Mood Essay- Evoke a mood
I swipe at a bead of sweat crawling down the back of my neck quickly and abruptly, trying to catch it before it disappears down my back where I cannot reach it, as a fly lands in the exact same spot on my ankle for the 90th time. I kick, but the fly only buzzes in the air momentarily before settling back down on my knee. I flap my hand at it and it's wings vibrate in a shrill buzz as it takes to the air again. A moment of peace, I think as I irritatedly scratch my cheek. The baby shifts and I feel like I'm going to pee myself, but keeps moving so it's little body is shoved in some inside crevice, making my tight belly feel even tighter, pain shooting through my ribs. I pause my knitting, losing count on stitches as I press on my stomach, hoping to force the baby into some position that isn't causing my nerves to be on fire. But there's too much baby and not enough womb. I pick up my phone and look at it, checking the weather. 91 outside and it feels almost as hot in here. I think about going into the kitchen to grab water, a popsicle, anything... but it's so far away and I'm so very swollen and pregnant.
I pick up my knitting again, recounting the stitches I've already done, flapping my elbow absent mindedly as the fly lands on it. My dog looks at me and whines. No... don't do this to me... don't want anything. Don't make me get up to take care of you. Just be content laying on the floor. I say out loud, "What? What do you want?" I sound calmer than I feel. But because I'm talking to the big one, the little one thinks she's not getting enough attention and a curly-haired little body tries to crawl into my lap, nosing past my knitting making me drop a stitch and a slimy nose presses into my arm. I snap, "No! Off!" and the fly lands on my face. I smack at it, but I only hit myself, feeling the stickiness of my own sweat. I put down my knitting again and use my shirt to dry my face a little, scratching at an itch on my ear vigorously. The big dog whines again. I pick up my knitting and try to fix the damage, hurrying to try to finish this one row.
The fly lands on my shin. I want to cry. Or scream. Or hurt someone. I flail my legs, the fly buzzes off. The big dog gets up and does a huffy little bark at me and then walks in a little circle. I try to go faster with my knitting needles, but when I try to hurry, it feels so much slower. Halfway there. The baby moves a tiny bit, now I'm in pain and I feel an immense pressure on my bladder. I sigh and set my knitting down, row half-finished, and stand. It's hard to stand completely upright, I have been sitting for so long. The ligaments in my pelvis are tight and stretching them is difficult. The fly circles my ear and I lift one shoulder and rub my head against it. I shove at my belly with my hands and look at the dogs.
"You guys wanna go out?" I ask. The big one barks and bows excitedly, then bounds towards the back door. The little one looks at me from the couch, begging to be asked with her sad eyes. "Come on, stupid." I say impatiently. She jumps up and follows me into the kitchen. The tile is cool against my feet, but I am dreading opening the back door. As I pull it open, a cat meows at me and wanders inside lazily. The dogs seem to bounce in anticipation, waiting for the cat to get out of their way. The baby is sitting directly on my bladder, but I can't leave the dogs unattended in the backyard. It's not fenced in and they'll take off. I consider putting the big one on his leash, but maybe he'll be quick. It's so hot. The heat is bouncing off of everything, sweat is rolling in all sorts of bodily crevices. I look down at my little dog who is just standing in front of me, staring adoringly at me. "Go potty!" I tell her, throwing my hand in the direction of the grass. She looks at the grass then back up at me and just wags her tail. The big dog is running around, eating grass, not bothering to pee... just exploring smells.
The sun is beating down on us. I scratch under my boob where a trickle of sweat is irritating my skin. It's humid too. It's already hard to breath with the baby crushing my lungs, and being out in the heat... it's like trying to breath through a warm wet washcloth. The little dog is still standing by me looking at me as if she expects me to go squat in the yard next to her and alleviate to this tension growing in my lower stomach. "Go!" I shout, and she does a little bounce away from me, but keeps glancing at me until I purposely stop looking at her. I pretend like I'm interested in my garden, knowing she'll remember why she's out there if I don't pay any attention to her. An ant crawls over my barefoot and I swipe it off with my other one, leaving a brown dusty smear across the top.
The dogs hear a noise and start barking, then the little one darts into the front yard, quickly followed by the big one. I shout "NO! Bad dogs! Come back!" As I chase after them. I hold onto my stomach and pay close attention to where I put my feet, praying I don't step on a dog turd or a thistle. The little one comes bounding back to me, thrilled to always be close, but the big one is already out of the yard and in the neighbor's driveway, chasing their boxer around a small blond girl. Great. I'm not wearing a bra. Please don't talk to me. Oh I have to pee so bad. I shove my belly again, hoping to shift the baby. I should have peed before I took the dogs out. All of a sudden, a sharp pain stabs into my foot. I call to the big dog again, demanding he get back to me, but he only runs a little further away, following the boxer and his little girl down the street. I bend and investigate, finding some kind of tree dropping lodged in my foot. I pull it out. I'm fuming. I don't want to be out here, doing this.
"Ned you get back here RIGHT NOW." He looks at me, but I know I'm going to have to go all the way to him to get him back. "Gizzy, stay!" I shout as I carefully hop off the retaining wall of my front yard. She happily jumps down next to me, toenails clicking on the sidewalk as she follows me towards her brother. I stumble a little, the sidewalk is hot, and I'm positive I'm going to pee myself before I can get to Ned and get back to the house. I'm in luck, because the little girl and her boxer are walking back into her lawn, my big dog dancing happily around her, barking and trying to get the boxer to play with him. I call him again, and this time he runs towards me, caught up in his excitement, but is quickly distracted by the neighbor's dog again. I wipe sweat off my chin and waddle towards him, just barely managing to catch him by his collar as he tries to dart by me. The little dog runs at the boxer with a menacing snarl and I quickly shout, "GIZ! NO!" And she immediately darts back to me. I smile at the neighbor girl and say, "Sorry." But quickly turn, sure my boob is about to pop out the top of my shirt from my half-bent position, clinging to Ned's collar.
"Gizzy come." I turn back towards the house, but I realize my pregnant body will NOT be able to hoist itself up over the retaining wall, I have to walk all the way around to the steps. I grimace, pulling Ned too hard by his collar, his tail already between his legs because he knows he's been naughty. I snap at him, "You're a bad dog. You need to listen when I call you." His sad eyes only make me more angry. I waddle the 30 yards of hot sidewalk, carefully avoiding any suspicious looking spots for my poor barefeet, sweat crawls down my lower back into my pants, praying that the need to pee ebbs enough to get up the 14 steps into my house, but I remember the front door is locked. Ned is pulling too much, I can't waddle up the steps bent over, needing to pee, so I let go and say, "Go to the backyard! Go! Go home!" And I'm so relieved when he does. Gizmo close behind him. I carefully try to navigate the front yard, but whatever the tree drops that are so stabby are numerous and hard to avoid, and I end up impaling myself three more times before I make it to the back patio.
The dogs are happily waiting by the back door. I want to scream at them... beat them... but I manage to keep my cool and open the door, letting them rush inside and straight to their water bowl, lapping it happily, and before I can get inside and close the door, the cat darts out again. I choose not to be annoyed by this, and hurry into the bathroom, yanking my pants down before I'm even in the room, and sit down, sweaty buttocks sliding unpleasantly against the cool seat. Out comes a very pathetic little stream of pee that peters out way too quickly for the drama I felt building inside me. But I feel better. I feel calmer. I sit in the cool bathroom, letting the smooth tile sooth my sore feet, forcing myself to breath. I reach over to a towel hanging near me and rub it against my face. That's nice. That's better. I feel a little more human. The door, which I didn't close all the way, swings open by the push of a little curly-haired dog nose and I see my ever present companion standing there, wagging her tail.
I let myself smile. I wipe, stand up, and flush the toilet, remembering to jiggle it so it doesn't run for the rest of the afternoon. I go into the living room and sit down on the couch, picking up my knitting. It looks good. I can't even tell I dropped any stitches, I did a good job picking them back up. I continue down the row...
As the fly lands on my ankle for the 91st time.
Saturday, July 22, 2017
Aug 9- Prompt 2 Art Feelings
Find Art, Write How It Makes You Feel
This is one photograph in a series by Jenny Saville and Glen Luchford called Closed Contact. Jenny is a painter and the model for all the photographs that challenge society's standard of beauty. Glen is the photographer with a history in fashion. All of the photographs have been transferred onto plexiglass... so these photos of flesh pressed against glass actually have an element of realism about them when you see them in person.
