlight, here's my handsome spouse modeling his own "sympathy belly" (yeah, right):
Here's my impression of a hippy chick giving whole-wheat dolphin-safe birth to a mystic granola baby. Behold, the miracle of life...
And because I didn't want to hog the spotlight, here's my handsome spouse modeling his own "sympathy belly" (yeah, right):
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
Mo' betta belly
At long last, here are the promised recent belly pics. They didn't come out that great (camera issues), and so I had to play with them in Photoshop a bit to get something workable. Nonetheless, I guarantee that my belly is unretouched.
Here's a shot from a couple of weeks ago (19 weeks):
Here are two shots taken yesterday (21 weeks) by Ben, my co-worker:
Here's a shot from a couple of weeks ago (19 weeks):
Here are two shots taken yesterday (21 weeks) by Ben, my co-worker:
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Preggo report, April '07
So, here I am…slightly more than halfway into my pregnancy; tomorrow marks week 21. For an in-depth (*ahem*) look at what’s happening inside of my uterine cavity (and every other pregnant womans' cavity at this stage), go here (or see the floating blob-in-the-orb widget at the top of this page).
I suppose it may seem odd that I’ve blogged so little about being up the pole…I guess I figured that the subject wouldn’t be all that interesting to my teeming masses of devoted readers. Heh. Perhaps more accurately, it’s not as though there’s any shortage of “mommy blogs” out there in the ether (I ought to know -- I’ve been skimming quite a few of them lately) -- but then there’s only one ME blog. Ok -- actually I have three of them, but who’s counting? It’s my party, and I’ll bore you to tears if I wanna. And in triplicate.
Pregnancy continues to be easier than I imagined it would be (so far). The legion complications, discomforts, humiliations and uncertainties I was expecting have amounted to minor inconveniences, and in some cases there have even been (snicker) “perks”, such as my fitting into a C-cup bra for the first time in my life, woo!
The back catalog of momma-to-be publications which I have perused are full of advice for “today’s active woman” – tips on modifying her exercise schedule, working “pregnancy breaks” into her daily activities, emphasizing the need to get enough rest and relaxation and not try to do too much, etc. But being the slacker that I am, “slowing down and backing off” is essentially my M.O., so I guess I’m hunky-dory on that point at least.
Mind you, this isn’t to say that I’ve been completely idle; I have, in my half-assed way, been trying to streamline my life in preparation for this grand event, but I think of it more in terms of “cleaning house” than “training for a marathon”.
**On that note: I am sick to death of the prevalence of competitive “Type-A” management-speak terminology found in most baby-related websites – does everything in life have to be turned into a (pun intended) motherfucking competition?! Enough already!
Anyway, lately I’ve been trying to put together a baby registry gift list, and for someone like myself (relatively ignorant of such pregnancy traditions until now), it’s an educational but daunting process. While I may have been aware of the vast infant and child marketing demographic before, it was usually within the context of my scorn and outrage against rampant consumerism (“JESUS CHRIST, how in the hell can people need all of that silly plastic crap??”).
Now that I am “in the foxholes” (so to speak) I proudly remain an atheist, but my outrage has been tempered a by a desire to “do this right” (whatever that means). For the time being, this desire seems to be manifesting in what kind of supplies I choose for my baby, but I’ll give myself credit for at least trying to do some research before I grab. Consumer Reports has been very helpful with some of the big-ticket items, and the advice of other mothers I know has been of great assistance (and sometimes confusion) as well.
That being said, I’ll add that I stay away from the pregnant lady forums for such information – a flood of enthusiastic but highly biased opinions usually leaves me feeling more perplexed than reassured, go figure. Furthermore, some of these women can be damned nasty…the view of the American cross-section via the internet is usually enlightening (and amusing), but when said cross-section is comprised entirely of hormonally-propelled women, well, let’s just say that the ground of rationality and logic can slope away pretty quickly. I’ve got enough of a hard time keeping my own emotional feet on the ground these days without a horde of spastic brood hens shrieking at my godless self via ASCII, thanks very much.
And how am I handling this physically, you may wonder? Well, just fine (according to my OB), although I’m far heavier than I’ve ever been before. Given that I was hardly a dainty petite flower even before I got knocked up, I seem to be handling the extra sixteen lbs or so that I’ve gained so far without too much difficulty, but some days are easier than others. Today I feel normal and springy, but yesterday every movement was like swimming through blackstrap molasses; I felt like a ton of poorly stacked bricks. Given that I’m likely to gain another 15 to 20 lbs (at least), it should be interesting to see how I cope…my back gets sore now just from sitting on my couch, and it’s getting harder for me to rise from a seated or laying down position without making terrific groaning and grunting noises (a source of much amusement to Matt, but I won’t deny him his laughs because he changes the cat boxes). Momentum seems to help me “launch”, but the time may come when the sudden motion combined with the gravitational pull of my huge belly could become downright dangerous. Yet another reason for me to stay the hell out of those tempting Franklin Mint outlet stores, eh?
