Chirky

Sleep, Baby, Sleep

2009-10-29T05:28:48Z

Since becoming a parent, I've found that I do a lot of absurd things in the name of Keeping the Peace. At the top of that list is putting Rayah (eight weeks old) to bed each night. She absolutely refuses to fall asleep in her crib before 11pm -- believe me: I've tried, and every time she wakes up within 15 minutes and starts wailing, and that wailing doesn't subside; it becomes a full-blown cry of rage with hiccups and guffaws and disbelief that I would try such a thing -- and so I've gotten into this routine of feeding her and letting her fall asleep on my chest.

If I move within the first 30 minutes, she's wide awake and perturbed, and we have to start the whole routine over again. So I lie absolutely still, propped up with six pillows. I generally entertain myself by reading (turning pages veerrryyyyy quietly) or playing games on my iPhone (volume turned off, of course) or watching TV shows on my laptop (wearing headphones).

At the one hour mark, the poorly choreographed dance begins. I slowly lean forward, my hands positioned behind her head and bottom, my eyes glued to her face for signs of disturbance. I stand up and hold her away from me, her arms spilling downward, my eyes still searching for signs that she's realized she's not on me any longer. Carrying her to her room is like playing that game with the egg in the spoon. You know the children's relay race, where you can't drop the egg, and so you walk very stiffly, carefully holding it, moving as little of your body as possible, all the while chanting: "Don't fall out, don't fall out, don't fall out." Except in my case, I'm thinking: "Don't wake up, don't wake up, don't wake up."

Gingerly, I lay her in the crib. I let her back get used to the mattress while I gently remove my hands from behind her head and her lower half. I back away two steps, still close enough to see whether her eyes pop open. Pause and watch. Take another step back. Pause and listen for movement. Take another step back. Turn off the dimmer switch, which was already set to the lowest setting. Pause and listen for tell-tale grunting. And then I tiptoe back to my room, where I lie in bed and listen for her cry, eventually falling asleep.

It's a little ridiculous, but it works. Most of the time.

Seven

2009-10-23T21:23:48Z

The past seven weeks, since Rayah was born, have been a blur. Time has slipped away much too quickly, and I've begrudged every bit of it. It's kind of eerie how naturally our daughter fits into our lives, how it seems like she's always been a part of us, how much we love this little girl that we only just met.

Pre-Rayah, I was strictly an eight-plus hours of sleep per night kind of woman. I guess I was storing it up for myself, because I haven't seen eight consecutive hours in a loooonnnggggg time. I've surprised myself with my own capacity for sleep deprivation. Yes, those first couple weeks were tough -- especially because we were in and out of hospitals with complications -- but I'll be the first to admit that she's totally worth it, a thousand times over.

Roger and I are totally enamored by our daughter, which is I suppose how we should feel. We can't stop staring at her, trying to figure out which of us she resembles most (we still haven't figured that one out), whose toes she has, if she has my attached earlobes or Roger's detached (jury's still out on that one too, though it seems she inherited her toes from Roger).

Her eyes are still blue, she still has natural blond highlights interspersed through her dark brown hair. Her little thighs are only just beginning to fill out, though they're not quite chunky enough for her to fit into her cloth diapers. Rayah is starting to smile more -- though barely -- and every time I see her sweet dimples, my heart swoons.

We are already seeing little glimpses of her personality, and WOW: she has a flare for drama, and she is VERY opinionated. Of course, considering who her parents are, that's not much of a surprise.

Right now she's in her pack-and-play, kicking her legs and cooing. I like to imagine she's telling Roger and me how much she loves us, too. Even if she doesn't know it quite yet.

Labor of Love

2009-09-24T18:56:58Z

It was 4 a.m. and I woke to a sharp jab in my lady bits. I levitated, sprinted to the restroom, and after ten seconds called out an alarming, “Roooggeerrrrrrrr!!!” It was twenty five days before my due date, almost an entire four weeks of time we thought we still had left, and there was no question whether my water had just broken. There was gushing. Gushing.

* * *

Suddenly our house was a flurry of activity, us calling my doctor, racing to pack last-minute toiletries in the hospital bag, calling my doctor AGAIN (Aannnnsssweeeerrrrrrrrrr, I silently pleaded. He did.), and finally hopping in the car to drive to the hospital. It was surreal, and exciting, and intimidating. We had no idea what to expect, other than being silently aware of how our lives were about to change.