It's hard to know where to begin in my feelings when I look at this because it all hits me at once. There is an element of love, the hands pressing into the folds of flesh, embracing the rounds and hallows, the intimacy of the hand on the breast, to be so comfortable with yourself that you can hold yourself... and an element of hatred, the lower hand gripping a roll, the flesh smashed in such a way against the glass that you can't quite tell what you're looking at, the aggressive angle of the nipple (such a delicate and sensitive part of the body), that implies a reckless disregard or even loathing of ones own body. The vulnerability of naked flesh, exposed and yet partially covered by embarressed hands, or hands that may actually be framing it... inviting you to look. The challenge of "Mine", holding onto itself, fighting against your judgement... and yet the exposure, inviting you to look, make your own assessment. And then with the lighting, it's warm, pink, soft. Real. But it's almost like looking at a specimen in a jar, one part of a whole you'll never see or understand. It's almost gruesome in its vulnerability... And yet strangely beautiful.
The hands are almost masculine, and even though I know they are her own hands, I could imagine them being a man's hands both embracing her and punishing her. A sort of commentary on the desire to be desired and never quite measuring up... My own insecurities fighting with a man's attraction.
If you look at it for long enough, you begin to distance yourself from it... it stops looking real. This is not an image we see in the media. This is not something you even see from your friends. This is only something you see when you are naked in your own room, loving or hating the way you look. No one exposes themselves like this... and therefore its foreign. Can you let yourself embrace something that hasn't been normalized? Can you let yourself find beauty in it when deep down you can't even look at your own body like this?
I love it. I truly love this. I want it hanging in my living room... but I have to ask myself... if this were me, would I see it the same way? Would I love it as much? Would I want to hang this photo on the wall if I knew that body was my body? Could I expose myself and my vulnerabilities and hang it like art on the wall for everyone to see?
Love myself, hate myself, embrace my curves, curse them. Want to change. Want to stay the same. Want love. Want desire. Want to be enough... Feeling impossibly feminine and totally foreign. Is this my body or is it the body I am trapped inside of?
Truly moving work.
If you would like to see the rest, here is a link to the gallery's web page.
https://www.gagosian.com/exhibitions/january-12-2002--jenny-saville--glen-luchford/exhibition-images
This is one photograph in a series by Jenny Saville and Glen Luchford called Closed Contact. Jenny is a painter and the model for all the photographs that challenge society's standard of beauty. Glen is the photographer with a history in fashion. All of the photographs have been transferred onto plexiglass... so these photos of flesh pressed against glass actually have an element of realism about them when you see them in person.
It's hard to know where to begin in my feelings when I look at this because it all hits me at once. There is an element of love, the hands pressing into the folds of flesh, embracing the rounds and hallows, the intimacy of the hand on the breast, to be so comfortable with yourself that you can hold yourself... and an element of hatred, the lower hand gripping a roll, the flesh smashed in such a way against the glass that you can't quite tell what you're looking at, the aggressive angle of the nipple (such a delicate and sensitive part of the body), that implies a reckless disregard or even loathing of ones own body. The vulnerability of naked flesh, exposed and yet partially covered by embarressed hands, or hands that may actually be framing it... inviting you to look. The challenge of "Mine", holding onto itself, fighting against your judgement... and yet the exposure, inviting you to look, make your own assessment. And then with the lighting, it's warm, pink, soft. Real. But it's almost like looking at a specimen in a jar, one part of a whole you'll never see or understand. It's almost gruesome in its vulnerability... And yet strangely beautiful.
The hands are almost masculine, and even though I know they are her own hands, I could imagine them being a man's hands both embracing her and punishing her. A sort of commentary on the desire to be desired and never quite measuring up... My own insecurities fighting with a man's attraction.
If you look at it for long enough, you begin to distance yourself from it... it stops looking real. This is not an image we see in the media. This is not something you even see from your friends. This is only something you see when you are naked in your own room, loving or hating the way you look. No one exposes themselves like this... and therefore its foreign. Can you let yourself embrace something that hasn't been normalized? Can you let yourself find beauty in it when deep down you can't even look at your own body like this?
I love it. I truly love this. I want it hanging in my living room... but I have to ask myself... if this were me, would I see it the same way? Would I love it as much? Would I want to hang this photo on the wall if I knew that body was my body? Could I expose myself and my vulnerabilities and hang it like art on the wall for everyone to see?
Love myself, hate myself, embrace my curves, curse them. Want to change. Want to stay the same. Want love. Want desire. Want to be enough... Feeling impossibly feminine and totally foreign. Is this my body or is it the body I am trapped inside of?
Truly moving work.
If you would like to see the rest, here is a link to the gallery's web page.
https://www.gagosian.com/exhibitions/january-12-2002--jenny-saville--glen-luchford/exhibition-images
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Prompt 3- Hopelessly Old Fashioned
I am very old fashioned. Here are five ways that I exhibit my old fashioned ideals.
1. I believe that you should always, always, always be as polite as possible. If you offend someone, whether it's just or not, you should apologize. Their hurt or offended feelings matter more than whether or not you meant to offend. My mother hates to be cussed in front of. I try my best to respect that, even if I myself am not offended by foul language. I try to say "please" and "thank you" even if it's for a task that isn't optional, because it acknowledges that person's compliance. Being polite and caring about what someone else is feeling doesn't put any strain on you, and it might just help heal someone else's bad day.
2. I believe that you should wait till you're married to get jiggy. 95% of modern Americans don't wait, and I feel like they are cheating themselves out of something beautiful. There are exceptions to this, of course... and I don't think anyone should be judged or condemned simply because they didn't keep it in their pants, but I do believe waiting is the right thing to do. I waited. And I am very glad I did.
3. I believe in going to church. This seems like an old fashioned practice now adays... But I truly believe there is something spiritually uplifting about going to church. There are bad churches and bad people in good churches, but I think people should keep going, keep trying... Church is a worthwhile experience. Even if you're going to a church that's a different religion. Being around people who believe in God and lift you up and help you think about spirituality is a crucial part of becoming a well-rounded individual. And if not church, taking some time out of your week to reflect and relax and find some connection to something bigger than yourself is fine too. But actually doing it. Not just ignoring church because you aren't a believer or don't like the church of your religion in your area. Finding time to connect into a greater energy is very important.
4. I believe alcohol should only be used socially. I don't know if this is old fashioned or not, but let's just go with it. Drinking around people who can't drink seems pointless, and drinking to the point of drunkeness is just rude. Don't get me wrong, I have gotten drunk in my life... I felt extremely rude and very silly afterwards. So if you're with someone who cannot drink, or doesn't want to drink, it seems to me, you'll both have a better time if you just stay sober. Even just one. I think not drinking is always a better idea.
5. I believe in reading. There is nothing like reading. You get sucked into a good book and get carried away by someone else's story... but when you read... it's not the author's story anymore, it's your's. It's all your's. You get to picture the characters and create their voices... books are truly magical.
So those are the 5 ways I am hopelessly old fashioned.
1. I believe that you should always, always, always be as polite as possible. If you offend someone, whether it's just or not, you should apologize. Their hurt or offended feelings matter more than whether or not you meant to offend. My mother hates to be cussed in front of. I try my best to respect that, even if I myself am not offended by foul language. I try to say "please" and "thank you" even if it's for a task that isn't optional, because it acknowledges that person's compliance. Being polite and caring about what someone else is feeling doesn't put any strain on you, and it might just help heal someone else's bad day.
2. I believe that you should wait till you're married to get jiggy. 95% of modern Americans don't wait, and I feel like they are cheating themselves out of something beautiful. There are exceptions to this, of course... and I don't think anyone should be judged or condemned simply because they didn't keep it in their pants, but I do believe waiting is the right thing to do. I waited. And I am very glad I did.
3. I believe in going to church. This seems like an old fashioned practice now adays... But I truly believe there is something spiritually uplifting about going to church. There are bad churches and bad people in good churches, but I think people should keep going, keep trying... Church is a worthwhile experience. Even if you're going to a church that's a different religion. Being around people who believe in God and lift you up and help you think about spirituality is a crucial part of becoming a well-rounded individual. And if not church, taking some time out of your week to reflect and relax and find some connection to something bigger than yourself is fine too. But actually doing it. Not just ignoring church because you aren't a believer or don't like the church of your religion in your area. Finding time to connect into a greater energy is very important.