On the lighter side (*rimshot*), I’ve discovered that pregnancy makes me horny -- very horny. Whether Matt is delighted or intimidated by this development varies from day to day (poor guy), but I’m trying to enjoy it while I can. Something tells me that in a couple of months the idea of having sex will seem about as appealing as riding a mechanical bull while naked, and after consuming several pounds of mashed potatoes (also while naked…?). Hell of an image, I know, but here’s hoping my libido sticks around for a while. I’m having more fun surfing internet porn these days than most fourteen year-old boys, and I don’t even have to steal my mother’s credit card to do it!
I’ve been promising new belly pics for some time now, and I plan to have Matt take some more of them tonight. Stay tuned for greater (MUCH greater) things to come.
By the way, in case any of the three people who read this blog don’t already know, Matt and I are expecting a son – for recent ultrasound images, go here.
I suppose it may seem odd that I’ve blogged so little about being up the pole…I guess I figured that the subject wouldn’t be all that interesting to my teeming masses of devoted readers. Heh. Perhaps more accurately, it’s not as though there’s any shortage of “mommy blogs” out there in the ether (I ought to know -- I’ve been skimming quite a few of them lately) -- but then there’s only one ME blog. Ok -- actually I have three of them, but who’s counting? It’s my party, and I’ll bore you to tears if I wanna. And in triplicate.
Pregnancy continues to be easier than I imagined it would be (so far). The legion complications, discomforts, humiliations and uncertainties I was expecting have amounted to minor inconveniences, and in some cases there have even been (snicker) “perks”, such as my fitting into a C-cup bra for the first time in my life, woo!
The back catalog of momma-to-be publications which I have perused are full of advice for “today’s active woman” – tips on modifying her exercise schedule, working “pregnancy breaks” into her daily activities, emphasizing the need to get enough rest and relaxation and not try to do too much, etc. But being the slacker that I am, “slowing down and backing off” is essentially my M.O., so I guess I’m hunky-dory on that point at least.
Mind you, this isn’t to say that I’ve been completely idle; I have, in my half-assed way, been trying to streamline my life in preparation for this grand event, but I think of it more in terms of “cleaning house” than “training for a marathon”.
**On that note: I am sick to death of the prevalence of competitive “Type-A” management-speak terminology found in most baby-related websites – does everything in life have to be turned into a (pun intended) motherfucking competition?! Enough already!
Anyway, lately I’ve been trying to put together a baby registry gift list, and for someone like myself (relatively ignorant of such pregnancy traditions until now), it’s an educational but daunting process. While I may have been aware of the vast infant and child marketing demographic before, it was usually within the context of my scorn and outrage against rampant consumerism (“JESUS CHRIST, how in the hell can people need all of that silly plastic crap??”).
Now that I am “in the foxholes” (so to speak) I proudly remain an atheist, but my outrage has been tempered a by a desire to “do this right” (whatever that means). For the time being, this desire seems to be manifesting in what kind of supplies I choose for my baby, but I’ll give myself credit for at least trying to do some research before I grab. Consumer Reports has been very helpful with some of the big-ticket items, and the advice of other mothers I know has been of great assistance (and sometimes confusion) as well.
That being said, I’ll add that I stay away from the pregnant lady forums for such information – a flood of enthusiastic but highly biased opinions usually leaves me feeling more perplexed than reassured, go figure. Furthermore, some of these women can be damned nasty…the view of the American cross-section via the internet is usually enlightening (and amusing), but when said cross-section is comprised entirely of hormonally-propelled women, well, let’s just say that the ground of rationality and logic can slope away pretty quickly. I’ve got enough of a hard time keeping my own emotional feet on the ground these days without a horde of spastic brood hens shrieking at my godless self via ASCII, thanks very much.
