24 hours from now...

We will have already seen your heart beating.

 

 

That is so enormous, I don't even know how to write a sentence to follow it up.

You are already so loved.

Puppy Love

Well, after last night's mammoth post, I thought I would reward you with a brief one.

This little nugget of love is Finn, who is a brand new puppy that belongs to ME, HE IS MINE a coworker of mine. My colleague was generous enough to let me STEAL, I AM NOT GIVING THIS BACK borrow the puppy for a bit and keep him in my office yesterday afternoon.

He is such a baby.

Puppy + Sunshine

Oh puppy. Come closer. 

Excuse me, but is that a puppy on your desk?

Why yes, there IS a puppy on my desk. 

You jealous?

This guy was a little jealous, so he was extra cute to remind me that he is the only pooch for me.

The Reveal

I thought I would take a few minutes (away from crying while watching the Biggest Loser) and tell you the story of telling the rest of our families that we were having a baby.

Ok first let me tell you why I was crying while watching the Biggest Loser.

TANGENT ALERT!!!

The answer is I have no idea. They were just doing a zumba class, and none of them had ever thought they could do something like that, and at the end of their class the trainer started yelling out, "WHEN I FIRST MET THIS MAN, HE WEIGHED 423 POUNDS!!! WHAT DO YOU WEIGH NOW SIR?" And the guy would yell back "217!!!!!" And then a bunch of very perky housewives in brightly colored Zumba sports bra outfits would yell "Woooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" And do some Zumba jumps. I assume they are zumba-ey jumps, at any rate. No one really jumps like that, just for joy.

And so I wept. Because that makes a lot of sense.

SHUT UP.

It was very moving.

I'm an emotional, empathetic person.

(I'm sorry)

((Forgive me))

(((I'm so pregnant, you might feel bloated standing near me)))

Ok, moving on. We've already explored Part One of the share here, with the dubious blog "Like" on the Ides of March.

Here's what happened next. (Settle in. Get a snack. This is going to take a while).

We went to Alan and Stearns house after work and "just dropped by to say hi". Which is to say we were weird and awkward and Alan probably had no idea what was going on. We settled in their comfortable new living room and David, their now eight (EIGHT! Yay Dave!!) year old son came and snuggled up next to me. I whispered into his ear, as Alan and John talked music, "David, I have a job for you. You have to stand up, and say to your Dad 'I have an important question. Do you want to be called "Grampa" or  "Pepe"?' " (sorry, that was a lot of quotation marks. Quotes within quotes.)

David looked at me, and flatly said, "No." I told him it was really important, but he really didn't want to. He thought I was making fun of Alan in some way. But I finally convinced him, so he stood up in the middle of the room and demanded attention.

David: "I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION!!!!!"

Alan: "What?"

David (near tears): "DO YOU WANT TO BE CALLED...ughhh. I don't want to do this."

Alan: "Come on Dave. What is it?"

David (speed yelling now): "DO YOU WANT TO BE CALLED GRAMPA OR PEPE???????"

David: runs from room

Alan: "Well Pepe, obviously....

...

.... !!!!!!!!!

Alan: "Grampa??????? REALLY????????? This is the BEST NEWS I HAVE HAD SINCE I KNEW I WAS HAVING DAVID!!!!"

All: laughter! tears! champagne (not me!) hugging! planning! more tears! more laughter!

Stearns: "David, come hug your sister Ashley! She and John are going to have a baby!"

David: "OH!!!!! I didn't know what was happening!!! Now I know and I can't believe I ran away!!!! I don't know if I want to hug her! I don't want to kill the baby!!!!!"

The evening ended with Alan doing jumps in the driveway yelling "Yay BABY!!!", and lots of text messaging about this being the happiest time ever.

Next: John's Mom. Melinda.

Ooooooh did I relish this one. My my my. If this experience was a dessert, it would be a giant slice of chocolate cake with ice cream, whipped cream, sprinkles, cherries (hold on, I just created a craving for myself...)

Ok I'm back. What I'm trying to say is this was so SWEET. Both sweet in the "awww, this is the best moment ever" and sweet in the "I have been waiting for this day for years" sense.

Let me first take a moment and tell you a little about Melinda. I am graced with a Mother in Law who is like no one you have met before. She is the embodiment of fierce independence, spirit, and grit; and yet at the same time she is a gentle, sweet, southern flower. She cackles. She loves with not just her heart, but her whole being. I have known young people who have tried to adopt her as an aunt or a mother or grandmother, because when she believes in you, she believes in you so fiercely, so wholeheartedly, it is a love most people don't get to know in their lives. She is kooky. A total weirdo. She would not only not shy away from that description, she might just have a sash made up with it that she could wear, along with a tiara and a ball gown around her house. She knows how to make a mixed drink, a burrito, and a party, happen, no matter what time of day or season. She has been waiting to be a grandmother since John graduated from high school (possibly since he graduated from diapers). I am very blessed to have her in my life.

