P.S. 18 weeks!

Hey party people! I have not forgotten you; I'm just in the middle of a very busy several weeks at work. It's been the good kind of busy, too. Yeah, my stress level has been a little higher than normal, but nothing I can't handle, and I've gotten to do work on my favorite kind of projects. I've been working really hard, but I've also been accomplishing a lot, and I'm really proud of everything I've done, blah blah blah talky-speak. But seriously, it's nice to be in a place where I have things like job-satisfaction and a career path and what have you, when I'm facing becoming a working mother.

I think working will be good for me, anyway. I need the outside imposed structure to my days to not spiral into a black hole of lazy and depressed, and I think that I would go nuts without the adult interaction, not to mention the self-esteem implications of defining myself as things other than just a mother. But it's also nice to feel like I am getting to a point where I have the support to be great at what I do, so that I will be valued enough for them to be flexible to my needs as a parent. Or at least that's what I hope. I feel pretty confident. For today.

Fishy

Dear Baby,

Hello in there. These past few days have been amazing, because I'm starting to be able to feel you move around inside me! I've been hoping it would happen for a few weeks now, and I'd spent a lot of time concentrating on my belly, but I wasn't feeling anything. I've read that it should feel like butterflies or maybe like bubbles popping, but I didn't feel anything at all. But then the other night something was different. It wasn't butterflies or bubbles, but it definitely was you! I think I can most accurately describe it as feeling like a tiny goldfish was swimming around in there. And I guess that makes more sense that insects anyway, since my uterus is an aqueous environment and all.

Anyhow, little fishy, can I just tell you how much I love you? Every new milestone we hit overwhelms me with more love than I thought was possible for someone I haven't even really met before. Next week we have another ultrasound, and we'll get to see you again and find out if you're a him or a her. I will love you no matter what, but I'm really excited to know any thing more about you that I can, and to see your perfect tiny little face and hands and feet.

I feel like the weeks are going by so quickly, and you'll be here sooner than I can imagine. I'm excited to finally hold you in my arms, but I know that I will also miss this time that I am holding you inside me. I love you.

Love, Mommy

b r e a t h e

I. Am. Panicking.

Seriously. What in the hell do we think we are doing, having a baby? We don't even have a savings account! (Well, actually we have three, but they collectively hold approximately twenty five dollars.) We're going to lose the baby under piles of laundry and cat hair and also possibly cat vomit. I mean, really. We are not grownups. And where the hell are we going to live? Pay no mind that our lease isn't even up until August (AFTER THE BABY IS SUPPOSED TO ARRIVE), and there's no way we can afford to cut out of our lease early. But like, we can't have a baby and no dishwasher and no laundry, what with the aforementioned piles of dirty clothing. But (see above re: savings account) it's not like we can afford anywhere better. Or anywhere better than a cardboard box once approximately 110% of my salary is going to daycare. And who doesn't get important adult things like a house before they have a baby? Who has a baby in a crappy rental apartment? Who? What first grader is going to invite their friends back to this piece of shit "home"? OMG, first grade? School? Should we start worrying about school districts and whether or not the local elementary is total ass? Because obviously we're not going to be able to afford private school! Why in the world did I have to be so incredibly selfish and do this NOWNOWNOW when clearly that was a terrible idea?

I know most of this is probably just pregnancy hormones and lack of good sleep and totally normal and everything, and that we'll hopefully figure out a way to make things work, but all these things are real worries for me. I mean we decided years ago that we needed a new couch and a new coffee table, and we still haven't managed to be in a financial position to make such a purchase, and the whole pregnancy/childbirth/baby thing is already going to cost us a lot of money that we don't have so I guess the baby is going to have to hang out on our disgusting old couch. At least baby won't be able to bump his or her head on any coffee corner tables, because we don't have one at all. I don't know. I think I really just need to cry and flip out and have Kyle hold me a reassure me and tell me everything is going to be all right, but as much as I love him, he's really not that kind of man, and doesn't understand this. He tells me it's going to be okay, but not in any way that makes me believe him or even really considered that these things might in fact be problems or that I'm not completely insane, and maybe hopefully I am but I really don't think so.

I already love this stupid little thing so much and I don't know how I'm going to be good enough.

