Ander's Third Month

Any other moms have to peruse their Instagram to get a reminder of what even happened the last month because you were too not-on-top-of-your-game to draft little bits for the blog post as they happened? Yeah, me too.

During Andy's third month of this earthly life, we firstly had his baby blessing! We opted to have it done at home and invited mostly family and a few dear, close friends. Mark was slightly more than jittery and anxious, but did a beautiful job and returned the sweet babe right back to me when he was done and I just snuggled him and paraded him around the room in his mightily dapper get-up.

I kept expecting him to break out into

a rousing rendition of

"Seize the Day"

#newsie4lyfe

We spent a good minute trying to get a smile from Andy as he sat on my 97 year old grandmother's knee. She's such a good sport to allow that hefty baby to crush her poor little lap. Although, there aren't many stronger women than my Grandma Pearl.

We finally braved the perils of painting with baby hands and headed to As You Wish with our best buds Allie and Izzy. One of the workers was kind enough to offer their helping hand and I honestly don't think we could have done it without them. He was slightly groggy from his nap but definitely wanted to clench his hand around the gloopy paint instead of splay his fingers properly. Then of course proceeded to stuff his smurfy fist in his mouth and try to poison himself.

I took the quote from a favorite Owl City number, "Honey and the Bee" if you'd like a listen. It's adorable and lovely and gives me the honey-glows (pun-ish intended).

We've started walking to the Riverview Park more often and jogging around the beautiful scenery. We had most of the entire park to ourselves and the overcast morning and slight drizzle made for a very refreshed and happy momma.
And then, in true Arizona fashion, the weather boiled up into the hundreds again and we haven't left the house unless direly necessary. So boo.

Every Tuesday we give Daddy a quiet, empty house for the evening and hang out at Grandma and Grandpa Andersen's. Grandma gets to walk the baby around while Mommy and Grandpa do the weekly ad crossword puzzle. This particular Tuesday sported a fantastic light-show in the form of a powerful rainstorm, so we snuggled and took in the rain smell on the back porch. Aunt Tasha was kind enough to act as photographer.

Speaking of which, naturally, it was time for another glam photo sesh!

Our good friend, Haley, brought this stinkin' adorable crocheted rabbit outfit to the baby shower and I had visions of rotund baby bellies and napping angels for weeks. During our multitude of moves this summer I, for a panicked moment, thought perhaps it was lost and that we wouldn't be able to find it before he outstretched the knitted fabric, but we caught it just in the nick of time!
Although, I had planned to use the rabbit "costume" for his four month October pictures, since then it would be so close to Halloween, but it definitely ain't making it a whole 'nother month.

Appreciate how hard I (we) had to work for 

these good photos.

And finally, I have no pictures to document the occasion, but on the eve of his third month "birthday"/anniversary/meh? we took him out to my parents, dropped him off and said buh-bye for the next twelve hours or so. Andy had his first sleepover and it went beautifully! Everyone was happy the next morning and no one was dead, so we're calling it a resounding success.
Mark and I utilized the free evening in true, boring, adult fashion. We got sushi to-go, went home and watched a Studio Ghibli, played video games, had fun-times and slept. It was glorious and exactly the reprieve we both needed to rejuvenate our parenting wells. We were running a little dry there, for a spell.

I'm actually beginning to feel like my baby is aging. For the longest time, everyone would comment, "He looks so grown up! He's gotten so big! My, how he's changed!" and I would just look at him and shrug because I could swear he looked exactly as he had when they handed him to me in the hospital. We've always said, "He was born three months old."
Well, now that he actually is three months, we've caught up and all of a sudden I look at the photos of him now next to our hospital pictures and get a little panicky because oh my gosh I have a toddler. My baby looks like a little boy and it's scary.
Luckily, he's playing the lazy chubster card and procrastinating on the rolling over, sitting up, and crawling milestones so my panic is generally unfounded.

Babes, you're my little nutcase.
I love the way you grip my fingers like you'll never let go when I'm feeding you your bottle, and I love to stare at your beautiful, long eyelashes (which you definitely got from your lucky father who doesn't appreciate his enough) while you guzzle.
I love your roll-y thighs and big belly.
I love your grins that you so freely give, but I also love your stern faces and srsbsns moods.
I may not exactly love your newfound voice and the realization that you are, in fact, in control of the volume and so currently you have it set to "banshee screech" whether you're happy, sad, angry, or usually just confused, but it occasionally makes me laugh. Perhaps you'll be a broadway belter once you can start singing and momma can accompany you.
You love your puppies, and any other animals that happen to cross your field of vision. You love bright colors and natural sunlight. You gaze happily at the array of books nestled in your room, so I'm hoping you'll be a bookworm just like momma.
You're wonderful and I love you so, Andy.