4. I believe alcohol should only be used socially. I don't know if this is old fashioned or not, but let's just go with it. Drinking around people who can't drink seems pointless, and drinking to the point of drunkeness is just rude. Don't get me wrong, I have gotten drunk in my life... I felt extremely rude and very silly afterwards. So if you're with someone who cannot drink, or doesn't want to drink, it seems to me, you'll both have a better time if you just stay sober. Even just one. I think not drinking is always a better idea.
5. I believe in reading. There is nothing like reading. You get sucked into a good book and get carried away by someone else's story... but when you read... it's not the author's story anymore, it's your's. It's all your's. You get to picture the characters and create their voices... books are truly magical.
So those are the 5 ways I am hopelessly old fashioned.
Prompt 1- A Typical Day
I wake up around 5 to my husband's alarm, clamber out of bed, over my piles of pillows that cuddle my pregnant body, and head to the bathroom for the first pee of the day. I let it flow out of me, but even as the last drops drip into the toilet, I don't get the wave of satisfaction... I will have to pee again all to soon. I stand and flush, remembering just before I leave the bathroom to jiggle the flushing handle so the toilet doesn't run all morning long. I crawl back into my bed, barely looking at my husband as he checks sports updates on his phone, and try to adjust my nest of pillows around me to support the swollen, widening, misshapen blob of discomfort my body has become. It doesn't take long for me to drift into a pleasant in-between land of sleep and wakefulness.
I can hear my husband get up and begin his day. I know his routine by heart. He'll go and have a morning poo, turn on the shower to run into an empty tub for a good 15 minutes as he does whatever it is he does before he jumps in... distracted by a story on his phone, or listening to a podcast, wasting water like he's never known what it's like to never have enough... which he hasn't. I have. This habit of letting the water run without giving it a purpose drives me insane, but it doesn't feel like a fight worth having.
I can hear his podcast as he showers, most likely boys too old talking about a video game they've played for far too long, or sports commentators complaining about people who make too much money not playing hard enough, or even a couple of folks debating some new Marvel movie. I can't make it out, but I hear the passion in their voices as I drift between sleeping and awareness. The shower clicks off and I hear him putter around the bathroom. Shaving. Brushing his teeth. Waxing his hair down in the Good Boy part of the military.
I drift into deeper sleep, so I don't know what he does between bathroom and letting the dogs out of their kennels downstairs, but I wake to the sounds of happy fur-babies outside, getting to relieve themselves out in the backyard, close to my open bedroom window. Gizmo runs in first, coming to my side of the bed, jumping and whining to be let up. I debate whether I should deal with it or let her sit and whine until Chris comes in with Ned, but he's taking too long, so I roll over and grab her by the collar and pull her up. I do this almost every day and she never seems bothered by it, but every time I do it, I wonder if I'm injuring her. It would be painful to be lifted by a collar around my neck, and I know I should be more gentle, but I have no patience... it's so early and her whines have gotten under my skin so I push her to the end of the bed where she happily curls up and stares at me. I quickly lay back down, shutting my eyes... I don't want to look awake when Chris comes in. He'll want me to get up and make breakfast, or to talk, and I don't want to. I just want to sleep longer.
He comes in with Ned and in a gentle voice as to not disturb me, he tells Ned to jump onto the bed with me. Then he gathers his uniform and closes the door behind him. Ned is all love and snuggles, sniffing my head and nosing against the comforter, asking for me to let him under. I oblige and he snuggles right next to me, stepping on my boob as he gets comfortable. Once he's laying with me, we all drift off to sleep again, only vaguely aware when my husband comes in to place a glass of water by me and kiss me goodbye as he goes off to work. It's probably around 7 o'clock now... but it doesn't matter. The dogs and I are off to sleep again.
I wake up to Ned standing up, pulling the blankets off me as he stretches. I pick up my phone and look at it, it's 9:30. I should get up. The dogs need to go out again, and Ned wants his breakfast. Gizmo would sleep the day away with me, but Ned has more energy than us. I scroll through facebook, text my best friend good morning, and then roll out of bed. This morning, I decide to get dressed before taking care of the dogs, something I only do half the time... when you have no where to be and clothes are so uncomfortable, it's hard to want to strap yourself into a bra and underwear. I feel even more pregnant today than I did last night, and I look in the mirror, trying to remember what I looked like before I had a baby inside me. I feel good. I feel happy.
I go to pee again, this time feels a little less unsatisfying, since I am up now and don't have to dread getting out of bed for the next need to pee. I jiggle the handle of the toilet and go out into the hall. I ask the dogs if they want breakfast and Ned starts barking and jumping around. Gizmo jumps a little too, but she's only excited because Ned is... she will not care about the food once I put it in her dish. I scoop out a heaping 1/2 cup of dog food and dump it into Ned's bowl. He's so excited he's stepping on my feet and barking at me. My patience for this ends quickly and I snap at him to sit and wait and he does so, trembling with anticipation. I tell him he can eat and he snorts it down so quickly, I'm sure he might choke. I scoop up a little less for Gizmo and take it into the bedroom to feed her in her bowl. She looks at it sadly and follows me back out of the room as I leave, totally unimpressed by the hard brown balls. I know she'll slip away throughout the day and snack at it... It will get eaten. But not right now. By the time I've scooped up a helping of cat food to feed the kitties, Ned has finished his food and is bouncing around like he's expecting seconds. A few pieces of cat food fall from the scooper as I walk to the kitchen to fill their bowl, and Ned excitedly wolfs them down. There. Done with morning feedings.
I look out into the back yard and grimace at how brown it is and decide to run the sprinkler for a little while. It's all set up in the front yard, so I bring the dogs out into the back yard and put Ned onto his leash that's staked there and Giz and I walk round to the front and I turn on the sprinkler. I watch Gizmo pee and then we go into the house. I set a timer on my phone for half an hour and then make myself two fried eggs, over easy, and a bagel with cream cheese. Cooked to perfection, I put on an episode of some show I've already watched a million times on my laptop, and sit down to eat. I pull one side of the bagel in half and pop one of the egg with a sharp part, watching the warm orange goo dribble out. I take my Tardis shaped salt shaker and shake out an unhealthy amount of salt into the orange pool and then swirl it with my piece of bagel, mixing the salt into the liquid gold. Yum. Yum yum yum. I never cared about salt before I got pregnant, and now I can't eat anything without it. I half pay attention to the show, mostly focusing on my eggs. I use half of one side of the bagel to mop up the delicious yolk of one egg, and the other half on the other egg. Then I put the hollowed out, liquidless egg whites onto the other side of the bagel and eat it. Delicious. I feel all eggy and full.
I wash my hands and go get the glass of water my husband left for me in the bedroom. It's tepid and too warm for me, but I drink it anyway. He's left the Britta out on the counter, so there's no cold water. I fill it and put it back in the fridge. I barely remember to take my prenatal and my other supplements: Folic Acid, Vitamin D, and Magnesium. I know I should take magnesium at night, but I never remember to, so I take it during the day, because it's better to take it at the wrong time than to skip it. Hopefully it's helping with my leg cramps even at 10 in the morning.
My alarm goes off, so I go out and let Ned off his leash, and he happily bounds up to the back door, waiting to be let in so he can scrounge around the kitchen floor looking for any breakfast crumbs I may have dropped. I circle the house and turn off the sprinkler, unscrew the hose from the wall and awkwardly gather it to carry around back. My backyard is terraced, so I set it up on the second tier, then walk down the steps and screw the hose into the side of the house and turn it on. This back spigot leaks terribly, but I try to ignore it and set the timer for another half hour. From the second tier of the back yard, the sprinkler can reach the whole yard, even hitting the roof. I look at my little dirt patch, checking on my 8 gladiola sprouts... I am so pleased they're coming up. I have a black thumb, but these will not be deterred. I planted 30 in all, but even having 1 sprout felt like an accomplishment. Now that 8 have sprung up, I feel like I can call myself a gardener.