And how am I handling this physically, you may wonder? Well, just fine (according to my OB), although I’m far heavier than I’ve ever been before. Given that I was hardly a dainty petite flower even before I got knocked up, I seem to be handling the extra sixteen lbs or so that I’ve gained so far without too much difficulty, but some days are easier than others. Today I feel normal and springy, but yesterday every movement was like swimming through blackstrap molasses; I felt like a ton of poorly stacked bricks. Given that I’m likely to gain another 15 to 20 lbs (at least), it should be interesting to see how I cope…my back gets sore now just from sitting on my couch, and it’s getting harder for me to rise from a seated or laying down position without making terrific groaning and grunting noises (a source of much amusement to Matt, but I won’t deny him his laughs because he changes the cat boxes). Momentum seems to help me “launch”, but the time may come when the sudden motion combined with the gravitational pull of my huge belly could become downright dangerous. Yet another reason for me to stay the hell out of those tempting Franklin Mint outlet stores, eh?
On the lighter side (*rimshot*), I’ve discovered that pregnancy makes me horny -- very horny. Whether Matt is delighted or intimidated by this development varies from day to day (poor guy), but I’m trying to enjoy it while I can. Something tells me that in a couple of months the idea of having sex will seem about as appealing as riding a mechanical bull while naked, and after consuming several pounds of mashed potatoes (also while naked…?). Hell of an image, I know, but here’s hoping my libido sticks around for a while. I’m having more fun surfing internet porn these days than most fourteen year-old boys, and I don’t even have to steal my mother’s credit card to do it!
I’ve been promising new belly pics for some time now, and I plan to have Matt take some more of them tonight. Stay tuned for greater (MUCH greater) things to come.
By the way, in case any of the three people who read this blog don’t already know, Matt and I are expecting a son – for recent ultrasound images, go here.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Car!
Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's back into car-loan debt we go. Ach, to hell with it...we needed a car and we got one, and with a reasonably good deal. I must say that it's nice to come out of a car-buying experience without finding yourself with the psychological equivalent of a bleeding rectum stretched to the size of the
Eisenhower tunnel.
Anyway, behold our nifty new ride -- the 2007 Hyundai Elantra. A sensible little family truckster, wouldn't you say?
(ours is dark grey, and as such I have named it "Spalding". I miss that guy.)
Eisenhower tunnel.
Anyway, behold our nifty new ride -- the 2007 Hyundai Elantra. A sensible little family truckster, wouldn't you say?
(ours is dark grey, and as such I have named it "Spalding". I miss that guy.)
Pre-parental tension
The pregnancy continues on it's life-altering course. Physically I'm doing just fine -- according to my OB I've gained about 9-10 lbs so far, which is well within an acceptable range for my gestation (currently 18 weeks). Not that you'd guess this to look at me; my belly is huge and I feel like a moose. I know, I know -- "shut up and be pregnant". I am, and all things considered it's not really bothering me all that much, even though I am as big as I've ever been in my life (soon to get even bigger, muah-ah-ahhhh!). I'm not looking forward to having to lose the weight, but what the hell...every pregnant woman in the world goes through this.
Matt and I have been having a rough time of it lately...things are OK now, but the past couple of weeks have been tense (to put it mildly). I attribute this to a combination of factors: I'm pregnant, hormonal and being weaned off anti-depressants; Matt's having major father-to-be anxiety and a stressful time at his job, and we're in a fairly dismal financial situation. Oh, and we're both trying to minimalize the booze intake while negotiating the huge amount of life tweaking / streamlining necessitated by the pending arrival of a screaming newborn. Furthermore, we have a history of going Klingon when trying to solve problems together...definitely candidates for Parents of the Century, eh folks? *rolling eyes*
Anyway, after I realized that acting like a hystrionic bitch wasn't helping anything, I decided to try and ease back on the chicken-little routine while somehow remaining focused on what needs to be done before the baby arrives. I can't say that I'm feeling very sure of myself right now...I'm as daunted by parenthood as Matt, and as I've mentioned our lives are hardly in that "Okay! NOW we're ready to have kids!" strata that the media would have me believe actually exists.
But instead of beating myself up for my perceptions of inferiority and buying into all of the gloomy predictions given to me by my own family ("Your life is a MESS!"), I'm making an effort to remain positive and proactive. I'm trying to find strength to convince my husband that everything will ultimately be alright, and maybe even BETTER than alright...I guess by doing that I'm trying to convince myself as well. Hopefully he and I can get in a situation where we're pulling together...I think it's possible, and am trying like hell to not let these hopes become buried under my fears.