Little Big Thoughts

As obvious as it may be, my journaling has been a whole lot of nonexistent lately. Thankfully, my dear friend Allora gave me probably one of my favorite gifts from my baby shower in the form of Mom's One Line a Day.
This tiny pink book has been the lifesaver to my journal efforts. The small entry blocks save me from feeling daunted by a huge empty book and also encourage me to choose my words carefully. I have to ruminate back on my day and prioritize what I want to record.
A few days ago, I scrawled a comment that hasn't left my brain and I thought I'd share here.
I won't quote directly (mostly cuz it's in the other room by my bed and I wanna blast this post out before baby wakes), but the general idea was my gratitude to Motherhood and it's effect on my psychological well-being. Granted, it's left me a bit of a mess as well, but if parenthood has given me anything, it's a blessedly blase attitude about others' opinions.
Side-eye at the store for the stained sweats and third-or-fourth-day hair? Meh.
Formula fed? Really? Yup. Really.
Dirty dishes in the sink? Laundry piled up? Sticky floors? Avert thine eyes, cuz that's what I'm doing.
Don't get me wrong, I still think about it and remind myself, "Ah, gotta do that!" Blips of guilt flit through my mind when I see someone doing a seemingly "better" job than me. But no longer are the days where I cry in the shower because of some supermom's instagram post with the homemade cake and DIY laundry detergent and flawsome hair and pristine clothes and cute cozy home #straightouttapinterest. And honestly it's because I'm crying in the shower from being unable to help my baby instead. If I can't find a minute to feed myself, I'm certainly not setting aside any minutes to compare myself and dwell on it. Ain't nobody got time for that.
Because the honest to goodness truth is that I'm doing the very best that I can.
Motherhood has been so different than what I expected. I thought I would be overcome with this glowing, bubbly, shiny kind of love that just burst from every cell and I wouldn't be able to contain it. I thought I would be one of those mothers with the rainbow unicorn instagram captions.
But I literally cannot find the words to describe the love I feel for this kid.
It's hard.
It's so very, very hard.
Being a parent is, truthfully, pretty sucky.
We brought our little potato spud home and I didn't feel glowy. I didn't feel like a little burning sun of love and happiness. I felt tired, and worn to the core, and a little like I made a mistake. Glimmering moments of true joy saved me, and it's only recently that I'm finally feeling like perhaps maybe me and this munch-nugget can actually be buds.
I didn't recognize the love. When compared with the ideals I had gleaned from the comments of others, it seemed that I had a missing piece. But there's no question that I love him. I would not hesitate to put his life before mine. Fixing his hurt and being the cause of his smiles or breathy giggles feeds my very soul. My struggle has been more with finding out who I am as a mother and what changes it has wrought in me rather than loving him or not.

I don't have a solid reason for sharing this. And I don't have time to care about whether or not you'll enjoy it or think it's crap. My "care" meter is maxed out from being preoccupied by the cutest, snuggiest, loviest love-bug in my life. #sorrynotsorry

Just a Quickie

Surely I'm not the only parent whose mornings go something like; 

Wake up and feed the baby, 

nod off while feeding the baby, 

make more food for when the baby gets hungry later (or rather, sooner), 

change the baby and babble with him for a good minute, 

take advantage of a content baby and sneak in a quick shower, 

notice you're hungry, 

head to the kitchen only to realize you could be proactive 

and get a load of laundry going before eating, 

but on the way back from the laundry room you stop 

to clean up the mess of scattered magnets 

from when the magnet board fell off the wall the other day, 

forget that you were hungry, 

get the baby down for a nap, 

start roaming the house armed with paper towels 

and some windex to eradicate the dust 

from off all the pictures and mirrors adorning your walls, 

remember the hunger and now thirst, 

the thought of water reminds you of your poor dogs

 shriveling in the desert heat, 

let them inside and give treats for tricks, 

switch the wet laundry over to the dryer, 

might as well get another load going--make it a complete laundry day, 

and suddenly you're struck with the fact that it's been four hours since you thought you should probably eat something.

It strikes you as comical.

"I should write a blog post."

And you still haven't eaten.

Ander's Second Month

Who was put in charge of deciding how the year was divided up? Cuz the whole pregnancy was measured in weeks and now all of a sudden my baby is nine weeks and five days yet somehow counted as exactly two months old. Because it's the 25th of the month and he was born on the 25th? #yestologic

This year has been a crazy whirlwind. I was due in June, we sold our house the first of April (a point of much mirth between Mark and I), and we didn't get into our new place till after Andy was born. And I won't even get into the festering yuck pile of that whole experience. Maybe someday. When I have more than the allotted time that the bottle Baby is chugging down at the moment gives me.

So let's see, during Ander's second month of life we made it back to church! We are thrilled with our new ward and look forward to getting to know the members. It certainly helps that our good friends Taylor and Thomas are already in the ward! Automatic friends, for the win.

 We took a risk and tried out going to the lake. Turns out July is still way too blazing hot for a whole lot of fun with a two month old. We managed to get by without much sunburning and hardly any fussing, but mama sure needed a nap by 3 o'clock. Being on the boat knocked Andy right into nap mode, and as always he loved the water. Mor'du was thrilled to be on such a wild adventure and was basically a floormat for the next three days afterwards.

We took the opportunity to have my parents babysit while we attended a session at the Gilbert temple and it was spectacular. I hadn't thought about accommodating my new mom-bod until the night before but luckily the Deseret Book right across the freeway had a beautiful (and stretchy) dress in my size so we were golden! Grandma and Grandpa had been implicit in their desires for us to take our sweet time so as to give them more time with the Bud, so we went to lunch at Mod Pizza afterwards and stuffed ourselves silly with delicious pizzas and homemade lemonade. Seriously, it's amazing. I live literally five miles away from the Mesa temple now but I will make the trip down to Gilbert every time if it means we get to have Mod Pizza after.

Bug-a-boo has grown to love bathtime. It calms him right down and certainly seems to help him get prepared for bedtime.

As for our furbabes, they couldn't be more pleased with the backyard setup. Well, that's a lie. Shade could definitely be more abundant, but the size is definitely a far cry from the maybe ten square feet they had back at the apartment.