This was going to be good.

We invited Melinda to join us for dinner at a restaurant in Saint Albans on Sat. night (we had told Alan and co. on Thursday. Friday was a BITCH, let me tell you!). We called ahead to the restaurant and had them make up a little surprise for her, and also so they would understand when she started screaming/weeping when she got the news.

She came first to our house, where John was enjoying a cocktail and I was enjoying a cup of tea. Oh well, the games up, I thought to myself. You have to understand, Melinda has been tracking my alcohol and caffeine consumption since before we were married, looking for anything to give her a clue that I was expecting. But I threw her off my scent. I said I "Couldn't WAIT" for a cocktail with supper.

Before we left the house, I opened a cabinet to grab a can of cat food, and there were my prenatal vitamins. I slammed the cabinet and spun around. She didn't see them. Phew.

We drove to the restaurant, and in my purse we had a gift box with a small bow on it. Inside that box was the positive pregnancy test. I waited until we were seated, pulled the box out, and hit it under my coat. Once we had all ordered drinks (I stalled this beautifully, saying I didn't know if I wanted wine or a cocktail, and would decide once I knew what I was eating. PSYCH!!!!), I said to her, "We have a little present for you."

"You dooooooo??????" (imagine this in the best, I JUST GOT A PRESENT, Southern belle accent)

Me: "Just a little something we got you in the Bahamas, that we thought you'd like."

We slid the box over to her and she did her normal (adorable) present dance.

Then she popped the top on the box.

And just sat there.

And sat there.

...

Then she looked up, and she said, "Is this?? Are you?????????"

And I smiled, and John laughed, and I said, "Congratulations Nana."

And then the tears. OH, THE TEARS.

They were made of sugar, not salt. Because it was SO SWEET!

And the laughing. And the cheering. She told the waitress, and said she wanted to tell the whole restaurant.

Did I mention it was St. Patrick's Day? So imagine this all being periodically serenaded by bagpipe music.

Oh my.

Cheers, Nana!

Melinda later explained that she was so not expecting this news, that when she saw the pregnancy test, she just couldn't figure out why we might think SHE was pregnant. HA! We GOT HER SO GOOD!

We spent the evening talking about everything baby. She began praying for twins about ten minutes after this photo was taken.

At dessert, we had the restaurant bring out her special surprise, a plate with "Congratulations Nana!" written around the edges in chocolate.

It was the sweetest ending to the sweetest night.

How sweet it is.

Ok, are you still with me?

Last but not least was my parents. They came over the following day, on a Sunday. The brought their maniac yellow lab, Sabre, with them. We were going to take the dogs for a little hike, grill, and just enjoy a Sunday. Little did they know!

They got in and we showed them a couple changes around the house, and then we were ready to go for a hike.

"Just one little thing. We got you guys something."

Out came the box with the pregnancy test in it.

"Just a little something from the Bahamas. We thought you'd like it."

My Mom opened it up, and looked at it.

"What is this thing? Is this a breathalyzer?"

Oh Mom.

And then she read the test, that said "Yes+"

And the sound that came out of my Mother's body was like nothing I can describe to you with words.

You guys, if I could have a recording of that sound to hear whenever I am feeling down, or need encouragement, or a laugh, or a cry, I would be a lucky woman. It is a sound I will take with me to my dying day. It was one of the best sounds of my life.

It was something between a scream, a sob, and a "YEE HAW". My Dad, who is an incredibly smart, tough, man's man, just started crying. I'm not sure even he knew why yet, he just knew it was time to cry. I cried. John cried. Mom WAILED.

It was the best.

Stearns suggested we call this photo, "Cathy, Butch (yeah, my Dad's name is Butch, and he could KICK YOUR DAD's ASS)

and John THE INSEMINATOR Nicholls"

I am putting this photo up, even though it may be the worse photo of me ever taken. I expect we will never discuss it again.

And that's that. Of course there were wonderful sibling phone calls in there (John's bro and sister in law, and his sister Tonya, my sister Amber and her man). There were Aunts and Uncles called, and pseudo Moms (grandma's to be, Mrs. Kennedy).

I was more exhausted after those four days then I think I may have ever been. It was just magical.

And soon, we'll get to tell the world.