* * *

I remember reading a statistic somewhere that said only 13% of pregnancies end with water breaking before the woman actually goes into labor. I was now a statistic. By 8 a.m. I still hadn’t started experiencing contractions. My water breaking meant that The Area was no longer a sterile environment, and we had only 24 hours to give birth. So we induced labor. The Pitocin drip began, and almost as quickly my contractions began.

* * *

I had two phases of labor: pre-Epidural and post-Epidural. I remember very little pre-Epidural, other than The Pain. I spent two-and-one-half hours curled up on my left side, my face buried in the side of the bed’s handrail, eyes tightly closed, teeth clenched shut, with Roger holding a cold washcloth to my forehead. I tried to focus on his soothing voice, on leveling out my breathing, on anything other than The Pain. Even The Trembling was a welcome distraction, my body shaking so violently I wondered whether I was having a seizure. At one point I opened my eyes to discover a half dozen nurses and doctors surrounding my bed, some rolling my body back and forth, side to side, over and over again, while others fussed over machines. I thought maybe that was a normal part of labor, but found out later that our daughter's heartbeat had dropped from 130 to 50. They were trying to move her off her umbilical cord, which had somehow become compressed under her body.

The Pain felt like my body was being ripped apart, beginning with my pelvic region, radiating into my low back. Each contraction seemed stronger and longer than the previous, seizing my entire body as it shook through me. Minutes ticked by, measured only by whether a contraction was beginning or ending. The breaks in between became shorter, robbing me of any sense of relief. And when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I asked for the nurse to check my dilation. She began checking me just as another contraction rocked through my body, and for the first time I cried out in pain, my body levitating against her prodding fingers. In those two-and-one-half hours, I had gone from one centimeter dilated to eight. Naturally. I thought it was the hardest thing I had ever done.

* * *

It felt like I was lying in a puddle of warm water, except I was on my side and my back was dry. The anesthesiologist had just given me a spinal block and chased it with an epidural. I felt the liquid moving up and down my spine, and within minutes I was free from The Pain. I craned my neck around to look at the computer monitor, saw that I was having a contraction right then, and was amazed that I could barely even feel it, other than a slight cramp in my lower back. Amazed and relieved.

* * *

A few (relatively pain-free) hours later I was dilated to a 10 and ready to push. The nurses swarmed my hospital bed, pulling levers and removing the bottom section of the bed, pushing up handles, transforming it for delivery. Wait – pushing up handles? This wasn’t in the movies. I looked at my nurse. “What am I supposed to do with those?” Those handles, those handles kept me from fracturing bones in Roger’s hand. After instruction from the nurse, we waited for a contraction and then I began pushing. And breathing. And pushing. And breathing. And pushing. And breathing. Rest. Another contraction! Push! And breathe. Push! And breathe. Puuuusssshhhhhh!!!! And breathe. This went on for an hour and 15 minutes, each push becoming more strenuous, more discouraging because WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER? I was 100% effaced. I was dilated to a 10. Why wasn’t this EASIER? And FASTER? Shouldn’t she just come flying out of there? And why did it burn so?

* * *

“Sweetie, I see her hair! She has so much hair all over her head!” I opened my eyes long enough to glance at Roger, his eyes shining. I pushed harder, over and over and over again. My doctor asked if I wanted to touch her head, and I said no. All I wanted was to push, to get her out of me, to be relieved from the pressure she was putting on my body. Two contractions later, he asked again. Again, I said no. Push. Push. Push. Push. After the next contraction, he asked again. I finally agreed, because maybe there was a reason he kept asking me. And her head – it was slimy, like her hair was covered in conditioner. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't the emotions that flooded me. As if The Pain and The Pressure and The Burn weren’t enough, touching my daughter's head while she was still unborn made my pregnancy and my daughter’s impending arrival all the more authentic. If that is even possible.

* * *

“Sweetie, I see her head! Her eyes! Her eyes are the deepest blue!” Roger was giving me a play-by-play, a narrative that I desperately needed, because I had no idea what was happening down there other than knowing that I was pushing, and pushing, and pushing, and still had no baby to show for it. “Her shoulders are coming out! I see them! You’re doing such a great job! Just one more big push!” And with that, she slipped out, wailing. I relaxed against the bed, relieved the marathon was over, as I watched my doctor hold her in the air. She was perfect, with dark, thick hair and rosy skin.

After the nurses finished examining her, they handed our daughter to Roger. And watching him with her was overwhelmingly emotional for me. It was like love at first sight, like I could feel my heart growing three sizes that day. Giving birth to Rayah was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. It was also one of the most exhilarating, proudest moments of my life.

Rayah, a few hours after delivery

Introducing Rayah

2009-09-14T22:23:00Z

On September 2nd, Roger and I welcomed our daughter, Rayah, into our family.

