Friday, February 13, 2015

Helpful Brain is Faulty

I've been pretty lucky as far as negative/debilitating/obnoxious pregnancy symptoms go. My nausea was manageable in the first trimester (although "manageable" in the sense that I didn't need medical interference, day-to-day was pretty rough and I only managed the puking, not much else) and as I mentioned in my previous post, I'm pretty cheerful and feeling great during this second trimester. I eat a lot and I already know it's gonna be a pain in the rear to break these midnight cereal habits but hopefully with a summer baby there will be lots of postpartum swimming for this mama and gently whiling the pounds back down.
Basically, all my former ticks and struggles have only been enhanced with pregnancy. People ask about food all the time; weird cravings, aversions, new favorites and the like. My tastes haven't changed all that much but if I do like something, I like it. Which makes it great because then I don't have to be constantly amassing a broad variety of foods stocked up in our pantry, I can just have oatmeal and berries for breakfast every day, or snack on ramen and sriracha (thank you Allora!!) multiple times a week, or whip up a cheese and pickle sandwich when I'm peckish. I still don't like tomatoes and avocados are still hit-and-miss, and I don't desire ketchup on my ice cream with pickle relish or some other bizarre combo.
The one enhancement that I could stand to live without, however, is the brain malfunctions. During the first trimester, sometimes my hands would just quit whatever they were doing in the moment. If I was holding something, it would fall to the floor or just slip out of my grasp and I would stare at my hand like, "well that was unexpected." It's how I ended up spilling drinks all over myself for a few weeks because I would be holding it, resting the bottom on my chest and then suddenly it would just tip over because my hand was like, "nope, you on your own."
There have also been many, many times when I purposefully try to make my life easier by prepping something, or just doing something ahead of time so it will be more convenient later. But then I end up forgetting about it. The simplest example I have of this came up the other day; I got out of the shower and was suddenly exhausted. Like, can't keep my eyes open exhausted. So I laid a towel over my pillow and took a quick forty minute nap. My hair was doing weird things when I woke up so I pulled out the hair dryer and straightener to fix it before choir. I planned to turn the straightener on so that once I was done drying my hair I could immediately apply the hot iron. I plugged it in first and carefully set it aside. You, of course, know where this is going. I later picked up the iron only to find it cold and useless. This very well could have happened before I found myself pregnant, but it happens all the time.
When I'm downstairs looking for a snack: "Mark!! Where's the hummus??"
His reply from the office upstairs where we were just a moment ago, "up here in the mini fridge, where you put it, so it would be easily accessible."

When I remember that it's laundry day so I trek upstairs for the hamper of dirty clothes: "Oh. Right. I brought it down last night so it would be there waiting for me today."

Prefilling my water bottle so I'll have plenty during the nightly droughts or grocery runs. Forgot it in the fridge.

Thankfully Mark can find the humor in my forgetfulness because whenever we're on the hunt for something, I literally have to sit down and close my eyes and mentally go through all our cupboards and closets and backtrack my entire day to figure out where I put it, or may have put it and he just laughs at me.

Except all those words are more like, "food, dog leash, scissors, towels" and not exactly life saving, crime solving deductions. I'm not as cool as Sherlock. But at least there isn't a severed head in my fridge. But...there isn't a severed head in my fridge and that would be pretty cool. Depending on how I obtained the head and in what sort of preservative state it is.

In other similarly related news, in that Sherlock is a tv show and Grey's Anatomy is a tv show, I still have yet to decide whether this is the best plotline to have happened to be pregnant for or the literal worst. I was certainly never April Kepner's biggest fan but BOY HOWDY if I'm not an emotional mess for that character each week. I forewent tissues this past episode and just straight up applied full paper towel sheets to my face to mop up all the tears. I found myself constantly pressing my hands so forcefully to my protruding belly that lil' bean was squirming and kicking like, "ugh mom get a grip, you're in my space!" and I'm just like

Homey better get used to it.
But! Emotional wreck aside, it is a constant reminder of how lucky I am that this pregnancy is going so well and I just constantly thank Heavenly Father for that. My trial of faith is not April Kepner's and I could not be more grateful for that.
I can only imagine, though, if I had been pregnant for the end of season eight. Losing my favorite character and thusly along with my favorite couple/ship? There might have been casualties. And by casualties I mean like a pillow or an entire tub of ice cream. As it was we only suffered the loss of one roll of toilet paper. Speaking of ice cream, there is a small bit of Pralines and Cream waiting for me in the freezer (thank you Tamzon! Or rather, curse you for introducing me to the heavenly delight) which I shall now go snarf while pretending my yoga session was enough to counterbalance it.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

On Taking Offense

If the state of the blogging/social media world on the subject of being offended is Chernobyl then this post here is going to be like a field of daisies in which a pterodactyl took a huge dump. Kind of weird, the daisies might be a little miffed, and not at all related to anything going on in this world today.
A couple weeks ago I made a facebook status about my first encounter with a stranger asking my due date. It was a very happy status and lots of people 'liked' it. I felt pretty good about the experience. I found out later Mark had a completely different experience than I had in that moment.
It's true, the lady asked many more questions than I admitted in the status. As far as I can recall it went a little something like this:

"When are you due?"
"Oh thanks! Um, the end of June [huge grin]."
"[nods] this your second?"
"Nope! First."
"[silent] Twins?"
"No, just one, thankfully!"
"Well, congratulations and good luck!"
"Thank you!"

She wasn't necessarily the smiliest or warmest person I'd ever encountered but I felt like the interaction was genuine. I walked away feeling a sense of (albeit unfounded) triumph at being recognizably pregnant. However, in Mark's eyes, she had been extremely rude and impertinent. In his mind, she was flabbergasted at how huge I was and how it could possibly have been my first child or just one. He was upset at the insinuation that I was "too" fat for my stage of pregnancy. His defense of the honor of my bump was simultaneously sweet and bizarre. I, of course, cried as he alerted me to this perspective on our way back to the car, seeing as now my beautiful shining pregnancy moment was tarnished and ruined.
My point is not who translated the moment correctly, or what the right response should be, but rather that there kind of isn't a right or correct way for anything to have happened. Mark is right in the sense that his experiences have led him to react a certain way, and I am right in the fact that I'm loving my pregnancy so taking it as a good thing is well within my rights and capabilities. I am the daisies and whereas Mark sees the pterodactyl excrement as a high offense, I can choose to look at it as a decent helping of fertilizer and be glad of my current state of existence.
I dunno.
I've just thought about that moment a lot since it happened. Perspectives are weird. Two people can experience the same thing and come away with two completely different experiences. It's so bizarre.

But as far as pregnant bodies go, every body is so, so, so, so different it would be impossible to expect each one to grow at the same rate and produce the same effect every time. I'm on the slightly tallish side (and slightly cushy side) but evenly proportioned between my legs and torso but it doesn't matter because there's a human growing in there and he's fitting in whichever way he can. My sister has a friend that's due before me and she's a teeny tiny little petite human and is barely showing but it doesn't matter. There doesn't need to be a reason why I'm popping out like the beer gut of a pouty orangutan and she's slimmer than the last bloaty day of PMS.

It doesn't matter because my human bean is healthy, I am healthy, I'm blessedly cheery and optimistic and it's going well. I'm well aware that this could be second trimester talking and that in a couple weeks I'll break down sobbing because somebody gave me the side-eye at the grocery store and I just know they were ushering their children away because my cankles might eat them but that can wait till later. For now I'll take my sunshine and rainbows and butterflies and, understandably smelly, daisies.