The rest of my day is boring. I call my mom and we talk about everything and nothing... mostly chatting about the baby and all the plans we have for when she comes and my nervousness over being a new mom. I might call my best friend... maybe even skype... We'll see. I tidy. Do dishes. Maybe fold some laundry. There are days when my midwife might come, or my family advocate, and those are nice days, days I get to chat to real live people, days where I can clean my house for a reason. But most days it's just me, on the couch. Lounging with my dogs, watching a TV show. Doing light chores. Maybe I'll go on a little walk with the dogs. The weather is always so nice. Today it's a little cloudy. And it's hot. So I don't know. Chris will come home around 5, I'll make him an easy dinner because I really hate cooking, and we'll probably split up for the evening, him in the basement to watch a superhero show, me in the bedroom watching something else. Maybe he'll feed the dogs dinner, or maybe I will. Later on, we might watch something together... Call the Midwife, or any of the other shows we save for when we're in the mood to be together.
I think tonight he has softball and I'll probably go to cheer him on. He's my sporty man, and I love seeing him play. We'll see our church family and that will be nice. I recently chopped off all my hair and dyed it purple, so it will be interesting to see everyone. I'm a little nervous about it.
After his game, we'll come home, put the dogs to bed in their crates, and watch something in bed on my laptop until he falls asleep. Maybe I'll stay up, reading, writing, watching something... or maybe I'll snuggle down next to him once he's fallen asleep, shutting down for the night as well. Surrounded by a bird's next of pillows. I might wake up 10 times to pee. I might wake up with heart burn and need water and tums. But that will mark the end of my day.
We'll see how the rest of this day goes... but until then, I'll tinker my day away... like I do most days. These slow, easy days before the baby comes and upsets the whole routine. Honestly... I cannot wait.
I can hear my husband get up and begin his day. I know his routine by heart. He'll go and have a morning poo, turn on the shower to run into an empty tub for a good 15 minutes as he does whatever it is he does before he jumps in... distracted by a story on his phone, or listening to a podcast, wasting water like he's never known what it's like to never have enough... which he hasn't. I have. This habit of letting the water run without giving it a purpose drives me insane, but it doesn't feel like a fight worth having.
I can hear his podcast as he showers, most likely boys too old talking about a video game they've played for far too long, or sports commentators complaining about people who make too much money not playing hard enough, or even a couple of folks debating some new Marvel movie. I can't make it out, but I hear the passion in their voices as I drift between sleeping and awareness. The shower clicks off and I hear him putter around the bathroom. Shaving. Brushing his teeth. Waxing his hair down in the Good Boy part of the military.
I drift into deeper sleep, so I don't know what he does between bathroom and letting the dogs out of their kennels downstairs, but I wake to the sounds of happy fur-babies outside, getting to relieve themselves out in the backyard, close to my open bedroom window. Gizmo runs in first, coming to my side of the bed, jumping and whining to be let up. I debate whether I should deal with it or let her sit and whine until Chris comes in with Ned, but he's taking too long, so I roll over and grab her by the collar and pull her up. I do this almost every day and she never seems bothered by it, but every time I do it, I wonder if I'm injuring her. It would be painful to be lifted by a collar around my neck, and I know I should be more gentle, but I have no patience... it's so early and her whines have gotten under my skin so I push her to the end of the bed where she happily curls up and stares at me. I quickly lay back down, shutting my eyes... I don't want to look awake when Chris comes in. He'll want me to get up and make breakfast, or to talk, and I don't want to. I just want to sleep longer.
He comes in with Ned and in a gentle voice as to not disturb me, he tells Ned to jump onto the bed with me. Then he gathers his uniform and closes the door behind him. Ned is all love and snuggles, sniffing my head and nosing against the comforter, asking for me to let him under. I oblige and he snuggles right next to me, stepping on my boob as he gets comfortable. Once he's laying with me, we all drift off to sleep again, only vaguely aware when my husband comes in to place a glass of water by me and kiss me goodbye as he goes off to work. It's probably around 7 o'clock now... but it doesn't matter. The dogs and I are off to sleep again.
I wake up to Ned standing up, pulling the blankets off me as he stretches. I pick up my phone and look at it, it's 9:30. I should get up. The dogs need to go out again, and Ned wants his breakfast. Gizmo would sleep the day away with me, but Ned has more energy than us. I scroll through facebook, text my best friend good morning, and then roll out of bed. This morning, I decide to get dressed before taking care of the dogs, something I only do half the time... when you have no where to be and clothes are so uncomfortable, it's hard to want to strap yourself into a bra and underwear. I feel even more pregnant today than I did last night, and I look in the mirror, trying to remember what I looked like before I had a baby inside me. I feel good. I feel happy.
I go to pee again, this time feels a little less unsatisfying, since I am up now and don't have to dread getting out of bed for the next need to pee. I jiggle the handle of the toilet and go out into the hall. I ask the dogs if they want breakfast and Ned starts barking and jumping around. Gizmo jumps a little too, but she's only excited because Ned is... she will not care about the food once I put it in her dish. I scoop out a heaping 1/2 cup of dog food and dump it into Ned's bowl. He's so excited he's stepping on my feet and barking at me. My patience for this ends quickly and I snap at him to sit and wait and he does so, trembling with anticipation. I tell him he can eat and he snorts it down so quickly, I'm sure he might choke. I scoop up a little less for Gizmo and take it into the bedroom to feed her in her bowl. She looks at it sadly and follows me back out of the room as I leave, totally unimpressed by the hard brown balls. I know she'll slip away throughout the day and snack at it... It will get eaten. But not right now. By the time I've scooped up a helping of cat food to feed the kitties, Ned has finished his food and is bouncing around like he's expecting seconds. A few pieces of cat food fall from the scooper as I walk to the kitchen to fill their bowl, and Ned excitedly wolfs them down. There. Done with morning feedings.
I look out into the back yard and grimace at how brown it is and decide to run the sprinkler for a little while. It's all set up in the front yard, so I bring the dogs out into the back yard and put Ned onto his leash that's staked there and Giz and I walk round to the front and I turn on the sprinkler. I watch Gizmo pee and then we go into the house. I set a timer on my phone for half an hour and then make myself two fried eggs, over easy, and a bagel with cream cheese. Cooked to perfection, I put on an episode of some show I've already watched a million times on my laptop, and sit down to eat. I pull one side of the bagel in half and pop one of the egg with a sharp part, watching the warm orange goo dribble out. I take my Tardis shaped salt shaker and shake out an unhealthy amount of salt into the orange pool and then swirl it with my piece of bagel, mixing the salt into the liquid gold. Yum. Yum yum yum. I never cared about salt before I got pregnant, and now I can't eat anything without it. I half pay attention to the show, mostly focusing on my eggs. I use half of one side of the bagel to mop up the delicious yolk of one egg, and the other half on the other egg. Then I put the hollowed out, liquidless egg whites onto the other side of the bagel and eat it. Delicious. I feel all eggy and full.
I wash my hands and go get the glass of water my husband left for me in the bedroom. It's tepid and too warm for me, but I drink it anyway. He's left the Britta out on the counter, so there's no cold water. I fill it and put it back in the fridge. I barely remember to take my prenatal and my other supplements: Folic Acid, Vitamin D, and Magnesium. I know I should take magnesium at night, but I never remember to, so I take it during the day, because it's better to take it at the wrong time than to skip it. Hopefully it's helping with my leg cramps even at 10 in the morning.
My alarm goes off, so I go out and let Ned off his leash, and he happily bounds up to the back door, waiting to be let in so he can scrounge around the kitchen floor looking for any breakfast crumbs I may have dropped. I circle the house and turn off the sprinkler, unscrew the hose from the wall and awkwardly gather it to carry around back. My backyard is terraced, so I set it up on the second tier, then walk down the steps and screw the hose into the side of the house and turn it on. This back spigot leaks terribly, but I try to ignore it and set the timer for another half hour. From the second tier of the back yard, the sprinkler can reach the whole yard, even hitting the roof. I look at my little dirt patch, checking on my 8 gladiola sprouts... I am so pleased they're coming up. I have a black thumb, but these will not be deterred. I planted 30 in all, but even having 1 sprout felt like an accomplishment. Now that 8 have sprung up, I feel like I can call myself a gardener.