Where the hell did my butt go?

So, I think I'm feeling the second trimester awesomeness now. I don't feel like barfing, but I'm not huge and unwieldy yet. My appetite is back, thank goodness, and most things taste pretty good. I'm finally starting to look sorta kinda maybe pregnant, although I'd be happier if I didn't also sorta kinda maybe look like I have a beer belly. However, I still have to pee all the damn time, or possibly even more often, even though the internet said my bladder should calm down, and I'm still so freaking tired and need like fourteen hours of sleep a night to feel well rested, and that happens pretty much never, so yeah. But still, pretty good.

I also hear (well, read) that I should be able to feel baby move soon, but I haven't quite been able to will that to happen yet. I spend a lot of time concentrating on my abdomen and trying to feel it, but I don't think it works that way. I am trying to be patient, and I think I'm doing as good a job as can be expected, you know, for perhaps the most momentous thing so far, but it's haaaaaaard.

Tuesday brought another prenatal appointment, so now I have met all three of the midwives at my practice. I do have a favorite, but I am happy with them all, which is good, since you don't really get to pick who will be on call when you go into labor. I brought my mother with me to see the birth center, and she was happy. I gained back four of the five and a half pounds I lost, and my uterus is in the right place, blah blah blah normal perfect wonderful. I feel like we should be doing more at these visits, but when you're pretty much complication free there's not much to do. I probably shouldn't complain about that.

 

As of Wednesday we're at seventeen weeks. No pictures of my cute outfit, because I forgot to take pictures until I got home from yoga. However, as cute as outfit was, it was made up entirely of pre-pregnancy clothing, and as such, was only cute when I was standing perfectly still. Once I moved at all everything rode up or fell down or just generally looked awkward and askew and I spent all day readjusting everything and it sucked. I have now acquired a few maternity pieces, but nothing even close to a functional wardrobe, and I really need to get on it. Beyond being impractical and annoying, things are getting downright uncomfortable, and perhaps worse, unflattering, and ugh. Shopping shopping shopping. 

As much as I love shopping, I don't really spend all that much money on clothing. I mean, I do, but not all at once. In general, I buy stuff that has longevity, and I wear my clothes for years, until long past when I should probably get rid of them, so having to buy a lot of stuff all at once, that I can't even wear for very long is super difficult for me. I guess I just have to get over it, though.

We now have our appointment for our next ultrasound, where we'll find out if baby is a he or a she. I've thought about it long and hard,  and I really, truly have no preference, but still I'm really excited to KNOW anything more that we can know about baby. I'm excited for it to stop be an IT. We've been working on names, and I think knowing more about who we're naming is going to make it so much easier to talk about. And I just can't wait to see baby again, because OMG! BABY!

Speed Racer

Um...this is all happening really fast.


A coworker from my old store made the above as a comment on my belly picture from last week when I posted it on my Facebook. No kidding. It's February, guys! I could have a baby in as little as five months from now. I will be a MOTHER. What the fucking hell? (Perhaps I should try and learn how to swear less in the next five months.)

I am still having moments of "holy crap I'm having a baby!" Last night I couldn't sleep. I am going to be somebody's parent. Seriously? Am I ready for this? Am I even old enough for this? I want my mommy.

I'm sure this is all perfectly normal and everything, but still. Scary. Very scary.

Sixteen

Little Belly!

As of yesterday, we've made it to sixteen weeks. I'm not really counting the days so much anymore; the weeks are all starting to run together. July 13th feels like it's right around the corner, and there's so much to do! One thing I'm not loving about pregnancy is that there is always some decision to panic about. And boy do I panic. Because every decision is also the most important one I've ever had to make. This is MY BABY we're talking about. It's not like buying a new pair of shoes or getting a hair cut, or really anything I've ever had to do before, and the (mostly self-imposed) pressure of the decisions mixed with pregnancy hormones and my already overly neurotic nature is running me ragged. I cry a lot. Kyle plays the good husband and tells me everything will be fine, but honestly, I don't want to hear that everything will be fine unless that statement is accompanied with information proving it to be true.

