Dig that Hole Really Deep

Big B and I had a "date" on Thursday. We went to one of those fancy-shmancy restaurants where there's nothing but "small plates" which always add up to a very large bill. But, we decided to splurge. We hadn't been out together just for us in a long time and the stress of everything has definitely taken a toll on the marital bliss. 

One plate down, and just beginning our second, the conversation sounds something like this:

Me: "Oof...I'm stuffed already. Everything's pushing up on my stomach...I eat too much and it makes me sick, I eat too little and it makes me sick."

BigB: "I think that these symptoms you're having are psychosomatic." 

Me: "What? You think I'm imagining things? Like what exactly?"

BigB: "Ya know...like the sore boobs, and the queasy stomach, and the farting."

Me: "So...you think I'm making these things up?"

BigB: "Well....yeah. I think those things come later...it's still so early."

Me:  "And how would you know? Have you had lots of experience with pregnant women?"

BigB: "At work - there's been a few women."

Me:  "And they don't talk to you about their sore boobs and farting? Hmmm...imagine that."

I wanted to shove his $18 venison bites up his nostrils. But not before I strung him up by his toenails and read (aloud) to him every chapter of "What to Expect" in anannoying sing-song mickey mouse voice.

Tomorrow is our first OB appointment. I'm excited and scared, of course. But I am trying to take things one day at a time.

25 vs 38

I read a statistic today that the average age of a first time mother in the U.S. is 25 years. 25! I don't even remember 25. I'm sure it was fun. It certainly didn't involve children or even remote thoughts of children (except for maybe preventing them).



So, let's break this down:

If I had been 25 when I had my first baby, said "baby" would now be 13.

• I am 38
• I will be 51 when my first-born is 13, one year into my AARP membership

• I will be 55 when my first-born is old enough to drive me to Denny's for my "Senior Discount" Grand-Slam breakfast

• I will be 58 when my first-born heads off to college and 62 when they graduate - just in time for me to start collecting Social Security benefits

This is sobering. I told BigB the other day that we needed to work extra hard to be fit and active, since we're going to have to complete with a lot younger parents. We will have to work harder to be "hip" and "cool" (even saying those words makes me feel old!). Hopefully it will make us young at heart and have a more youthful outlook on life. I'm pretty sure we won't be competing with our kids on the XBox, or borrowing each others clothes. But, we'll be a family.

Everything's Fine

It's ok. I can breathe again. I really think nurses should take some type of course on how to leave a voicemail message. Here's her exact words:

"What you're describing is definitely not normal. The doctor would like to see you this afternoon."

What part of that message would not send you into an emotional, freaking-out vortex? I can think of a million different ways to communicate that message. 

But, at the end of the day, everything's fine. We saw the little bugger. It was flipping all over the place, moving like crazy. The doc could barely take a picture, it was so active. Big B thinks it must be a boy - being all goofy like that and scaring his mother half to death.

I'm just so relieved.

Aching Hooter Apparently Not a Good Sign

I'm on my way shortly to an emergency OB ultrasound. I've been having weird aching/cramping in my cervix/hootch area for two days. My clinic said that those types of pain certainly aren't "normal" and to skeedadle on in for a look-see.

As usual, I'm freaking out. I'm so scared that there's going to be something majorly wrong. Just as I was starting to let it all sink in and even entertain the idea that thing was really going to work...

Just last night I was thinking, tomorrow is day one of week 10. If I can get through this week, there's a good chance that this will really happen. Yesterday my mom came over to help organize our storage room so we'll have a place to store all the stuff in the office that's to become the nursery. I just started filling out a baby book that a friend gave me. BigB and I have been making plans of how we'll make our grand announcement at Thanksgiving. I ordered two pairs of maternity pants at JCPenE. My first OB appt is next Monday.

I'm trying to remain calm. Trying to remain positive. Trying to remember that God is in control and that He loves me. A lot. Prayers are appreciated.