The rest of my day is boring. I call my mom and we talk about everything and nothing... mostly chatting about the baby and all the plans we have for when she comes and my nervousness over being a new mom. I might call my best friend... maybe even skype... We'll see. I tidy. Do dishes. Maybe fold some laundry. There are days when my midwife might come, or my family advocate, and those are nice days, days I get to chat to real live people, days where I can clean my house for a reason. But most days it's just me, on the couch. Lounging with my dogs, watching a TV show. Doing light chores. Maybe I'll go on a little walk with the dogs. The weather is always so nice. Today it's a little cloudy. And it's hot. So I don't know. Chris will come home around 5, I'll make him an easy dinner because I really hate cooking, and we'll probably split up for the evening, him in the basement to watch a superhero show, me in the bedroom watching something else. Maybe he'll feed the dogs dinner, or maybe I will. Later on, we might watch something together... Call the Midwife, or any of the other shows we save for when we're in the mood to be together.
I think tonight he has softball and I'll probably go to cheer him on. He's my sporty man, and I love seeing him play. We'll see our church family and that will be nice. I recently chopped off all my hair and dyed it purple, so it will be interesting to see everyone. I'm a little nervous about it.
After his game, we'll come home, put the dogs to bed in their crates, and watch something in bed on my laptop until he falls asleep. Maybe I'll stay up, reading, writing, watching something... or maybe I'll snuggle down next to him once he's fallen asleep, shutting down for the night as well. Surrounded by a bird's next of pillows. I might wake up 10 times to pee. I might wake up with heart burn and need water and tums. But that will mark the end of my day.
We'll see how the rest of this day goes... but until then, I'll tinker my day away... like I do most days. These slow, easy days before the baby comes and upsets the whole routine. Honestly... I cannot wait.
Monday, April 17, 2017
New friends
It's really hard to make new friends as an adult. Everyone is usually pretty established in their friend group by the time their late twenties roll around. I think the military provides some amount of support since you move so much, people are aware that you need a support system everywhere you go. I have had some luck with making a few great friends, but then I've moved again and had to leave them behind. We dream of a day when fate will bring us together again, but in all likelihood, it won't happen.
Finding friends in the communities you live in is a nice alternative to other's in the military, because at least one of you will have permanence to some extent. Should we be here 2 years or 4, we will have this one connection for the entire time... and no matter where we go, they will always be here in the same place, forever connecting our world with memories. Forever giving us a reason to maybe one day return.
As luck would have it, my husband and I recently got sucked into a long-standing, well-established group of church people through our family advocate. It's difficult to feel at home in such a group, even though everyone is kind, inviting, and friendly, since the past has them so intertwined, they can speak easily of almost anyone and all know who they are. They can flip from subject to subject and no one is lost or confused. Except us two newbies, smiling through the slight boredom of not knowing what they're talking about. Its worth the awkward phase of being the odd ones out, though. I can imagine a day when walking through the door without knocking is totally natural. But as cruel as fate is, the core of the group, the house family, is moving soon to another state. All of them, the grandparents, the kids, the grandkids. The whole of the core.
It's hard to make friends as adults. Because as adults, people begin to realize how important family is. So they move closer to family, or are focused on creating a family, or surround themselves with friends that are family.
If I lived in Cali again with my family, I don't think I would feel the slightest need to make friends. To have my besty again, my sisters so close, my mother at hand... It would dispel the loneliness quite a bit. But living a military life style, I'm forced to try to find kindred spirits in strange new places, and it's hard. Anne of Green Gables found as she grew up that there are far more kindred spirits in the world than she ever realized, and I think that is true. There is a basis of need and wants in all people that is recognizable and if you can fulfill those for other people, they can fulfill it for you.
I hope that we can remain good friends with this group, even though we are the odd ones out, the newbies in a time of change for a well-established group of intimates, and maybe the group can withstand the loss of the core. I certainly hope so. It would be so nice to always have someone to call on a lonely weekend, or a place to eat for another family-less holiday.
I pray that God holds them together through the change. For all of their sake and not just for my husband and I.
Finding friends in the communities you live in is a nice alternative to other's in the military, because at least one of you will have permanence to some extent. Should we be here 2 years or 4, we will have this one connection for the entire time... and no matter where we go, they will always be here in the same place, forever connecting our world with memories. Forever giving us a reason to maybe one day return.
As luck would have it, my husband and I recently got sucked into a long-standing, well-established group of church people through our family advocate. It's difficult to feel at home in such a group, even though everyone is kind, inviting, and friendly, since the past has them so intertwined, they can speak easily of almost anyone and all know who they are. They can flip from subject to subject and no one is lost or confused. Except us two newbies, smiling through the slight boredom of not knowing what they're talking about. Its worth the awkward phase of being the odd ones out, though. I can imagine a day when walking through the door without knocking is totally natural. But as cruel as fate is, the core of the group, the house family, is moving soon to another state. All of them, the grandparents, the kids, the grandkids. The whole of the core.
It's hard to make friends as adults. Because as adults, people begin to realize how important family is. So they move closer to family, or are focused on creating a family, or surround themselves with friends that are family.
If I lived in Cali again with my family, I don't think I would feel the slightest need to make friends. To have my besty again, my sisters so close, my mother at hand... It would dispel the loneliness quite a bit. But living a military life style, I'm forced to try to find kindred spirits in strange new places, and it's hard. Anne of Green Gables found as she grew up that there are far more kindred spirits in the world than she ever realized, and I think that is true. There is a basis of need and wants in all people that is recognizable and if you can fulfill those for other people, they can fulfill it for you.
I hope that we can remain good friends with this group, even though we are the odd ones out, the newbies in a time of change for a well-established group of intimates, and maybe the group can withstand the loss of the core. I certainly hope so. It would be so nice to always have someone to call on a lonely weekend, or a place to eat for another family-less holiday.
I pray that God holds them together through the change. For all of their sake and not just for my husband and I.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
4 months
I feel like I am a gas-filled, light headed, vomitting nightmare. Pregnancy is so freaking hard. Had you told me this even a day before I found out I was pregnant, I would have dismissed every one of your warnings and laughed to myself about how amazing MY pregnancy was going to be. This is truly one of those miracles of life that is indescribable until it is happening to you. Trust me, I know that I am lucky... there are so many women who have so many more issues during pregnancy. I have no outside stress... I can focus one hundred percent on just taking care of my body and not have to worry about doing this whole pregnancy and functioning as a worker or mother or human person. I have literally nothing to do besides be pregnant. And still, it seems like an overwhelming amount of work. I cannot imagine having to do this with a job. Or having to be pregnant AROUND OTHER PEOPLE who expect things from you. I am glad that I get to go through it the first time without another child to take care of. That horror will come in two years when I plan on having my second. Living so far away from everyone has been one of those bags of mixed candy that also has some nuts and dog poop in it. Haha! There are some good things in there, but they're all kind of ruined by the fact that I don't have my family here.
4 months. It's crazy. Next month, I will be halfway done. I keep thinking that 6 months is the halfway mark, but it isn't... Thank goodness. I would hate to have to do this for a whole year!
Don't get me wrong!! I am so thrilled, ecstatic overjoyed to be carrying life... healthy, happy, growing life inside of me. It's not a blessing I take lightly.
But believe me when I say that this shit is no joke. You have all kinds of discomfort and pain and if you aren't throwing up, you're bursting into tears and when you have a really good happy day, you don't fit into your cute clothes and things that used to mildly annoy are the reason for murder. Like my dog. MY precious little poodle mix. She whines every time she wants to get up on my bed with me. And she has to be on the bed. There is no debating with her. There's no putting her some where else because she is relentless and unstoppable. And she can jump up onto my bed just fine, but she doesn't WANT to jump. She sits and whines at me until I yell at her enough she jumps up herself, or until I pick her up. I have no patience for this anymore. The first little breathy wheeze she makes at me has my blood boiling. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I have a tiny baby sucking the milk and life out of me after 2 hours of sleep and my dog is sitting next to my bed WHINING because I won't pick her up so she can lick her butt on my pillow.
If I kill my dog, I plead insanity. I want you to know that I do love her and I like to cuddle with her. But that whine drives me to the edges of reason.
My mother is just about the best being on the whole planet when it comes to all things family. It just breaks my heart that we're so far apart.
A few weekends ago, for my birthday, my husband took me to Denver to stay with my aunt and visit the zoo and my mother ended up flying out to surprise me there, since plane tickets are so cheap from Cali to Denver. I hadn't really realized how much I had needed her. How much I had missed that connection that only she seems to be able to give me. That while I had been FEELING pregnant in my body in all of the terrible ways that pregnancy makes you feel, I hadn't been FEELING pregnant in my heart and head in all those lovely ways you want to feel pregnant. And just by being around me with her constant stream of love through touch and conversation, she opened this door that I hadn't realized had been locked up inside of me and let me feel all those happy pregnant feelings. I was finally allowing myself to buy maternity clothes and baby items and talk about being pregnant. I gave myself permission to be tired and nauseated and not do anything. I think sometimes you need another person to tell you, "This is valid." before you allow yourself to take care of yourself as if you deserve it. My mom has always been the number one best person to do that for all her children.
But the long weekend ended and back in my everyday life, I'm missing her love so much. Every time I picture the summer, I'm at home in Cali... going to the beach every day, lounging in the sun, eating fro-yo with my sisters, seeing my niece play in water for the first time, shopping with my best friend, taking road trips to see old friends. It breaks my heart that I probably will be here alone in my house all summer, waiting for my husband to come home from work. Waiting for my mom to come when it's my time to give birth. Waiting for the baby. Sometimes it feels like I will always have to miss the most important parts of my life.
If I were to go home for the summer, I would miss my husband so much. He wouldn't get to see my stomach grow. Feel the baby kick. He wouldn't get to take all the adventures with me. And I hate that. I just wish that we lived together. Or at least close enough to go visit without it either costing an arm and a leg, or two days trapped in a car.
I want my baby to grow up not knowing what it's like to miss their grandparents. I want to be able to drop off my kids for the weekend with my folks and getting to lounge around naked with my husband all weekend. That's not really an option when you live the military life. And while I am so grateful for everything the military provides, and the opportunities to explore the world, it breaks my heart that it comes at the cost of living far from my family.
4 months. It's crazy. Next month, I will be halfway done. I keep thinking that 6 months is the halfway mark, but it isn't... Thank goodness. I would hate to have to do this for a whole year!
Don't get me wrong!! I am so thrilled, ecstatic overjoyed to be carrying life... healthy, happy, growing life inside of me. It's not a blessing I take lightly.
But believe me when I say that this shit is no joke. You have all kinds of discomfort and pain and if you aren't throwing up, you're bursting into tears and when you have a really good happy day, you don't fit into your cute clothes and things that used to mildly annoy are the reason for murder. Like my dog. MY precious little poodle mix. She whines every time she wants to get up on my bed with me. And she has to be on the bed. There is no debating with her. There's no putting her some where else because she is relentless and unstoppable. And she can jump up onto my bed just fine, but she doesn't WANT to jump. She sits and whines at me until I yell at her enough she jumps up herself, or until I pick her up. I have no patience for this anymore. The first little breathy wheeze she makes at me has my blood boiling. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I have a tiny baby sucking the milk and life out of me after 2 hours of sleep and my dog is sitting next to my bed WHINING because I won't pick her up so she can lick her butt on my pillow.
If I kill my dog, I plead insanity. I want you to know that I do love her and I like to cuddle with her. But that whine drives me to the edges of reason.
My mother is just about the best being on the whole planet when it comes to all things family. It just breaks my heart that we're so far apart.
A few weekends ago, for my birthday, my husband took me to Denver to stay with my aunt and visit the zoo and my mother ended up flying out to surprise me there, since plane tickets are so cheap from Cali to Denver. I hadn't really realized how much I had needed her. How much I had missed that connection that only she seems to be able to give me. That while I had been FEELING pregnant in my body in all of the terrible ways that pregnancy makes you feel, I hadn't been FEELING pregnant in my heart and head in all those lovely ways you want to feel pregnant. And just by being around me with her constant stream of love through touch and conversation, she opened this door that I hadn't realized had been locked up inside of me and let me feel all those happy pregnant feelings. I was finally allowing myself to buy maternity clothes and baby items and talk about being pregnant. I gave myself permission to be tired and nauseated and not do anything. I think sometimes you need another person to tell you, "This is valid." before you allow yourself to take care of yourself as if you deserve it. My mom has always been the number one best person to do that for all her children.
But the long weekend ended and back in my everyday life, I'm missing her love so much. Every time I picture the summer, I'm at home in Cali... going to the beach every day, lounging in the sun, eating fro-yo with my sisters, seeing my niece play in water for the first time, shopping with my best friend, taking road trips to see old friends. It breaks my heart that I probably will be here alone in my house all summer, waiting for my husband to come home from work. Waiting for my mom to come when it's my time to give birth. Waiting for the baby. Sometimes it feels like I will always have to miss the most important parts of my life.
If I were to go home for the summer, I would miss my husband so much. He wouldn't get to see my stomach grow. Feel the baby kick. He wouldn't get to take all the adventures with me. And I hate that. I just wish that we lived together. Or at least close enough to go visit without it either costing an arm and a leg, or two days trapped in a car.
I want my baby to grow up not knowing what it's like to miss their grandparents. I want to be able to drop off my kids for the weekend with my folks and getting to lounge around naked with my husband all weekend. That's not really an option when you live the military life. And while I am so grateful for everything the military provides, and the opportunities to explore the world, it breaks my heart that it comes at the cost of living far from my family.
Monday, January 30, 2017
Third Christmas, a new baby, our new house, and the surprise
My oldest sister had a baby girl a week and a half before Christmas. We were planning on coming home for Christmas just to see the baby, but then something happened the morning after a long night of worrying over the birth of my new niece...
I woke up and peed on a stick. And the damn thing told me I was knocked up.
I was floored. I had not seen this coming. We had tried a one-ditch effort to see if we would have a sort of silly happy surprise for everyone for Christmas... I never in a million years believed we would have been successful! There are people who try for years to get pregnant, and until it happened, I always kind of assumed that would be me. I have a tilted uterus which makes for more back pain during periods, and I've heard it's harder for women with tilted uteruses to conceive. Apparently, this was not my case.
One time. One little try. And bam. I was suddenly carrying the potential for human life.
I immediately wanted to call my mom, call my sisters, call my best friend, call anyone and everyone. But we had done the one-ditch effort specifically to surprise people for Christmas, so I couldn't. I couldn't waste this amazing opportunity.
I called my husband at work and he rushed home, we bought another test and I peed on that as well, and hey-ho, it too claimed I was knocked up. We went to the doctor that afternoon, and I peed in their little cup and what do you know, they also told us we were pregnant. It was such a shocking day. My new niece had seriously been born THAT morning. Just a few short hours earlier.
I didn't feel pregnant. When my best friend got pregnant, she told me that she knew the moment it happened. But I didn't have any of that. I had zero premonitions. I had promised myself the day my period was due, if I didn't wake up with it, I would pee on a pregnancy test. But I didn't think I was actually pregnant. I couldn't even fathom it.
We soon began planning how we were going to surprise my family, a thousand ideas but none of them seemed good enough. We settled on one idea: Every Christmas we give Christmas PJs on Christmas Eve. This year, Chris and I said that since we were buying a house, we would just do the PJs, and that would be our gift to everyone. So we thought, after everyone's changed into their PJs, we'll get together to do a family photo and then Chris would say, "Ok everyone, saaaay, Sarah's Pregnant!"
In theory it seemed like a great idea, but I couldn't get past the thought that everyone would think it was a joke. So as we were wrapping the Christmas PJs on Christmas eve, I suggested that we wrap the pregnancy tests with my mom's PJs and have her open them last. It was so stressful. Hoping we could pull it off without anyone thinking something was up...
Not to drag the story out, but I should mention that my oldest sister sort of guessed that I was pregnant the first night we were home. She and I were up late, talking about her labor, oohing and awwing over her perfect tiny new baby. And she said, "I don't need to tell you, because you'll experience it all soon enough." And I couldn't hide my grin and she caught it immediately and said, "Wait... REALLY??" It was a good sister moment.
And let me also say, I was there for 4 days before Christmas eve... not telling my family was nearly impossible. I wanted to blurt it out to each person any time we were alone together. But anyway... I digress...
So we take all the gifts into the living room, and it just so happens that everyone is sitting in this perfect order on the couch, where my mom is aaaaall the way down on one end. So we easily start handing them out, suggesting we open them one at a time so each person can see what everyone else has gotten and everyone agrees, none the wiser. Everyone is thrilled with their PJs, and then my mom's turn comes and she opens them perfectly and stops, when she sees what's sitting on top and it takes her a long minute before she looks up at me completely shocked and says, "You're pregnant??" My little sister gave the best face and slaps her hands over her mouth and soon everyone's hugging me and congratulating me and gushing about how no one knew, no one had any idea, everyone's so surprised! It was such a wonderful moment.
The rest of Christmas kind of pales in comparison, but it was all wonderful. We really had an amazing time. I spent lots of time with my niece, taking in all her tiny smiley perfection. I even got to see two of my best friends and tell them my exciting news by showing them the video of my mom opening her PJs. It was lovely.
So for Christmas, I got a new home. A brand new baby niece. My best friend came back to South Dakota with me to help me move into my new house... And... A baby all of my own.
It really was... THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER.
I woke up and peed on a stick. And the damn thing told me I was knocked up.
I was floored. I had not seen this coming. We had tried a one-ditch effort to see if we would have a sort of silly happy surprise for everyone for Christmas... I never in a million years believed we would have been successful! There are people who try for years to get pregnant, and until it happened, I always kind of assumed that would be me. I have a tilted uterus which makes for more back pain during periods, and I've heard it's harder for women with tilted uteruses to conceive. Apparently, this was not my case.
One time. One little try. And bam. I was suddenly carrying the potential for human life.
I immediately wanted to call my mom, call my sisters, call my best friend, call anyone and everyone. But we had done the one-ditch effort specifically to surprise people for Christmas, so I couldn't. I couldn't waste this amazing opportunity.
I called my husband at work and he rushed home, we bought another test and I peed on that as well, and hey-ho, it too claimed I was knocked up. We went to the doctor that afternoon, and I peed in their little cup and what do you know, they also told us we were pregnant. It was such a shocking day. My new niece had seriously been born THAT morning. Just a few short hours earlier.
I didn't feel pregnant. When my best friend got pregnant, she told me that she knew the moment it happened. But I didn't have any of that. I had zero premonitions. I had promised myself the day my period was due, if I didn't wake up with it, I would pee on a pregnancy test. But I didn't think I was actually pregnant. I couldn't even fathom it.
We soon began planning how we were going to surprise my family, a thousand ideas but none of them seemed good enough. We settled on one idea: Every Christmas we give Christmas PJs on Christmas Eve. This year, Chris and I said that since we were buying a house, we would just do the PJs, and that would be our gift to everyone. So we thought, after everyone's changed into their PJs, we'll get together to do a family photo and then Chris would say, "Ok everyone, saaaay, Sarah's Pregnant!"
In theory it seemed like a great idea, but I couldn't get past the thought that everyone would think it was a joke. So as we were wrapping the Christmas PJs on Christmas eve, I suggested that we wrap the pregnancy tests with my mom's PJs and have her open them last. It was so stressful. Hoping we could pull it off without anyone thinking something was up...
Not to drag the story out, but I should mention that my oldest sister sort of guessed that I was pregnant the first night we were home. She and I were up late, talking about her labor, oohing and awwing over her perfect tiny new baby. And she said, "I don't need to tell you, because you'll experience it all soon enough." And I couldn't hide my grin and she caught it immediately and said, "Wait... REALLY??" It was a good sister moment.
And let me also say, I was there for 4 days before Christmas eve... not telling my family was nearly impossible. I wanted to blurt it out to each person any time we were alone together. But anyway... I digress...
So we take all the gifts into the living room, and it just so happens that everyone is sitting in this perfect order on the couch, where my mom is aaaaall the way down on one end. So we easily start handing them out, suggesting we open them one at a time so each person can see what everyone else has gotten and everyone agrees, none the wiser. Everyone is thrilled with their PJs, and then my mom's turn comes and she opens them perfectly and stops, when she sees what's sitting on top and it takes her a long minute before she looks up at me completely shocked and says, "You're pregnant??" My little sister gave the best face and slaps her hands over her mouth and soon everyone's hugging me and congratulating me and gushing about how no one knew, no one had any idea, everyone's so surprised! It was such a wonderful moment.
The rest of Christmas kind of pales in comparison, but it was all wonderful. We really had an amazing time. I spent lots of time with my niece, taking in all her tiny smiley perfection. I even got to see two of my best friends and tell them my exciting news by showing them the video of my mom opening her PJs. It was lovely.
So for Christmas, I got a new home. A brand new baby niece. My best friend came back to South Dakota with me to help me move into my new house... And... A baby all of my own.
It really was... THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER.
Friday, January 27, 2017
Mental Health
My whole family suffers from mental health issues. Mostly depression. All undiagnosed, of course. I don't know about my mom, so much... She is one of the strongest, hardest working people I know. I haven't really asked her much about her mental health. But just from growing up, it seemed like my mom was definitely mentally healthy.
But my dad, he was a whole other kettle of fish. I'm sure it stems from a million different places, divorced parents, mother who plays favorites, too much exposure to sexual stuff too young. Nothing gross or horrific, just being too aware of stuff that was too old for him to truly understand. A father who withheld love. All in all my dad has turned out pretty amazing if you think about all the messed up things he went through growing up.
Regardless, he has struggled with rage, depression, anxiety, those kinds of things.
And he passed that on to us girls. My oldest sister struggles with an eating disorder, something rarely attributed to plus-sized women, but is more often the case than most people think. She struggles with co-dependance and constantly feeling like she's not good enough. I think every oldest child might struggle with that a little bit. All the parental experimentation is kind of taken out on the first child, and then they become the helper for all the other siblings. And my youngest sister struggles with feeling invisible, unloved... She was an extrovert from birth, raised by two introverts, and following my oldest sister around doing everything she did, and my oldest sister is more introverted than anyone I know. So my youngest sister always struggled with feeling unloved, having no friends, and feeling left out. Which gave her low self-esteem for a long time. But she's grown a lot and changed a lot, but constantly goes back to her youth, questioning it, and leaving her feeling as though her foundation is flawed... and when you feel like your foundation is flawed, it nearly impossible to move forward, which causes depression.
I have struggled with this sort of... Manic side and then this dark low side. I had no empathy growing up, very little impulse control, and would fly into a rage at the drop of a hat, then be totally fine in 10 minutes. Puberty was an especially hard time, with my mother at her whit's end, questioning me all the time about where I was coming from? Where this rage came from and why did it feel so uncontrollable.
I remember trying to take Midol on my period once and I felt insane. I felt shaky and outside of myself and like I couldn't keep still. It was as if my hormones were so imbalanced, I couldn't take a simple pill to ease my cramps without upsetting my whole body.
And when I got married and moved to Guam, anxiety pretty much crippled me. I couldn't DO anything. I felt like a child.
I tried to go see a therapist this year and it was horrible. She didn't understand what I was trying to say at all. I couldn't get her to see that a job and a pet weren't going to magically fix the spiraling darkness that sometimes overwhelms me.
My husband doesn't understand this crazy side of me. He is so even all the time, he's NEVER out of control. He laughs when he wants, cries when he's sad... None of his feelings ever are too big to handle. And it makes it hard to talk to him about. You would think that a man who works in mental health would be exactly the type of person to understand a crazy wife, but that is not the case.
And now I'm pregnant. This hasn't affected my hormones yet, I don't think. But I worry about what my child will pick up from me. I hope they are like my husband. I hope they can talk to me. I hope I can give them more tools than my family gave me.
At an OB class, we had to fill out a survey... and apparently if you scored a certain amount of points, it means you're "high risk". For some kind of mental something... Anyway. I did. Score high enough to get noticed. The woman who was in charge of the survey is a nice lady that I have wanted to invite over for dinner, a woman who works with my husband... But it was strange. She didn't call me about the results of my test. She went to my husband. I felt like that was kind of inappropriate. And he of course... explained away my answers. Because he doesn't really understand the extent of my crazy. So maybe she could have helped me somehow, and I'll never get that. Because she went to a co-worker who happened to know the "patient"... instead of coming to the "patient". I feel weird about the whole thing.
But my dad, he was a whole other kettle of fish. I'm sure it stems from a million different places, divorced parents, mother who plays favorites, too much exposure to sexual stuff too young. Nothing gross or horrific, just being too aware of stuff that was too old for him to truly understand. A father who withheld love. All in all my dad has turned out pretty amazing if you think about all the messed up things he went through growing up.
Regardless, he has struggled with rage, depression, anxiety, those kinds of things.
And he passed that on to us girls. My oldest sister struggles with an eating disorder, something rarely attributed to plus-sized women, but is more often the case than most people think. She struggles with co-dependance and constantly feeling like she's not good enough. I think every oldest child might struggle with that a little bit. All the parental experimentation is kind of taken out on the first child, and then they become the helper for all the other siblings. And my youngest sister struggles with feeling invisible, unloved... She was an extrovert from birth, raised by two introverts, and following my oldest sister around doing everything she did, and my oldest sister is more introverted than anyone I know. So my youngest sister always struggled with feeling unloved, having no friends, and feeling left out. Which gave her low self-esteem for a long time. But she's grown a lot and changed a lot, but constantly goes back to her youth, questioning it, and leaving her feeling as though her foundation is flawed... and when you feel like your foundation is flawed, it nearly impossible to move forward, which causes depression.
I have struggled with this sort of... Manic side and then this dark low side. I had no empathy growing up, very little impulse control, and would fly into a rage at the drop of a hat, then be totally fine in 10 minutes. Puberty was an especially hard time, with my mother at her whit's end, questioning me all the time about where I was coming from? Where this rage came from and why did it feel so uncontrollable.
I remember trying to take Midol on my period once and I felt insane. I felt shaky and outside of myself and like I couldn't keep still. It was as if my hormones were so imbalanced, I couldn't take a simple pill to ease my cramps without upsetting my whole body.
And when I got married and moved to Guam, anxiety pretty much crippled me. I couldn't DO anything. I felt like a child.
I tried to go see a therapist this year and it was horrible. She didn't understand what I was trying to say at all. I couldn't get her to see that a job and a pet weren't going to magically fix the spiraling darkness that sometimes overwhelms me.
My husband doesn't understand this crazy side of me. He is so even all the time, he's NEVER out of control. He laughs when he wants, cries when he's sad... None of his feelings ever are too big to handle. And it makes it hard to talk to him about. You would think that a man who works in mental health would be exactly the type of person to understand a crazy wife, but that is not the case.
And now I'm pregnant. This hasn't affected my hormones yet, I don't think. But I worry about what my child will pick up from me. I hope they are like my husband. I hope they can talk to me. I hope I can give them more tools than my family gave me.
At an OB class, we had to fill out a survey... and apparently if you scored a certain amount of points, it means you're "high risk". For some kind of mental something... Anyway. I did. Score high enough to get noticed. The woman who was in charge of the survey is a nice lady that I have wanted to invite over for dinner, a woman who works with my husband... But it was strange. She didn't call me about the results of my test. She went to my husband. I felt like that was kind of inappropriate. And he of course... explained away my answers. Because he doesn't really understand the extent of my crazy. So maybe she could have helped me somehow, and I'll never get that. Because she went to a co-worker who happened to know the "patient"... instead of coming to the "patient". I feel weird about the whole thing.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
The 3,000 Dollar Purchase
Now, anyone who's entered into the holy bonds of matrimony can tell you this, but marriage is hard. And complicated. And not for the faint of heart. But money seems to make to so much more complicated.
Not every man is the same and that goes doubly for women, I would say. So I wouldn't apply this to just anyone. I can only say what happened to us.
My husband has always had two unbreakable habits when it comes to purchases. The first is If I Want Something, I Need It. And the second is Ask For Forgiveness Instead of Permission. Which makes for nearly impossible gift-giving (he already owns anything he could possibly want), and for several head-butting disagreements when he's brought home something completely undiscussed.
It must come from a different type of upbringing, since I can't seem to buy myself a set of socks without making sure it's ok with my dear bread-winner first, and he has no trouble bringing home a 3rd playstation totally on the sly. And there is a small war within myself when this happens. First is the Play-It-Cool, because I desperately want to be the cool wife that he can boast about to his buddies. Then comes the simmering rage of But-Couldn't-We-Have-Talked-About-It, where I try to be rational and feel included and he could have still ended up with it, to the ULTIMATUM- You. Owe. Me.
There is a certain amount of guilt that goes along with the lecture, because I don't work. I don't bring in any money. I don't go out and deal with people everyday. A certain part of me wants him to have everything his heart desires because he puts NO pressure on me even though I don't work. But another part of me is all, "I clean the house. I cook the meals. I take care of the pets. I AM A HUMAN PERSON WHO SHOULD GET A SAY DESPITE MY LACK OF MONEY-MAKING!"
And he always returns my vehement reprimands with the grinning chagrin of a man who knows he's done a naughty thing, and promises to think and talk about it the next time.
He's awesome like that.
But there was recently a 3,000 dollar purchase made without my knowledge. To be more accurate, it was 2,800, but lets just round up to 3, mmkay? It wasn't a complete surprise. It was an item that he had been talking about wanting since before we got married. It wasn't even that surprising that it happened when it did, I had heard tidbits of conversations, I had been let in here and there... like a nervous swimmer testing the temperature of a swimming pool. But it wasn't until a phone call with my sister-in-law, casually announcing the information that the purchase had been made... (she was completely unaware that I didn't know.), that I truly grasped that this was actually happening. Had happened.
I won't go into all the details of why this wasn't great timing for us, or why it didn't work even though we HAD the money... I won't even go into the details of why it was so upsetting that he hadn't DISCUSSED this purchase with me.
It's just one of those funny little things that you have to learn in the bonds of marriage. How to help each other. How to include each other. How to communicate.
In the end, we managed to find a solution that, while isn't going to make him happy (the only thing that would is if he got away without any consequences, but isn't that true for everything and everyone?), it's taken some of the stress out of the situation. And I feel heard and included and like he's on board to make less selfish decisions in the future. So we're learning.
Slowly... but surely... We are learning.
Not every man is the same and that goes doubly for women, I would say. So I wouldn't apply this to just anyone. I can only say what happened to us.
My husband has always had two unbreakable habits when it comes to purchases. The first is If I Want Something, I Need It. And the second is Ask For Forgiveness Instead of Permission. Which makes for nearly impossible gift-giving (he already owns anything he could possibly want), and for several head-butting disagreements when he's brought home something completely undiscussed.
It must come from a different type of upbringing, since I can't seem to buy myself a set of socks without making sure it's ok with my dear bread-winner first, and he has no trouble bringing home a 3rd playstation totally on the sly. And there is a small war within myself when this happens. First is the Play-It-Cool, because I desperately want to be the cool wife that he can boast about to his buddies. Then comes the simmering rage of But-Couldn't-We-Have-Talked-About-It, where I try to be rational and feel included and he could have still ended up with it, to the ULTIMATUM- You. Owe. Me.
There is a certain amount of guilt that goes along with the lecture, because I don't work. I don't bring in any money. I don't go out and deal with people everyday. A certain part of me wants him to have everything his heart desires because he puts NO pressure on me even though I don't work. But another part of me is all, "I clean the house. I cook the meals. I take care of the pets. I AM A HUMAN PERSON WHO SHOULD GET A SAY DESPITE MY LACK OF MONEY-MAKING!"
And he always returns my vehement reprimands with the grinning chagrin of a man who knows he's done a naughty thing, and promises to think and talk about it the next time.
He's awesome like that.
But there was recently a 3,000 dollar purchase made without my knowledge. To be more accurate, it was 2,800, but lets just round up to 3, mmkay? It wasn't a complete surprise. It was an item that he had been talking about wanting since before we got married. It wasn't even that surprising that it happened when it did, I had heard tidbits of conversations, I had been let in here and there... like a nervous swimmer testing the temperature of a swimming pool. But it wasn't until a phone call with my sister-in-law, casually announcing the information that the purchase had been made... (she was completely unaware that I didn't know.), that I truly grasped that this was actually happening. Had happened.
I won't go into all the details of why this wasn't great timing for us, or why it didn't work even though we HAD the money... I won't even go into the details of why it was so upsetting that he hadn't DISCUSSED this purchase with me.
It's just one of those funny little things that you have to learn in the bonds of marriage. How to help each other. How to include each other. How to communicate.
In the end, we managed to find a solution that, while isn't going to make him happy (the only thing that would is if he got away without any consequences, but isn't that true for everything and everyone?), it's taken some of the stress out of the situation. And I feel heard and included and like he's on board to make less selfish decisions in the future. So we're learning.
Slowly... but surely... We are learning.
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