The other day I was chatting with BFF (she is pregnant too, a couple weeks behind me, but shh, don't tell), and she mentioned that she had registered for her child birth class recently. Wait, what? Already? Oh yes, she says. Her midwife asked her what class she was taking at her 12 week appointment and that apparently got her going on it. What? At  MY 12 week appointment, with that very same midwife, I expressed concern (i.e. freaked out), about not getting things (birth classes, pediatrician picking, etc.) done on time, and she assured me that they would let me know at each appointment what I should be working on. Or not, I guess. So I start looking. The teacher most highly recommended by my birth center... well her class is already full. Shit. In the end we found a class that we are happy with, and we registered this afternoon, but OMG stress! However, I should tell you, that we are taking our birth class from none other than Penny Simkin herself. How awesome is that? I have now moved on to stressing about daycare. Oh, daycare. But my stress surrounding day care is probably more than enough for it's own post.

I'm also starting to feel quite a bit better about the whole maternity fashion thing. (Is it vain to talk about this so often?) I still don't quite look pregnant, unless you're looking from the exact right angle, and my posture is just so, and you knew what I looked like before, etc. etc. And feeling like you look fat instead of pregnant isn't any good. But I've been able to find a few more good pieces here and there and I don't feel like I am wearing the same tee shirt every day, so that is good. I still need to do a lot more work to build a functional wardrobe, but it probably be and ongoing process, especially since I'm sure some of the stuff that fits me now won't anymore later. BFF and I have a date this weekend to visit every maternity store in the Seattle metropolitan area, so that should be good, I think.

In other news, Kyle and I did venture to the local (well, it's really in another city) Babies 'R Us to start our registry. There are only maybe ten things on it as of right now, since we actually have to research car seats and strollers and bottles and what kind of baby grooming kit we want, but I feel better knowing that we've at least started it and that I've exposed Kyle to the sheer masses of stuff that we don't necessarily need, but that is available to make our lives easier (or perhaps more difficult) with a baby. And I'm slowly acquiring information and knowledge about car seats and strollers, so the volume of choices is starting to feel not entirely overwhelming, and I'm beginning to feel relatively confident that we'll actually be able to make a decision we feel confident before the baby turns two.

What's in a name?

How in the world do people name their children without have a complete nervous breakdown? I feel like this (and every other decision we have to make involving pregnancy, childbirth, and parenting) is the biggest, most important thing I've ever had to do and the consequences if we get it wrong... well, I don't know what they are, but they are hanging over my head, nonetheless. A name, a car seat, a parenting philosophy... it's all so overwhelming.

Names in particular are so important to me. I have a "weird" name. I also had a weird nickname as a kid. I love my weird name. Maybe it's because of the millions of times my dad told me how much thought he and my mom had put into choosing it, and the reasons the had, and so on, but I'm so glad I'm simply Astrid, and not Jessica R. or Jenny, because there's already a Jen and a Jennifer in my class/workplace/whatever. And yeah, it was often pronounced incorrectly or completely misheard, and yes, there were a couple of weeks in third grade where the older boys called me "ostrich," but none of that really matters. What matters is that my dad thought it was really important for his daughter to have a strong feminine name, one not too dainty or diminutive. What matters is that I was the only Astrid around, and my name was mine, all mine, and almost nobody has any preconceived notions about who I am or what kind of person I should be. I get to make that first impression.

We talk so much about teasing when we talk about names. When we talk about anything, really. Don't name you kid after a fruit, she'll get made fun of.  You have to circumcise your son or the other boys in the locker room will bully him. Your daughter will have a hard time making friends if you send her to school with a pita and hummus instead of a PB&J. I think the moral here is not that we can protect our kids from taunts and bullying by normalizing everything about them, but that our children will be teased no matter what we do, and that shouldn't be a good enough reason to name them John, or preform elective cosmetic surgery on a newborn, or whatever. And I think I'd so much rather be Astrid/Ostrich than Sarah number seventeen.

So my kids are not going to be Aiden or Emma, or whatever is at the top of the charts right now. But I think picking a unique name is so much harder than just going with the flow, or following some family tradition, or what have you. When you have all the freedom in the world, you can become paralyzed with indecision and get completely overwhelmed with all the choices, not to mention the lifelong consequences they'll have for your children.

We have a little less than six months to figure it out. Let's hope that's long enough.