At birth, she was 7 pounds, 15 ounces and 20.5 inches long. Don't let her size fool you, though - she was nearly four weeks early!

I'm working on her birth story, but in the meantime we're enjoying all her little coos, the funny little faces she makes, and getting to spend time with our sweet child as she explores her new world. As we suspected we would be, we're totally smitten.

A World of Love

2009-09-01T04:50:00Z

For the past week, I've been hearing about Choosing Thomas -- have you heard about this? -- a family chose to give birth to their son, even though they knew he had a fatal illness. They didn't know how long he would survive outside of the womb, how long they would have to love him or cuddle him. They said, "We could have 11 minutes or 11 days."

I just finished watching their story. It was so poignant. They remarked that their son, Thomas, would never know the hurts of this world. He'd only know that for the extent of his life, he was loved. And that he was loved well.

I admire this family, their devotion to their son. I can't imagine allowing such raw emotion to be filmed. But at the same time, what a gift to have his life documented. I hope you'll take a few moments to watch the video.

(A word to the wise: keep tissues handy.)

Doing It All For My Baby

2009-08-24T04:10:08Z

This weekend we painted the nursery. Before I tell you anything else, I should explain that I use the term "we" very liberally. Roger is the one doing all the work around here, and I amble in every few minutes to check his progress and tell him how awesome it looks. (Which, it does look awesome. We love the bright, cheery lime color. During the day, sunlight floods in from the window and the color is a very, very pale sherbet shade. In the evening, it becomes darker and more olive-toned. The color is called "Seawall" and this is the thing: I love the sea. So I'm kind of hoping that the wall color will foreshadow how this room will affect our daughter, meaning: SOOTHING AND CALM.)

While Roger works on the nursery, I am busying myself in the kitchen. I spend my weekends cooking, and then cleaning up my (very large) messes, and then making grocery lists, and then shopping. Which pretty much cements that nine times out of ten, I am the epitome of the old cliche: barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. But I don't mind, because I like to cook and think it's fun to serve up delicious food to my husband, who is working so hard on our house. And he likes eating it. So it's a win/win for both of us.

I also spend my time flipping through a variety of children's decor magazines, and I've noticed this trend of placing mobiles over the changing table instead of the crib. Which is utterly confusing to me, because when did we stop putting them over the place that newborns spend most of their time? Or am I supposed to move the mobile once our daughter starts standing up? Or did I have it wrong in the first place? Because I'm entirely planning on attaching the mobile over the crib, if we can figure out how to do it without putting holes in the ceiling.

Speaking of mobiles, we just received ours in the mail! We had custom-ordered it from Gifts Define, an etsy shop of hand-sewn plush designs. It's a little out of context here, since last night I just held it against the wall and you can't see the furniture in the room (ahem, because right now there isn't any furniture in the room), but the mobile is made of five sweet little birdies: yellow, lime, coral, blue and olive. The coral and olive are hues from her bedding, and the other colors will be incorporated in the artwork we're planning for her room.

Next weekend “we” are planning to move furnishings into the room, and sometime in the next couple weeks we’ll design the artwork (Roger is creating the design!) (I love being married to a graphic designer.) and have it printed. In the meantime, we’re staring doe-eyed at five little birds, hoping we’ll get it all done before our daughter arrives. And though her due date is less than five weeks away, we think she might come earlier based on an ultrasound we had two weeks ago. But that’s another story for another day.

Bag Lady

2009-08-19T04:33:43Z

Tonight I began packing my hospital bag, based on Emily’s Great Big Hospital Bag Packing List and the list I found on TheBump.com. I combined both and then narrowed them down based on what I thought I would need. But then it occurred to me that the Internet Knows Things. So I’m including my list below, and if there’s anything I haven’t listed that you think is vital, would you let me know?

Documents: Insurance info; hospital forms and birth plan (I do not really have much of a birth plan – it kind of goes like this: I only want Roger in the room with me, and at the end of labor and delivery I’d like to have a live baby. I’d prefer to give birth vaginally, but if that doesn’t work out, I don’t mind. That is all.)

Clothing Items: 2 pairs of warm, nonskid socks; maternity bra/nursing pads; maternity clothes for going home; possibly a gown for labor/delivery; yoga pants and tops for recovery (Is this right? What did you wear after giving birth? Don’t you have to stay in the hospital for 48-72 hours? Did you just hang out in a hospital gown the entire time?)