You know, it's funny. You spend so much of your life, or at least, I spent so much of my life,  being so aware of not getting pregnant. Not being an after-school special. Don't let it happen too soon, you have your whole life ahead of you. And then suddenly it happens, and for us it happened at exactly the right moment. And we were able to share this blessing with our families at exactly the right moment. It feels like this magic place in time. This breathtaking precipice that we have all been on the edge of and not even known about. We all got to fall in love, with a baby, with our family, with each other all over again.

John told each of them (and tells me every day, because I am the luckiest lady in the world), that every day since the day he found out has been the best day of his life. You may have thought yesterday was great, but BUCKO, TODAY! Today is the day you get to remember that we are ONE DAY CLOSER TO A BABY!

And my Mom called me three days into knowing and said, "John is totally right. Every day is the best day ever."

I am so, so thankful. For my family. For this baby. For every single one of these days.

And to you, for making it through that mammoth post.

Goodnight! Remember, tomorrow will be the BEST DAY EVER.

Here comes the sun

The sun is pouring through my new window (I have an office with a window now!), and that added to the lunch I just scarfed is creating a dreamy, naplike atmosphere. I really don't have anything important to do for the rest of today, right? Just, oh, five meetings. But whatevs... I'll just sit here for a moment with the sun on my face. And. Relax. Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

 

In other news, my jeans officially no longer fit. Or, that is to say, I can still zip and button them, but, let's just say it isn't pretty. I feel like I should wear a button that says, "I'm sorry, forgive me, I'm pregnant."

It would cover all my offenses. Too tight clothes, daytime naps, occasional frequent bitchiness, uncontrollable hunger.

I'm sorry.

Forgive me.

I'm pregnant.

In other news, I thought you might enjoy this hilarious post  from Deny Designs. It's hard to say which one is my favorite, but I think it might be this one: 

And in other news, first successful copying an image from a URL! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

Winning.

Now I definitely deserve a nap.

(I'm SORRY)

((Don't hate me))

I'M SO EFFING PREGNANT.

The return of winter

Well, it's 32 this morning in St. Albans, and there is snow on the ground. My tulips have wilted, and the Forsythia seems to be in a death spiral. Apparently it will be nearly fifty by the end of the week, but both me and the plants are whimpering. We could have stood to keep the 60's (and maybe even the 70's) that we were enjoying just last weekend. To soothe my heart, I found this beautiful blogpost by Dawn over at Pretty Pictures.

 

These flower shots are so beautiful, I can almost believe that spring will come back. I was trying to imagine what it must have smelled like at this garden as she was taking these photos.



 

Please take a moment to enjoy this moment of springtime and beauty, and visit Dawn's blog as well!

Holy Nausea, Batman!

BOOM!

Like clockwork, my body hit eight weeks preggo and the nausea kicked in like it was a karate kid. I spent most of this weekend lying around in a bathrobe, sipping ginger ale and trying not to move too much. What an overwhelmingly unpleasant feeling!

Today, I'm feeling alright. Not great, mind you, but ok. Of course, how could I be bad, when we are now T minus four days until the ultrasound.

Here's some other fun eight week pregnancy facts:

1. Baby is growing a millimeter a day!



2. Baby's fingers and toes are now only slightly webbed, and her tail (yes, she had one) is now gone! (We really, really hope.)

3. Baby's taste buds are now forming.

I'm going for acupuncture later this week, which I hope will help with the nausea, and until then I'll be hiding away in my office, killing time on the internet and pretending to work.

Just kidding! I'll be working hard!

(kind of)

 

Us

Seems like forever ago. We were living in Lynn, MA. We were just married. We had a loft. We had no money. He was a bartender. We stayed up too late. We painted, for fun, even though neither of us was good at it. We had no idea where we were going. He was in music school. I worked from home. We drank too much wine. We never got up before 9a.m.

We were so in love.

We weren't afraid of anything. We had no plan. We had everything we needed. We had each other.

We are still those people. And now we're more. We're still so in love. We have a little money. We have several plans, some of which are moving. We live in a house, in St. Albans, Vermont.  We still drink too much wine (or we did...). We still stay up too late (on the weekends). We get up before 9a.m. (when we have to).

We have everything we need, because we have each other.

The Mythology of our own Lives

I have a few friends, who I love dearly, who sometimes baffle me. They seem to be in a constant state of attempting to process their lives. Constantly looking for meaning, puzzling out why their father acted a certain way, how their third boyfriend got them to where they are right now. Being impressed by, even boastful of the journey that they've been on to get them to where they are today. As though no one else in the world had a father. As though no one else had walked through late night streets in a big city. As though their life is a movie that we are all watching, that is unfolding even before their own eyes.