Seeing my buddy grow more and more into the little person he's to become has been such a treat. The random stranger in the Walgreen's parking lot said it perfectly when he noted that Andy has quite the stern demeanor:

"But when he does smile, you know you've earned it."

24 inches long

14 lbs, 15 oz

Head circumference 98%

Special note-of-interest: those letter blocks were made from scratch by my own mom back when I was a wee little one and I've dreamed of having them for my kids for as long as I can remember. I thought for the longest time that they had gotten lost or trashed during one of the many moves our family made throughout the years but then I happened to see them tucked away in a corner of my parents house during their latest move and about cried. Snatched those up real quick before they were lost again! 

Baby, Baby, Baby, Oh!

I suppose it's about time I clued the internet world in on how the whole birth thing went. As best as I can remember it, at least. With help from the husband peanut gallery, of course.

The kid's 11 days old and it definitely feels like he's been with us at least a month already. I am already awful at letting him fuss a bit on his own, or even with Mark, before swooping in trying to fix everything, even though I know that's a bad habit to get into. I am overwhelmed with the kindness of our family, friends, and church peers. My microwave has never felt more useful and my fridge never so full. Nor my heart, for that matter. 

To start at the beginning of this tale, we have to go back to June 24th, the day after my due date. I went in for my weekly checkup at the OB-GYN and went through the process as normal. Checked in. Left my urine sample. Went back when the nurse called me and she took my vitals, asked how I was feeling, any contractions or bloody show. I told her about my constant Braxton Hicks but how they don't progress at all. Nothing to be excited about. When the doctor came in to check my dilation I was prepared for the same diagnosis as the last three weeks; "none whatsoever", or in his words, "extra not dilated". Naturally I hoped against all odds though. Much to my surprise when he pulled his hand back and said that not only was I not dilated, the baby hadn't even dropped at all. He wasn't able to feel the head nearby, let alone making its way into a labor position. He told me we would do an ultrasound that day to determine how big the baby was and if he was over ten pounds we would be scheduling a c-section for the next day.
Now, if you had asked me all throughout my pregnancy, "What's your birth plan?" you would have gotten a casual shrug and the answer, "A healthy baby. That's my plan." I was certainly not heartbroken by the inevitability of a cesarean. I was, however, thrown into a bit of shock to have things suddenly moving so quickly. For weeks I was told, "no dilation, no dilation" and now all of a sudden my baby could be here tomorrow?? I was every bit as confused about how I felt as I was excited to meet the little munch-nugget I had been incubating for so many months. I went out into the waiting room and immediately texted Mark the news. He happened to be working from home that day and asked if he needed to come to the office. Despite my calm protests that it wasn't necessary, he finished his current task and sped down the four or so miles to our doctor's office to be with me and talk it all out.
In the ultrasound, the tech estimated that baby was ten pounds and four ounces, nineteen or so inches long, and padded with a generous amount of fat. We called the doc and confirmed that he was indeed over the predetermined weight and decided to book our c-section! We giddily flipped through the prints of the ultrasound photos and tried to imagine what it would be like to finally hold him in our arms the very next day. It all became so real and so soon. On our way out the doors we hastily texted grandparents and close friends the news of our scheduled stork delivery and went back home to really prep the house.

Considering we knew that upon the arrival of morning we would no longer be simply husband and wife but also father and mother to a needy ball of flesh, we quickly scoured the showtimes of new movies to go see as one last date night free of babysitters or fussy little ones. "Inside Out" happened to be showing at the perfect time and in watching it, we proceeded to psych ourselves out even further with all the parent-child feels the movie induced. Coincidentally appropriate, you might say.
We tried our best to sleep that night. I made sure to shower early in the wee hours of morning, considering we were appointed to be at the hospital at 0530 for admitting and paperwork. The drive over was a mix of leisurely and electrifying. We parked and strolled in, got checked into our room and immediately the nurses began hooking me up with all kinds of wires and tubes and wraps. I quite miss those leg massagers, although the sweats and itchiness of them I don't quite miss. Overall though, it was nearly pleasant. The IV insertion does not enjoy the privilege of being considered "pleasant". I was lucky and it didn't bother me once it was in. I forgot about it with time.
Before I even knew it, we were left alone to wait in our room until they came to wheel us back to the operating room, which ended up being only a little over thirty minutes of waiting.