Toiletries: Lip balm, eyeglasses, makeup, headband or ponytail holder, toothbrush and paste, deodorant, face wash, lotion, lanolin nipple cream. (Truthfully, I will probably also bring my Bumble & Bumble hair powder, so that it looks like I washed my hair, when really I probably won’t bother because do you know how much effort it takes to maintain my curls? I have to wash, condition, put in hair product, and then dry my hair with a diffuser. And then add MORE products. And that seems like a lot of work to me, especially when I’ll have just finished pushing something roughly the size of a watermelon out of my very un-watermelon-sized lady bits. I’m just sayin’, though I suppose you never know. Maybe I’ll be feeling very ambitious afterward.)

Miscellaneous: Sugar-free hard candy or lozenges; pen and paper; iPhone (doubles as alarm clock, address book, Internet addiction feeder, Twittering device and all-around good distraction, unless Roger is using his when CLEARLY he should be paying attention to ME) with charger; coins for vending machines; snacks; camera/memory card/charger; bath towel (people keep saying how tiiinnyyyyy hospital towels are); very light reading; iPod (if I can’t be bothered to load music onto my phone by the time I deliver, though in this case I suppose I should consider getting speakers, too); tennis ball (for massaging, or throwing at the first person who eats around me during labor and delivery); pillow (because hospital pillows are baaaddddddd); sleeping mask (for pretending that I’ll be able to sleep at all); baby scrapbook (for recording things like sweet, inked footprints); and thank you notes (again, in case I’m feeling overly ambitious)

For Roger: Change of clothes; his own toiletries; mints or gum; his pillow and a warm blanket (for the frigid hospital room); snacks (that he is not allowed to eat in my vicinity)

For Baby: Receiving blankets; hat; car seat; going home outfit; extra baby outfit; socks. (Our hospital provides everything from blankets to nail files to diapers, so there isn’t much we’ll need for baby. I think. Though I’ve never given birth before, so I guess I could be wrong about this. I probably should have paid more attention in my baby care class, but I was too distracted with learning how to swaddle. And give baths. And stop the CRYING.)

I’m trying not to go overboard, but after looking over this list I think that I’ve failed in the moderation department.

The Name Event

2009-08-13T16:18:18Z

When people ask me What has been the hardest part about being pregnant?, I always pause and think about my answer, a little perplexed because I've really enjoyed being pregnant. I only have six weeks left, and I still sometimes forget that I'm pregnant. Is that even possible? Apparently so.

It's just that nothing about me, other than the size of my abdomen, has really changed. I haven't experienced the same symptoms of pregnancy that I've listened to other women bemoan. I don't have war stories involving my gag reflex and the toilet, or of exhaustion, or of cravings or food aversions. Sometimes I even make up cravings, just to feel more pregnant, like: "Ooooohhh, sweetie. I really want some [insert here: caramel popcorn or garlic bread or fresh blueberries]." And then I get it, and I eat it because I have it and it tastes good, so why not?, but it's generally not particularly satisfying because I wasn't actually craving it in the first place. And I realize how dysfunctional that is, and how awesome it is at the same time, because I'm in a pretty fortunate situation.

Sure, there are some things about pregnancy that are a tad bit uncomfortable (well, okay then - truthfully, only one). Sleeping on my side is something that I still struggle with, because my hips get so sore! Who ever heard of sore hips from lying on your side? But they do, painfully so, and I can generally sleep about 5-6 hours (achieved by flopping back and forth every couple of hours) before I have to pack about four pillows behind me, prop myself up against the headboard, and go back to sleep. And that? That is not really a problem. That said, I'm totally content to endure a few months of sore hips, because what Roger and I will get at the end is entirely worth it.

So there's really only one thing that has been difficult about pregnancy, difficult in the same way that hitting your funny bone isn't always funny - it's also kind of painful - but at least in a somewhat pleasant kind of way. For Roger and me, naming our daughter was one of the most laborious tasks we've encountered during pregnancy. It took hours and days and weeks. It took going on vacation to a secluded island for us to narrow our list down to five that had potential, and that was only after reading through two enormous tomes of baby names. We worked from certain criteria that we had each set:

For Roger, the name had to be short, modern and unique.
For me, it couldn't appear in the Top 100 names for the past ten years (if I'm being truthful, I'd tell you that names in the Top 500 still made me cringe).

We both agreed that we didn't want a name that was easy to make fun of, and we didn’t want her initials to turn into an acronym (so, for example, any names beginning with "E" were out because, when paired with her middle and last name, it would spell ELF). We wanted a name that would be good for a child or a teenager, but also for a 40-year-old professional. And then, obviously, the name had to have a meaningful, positive origin. I mean, we didn’t want to name our daughter something that meant “warthog” in Hebrew, you know?