I can't say why this bothers me.

But there is something here, I think. It is crystallizing for me, as I carry a new life inside of me. One that will have adventures, disappointments, excitement and many boring Tuesday evenings. This little life who will enrich mine and John's in ways we cannot imagine. Who will make and break our hearts. Who may travel to distant lands, swim in seas I have never seen. For me, the mythology is not the life that I have had, that I continue to have. It is the one that I am carrying.

This person, who is yet to be. They are the story I can't wait to see unfold.

Rockin the Mat Pants

Ok. So. This whole maternity pants thing? It is a REVELATION.

I mean, the world has been lying to us, ya'll. Pants can be COMFORTABLE. AT WORK. EVEN WHEN YOU HAVE TO SIT DOWN FOR ALL DAY.

Why don't we all just wear pants like these all the time?

I am currently rockin these little pretties:



 

 

Which have made my Friday into the BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.

It's funny, right? We put so much pressure on ourselves. Even yesterday, when mi pantalones mucho gusto arrived, I hesitated. "It's too early" I thought. "I shouldn't need these yet". Even though my jeans are the only pants that fit comfortably anymore, and even those feel like there are only days left.

Who says it's too early? Who says I shouldn't need these yet? Nobody is in this body but me (and the raspberry!) ((WOAH!! Baby is the size of a raspberry!!!)), and we say we needed these pants.

In other news, I feel less and less nervous with every day. In the first few weeks, I felt like the pregnancy took over every moment of my life. Every thought I had was "What was that?" "Is that ok?" "Is this going to stick?"

And now, I feel very settled. Even though we are still a week away from the ultrasound, I just have this feeling that all is as it should be. That this little life inside of me is here for good.

My water-dragon scorpio baby is cooking away, and he or she is doing just fine.

Especially now that the waistband of my pants isn't smushing them.

Sprung

Beautiful surprises abound this morning.





Hope you're having a fantastic, wonderful, amazing Friday. Remember, it's the weekend in seven hours.

Revelation

Maternity pants are the most comfortable things I have ever worn.

For reals.

That is all.

Tips for Business Travel While Pregnant

Again, let's start this with a caveat. Tips for business travel while not noticeably pregnant, to a city with that requires lots of walking and stair climbing, and before you've told your colleagues.

FUN!

1. Do it in a freak spring heat wave. Fantastic! Not only will the heat sap your energy, make it nearly impossible to pack correctly, and leave you clammy, but (wait for it) THE SMELLS YOU WILL ENJOY.

OH, THE SMELLS. The smell of the subway (never great, but in a freak spring heat wave, like hot garbage, fried food, and disease). The smell of your neighbor on the subway. High powered lawyer in a suit all day who didn't expect to sweat? Fast-food worker. Bike messenger. These people have been schlepping their shit around all day, and they don't smell like roses. Try to breathe through your mouth and hide the fact that you want to vomit. Just try.

2. Pack extra clothes. Those suit pants that fit you three weeks ago? SURPRISE!!!!! Hope you have a backup so you don't have to wear your (sweaty) blue jeans to the big client meeting tomorrow. Oh and you'd better bring another shirt too, as the business-appropriate button down is now straining at the seams due to your (ahem), bountiful bosom. (BOSOM!)

3. Make sure you bring your laptop. And that fifty page bound proposal you wrote last month. And extra clothes since nothing will fit. You'll be hefting your bags from the plane to the AirTran to the subway to the hotel. You will walk 100 miles with 100 pounds of gear. In heat. Up stairs and down. You will run for the train (and still miss it). You will be running late for the client meeting, in clothes that are too tight to be comfortable in certain places, and will be panting. Your coworker, who did not have to bring anything but their iPad, because YOU BROUGHT IT ALL, will be much faster than you are. You will hate everyone.

4. Drink lots of water. Because you don't even know from bloated until you achieve 28,000 feet at 6a.m., then walk the equivalent of ten miles with 70lbs of bags on you, in 82 degree heat. In MARCH. Don't expect to take your jewelry off. Do expect to take your shoes off. At every opportunity. Because even your feet are swollen. And they hate you.

5. While we're on the topic of drinking... You won't be. Even when you meet a potential client for cocktails (what are you, a teetotaler?????). Even when you order a delicious dinner in the air conditioned restaurant, and your boss says, "Oh God, you're being GOOD", then orders red wine to go with their medium rare steak. Even when all you want in the world is to throw your bags down on the street and take just one sip of the coldest, iciest beer in the world. Nope. You'll be making everyone feel awkward and wonder if you've found God.