A guest blog entry, bought to you by the Great Blog Cross-Pollination

Early Pregnancy Elation and Fears

I remember fourteen years ago when I found out I was pregnant for the second time with our first son. It was overwhelming; feelings of happiness, joy, fear, anxiety all mixed up with hormones to boot.

I was never sure if I was going to become a mother, Ever. Especially after the pain of my first pregnancy ending in miscarriage with my soon to be Ex totally unsupportive first husband. After heartbreak and heartmend, soul searching, and a good therapist or two, I had come to accept and be okay with never being a parent, just a doting aunt. I had let go of my fondest wish and desire even though it hurt because I learned that it was so totally outside my control.
When I met my current husband and we decided to have a family, it was as if the world of possibility was opened up to me. My heart took flight when I saw the two pink lines and the shock and joy in my husband's face. My happiness was tempered with anxiety, I felt like I knew too much being a maternal/child nurse for many years before having children. My older sister, who is a Pediatric Cancer Specialist, also felt this way when she had children five years before me.

I didn't know what worrying was until I got pregnant and then I realized again, I had to let go, and accept the wisdom of my body and the child I carried. I had been given a chance to turn myself over to this selfless act of creating and nuturing life.

Our sons daily teach me the wisdom and beauty of "letting go", sometimes it is quite annoying for all parties concerned and other days, it's so wonderful I pinch myself.

Thank you for letting me share my thoughts today on Kandi's blog. As a mother of older children, I wanted to post something relevant for her. I hope you will join me in wishing her all the best for the happiest and healthiest pregnancy for her, her husband, and their child.

(guess this blog author in your comments below)

hello already

I was at the grocery store yesterday and had this sudden feeling that I was in the set of Shawn of the Dead (without the gore, of course). It was if all these people were wandering around with absolutely dead-pan looks on their faces, walking the aisles mechanically.

I guess I try to engage people. I look them in the eye. I smile. I say "excuse me" or "pardon me" when walking in front of them while they're making a decision between the sundried tomato or mushroom spaghetti sauce. Rarely does anyone ever smile back, make eye contact, or even acknowledge that I have spoken to them.

Why is this? We're inches from each other, sharing the same space and activity, and they look like I have grown a second head and need to be put in a holding cell. Does it stem from years of being told, "don't talk to strangers?" Is it a West Coast thing? It's not like I'm trying to strike up a conversation or anything.

I get this on the street, too. Just say "hi" to a stranger and 9 times out of 10 they won't respond. I know I live in a big city, but, come on! I just really feel like this world would be a better place if we could give strangers a smile or a hello once in awhile. Just a few days after the biggest historical landmark in recent history where strangers were dancing in the street together, and we can't accept a strangers good tidings.

I'll keep doing it. Keep making myself look like a fool. But maybe I'll brighten someones day, too. I guess you never know.

Tiny Tank Issues

We live in a small "cottage" built in the 30's. It's great for the two of us. Just enough room. Except the bedrooms are TINY! Our "master" bedroom is 8' x 10' with a teency little closet. It works fine, except we are tall people and have a CalKing bed. So, our bedroom is literally a "Bed Room," with little else able to occupy the space. The bed is pushed into a corner, so that we can still open the door. This means that one of us (me) has to get out of bed by scooching down and off the end, rather than just swinging your legs off the side. This is usually not a problem.

Last night I peed six times.

Six.

Times.

In the middle of the night.

Of course just as I'm falling back asleep, the tiny tank of mine screems, "reeeeeeleeeeeasssse meeeee!" And, there's no falling back asleep until I scooch my rump down to the end of the bad, over three or seven pairs of shoes, down the unlit hall to our freezing cold bathroom.

It really sucks a truck. I was hoping this was just an early pregnancy thing and that it, along with the constant feeling of bad-chinese-food-ingested would pass. But, apparently, no. According to baby.center, this absurd behavior will "die down as soon as your baby is born." Fantastic. I'm telling you what. I'm so moving Big B over to the other side of the bed. I really can't see myself "scooching" an extra 25-50 pounds of girth. It would be more like "hauling" or perhaps "winching."