]]> If you have never been responsible for naming a child, let me tell you now: I had no idea how consuming it would be. There was so much to consider, and this was such a bigger decision than something like naming a pet, which I’ve done many times and hasn’t been so difficult. We agonized over this decision. This was the name we’d be saying THE REST OF OUR LIVES. And when you think about saying one word over and over and over again for the next 60 years, it kind of becomes important that you LIKE that word.

We tossed names back and forth, me guffawing at most of them because they were – horror of horrors! – in the top 25 or 50 or 100 names. I finally consented to consider one name because it was around the 250 mark, THOUGH I CERTAINLY WASN’T HAPPY ABOUT IT. And then Roger stumbled upon another name. He said it aloud, and then again. We looked at each other quizzically, because … maybe. It only appeared once in the Social Security Index in the last ten years, and its grand debut was ranked in the 900s. I kind of loved that.

After researching, we learned that we were pronouncing the name wrong. We didn’t like how the name was supposed to sound, and plus it left our daughter wide-open for serious amounts of very unfortunate teasing, so we began the task of creating our own spelling based on the pronunciation we loved. The spelling we chose is beautiful, so beautiful. Short and modern for Roger, off the baby naming charts for me.

Staring at the name, I turned to Roger:

“But are you sure? Is this a good name for a child? Is it too grown up?”
“I’m sure. It’s totally playful enough for a child.”
“And what about when she’s 45? Is it going to sound childish?”
“Not at all – it’s elegant. It’s timeless. She’ll love it.”

I thought for a moment, and then asked, “But do you think her husband will like her name? I mean, can you imagine him calling her this? ”

Without hesitating, Roger responded, “So tenderly.”

Something about the way that he said that – the lower, more gentle octave of his voice, the love that he communicated in those two words – it sold me.

That's when we knew that there was one word we were excited to repeat for the rest of our lives. (And it wasn't even in the Top 1000, which made it all the more sweet.)

[You may have noticed that we didn’t actually share our daughter’s name today. That’s because we’re fiercely protective of it. If you’re one of the few family or friends who know her name, we would appreciate you helping us keep it private for the next six weeks, when we’ll have the opportunity to introduce our daughter – name and all!]

Super-Size Me

2009-08-07T01:34:23Z

This is me three weeks ago.

It all started when I was in the self-checkout grocery line six weeks ago. The store employee was watching me, and when I turned to leave, she asked how far along I was. I looked down at my belly, proud of my bump, and said “Twenty six weeks.” Her eyes widened. She looked down at my stomach again.

“Are you having twins?”

My face wrinkled as I glanced down, wondering where she was going with this. Isn’t it true that mothers don’t show as much with their first? Because I didn’t think my bump was all that big. “Twins? No. Just one. Our first.” It turns out her daughter had twins. And that when she was 26 weeks, she was about the same size as me. And that her twins were each over seven pounds at birth. I chit-chatted with her for a while, silently wondering whether that meant I was going to give birth to a 14-pound baby, and questioning how much I should believe what she told me. I mean, how could she really remember exactly what her daughter looked like at 26 weeks? I can’t even remember what I looked like last week!

After that exchange, something strange began happening. People everywhere were acknowledging my stomach. They opened doors for me, and offered to carry things for me, held elevators for me, and asked me questions about our baby, even how pregnancy was treating me. Some just stared. Others have avoided me, like they’re afraid my pregnancy is contagious. I haven’t even started waddling yet! (Personally, I hope that I never quite get there, but when I’m really close to the end and it’s like a bowling ball has dropped between my legs, waddling may be inevitable.) I’ve not yet had a stranger reach out and touch my stomach, though I like it when friends do. In the mall I watched with amusement as a little girl walked toward me, leaning back and pushing out her own stomach as she passed, mimicking my protruding belly.

]]>
And then last week while I was out shopping with my mom, a woman told me that my stomach was the same size as her daughter’s … who was 38 weeks pregnant. I was a little past 31 weeks and beginning to develop a complex.

When it started to become obvious that I was pregnant, friends warned me about groping strangers. I was prepared for that. They never warned me about abstract judgments strangers would make about the size of my stomach. Some people think it is too big. Others think it is too small. My doctor just thinks it is cute! (Or so he tells me, but he has incredibly gracious bedside manner, so I realize it’s entirely possible he tells all of his patients that.) When I confessed to my doctor that I’d been receiving a lot of remarks lately about the apparent planetary size of my abdomen, he laughed and told me, “The next time someone makes a remark like that, ask them where they got their OB degree.” His point was, everyone’s body grows and changes differently. Our babies do, too. Every woman carries her baby differently, and I’m carrying mine all out front. He measured my stomach, just as he does at every visit, and determined that I am measuring just a tiiiiiinnnnnyyyy bit ahead of the average, giving us a medically-necessary excuse to do another sonogram. Which means insurance will pay for it, and I’ve wanted one anyway, so SCORE.