6. Sleep enough. Well, we've been traveling for twelve hours, and as previously mentioned my feet are the size of dinner plates, I need a shower and my baby will be born with the imprint of my waistband on it's face, but, What? Another round at the bar? Well, I'm so tired my face is about to fall off, so I'd better head to... What's that? You don't want to be left alone? Oh, ok. I  guess I'll stay for one more round of cranberry and seltzer.

6. Try, and fail, to get separated from your boss at the security line. So you can request that (tender, loving, asexual) pat down, rather than go through the backscatter machine and fry the baby. Oh Baby, the lengths I have already gone to and the things I have already endured for you.

There! Now you are ready to travel at eight weeks pregnant! Hope you heed these tips and keep in mind that it's still only Thursday. Which means even though you could sleep for a year, you've got work tomorrow, Mama!

Like, Woah.

Well. That was a weekend.

A post will come soon with details on the big REVEAL to all our family. Rest assured there was lots of screaming, jumping, crying, laughing, and general celebration. This baby is already so loved, it's silly.

But for now, please enjoy some random things I've found, because honestly, I'm so exhausted with all this happiness that I can't really string my sentences together very well.

RANDOM THINGS!!!!!!

1. Puppies!!!!!!

2. This is why I'll never be an adult

3. "‘You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.’ ~Friedrich Nietzsche

4. For after I've given birth: Wine and Chocolate Bar

5. The Evolution of the Moon

6. Hail, Mighty Water Dragon!

7.  Could you get into Eye Bombing?

8. How about Breading Cats?

9. I love Nerd Owls

10. I think I need this for my back deck:

The Ides of March

We've made it past the halfway point, friends.

Halfway through March. Halfway to my first ultrasound.

Oh, and halfway through telling our family that we're expecting.

WHAT? I can hear you asking? Why so soon? I thought you would wait.

Well do I have a hilarious story for  you.

John's Dad, Allan, is married to a wonderful, beautiful, smart, funny, kind, awesome-in-every-way woman, my step-mother-in-law (also known as my mermaid), named Stearns. And she is a fantastic writer. You can find her writing here: http://braininajar.net/

Don't go there without a couple hours to kill, a box of tissues, and possibly a brownie/bottle of wine.

Yesterday, she blogged for the first time in six weeks. And she posted a link to it on Facebook. So of course I read it, hungrily, right away. And it was beautiful and heartbreaking and all the things I know her and her writing to be.

And at the bottom of the blog post it said "Be the first to "Like" this post".

So of course I clicked on it. I didn't just like it, I loved it. CLICK.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICKETY. CLICK.

And it said "You are logged into Wordpress as "Railcitybaby".

Wait.

WHAT??????????????????????????????

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!  NO NONONONONONONONONONONONOONONNONONO.

I am an idiot. I thought I was "liking" it through Facebook. Not through this blog.

And of course, like any blogger, hungry for traffic and followers, she saw, within seconds, that someone named "railcitybaby" had liked her post. So she went to my blog. And started reading.

And saw a picture of John.

I meanwhile, was trying everything in my power to lock the blog down. I turned it private. I started turning posts private.

But it was too late.

I got a text that just said "Are you?????????????????"

And then an email that said "Are you trying to tell me something WONDERFUL???"

And then a request: "Braininajar would like to access your private blog"

So I called her. And  I said, yes, we're having a baby. And we weren't going to tell anyone yet. And I am a colossal idiot.

And then we made plans for John and I to come over after work and tell Al and their eight year old son (John's little bro), David. And I called John, and tearfully confessed that THE INTERNET MADE ME RUIN EVERYTHING.

And he was giddy. So happy to tell them. And we immediately started making plans about how to tell the rest of the family this weekend.

And Stearns and I began texting back and forth like text-obsessed tweens about baby things, happiness, joy, and wonder.

And it all worked  out. We told Al and David last night (more on that soon). Both John and Stearns pointed  out to me that this is just the beginning of things happening out of my control. I've got to get better at dealing with that.

So, this Ides of March was extra Idesy, but ended in the best possible way. With tears and laughter and champagne (not for me!), with baby clothes from when Dave was little, with an eight year old saying "I'd hug you but I don't want to kill the baby", with Alan doing jumps in his driveway and yelling "YAY BABY!!!!!!"

Stearns said it best...

This is a whole new kind of happiness.

Daylight Savings

Spring has sprung here in the Near North, and it is officially mud season. To celebrate, I thought I'd share some evening walk photos at our favorite walking spot, Hard'ack.



It's hard to believe that this short window of time, from now until we turn the clocks back once again, will be my pregnancy. Today I am six  seven who knows weeks pregnant, and then I will be having the baby! Holy shit, I just Googled this to see what day Fall Back falls on and it is my due date. What a trip. This baby will get an extra hour to his (her) first day on earth. I think it's a good omen.

For now, enjoy a few pics from VT. The sap is running, the skies are lighter longer, the mud is mucky, and we're inching toward spring.

Wistful tree.

Love, times two.

Mud Hound.

Shit kickers.

The long and muddy road.

So how pregnant am I, exactly?

I'm getting mixed up in my weeks. I thought I was seven weeks pregnant, but when I just registered for thebump.com, it sent me an email saying "Congratulations! You're six weeks pregnant!!"

Wait what? Six? I lost a week somehow. I thought I was done with all this sprouting of noses and cheeks and beginning of wiggling her paddle feet and arms. I thought I was gestating a blueberry, no longer a sweet pea!

I was ready to be generating a hundred new brain cells per minute! To be forming some arm joints, yo.

And another thing that's bothering me (what isn't, really).

Why do they have the GIANT

"Share with your family and friends on Facebook" button on the four, five, six and seven week entries on these pregnancy websites. It just JUMPS off the screen and says "CLICK ME!!!!!!! FOR REALSIES! YOUR WHOLE FAMILY WILL FREAK OUT BECAUSE THEY WILL FIND OUT ABOUT YOUR PREGNANCY ON FACEBOOK, WAYYYYYY TOO EARLY, BY MISTAKE!!! LET'S MAKE A BAD DECISION TOGETHER!!!!"

Stop! Stop teasing me and torturing me, BUTTON! I want to share this news, more than anything! I want to wear a vest that says, "You can call me Mama". I want to paint it on the side of my car. But I CAN'T. Not yet. So stop teasing me.
I wonder how many people click that button by mistake and publish their pregnancy before they intend to.

Blarg. And I don't even know how pregnant I am.

Basically, I guess my message today is just "Fuck off, Tuesday." Take your buttons and your weeks and your conference calls and shove it.

BLARG.

Five things not to say when your friend tells you they are expecting

Let me caveat this a couple ways:

Things not to say when your (age appropriate, happily stable, appropriately significant-othered, close) friend tells you they are expecting.

1. "You're not serious, right?"

Yes. Yes actually we are serious. And we're happy about it, which you should be able to tell by the way we are smiling, so you can go ahead and wipe that look of horror off your face.

2. "Just so we're clear, I don't do diapers."

Wow. Ok. Well thanks for that piece of info, seven and a half months in advance. Don't worry, it isn't our plan to birth our child and immediately hand it off to you for safekeeping, so I think you're good.

3. "Wow. So. You're having a scorpio. I'm so sorry."

Great. Thanks. We weren't previously worried about this, but now you've got us second guessing things. What a supportive and helpful line of thinking to introduce.

4. "Oh my god. Well I guess we'll take John out and get him drunk a bunch this summer."

Hmmm... interesting. He's not getting married (again), and it's not John who has a moratorium on drinking. You should be saying, "We'll have to pre-stock some wine so we can be ready for when Ashley has given birth." In which case, you psychic friends you, you may just have to change some diapers. Mine.

5. "Just think. Only twelve years till you have a tween who hates you."

Really? Really. Thanks. Just, awesome. Now come here so I can slap you.

Here's the one thing you can say when your friend tells you they are expecting. Any variation on this theme will do:

"Congratulations. I am so happy for you."

One of our sweeter friends said "My face hurts from smiling so much".

Regardless of what anyone says, we're so happy it hurts.

Progress or peace of mind?

John is in Chicago today and tomorrow for work, so I have this beautiful Sunday, this spring-forward sunshiney Sunday, all to myself.

We spent last night at John's Dad's house, hanging with the fam (and so we could be closer to the airport for his 4a.m. 3a.m. departure). I have some serious house envy, as their new place is so amazing I could cry. I think what I'm figuring out is a few things:

1. It is extraordinarily hard to live in a house that is in a constant state of construction, because you will always feel guilty about relaxing, because there is always something to do.

2. The thing about houses that are clean is not that the inhabitants are so much better at life than me (or, not only that), but that they have a place for every thing that they own. If everything doesn't have a place, then it can never all be put away. And your house looks like a crazy person lives there.

3. Houses without dogs are inherently cleaner, but I think the dirt is worth it.

4. In a house that is under renovation AND one where you have a full time job AND are doing the work yourself, mostly on the weekends, you either need to decide if your weekend will be devoted to making progress on your projects, or cleaning where you do not have projects. Because it is impossible to do both, well.

So, while I'm writing about clean, relaxing homes, I cannot quite summon the energy required to DO anything to make my home  any of those things. Really, I just want to go pick Wolaver up from his hair cut, grocery shop, and then sit on the couch. I keep reading that in the second trimester, nesting instincts will kick in and I'll have  more energy... but I don't know if this is pregnancy or just discouragement that makes me want to sit on the couch. It is highly discouraging to not be able to knock down plaster or move insulation, to help make progress, get traction. And cleaning just sucks.

So... do you have any tips? Any words of encouragement or reality checks, or advice? What is your favorite room to clean (mine is the kitchen, because it is so satisfying when it is done).

Kony 2012

Kony 2012

I had heard about this video, and last night John and I watched it in bed, and wept.

I'm horrified that this person has terrorized a population. I'm angry that no one has been able to stop him.

I'm inspired to help this cause.

I'm proud to live in a world where we are capable of enacting change.

Let's make this motherfucker famous, so every single American knows his name and says that this matters to them. That this terror must stop.

Please, watch the video. Call your senator. Put up a poster.

And be grateful, to live where we all do.

Window of opportunity

This may not look like much, but it is several weekends worth of hammering, scraping, sweeping, and cleaning to get all the plaster off of these walls. These little strips of lath haven't seen the light of day since 1850, but now they are. Soon to be taken down to beams, insulated, and sheetrocked over. John told me that he had written on one of the beams "I am renovating this room for my unborn child, and I could not be happier. JN. 2012".

It made me cry.

A walk to remember (that I'm pregnant)

Took another pregnancy test tonight, because I am just feeling too good to really believe I'm pregnant.

I mean honestly. I think we have this perception of pregnancy from tv and movies. You pee on a stick and then suddenly you have horrific morning sickness and are falling asleep at your desk. Having cravings, feeling it all.

And honestly, I don't feel that. Any of that. I have sore boobs (sorry Dad). And that's it. No nausea, no more than usual exhaustion, no bizarre cravings (except my totally normal and frequent craving for cake, but that is nothing new).

I feel so good, and I feel like I shouldn't? I feel like I should just feel more different. More something.

But I got that plus sign, that beautiful reassuring plus sign.

So maybe I am just REALLY GOOD at being pregnant. I am the Ryan Seacrest of being pregnant (dude, Seacrest is a PRO).

Oh yeah, and then we took a walk. Because it is 50 degrees outside (woot!). And I thought about all the wonderful spring and summer walks to come, when we'll have a baby bump, and real visible symptoms of this pregnancy.

For now, it's just my super secret rockstar pregnancy.

Twin (Yolks)

This is not a sign.

Seriously.

Right?

What to Expect When You're Expecting

Despite this fascinating article on Slate, John and I picked up the classic pregnancy tome What to Expect When You're Expecting tonight at our local Barnes and Noble, and when I got home I spent the better part of a half an hour laying in bed and flipping through looking for something that might apply to me.

 

"I used cocaine a week before I found I was pregnant... Can this hurt my baby?"

Umm. No.

"I had a couple drinks before I realized I was pregnant... Will this hurt my baby?"

Ummm. Yes. (But, I'm not really worried about the three drinks I probably had following conception and before I found out, since we were so lucky and found out we were pregnant about five minutes into the pregnancy.)

"My wife is breastfeeding, and now her boobs seem too functional to be sexy."

Oh NO he DIDN'T.

(and, John, take note: this is NOT a problem I anticipate for you.)

Overall, I found the book to address a lot of questions that I felt like I wasn't worried about, but saw that it would be helpful down the line (what to expect at your second ultrasound). But until then, it will give John plenty of reasons to take care of me (even more than he already is), and offer me some things to worry about that I never  considered before:

"Have cats? Never fear. You probably already have toxoplasmosis and have developed immunity to it, so it probably won't kill your baby."

"I have a stressful job. Should I quit?"

"Maybe. Your stress might be a good thing for baby, as it helps you get motivated (so they don't replace you on your maternity leave!). But if it gets to be "too much" (HA!), then yeah, quit."

Ah HA HA HA HAHA hahahhahahahahahahahha.

So by all means,  if you are newly pregnant, go out and buy What to obsess over when you're expecting.

I mean, What to live in fear of when you're expecting.

Oops, not that either. I meant to say, What to never say to your pregnant wife when she's expecting.

Nope. Sorry. Honestly it was a thrill just to buy this book. It was a thrill to read it and say, "Nope, I don't need to worry about this."

So thanks, Heidi Murkoff. And if anyone needs this book, I'm probably done with it.

 

 

Inside, I'm 23

One of the blogs I read that I am obsessed with read daily, is Girl's Gone Child. I find her writing inspiring, beautiful, sometimes sad, and hilarious. I've read her through two pregnancies, one with twins. Now that I'm expecting, she's even more my hero.

Take a look at this post and you'll understand why I love her so.

Girl's Gone Child.

What a mess.

There is so much to do right now. The house is a mess. Like, beyond a mess. Like frat house messy. The "office" is undergoing construction, which I can no longer help with. The hobbit hole is a literal hole of unpacked boxes, hampers of clothing I forgot we owned, and everywhere I look there are at least five things wrong.

And all I keep doing is shuffling from one room to the next, coming up with (sometimes legit) reasons why I can't start this project or that.

I need contractor bags.

I need a place to put all this shit before I can move what's under it.

I need to sweep before I can vaccuum.

I need a better storage system for clothes than one antique dresser and a closet that is currently littered with plaster dust, home to an air conditioner, and blocked by a tupperware and two boxes (the contents of which, I am fairly certain, I also have no place for).

I am immobilized by this situation. This house. This mess. How can we get this shit in order? We're bringing a baby here, and it's a disaster. This place is a DISASTER. Our baby is going to grow up and remember what life was like before child protective services came and took them away from the maniacs who birthed him (her). Or maybe that won't happen, and our child will grow up with extreme OCD because it had parents who were unable to function in the world. I read this terrifying article in Oprah magazine about some woman who had gone off the deep end. Her parents brought her up in a cluttered home, and now she can't live with clutter. There is no art on her walls, no tv in her home. Not one extra pillow, scrap of paper, beloved tchotchke.

We're a long way from friendly clutter. We're in a fucking tear-down. Today I found a basket of Christmas presents that we never dealt with putting away. A basket full of them! In MARCH.

How do people do it? Have homes that are perfectly clean and organized? I think one of the tricks is that they have places for everything. Shit doesn't just sit out on counters. But what of the bowls that well meaning family members bring and leave that you have no room for? The musical equipment that can't go in the hobbit hole because the hobbit hole is full of unpacked boxes and hampers of clothes we don't want anymore?  How do we even get started?

I know this will be ok, I really do. I know that this is just a time of massive transition, construction, and that I am freaking out because my body feels bizarre. Tired all the time, achy, and bloated. I know this will pass. I know John is, even now, coming home with contractor bags and I can bag up some of the shit and get it OUT OF MY LIFE. That in a month, the office   nursery will be finished, and we can have a garage sale and get rid of all the things we don't need. I know that our baby will grow up in a house filled with love (and also records, guitars, animals, clutter, beloved glass elephants, cat hair, and dirty laundry). And it will be ok, because the love will be bigger than the mess.

That will be my mantra for the rest of this weekend, and maybe next.

The love is bigger than the mess.

Breathe.

Six Weeks

Six weeks ago we were in the Bahamas, drinking rum for breakfast and reading books and holding hands and just breathing.

Little did we know.

Or, I guess, we kind of knew.

We were so happy, that's what stands out to me from six weeks ago. So relaxed, so content, so good to just be together. No phones, no internet. Just books, and drinks. Cloudy skies and long walks on the beach to look at nothing. Collecting bright pink and yellow shells. Butterfly wing shells. The only thing we bought in the Bahamas was a bottle of Cuban rum, and we drank the whole thing there. Laughing at each other. Moving at exactly the same pace. Two people, perfectly tuned in to each other's every need and want.

Now we're three.

Last night we were watching television and there was an iPhone commercial that showed two people driving cross country, just for the hell of it. John and I sat snuggled on the couch and he said, "I'd like to do that with you."

Not just with me now.

What will it be like? To be three? A new whole person in this family. One with opinions and wants and needs? As excited as I am, there is some small part of me that feels protective over our love, our existence. Over what John and I have.

Who will we be as parents? Will we still be so in-tune with each other? So in love? Will we still know when the other one wants to drink rum in the morning, needs an 11a.m. nap, wants to skinny dip in the ocean at midnight? (hold my clothes...)

I believe we will. I think of getting Wolaver, and all the attention and love he needed in the beginning. And a baby will be that times a bagillionzillionquillion. But with all that love expanding our hearts and our lives, how could we not be falling even more deeply in love with each other? Our love created life.

And that's it really, right? The ultimate act of love.

Our love created life.