0730 Again, I was surprised with the speed of events. When the nurses came back in, there was no hesitation about it, they had my bed rolling out in less than a minute and we were on our way. Everything felt great and we were getting smiles and congratulations as we weaved down the hallways.
But then Mark and I were separated for a few minutes as they took me in to the OR room to prep. My immediate observations being that the room was freezing, there was a load more people than I expected as well as a myriad of strange machines, and I couldn't even begin to know where to look or what to think. I straightaway missed being able to glance over and see Mark's calm, smiling face. But everyone was kind and amiable, helping me feel as comfortable as possible. They tucked my hair into a net and I breathed deeply under the warm blanket the nurse spread over me as she told me to lean onto her when they were sticking me with the spinal tap. I felt like a lab rat as they helped me lie back, rolled up my hospital gown, spread my legs and sanitized my body under the bulbous glare of the OR overhead lights. That only lasted a minute though before they returned my body to a more natural supine position. The constriction in my chest continued to tighten and my anxiety worsen as the bustling preparations continued and more people popped into view to tell me one more thing that was going to happen and Mark still had not been let into the room. I desperately wanted my husband and I had a quick moment of marveling how women did it when they were whisked into emergency c-sections they didn't want. I was fine with the idea and still freaking out.
Finally I heard someone say, "alright daddy, you can come in now...over here" and at long last Mark's eyeballs came into view. I say eyeballs because of course he was wearing a cap as well as a face mask but it was enough. My hand twitched involuntarily to search for his and he immediately grabbed mine and squeezed. The anesthesiologist performed a quick test to see how far I was numb and seemed pleased with the results. It terrifies me that the only way of determining if the anesthesia is working is whether I can tell if an alcohol swab feels "cold" or not.
I heard my doctor's voice and knew I'd be under the knife sooner than I could imagine. He peeked over the dividing curtain and asked, "are we ready for this?" I smiled as pleasantly as I could and replied, "as ready as I can be!"
The general hubbub of the OR room was distracting enough to be marginally comforting but I still tensed up as the doc said the words, "making the incision now". I was not prepared for the literal gut wrenching and sickening nausea that swept over me as they, presumably, began working the baby out of my body. There was, of course, no pain whatsoever, but I hadn't thought about how forceful they would need to be and steeled myself against the anxiety over feeling my body rock back and forth. Mark must have noticed my discomfort because he leaned in closer and his hand floundered for a place to touch me and comfort me better. I assured him I wasn't in any pain and as his fingers brushed up against my face I nodded vehemently and said, "right there, that's perfect." I leaned my cheek into his warm hand and tried not to cry. I was getting the easiest experience out of this and felt guilty for being so affected. I am overcome with emotion thinking back on this moment and just want to take a moment to say that Mark was everything to me in that room. I looked to him the entire time and he never once failed to respond to me kindly and assure me that I was doing great, complimenting me and helping me make it through.
0749 Suddenly, the anesthesiologist patted Mark's arm and told him quickly to get up and look over the curtain as I heard our baby's first shuddering cries and the gasps of a few nurses, "oh my! What a chunker!" I think I remember they held him out for me to see, I said hello to him and tried to let him hear my voice, then they led Mark over to the warmer where they cleaned him up and took his stats and vitals. Our firstborn was 10 pounds 10 ounces and 23 inches long. And the nurses claimed his hair had some red to it! I was just shocked he even had hair, Mark and I were both bald as babies. To my chagrin, I was being rocked violently once again as they closed me up and I no longer had Mark there but I kept both eyes on that precious baby and avoided looking into all the reflective surfaces attempting to scar me with an image of what was happening over the curtain. Mark took a video of the birth and I still haven't watched it. Not my cup of tea.

They handed him over to Mark, who stepped back over to where I was, sat down and held him close to my face so I could see him up close. We cooed at him and told him we loved him, as new parents are wont to do, and then Mark was led out to go to recovery as I was being stitched up. They asked if I was comfortable with Ander being given a bottle of formula because of his being at risk of a plummet in blood sugar due to his sizeable weight and the fact that I couldn't immediately breastfeed him. I just wanted my baby to be healthy so I naturally said yes. Luckily, my doctor was so quick with his sutures, we made it to recovery just behind Mark and Ander with the lactation consultant not far behind and on quite the warpath against the nurses trying to give him formula so quick. We began immediate breastfeeding, to which Ander took a speedy liking, and I sat awkwardly with my boobs hanging out and a babe not even a half hour old between the tense catfight that ensued between Team Breast and Team Formula. Fortunately, Ander met hospital regulation within the hour and we avoided having to send him to the NICU and endure an IV.
My mom arrived mere minutes after we had been in recovery and impressed the lactation consultant with her wise tips on breastfeeding. Mark's brother was soon thereafter, however he was invited to wait in our room till we were out of recovery. I'm glad for those quiet minutes of bonding with my baby skin-to-skin with just my husband and my mother by my side. After the whirlwind of a delivery and the trauma to my body and mind, it would have been chaotic to have so many visitors all at once so soon after everything.
I'm so proud of my big, strong boy and so incredibly grateful for how well everything went. Baby is healthy, mama is healthy, and daddy is rocketing past all my expectations, regardless of how high they already were. He's the greatest husband I could ever have hoped for and the greatest father I could have ever dreamed.
Now if only I could sleep for ten hours.

(Grandpa sleeping while holding babe....)

Snippets

I finally have a desktop again!!
I have a desk mostly all to myself, only a few boxes are crammed around me and most of them are to be taken outside to the carport where my father-in-law's extra stuff that managed to scrounge a hiding spot in the apartment is going.

It was just too much to try and scrunch into a Facebook or instagram post how everything is going but I feel like my quick updates have gotten a little whiney and I wanted to take a minute to blog and express how grateful I am for everything that's going on right now. It may have been a rocky move and being right at the cusp of my third trimester while doing it may have been...less than ideal (28 weeks as of today!!) but we are honestly so relieved to be where we are and making these proactive choices with our life.
People are super confused when we tell them we moved out of our glorious, beautiful house and into a tiny apartment just as we're finally actually starting a family. It's easy enough to say, "well I lost my job so it just became too much for how little we needed the extra space," and that would satisfy their need to understand our motives. But it honestly goes deeper than that. The house was great. The house would have held us for years and years and been just dandy. We could still afford that house on Mark's job alone (#BLESSINGS), although missing out on fun date nights and a loosey-goosey budget. We wouldn't have been bankrupt if we stayed.
But we also wouldn't have had much of a plan for the future. Any sort of plan that we could both be happy with, that is. Retirement would be an unfathomable, distant prospect and planning any fun trips with or without little ones spanning the years would be nearly nonexistent. And we began to question whether that was a life we wanted, just for the sake of some extra rooms and stairs (and a ridiculous HOA monthly payment).
It was telling when the minute we actually spent the night at the temporary apartment (explanation on that in a minute) we both looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief and admitted how much better we felt already. Getting into a big home is what married people do. And now is the time to do it, with the market the way it is. And we're so glad we had the opportunity to, effectively, "try it out". We've experienced it and now we know, we do not need a large home. Our lives can benefit greatly from other forms of living.
Our plan is to invest in a du/tri/fourplex of apartments and live in one, landlording for the other tenants to basically "cover" our rent expenses aka the mortgage. The reason we had to squish into the apartment we're in now is the ever accommodating concept of time. The house we were living in closed before we could find the right place or one that would be profitable enough to be worth it. So again, we are so incredibly grateful that we had this place to fall back on. It's impossible to know when the right place will pop up, so we could be in here for a couple months, or until next year.
Mainly, it feels amazing to be able to breathe and have a large percentage of Mark's paycheck divvied up into savings and feel like our future is just that much more secure.

And as far as pregnancy goes, I'm still doing splendidly. I posted a photo of my swollen feet from church the other day and cringed at myself when people responded so kindly and were sorry that I was "miserable". Because I'm not miserable at all. I'm tired and I'm sore and I wish I had time to learn this new body before it changes again but through it all I have a happy little ray of sunshine kicking me in the spleen and an incredible husband and two dopey mutts to love on and it's more than I deserve. These pregnancy changes are far from unexpected and I will never stop being grateful that I have had far less to deal with than most women. Truthfully, it was probably my own fault my feet were so swollen that day. Hours on days on end of moving and poor hydration methods and fast food are the real culprit, I'm sure.

In conclusion, do not be misled by my misguided humor in instagram captions. Life is good. I am good. New trails are being blazed and we'll see where we end up.

Scatter Form Pregnancy Update

I cannot adequately explain to you 

the depths of my desire to be able to lay on my stomach again. 

The lukewarm, evening, cooldown showers have begun.

It is that time of year. 

And that time of parasitic tiny human hosting,

I suppose.

I have switched seating positions

at least three times already

in the time it has taken

just to write these thoughts thus far.

I should definitely be packing.

But standing up makes me nauseous.

Or maybe it's the bending over.

Or maybe it's the breathing.

Two weeks sounds a lot better than

next Friday.

Moving Day is terrifying.

Is it considered cheating 

if I tend to only do the seated positions

of my yoga dvd sessions?

Like, Mountain pose pro-status yo

but all that triangle business and leaning

and feet pointed outward and such.

My arms get tired so much quicker

than anything else!

Carbs, carbs, carbs. 

All day, err day.

So much the crave.

Carbs.

All I want right now are pancakes,

and cookies,

or waffles,

and cake,

and donuts,

and all the sugary bready goodness.

If I pile enough fruits on top it balances it out,

right??

I keep meaning to move on,

but now I'm stuck on a food rut.

Mark finally felt a real, solid, identifiable kick.

Babe was up in my ribs

(or I guess his feet were?)

and I told Mark to stick his hand there.

Silly fellow gently laid his fingers on my skin

and I grabbed his hand and shoved it down hard,

almost immediately his eyes got wide and

he gasped, "Oh!"

And then, "oh, oh wow" again because 

little dude was dancin' on mommy's ribs.

Mommy also cries a lot.

At the drop of a hat.

Or the drop of anything really.

Dropping things is such tiring business.

I think I can feel the second trimester glow fading,

which is a major bummer,

but it also means I'm that much closer

to meeting this munchkin,

and that more than makes up for it.

Still doing great.

All things considered.

Just grateful that "healthy"

seems to be the general consensus with both

babe and momma.

I'll take it.

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.

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]...is 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.

"What dreams may come, both dark and deep"

I've been waiting for the forewarned "pregnancy dreams" to show up and they have made their debut. And they suck.

I am not a stranger to bad dreams. It's been a lifelong thing, and I'm as used to it as you can be. I'm actually kind of an apocalyptic Bruce-Willis-esque badass sometimes. (Obviously positive thinking is my selected, forerunning combatant against night terrors.) So I had my fears and my expectations and my pep talks prepped for when/if these awful pregnancy dreams turned up.
They are so much worse than I ever even imagined.
Mostly because I used very little imagination and just thought they would be perhaps a more vivid or, shall we say, saturated version of the dreams I was already having. Zombies, apocalypse, family deaths, disasters and chaos. The usual.
Instead, these blessed pregnancy hormones went after something much more personal and soul-wrecking: my actual real life anxieties.
It hasn't even been bad per se until a couple weeks ago. I first noticed a change in my dreams far back in the beginning of pregnancy, when people I hadn't seen or spoken to in years, often even people that I probably never talked to, just went to school with (like, elementary and middle school), started showing up. The dreams also lacked the usual quality of the bizarre. It was just normal stuff. Normal people doing normal stuff in normal ways. I even thought to myself, "maybe my 'pregnancy dreams' are backward. This is boring! I'm okay with boring!"
But recently the normal people doing normal things has morphed into people I love and admire doing horrifically manipulative things and acting out every heartbreaking scenario my anxiety-ridden imagination could muster. My sleep has starkly degraded as a result and I find myself stuck in the mood of the dream as if a barrel of molasses has been poured over my head and I'm walking around the rest of the day with the sticky residue layered over me. So even when I wake up and rethink everything, I don't really feel better...just sick at heart and not well rested.
I woke up around 3:30am having a dream in which some people very close to me say awful, mean things and basically insist that my company is no longer desired, because I'm "awful and a bad person". Mark and I left the hangout only to discover that he agrees with them and has me move into the attic. During our argument he shouts at me, "I rely on you to be perfect at everything you do!" I eventually just It's a Wonderful Life the situation and leave, picked up by some trucker on Bush Highway who takes me to a combine where I have my baby and send him in a basket with a messenger to Mark to ask whether he wants to keep the baby or should I. But unlike It's a Wonderful Life nothing has changed and Mark's just mad that I inconvenienced him and it was at this point that I woke up with tears in my eyes and felt the overwhelming depression cloud smothering my very ability to breathe.
For a compulsive people-pleaser and perfectionist like me, this was the absolute worst dream I could imagine having.
The real Mark lying next to me sniffed and shifted around in bed and I shakily whispered, "honey, are you awake?" He replied with a soft yes and my voice broke as I asked, "could we snuggle please?"
He immediately shifted in my direction and opened up his blankets and arms to me. Then of course the tears spilled over (as they're doing again now just talking about it) and I sobbed quietly for a minute or two, Mark's fingers gently stroking my hair, his warm, solid body against my back making me feel comfortable for the first time in weeks. I had my moment of comfort and knew I needed to let the poor guy get back to sleep so that his early alarm wasn't too awful. But my mind wasn't ready to give up this ghost of anxiety and depression.
So now I'm here trying to write it out of me and I think it's working. Not sure I'll post it though. Quite unentertaining and a smidge personal, ya know?

I am so, so grateful for that man that loves me and lets me huddle up close to him when I'm feeling vulnerable and attacked by my own brain even at 4 in the morning. Who lets me cry it out and asks if I'm feeling better when the shaking subsides. Who gives me a tight hug and a tender kiss on the cheek when I can vocalize again and assures me "anytime" as I thank him. He is going to be my rock going into this baby venture and I don't know how I would manage it without him.
Head to a combine, I suppose.

[Honest] Diary of a Pregnant Woman

It's important in this age of filters and photoshop and cropping out the piles of laundry and lugging our salads to remote rooms in the house because it has the best lighting and backdrop options...

A photo posted by Hope Douglass (@hopelid) on Jan 27, 2015 at 3:39pm PST

....even in that world it's important to be real about what life is actually like. Because it's not all "Aden" filters that obscure perceived imperfections. It's never all tidy kitchens and vacuumed floors. Life is messy. And imperfect. And it's supposed to be that way.

Today I had a brilliant, shiny, pretty picture in my head of how it was gonna go. I was gonna make some cute signs and walk my angelic dogs to the park and get some cute shots that would fit perfectly into an instagram photo and have my beautiful, wonderful baby gender announcement and life would be grand. Now, I'm not a moron, I had my inhibitions about walking the dogs by myself and how I would handle setting up the shots while we were there and maintaining awareness of any pedestrians or other animals wandering by the park. I packed a backpack with our stake and leash extenders and some doggie treats so I could anchor the dogs where I planned to have the shoot. The park in the middle of our neighborhood is so pretty right now with this beautiful weather and all the nice rain, a cute and lush clover patch has sprung up beneath a large, old tree that hangs over the grass and filters the sun gorgeously.
The walking part proved difficult, as was expected. Mor'du is awful about heeling and constantly lunging while on the leash. We have him in a self-tightening collar but after two minutes he's wheezing and choking himself and it takes a million years to get anywhere because we're stopping and starting over and over. So I was already frustrated by the time we were just arriving at the park...
To find the landscapers there trimming EVERY TREE AND BUSH. There was hardly any lawn left for all the piles of branches scattered. And with so many unsuspecting humans waiting to be barreled over and befriended, I knew there was not a single hope of getting any pictures taken there. So we just turned around and began our stunted march back home again.
I tripped over Mor'du multiple times on the way home and the leashes got tangled every five steps it seemed. By the time we tumbled through the side gate I was ready to put them both up for adoption. We went around to the back porch and I pulled out the signs from the backpack and promptly began sobbing because #hormones
So Mor'du chased his shadow in the fountain and Odin gawked awkwardly next to my chair waiting for me to pet him as I tried to cry as quietly as I could so as to not weird out the poor neighbors trying to enjoy their overcast afternoon.
Once I worked up the courage to start attempting our own home photo shoot, Mor'du was completely soaked and muddy, had apparently erased all memory of "sit" and "stay" from his memory, and insisted on kamikaze karate chopping me in the backside incessantly. Before I had even had a chance to snap a single shot he had already trampled over Odin's sign, wrinkling it and swiping muddy pawprints all over it, and given me a nice stinging scratch along my leg. And Odin kept up with his typical "if I just stand a little closer and get my head right in her face she'll pet me, I know it" moves.
Obviously, as evidenced in my instagram photo, we got the shots we needed, and I jimmy rigged a super fancy stack of lawn chairs and tables to get the shot of me with the last sign.

#shootmeintheface was the look I was going for.

Then I cried some more and ate some food and went over all the pretty things I finally got on our registry (thanks to the blessed help of Allie and Ali). And then I found a good deal on a swing+bouncer on craigslist, and then Mark got home and he took me for Taco Bell as a reward for not strangling our furbabes, so the day got markedly better. Plus I showed him the salad instagram and he asked, "where did you get that??" Like I went somewhere and just bought a salad. I MAED DIS.

What an adventure this life is, eh?

Diary of a Pregnant Woman

Creating registries is tough business, yo. First world problems waddup but I'm still struggling majorly. (Also amongst the pregnancy struggles, I spelled it "struglling" first and my nerdy english pride is blushing furiously.)

But literally, I know nothing about what I want. This is why we're having the shower in the first place so I can get all the helpful insight and tips from all the rockin' moms who've already tested everything out and know all the goodies. Like, bottles? Diapers? Pacifiers? 

I'm also drawing a blank as to other things to even list in the ever growing "I'm an idiot" pile. 

So why in the world am I going on Amazon and trying to pick something that I think I may possibly want and/or like when really all I need is someone to say, "here, I got these ones and they worked great. You're welcome." And then I grovel at their feet and, realistically, probably cry a little bit because I'm so grateful.

I just don't want to throw something on the list because I'm supposed to have it listed but I picked a dumb one and somebody goes on later and is like, "wut? She picked that one? Okay, whatever, it's what she wants..."

/facepalm

Can I just include a caveat with the registry as a whole? "Disregard all of my opinions completely. Thank you."

Me trying to create the baby registry right now: "Oh I suppose I need this [type type type] ohh nooooo they're all so cuuuuuute ughhhhh." How do I even begin to choose I don't even know.

I also have next to zero desire to buy any baby clothes. But I've already bought a boatload of children's books and toys and crib bedding even though we don't have a crib yet. The risk you run I suppose when shopping at Goodwill. You either get it then, or it's gone. I'm a monster when it comes to Goodwill, we went there this past weekend because it was half-off saturday (aka Holy day of Holies) (#sacrilegemuch?) and I didn't even look through the baby clothes but I got a little locking suitcase trunk thing that has ginormous puzzle pieces inside of it because it's adorable and completely clean and looks like a child has never handled it. And I found three pristine classic Golden Books that I actually remember reading myself--

And one of my personal favorites...

And then I got sucked into buying a little cardboard book about a mole with a pet bird but at the end he sets the bird free because "birds are meant to fly" and he cries about it and I maybe got a little emotionally attached. 

There were a zillion Little Golden Books hiding on the shelves and every time I saw that shiny spine I got excited but as it turns out they came out with a line of Disney ones recently and all I was looking for are the classic ones that I remember reading and loving. I had no idea how old these books really are but I found one about a cat in a christmas tree that I didn't particularly remember but it was published in 1992. So then I looked inside the Pokey Little Puppy and that sucker is from the 40's! Mark had to actually, physically drag me away from the book section.

I feel so pretentious when editing our library spreadsheet with little baby books like this but there are SO MANY and I know I'll never remember all the ones we have and it would be even more ridiculous to end up with five copies of Green Eggs and Ham so /shrug, what can ya do. 

Oh, and I found a boppy pillow that ended up being $3.50 and it was completely stain-free, a print that I liked, and the zipper was in fine working order and the pillow insert was clean and intact. Praise, hallelujah. 

We got plenty of other books as well, but they were adult-ish ones (including a complete Jack London series that I'm intrigued with), and a replacement backpack for "my" 72-hour kit. Mark has the legit hiking pack but mine was just an old blue Jansport that I used in middle school and junior high so it was kinda sad and small. Hopefully the apocalypse holds off for a little while longer because our kits are not very complete. Especially considering now we're gonna have a kid so I gotta work in those essentials somehow. 

On the pregnancy note however, my belly (and boobs) have absolutely sprung out of nowhere. The first traces of stretch marks have begun appearing and I'm not too sad about it. They feel rather like a badge of honor at this point, there's no telling how I'll feel once the baby's here and I'm left with a shipping rig of overwrought hormones. I'm slathering lotion all over my torso after every shower and it has saved my sanity from the itching. 

I get terrible headaches every now and again, and once they've set in it's usually too late for the rest of the evening and there's nothing I can do but just ride it out. I pretend the tylenol helps and sometimes can fake myself out. 

If we're running around and busy throughout the day I feel really poorly later on and get obnoxiously and irrationally cranky. But if I'm mindful of my activity and give myself ample opportunity to sit down and just chill for a minute I feel great. And of course monitor my water consumption, and by 'monitor' I really mean chug it constantly. Eating has to happen every two hours, or else. Not just in a cutsie "oh, I'm eating for two, teehee" way but like I feel sick and shaky and I may just lay down and fall asleep right here need food. 

SO anyway. I guess that's just my mind as of right now. Pregnancy is treating me pretty well and I can't wait to hold our little boy in my arms and snuggle him close and kiss his little head and pat his tiny bum. Thankfully I have our ultrasound photos and videos to tide me over.

Dat arm definition, doe. 

Peeking out of the cobwebs...

In an effort to reconstitute myself as an actual blogger, I am going to now fudge my way through a sludge-fest of random and hope that somewhere along the way a point pokes through.
The next AZ Blogger meetup is coming up in February and I have been so incredibly abysmal with posting regularly. Not even regularly, because I'm pretty sure there's at least one a month since last august when I really wrote a lot (not that it was even particularly brilliant, but perhaps that's the point) but just finding my blogger voice again. Fistpump for 2015!

Apparently gif involvement is still a staple.

Immediately my thought process of "what to post? what to post?!" screeches to a halt at New Year's Resolutions but I haven't even really defined what exactly it is that I am resolved to do this year. A couple things randomly popped up at the beginning of the year that I was very determined to be better at and I have done a decent job of doing so. Perhaps those count as my goals for the new year.
A few weeks ago I committed to at least one round of freezer meals and suddenly my grocery planning has become exponentially more efficient and incredibly we have so many options for meals now. Which feels great. And I haven't even blown through the budget yet. So huzzah for that.
My downstairs looks. fabulouuuuuus. I don't even know how it happened. Last friday I whizzed about all day cleaning and tidying up off of a nice compartmentalized To-Do List and it really worked. I came up with my own rule of putting on an album of music on my phone and until that album has finished I am working on chores. Once it's over I can lounge on the couch for a bit and then start another album and so on until I've been sufficiently productive for the day.
And I've actually been doing the whole "keeping up on it" curse thing. Like my kitchen hasn't been dirty this week and our sitting room has stayed tidy. Okay yeah it's Tuesday night but this feels like a win and I'm taking it!
Oh and my eating habits have basically made a drastic turnaround. Getting pregnant is pretty much the best thing that could have happened to my 2015 body. I am so much more conscious of what I put in my mouth. And water all the time. ALL THE TIME. I was always a bedside-cup-of-water gal but now it is a need beyond need.

^Me at least three times a night if I go to bed without my water bottle.

Okay fine, this is getting nowhere, I'm turning to pinterest and writing prompts.

Reading: I'm listening to Alloy of Law (Brandon Sanderson) with Mark, I've read it before, he hasn't, and Sanderson is one of our favorite "fun" authors. We're falling apart waiting for the Stormlight Archive to be continued in 2016 and that's just book three out of TEN. #bookwormproblems
I'm also nibbling out of the Douglas Adams set I bought Mark for his birthday while we were dating. I already sprinted through Hitchhiker's Guide and muddled my way through The Restaurant at the End of the Universe and now I'm into Life, the Universe, and Everything and really I'm only continuing with it because Adams' writing style is just....bizarrely accurate. Like I don't think he even cared about the plot at all. I just want to continue soaking in the weird and cruelly chuckling every time Arthur has a meltdown.

Playing: Well there are an incredible amount of connotations to this: I played up to I think level 11 in WoW, don't even remember what type of character it was I was that invested. They started giving me quests to actually go like, defeat a bad guy and I lost interest almost immediately. I was super pro at gathering herbs and like, feathers and claws off of the animals I hunted though #whateven
I'm also practicing quite a bit on piano, mainly working on sharpening them sight-reading skills again. I'm in desperate need of new material however, considering most of the classical books I own and use for practicing purposes have been around for probably 10 years or so. I'm also geeking out over new stuff for choir. (thank you Lorri!!)

Watching: Pretty much the only thing I care about is Grey's Anatomy. But I also watch my dogs. And my weight [skyrocket] [not really though] [not yet anyway].

Trying: Patience. Responsibility. Kindness to myself.

Cooking: ALL the things!! Freezer meals, corn on the cob, quesadillas, soups, fancy sammiches, all kinds of not entirely impressive things that I haven't really done before.

Eating: Also ALL the things. I actually end up having little hypoglycemic episodes if I don't eat basically every two hours so I snack a lot. Hardboiled eggs and cheese are my favorite at the moment.

Drinking: Dr. Pepper. Always and forever. And water, as previously mentioned.

Calling: Mordu's name over and over to try and grab his attention. Little nutjob.

Texting: Normally?

Pinning: Regularly?

Tweeting: Tried twice, never stuck.

Crafting: Nothing, though I keep trying to convince myself to pull out those crochet needles again.

Scrapping: the Unnecessary.

Doing: The Necessary.

Going: along for the ride.

Loving: My family, my life, my love, my weird, tight, itchy belly.

Hating: The headaches. Makes productivity nearly impossible.

Discovering: the joys of pregnancy/pre(?)-motherhood. I mean technically I guess I'm already a parent, but I feel kind of like that sophomore art student that identifies as an "art student" rather than an "artist" because they feel like they haven't earned their stripes yet.

Enjoying: the joys of pregnancy/motherhood. It's difficult and I struggle often, but it's incredible already the sense of accomplishment and worth there is in the struggle.

Thinking: "I wish my water were just a tad closer so I didn't have to stretch so far..." and also, "I wish my water were accompanied with a Route 44 Dr. P with vanilla and lots of delicious crunchy ice" (it's been a couple weeks since my last soda, I pine)

Feeling: Like this is getting dangerously long, I am so sorry. (Abort! Abort!)

Hoping (for): Safe answer; a healthy baby. Honest answer that I try to avoid thinking about because I don't want to be that parent; a girl.

Listening (to): my dog snuffle around the office because he was lonely and barking outside.

Celebrating: Erm, the new year?

Smelling: Nothing. Dis stuffed node man.

Thanking: Anyone who made it this far and is still reading. You win.

Considering: Erasing this entire thing.

Finishing: the rest of this quesadilla from tonight's dinner, omnomnom late snacking.

Starting: Nothing remotely deep or existential enough to sufficiently tie off this weird post.

If you are like me and struggling to find things to talk about that seem worthwhile, please pretend that I tagged you in some bloggy trendy thing and fill this out yourself, I'll feel much less silly if someone else does it too.