That sonogram is a week from today, and will be our first in 15 weeks. Roger and I are so excited to see our daughter, to check her development, to see if she's growing hair yet or if we'll get a better shot of her profile, to see her tiny body wriggling around, full of life. A lot has changed in 15 weeks! Back then, I wasn’t even wearing maternity pants yet! Of course, half of the shirts I wear are still non-maternity, I just think they fit better (No, seriously. They do fit better. And I check every morning to make sure they still reach over my belly and then some, which is kind of important.), though now that I think about it, maybe THAT is why so many people think I’m farther along than I actually am. From the back, I don’t look pregnant, but when I turn around, it’s like my stomach yelled SURPRISE!!!! a little too loudly, a little too boldly for everyone else in the room.

So I guess my point is this: if you’re pregnant and you want insurance to pay for extra sonograms, wear pre-pregnancy clothes. And then steel yourself for the onslaught of comments other mothers will make. (But the way that pre-preg shirt hugs your new curves? You really do look adorable.)

They Warn You About Pregnancy Hormones, But You're Still Never Prepared

2009-07-23T03:41:50Z

The past many weeks have been a bit of a blur for me -- a hazy, exhausting, sleep-deprived blur. As we've been in the final stretch for BlogHer '09 (Yes, I really am writing about work on this blog. And no, I don't typically do that.), work has become more and more overwhelmingly busy for everyone on the Events team. Updating this site has barely been on my radar, and truth be told, lately I've been living in fear of the BlogHerAds automated scanner. Each day I check my email, wondering if that's the day it will tell me to get myself in gear and post a new blog entry already, sheesh woman, you work for a company that is about blogging. EMPLOYEE FAIL.

* * *

In other (baby) news: Roger and I still haven't decided on nursery decor, but we DID finally commit to bedding. Sort of. Mostly. Since we haven't been able to find anything that we like online or in-store, we asked his mom to sew something for us! She's a wonderful seamstress, so it seemed like a brilliant plan. Until we went to the fabric stores, and couldn't find fabric we liked, and I broke down crying in one store, staring at bolts of fabric, because there were TOO MANY OPTIONS. And too many of those options were TERRIBLE. I blame it on pregnancy hormones.

After re-arranging a dozen bolts of fabric, Roger hit the jackpot with one combination. (Have I ever mentioned how awesome it is to be married to a designer? It's fabulous for people like me, who don't have the skill of IMAGINING how something might look based on a tiny swatch.

]]> ) We bought the material for the crib skirt (an earthy-toned striped material with bright olive green, coral, mustard, beige and cream tones), and have to special-order the material for the interior (cream-colored minky) and exterior (coral-colored linen/cotton blend, I think) of the bumper, as well as the crib sheet (bright olive green). I am fairly sure it will be adorable.

I am also kind of afraid of getting the finished product back and hating it, but feeling like I have to use it because (a) I paid for the material and (b) Roger's mom will have invested all that time in sewing it for us and (c) we really, really have scoured stores, and the Internet, and custom bedding websites, and we really, really haven't found anything we like. So I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that after getting the finished product back, our bedding options would still be the same. And I realize that OMG THIS IS JUST BEDDING THAT A BABY WILL SPIT UP AND PEE ON, AND IT'S NOT LIKE THE BABY WILL EVEN REMEMBER ITS FIRST SHEETS, but that doesn't mean that the bedding shouldn't be CUTE. I mean, right?

We've also been going to childbirthing classes! Which is awesome, because we love our hospital, which is less like a hospital and more like a hotel. In fact, if you were driving by it I'd be willing to bet you wouldn't even realize it was a hospital. We were kind of curious about childbirthing classes, because everyone we know has talked about how horrible they are, with their out-of-date videos and crazy instructors who don't seem to know what they're talking about. As it turns out, the nurse who teaches our class is fabulous, and we hang on her every word. She's only shown a few video clips, and those that we've watched so far were recently produced, even produced well, and I can say that with confidence because Roger and I both teared up a little during one of them.

Roger is man enough for me to tell you that. Or else these pregnancy hormones are starting to get to him, too. In any case, our daughter will be here in TWO MONTHS. Which means that all my crying during cartoons and hallmark commercials and baby birthing videos will end*. Right?