Matt and I have been having a rough time of it lately...things are OK now, but the past couple of weeks have been tense (to put it mildly). I attribute this to a combination of factors: I'm pregnant, hormonal and being weaned off anti-depressants; Matt's having major father-to-be anxiety and a stressful time at his job, and we're in a fairly dismal financial situation. Oh, and we're both trying to minimalize the booze intake while negotiating the huge amount of life tweaking / streamlining necessitated by the pending arrival of a screaming newborn. Furthermore, we have a history of going Klingon when trying to solve problems together...definitely candidates for Parents of the Century, eh folks? *rolling eyes*
Anyway, after I realized that acting like a hystrionic bitch wasn't helping anything, I decided to try and ease back on the chicken-little routine while somehow remaining focused on what needs to be done before the baby arrives. I can't say that I'm feeling very sure of myself right now...I'm as daunted by parenthood as Matt, and as I've mentioned our lives are hardly in that "Okay! NOW we're ready to have kids!" strata that the media would have me believe actually exists.
But instead of beating myself up for my perceptions of inferiority and buying into all of the gloomy predictions given to me by my own family ("Your life is a MESS!"), I'm making an effort to remain positive and proactive. I'm trying to find strength to convince my husband that everything will ultimately be alright, and maybe even BETTER than alright...I guess by doing that I'm trying to convince myself as well. Hopefully he and I can get in a situation where we're pulling together...I think it's possible, and am trying like hell to not let these hopes become buried under my fears.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
"Mammon is Queen"
Okay, like some other poseur faux-intellectual-walking-stereotype-of-the-left snobs you may know, I rarely watch network television. However, during a recent visit with my mother and sister in North Carolina, I found myself parked in front of an idiot box pretty much constantly, as it seemed to be the easiest way to avoid the pitfall of conversing with my relations. Yeah, I know -- "ask me about my dysfunctional family". Or better yet, don't.
At any rate, by the insistence of my sister and my own tendency toward cowardly avoidance of conflict, I sat through a portion of Oprah that may as well have been an infomercial for the latest self-help craze known as "The Secret". I choked down about ten minutes of bromidic viewer testimony and smugly authoritative commentary from Oprah's "expert panel" before (by way of preventing myself from asphyxiating on my own righteous indignation) needing to leave the room.
My husband -- who clearly has a higher outrage threshold than I, or at least is a lot more mean-spirited -- viewed the entire show, and highlighted it for me afterwards despite my clapping my hands over my ears and rolling around on the floor screaming "NONONONONONONO!!". And because I think he truly enjoys seeing me get pissed off (so long as it's not at him), he recently forwarded this Slate.com piece to me (quoted below). Which, in turn, I am now compelled to share with the three individuals who might actually read this blog. Vive le spleen!
"And at what point do we stop feeling like we have to take the good with the craven when it comes to Oprah, and the culture she's helped to create? I get nauseated when I think of people in South Africa being taught they don't have enough money because they're "blocking it with their thoughts." I'm already sickened by an American culture that teaches people, as "The Secret" does, that they "create the circumstances of their lives with the choices they make every day," a culture that elected a president who cried tears of self-congratulation at his inauguration, rejects intellectualism, and believes he can intuit the trustworthiness of world leaders by looking into their eyes. I'm sickened by a culture in which the tenets of the Oprah philosophy have become conventional wisdom, in which genuine self-actualization has been confused with self-aggrandizement, reality is whatever you want it to be, and mammon is queen."
~Peter Birkenhead
At any rate, by the insistence of my sister and my own tendency toward cowardly avoidance of conflict, I sat through a portion of Oprah that may as well have been an infomercial for the latest self-help craze known as "The Secret". I choked down about ten minutes of bromidic viewer testimony and smugly authoritative commentary from Oprah's "expert panel" before (by way of preventing myself from asphyxiating on my own righteous indignation) needing to leave the room.
My husband -- who clearly has a higher outrage threshold than I, or at least is a lot more mean-spirited -- viewed the entire show, and highlighted it for me afterwards despite my clapping my hands over my ears and rolling around on the floor screaming "NONONONONONONO!!". And because I think he truly enjoys seeing me get pissed off (so long as it's not at him), he recently forwarded this Slate.com piece to me (quoted below). Which, in turn, I am now compelled to share with the three individuals who might actually read this blog. Vive le spleen!
"And at what point do we stop feeling like we have to take the good with the craven when it comes to Oprah, and the culture she's helped to create? I get nauseated when I think of people in South Africa being taught they don't have enough money because they're "blocking it with their thoughts." I'm already sickened by an American culture that teaches people, as "The Secret" does, that they "create the circumstances of their lives with the choices they make every day," a culture that elected a president who cried tears of self-congratulation at his inauguration, rejects intellectualism, and believes he can intuit the trustworthiness of world leaders by looking into their eyes. I'm sickened by a culture in which the tenets of the Oprah philosophy have become conventional wisdom, in which genuine self-actualization has been confused with self-aggrandizement, reality is whatever you want it to be, and mammon is queen."
~Peter Birkenhead
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