* No one has actually told us what will happen to my hormones after delivery. So maybe The Crazy will end, or maybe it will continue. I really have no idea.

On Expectations

2009-07-09T06:00:19Z

I've tried not talking about babies babies babies OMG pregnancy babies on this blog, and I've failed miserably. I thought this site wouldn't turn into a straight mommyblog, simply because I've always identified so strongly as a lifeblogger. And then it occurred to me: I'm writing nothing at all about my life. Which has kind of turned me into a non-blogger. I plan to continue writing about my life on this site, and right now experiencing pregnancy is part of my life. So. I will write about it.

Being pregnant is nothing like I expected it to be, mostly because my assumptions about gestating were formed by watching movies and reading friends' blogs. I figured I would be like them, those who woke up every morning dry-heaving into the toilet or couldn't keep down more than water and toast. I thought I would be exhausted all the time, or nauseated, or irritable, or overly emotional, or would have strange cravings and food aversions. If you think all pregnancies are like this, I am here to tell you that they aren't. Everything for me has been so simple, something I'm grateful for.

Absolutely nothing in my life has changed, other than my waistband, and even then that didn't really change until I was a little over five months along. I'm closing in on seven months now, and I still wear many pre-pregnancy shirts, because they show off my cute belly instead of drape it like a tent. Or at least that's what I'm assuming they do. If you see me in public and have another opinion, please tell me. Unless you're my husband. (Warning! Warning!)

]]> My reading material has morphed from blogs and magazines to books about parenting philosophies. I love reading about what our daughter is up to each week, whether she's listening to us talk or if she is the length of an English cucumber or if she is opening and closing her eyes. I watch fewer movies and spend more time agonizing over nursery decor - something we still haven't settled on, with no decision looming on the horizon - or comparing the merits of different carseats. Cherry blossoms or Jenn Ski prints? Lightweight or steel-reinforced? I never knew before how difficult these decisions would be!

My favorite part of being pregnant, though, is feeling our daughter move. She's not strong enough yet to hurt, so every time she kicks it's kind of like a ticklish muscle spasm. I love it when Roger sees my stomach ripple when she moves, better yet when he feels her kick. Over Fourth of July weekend we were driving to the lake, and Roger was reading to me from a book. While he was reading, I felt her scoot over toward him as close as she could get, and I'm guessing it was to hear her daddy's voice better. The next day Roger walked into our bedroom and started talking to me, and as soon as she heard him she came alive with soft kicks against my abdomen. Neither of us can get enough of it, of this newness of life within me. I hope we always feel that way.

Without fail, I glance at the clock every time she rolls or stretches or moves, committing the time to memory. I've discovered that she's generally awake every two hours on the even hours, and that may have no relation to what her schedule will be like when she's born, but somehow it makes me feel more prepared. In all honesty, I am totally not prepared. This is unchartered territory for me, having a newborn in my life all the time - it's not even like I can give her back after a few hours - so anything I can do now, however much I am deluding myself into preparedness (and believe me: I have a lot of delusions -- you should just see the schedule I made for her last week!), I welcome.

The one piece of advice we've been given time and time again is this: "Whatever your expectations, throw them out the window. She'll shatter every last one." And I guess that's already true, isn't it? I mean, pregnancy is nothing that I expected it would be, so I suppose parenthood won't be, either.

The Best Things in Life Are Free

2009-06-26T14:34:42Z

I'm always on the lookout for unique things to do in Dallas, and it's even better if they're low-cost or free, right? Especially in a city known for its shopping - hey, it's not like we have beaches or mountains here. Or even rolling hills. Or decent camping without driving a few hours. And for whatever reason, big D continues to tear down its few remaining historical buildings, favoring a concrete jungle instead. Don't even get me started on my issue against the city's actionable stance on historical preservation - finding new things to do is FUN to me.

I get excited about children's parades and Chinese New Year celebrations and international festivals and local performing arts and outdoor moving screenings. So when I saw an article in the DMN highlighting free things to do in Dallas this summer, I knew I had to share:

FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATIONS
Allen USA Celebration - For more than a decade, Allen USA Celebration has always been held the final weekend of June - a great way to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA! a week early. Entertainment includes: regional/national acts, including Smash Mouth (a California rock band) and children's entertainers. Other highlights include a children's area with bounce houses, festival food and a fireworks finale. TIP: free shuttle service is offered to/from the event. Cost: FREE.

Celebrate Freedom - A huge (and when I say "huge," I mean HUGE) outdoor musicfest, featuring Christian musicians Kirk Franklin, Newsboys, Jeremy Camp, Selah, and more. Other highlights include children's area, festival food, fireworks. Cost: FREE (tickets required, get info here)

OTHER FUN THINGS TO DO!

Dallas Museum of Art - Admission to the museum will be free each Wednesday in July from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. That's in addition to the usual free days: each Thursday evening from 5 to 9 and the first Tuesday of each month. Cost: FREE. Also, it's worth noting my favorite DMA event: Late Nights. On the third Friday of each month, the DMA stays open until midnight. Highlights include: art scavenger hunts (so fun!), karaoke and dancing, tours, performances, and more. Cost: $10.

Belmont Hotel Poolside Movie Nights - Every other Wednesday night, the Belmont screens a poolside movie at sundown, with the Dallas skyline as a backdrop. The last movie of the summer, Airplane!, is on Wednesday, July 1st. Bring a blanket, no lawn chairs or coolers permitted. Cost: FREE.

]]> Grapevine's Friday Fireworks - Not just for Fourth of July, every Friday the city of Grapevine hosts weekly fireworks shows at Grapevine Lake through September 4th. Cost: FREE. (Be sure to visit the link to view all the fun summer events in Grapevine - there's tons to do!)

Summers at the Nasher Sculpture Center - The Nasher sculpture garden in downtown Dallas is worth checking out, if you haven't been there already. But rather than pay the admission fee, go for free on Thursday evenings (usually 5 to 9, but they're open 'til 10 p.m. through July 30th). You can even do yoga in the garden at 6pm on Thursdays, and watch films on first Thursdays of each month the center (with pre- and post-film chats, if you're so inclined). Plus, now through July 17th the Nasher is showing films on Friday nights, too (think: Sleepless in Seattle, Top Gun, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, etc.). If you're thinking about bringing the whole family, head to the Nasher on the first Saturdays (through August) from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. for children's activities and more. Cost: FREE, FREE, FREE!

And, of course, don't forget to check out GuideLive.com - Dallas' best resource for events, restaurants, films and more. It's my go-to site when I'm looking for something new to do. Which is almost always.

DFW BlogHer Meetup

2009-06-15T15:22:21Z

I think the best part of the Dallas bloggers meetup was not spilling food on myself. (Have I mentioned how messy I've become lately? I think it's nature's way of preparing me for motherhood. I can rarely go through a day without finding food somewhere on my shirt.)

Okay, well, no. Maybe the best part of the meetup was getting to know all the great bloggers who came out to meet each other! It was a small group, but was fabulous because we had the opportunity to get to know each other, hang out and talk, learn about each other's blogs, and have great conversations about everything from driving traffic to your site, to rodeo queens and big hair, to privacy and censorship, to summertime TV, to topical blogging, to parenthood, to BlogHer. We had a fun giveaway with several gift certificates to places like Charming Charlie, Sip-n-Swap and Target. And then we promised to do it all again soon, very soon. (If you want in on the action, join the Dallas BlogHer group.)

]]> Here's the list of everyone who attended - it was so fun to meet you all!

Jenny from Conscientious Confusion and A Family Is Us
Anuja from Show me the Curry
Hetal from Show me the Curry
Vanessa from Crazy Says What and The Aisle Files
Colleen from Anything But Nice
Jen from The Trendy Mommy and Sip-n-Swap
Marjorie from My Inner French Girl
Kerri from A-Yet-To-Be-Announced-Blog
Bobbi Janay from When Did I Go From Kid to Grown Up?
And, of course, me.

Pics are here and here.

Spread the Word

2009-06-11T13:50:52Z

Let's get straight to the point: I'm having a vocabulary issue. And it's quite a dilemma, something that really peeves me, because I keep hearing variations of this word when I eat. Which is often. Except I'm part of the problem, because I don't know which term is correct.

]]> When you have a slice of butter on your plate, what do you call that? Is it a pat of butter? Or a pad of butter? I've heard it called both, and I call it a pad of butter, because IT LOOKS LIKE A PAD. "Pat" is something you do when you gently touch someone, right? Like you pat them on the back? IT CAN'T BE A PAT OF BUTTER.

Am I wrong about this?

Sand and Sea

2009-05-23T05:24:02Z

Five years ago today, I made the best decision of my life. Five years that's flown by much too quickly. Five years of being married to my best friend, the most wonderful man I know.

And tomorrow, we're taking a little trip to a tiny island in the Caribbean:

Where we'll probably do a lot of this:

]]> And see prehistorically beautiful sites, like this:

But mostly, we'll lie around on beaches like this: