Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Ben and Jerry's pickle-milk-stout-cookies-and-cream and the relentless weekdayish weekend.

In the 31st week of whacky pregnancy wonderment, spiky coconut baby legioned up with leeks as her parents underwent an early test of strength and valor: intensive childbirth prep! Blood was spilt. Videos nodded off too. Positions learned. And water less broken than gushingly spilt down mommy's effervescent back. 

As week 32 winds its way to two-months-to-go panic mark, jicamas head to Napa for a proper belly thrash and mosh pit, while mommies make do at home in the heat. Relationships are feted and pondered with memories and analeptic antics of a somewhat serious sort. Fathers have fun in sun of Canadian forests. And work whirlwinds carry away the last little downtime of June joys. 


Yep, Let's Get Treakly Deakly Starred Out and Sparkle Eyed - 

Six years ago, I was finishing up my first year of law school. Oh  yes, I was as crazy as you might anticipate. Despite my strongly held belief that OKCupid was a swarm fest of creepers and "polyamorists" who really just wanted to cheat on their partners, I kept an account because they had five bajillion tests and quizzes that I rather liked. Plus, I'd broken up with somebody a few months before, and figured casual dating with no expectations and minimal follow through would be a good reintroduction to the wild singles world. The blues dancing world was marvelous, but what happens on the dance floor best stay on the dance floor. Lesson learned over several mistakes: physical and musical chemistry don't always translate once the final resolve of a piece of music; why risk a good dance partner with a bad date?

So perhaps funnily enough, I found myself going on repeat dates with (1) a guy I met on OKCupid (who was not a creeper and did not claim to be polyamorous), (2) a guy who messaged me specifically to ask about blues dancing in the area. A relative newbie to the area looking to expand his dance territory. Semi-fresh from New York and touting some stage craft and a ballet resume that made me worry he might be a total dance snob. As I often relate, I really had no clue that he was actually interested in anything other than a social contact in the blues world for quite some time. He's not exactly versed in the art of flirtation, which was a boon at any rate. 

We met once for a very civil tea. After kibbitzing on various dance scenes, we walked around the neighborhood. He talked about flip phones and cycling. We hugged goodbye, which could almost mean something if dancers weren't typically prone towards hugging anything and anyone more often than most salesmen shake hands. Met again for a dinner (we split the check... down the middle... even though his meal was twice the heft and price as mine... his suggestion). Met yet again for dinner, and he asked me if I had an eating disorder because I had a very small meal. Requiring me to explain me "tiny bird stomach and frequent eating schedule thing," something he likely did not believe until he saw the bag of food I took to my summer job. Super romantic, yes. 

Went dancing, and I finally decided to say screw the ambiguity. So I kissed him. He seemed ok with that. We met again... and then it was more clear that we were, in fact, dating. Who knew? I know this because a month later, he got a calendar reminder on his phone and told me with a blush that we had been dating for a whole month! I made the calendar, baby... Well, he says the 19th and I say the 18th. But it kind of was a double-day sort of date, so the specific moment of dating might be hard to pin down. 

...And then we kept dating. And then we dated some more. And then we got engaged. And then there was this fabulous dance party during which we also appear to have gotten married. 



And now I'm all knocked up and we're talking birthing plans and pediatricians and all kinds of - still very romantic - stuff! 

Happy Dateaversary to Mr. (W)right. Who knew I'd stumble on EL UNO in the most random of places? 

I think we both totally forgot in the hubbub of this crazy year, but we did manage to carve space out yesterday to go on our date night. This, in the midst of a busy week of late work nights and impending weekend insanities. The forces of destiny were not in our corner. Traffic was awful heading home yesterday, adding nearly 30 minutes to a long commute. Andrew tried to buck fate, by following a google route that did not pan out - setting him back an additional thirty minutes. By the time he got home, I was hunmonampy (hungry + hormonal + grumpy). Despite my best efforts and a relatively gentle weather day, my flaming ears had flushed and flashed, creeping into my cheeks and head. 

It wasn't looking good for the (W)right date night. But somehow, a return to El Albanil - which is now quite a ways from our house unfortunately - delivered quick service and climate control. I rallied. Andrew started to fade, but we both rallied enough to make physical contact in a heavily air conditioned room. Sure, my ear lit back on fire after just a little snuggling, but it was endurable after a nice dinner respite. 

Tonight, he is back to his crazy work schedule and tomorrow, it's all bikes baby. But good timing for us to beat the odds once again and have a lovely little couples evening. 



Thirty-Two and the Terrific Two Months to Go (and/or "anytime now")

Today marks my graduation to thirty two weeks pregnant. That's some sort of milestone or other: the baby would likely survive without super intensive intervention and has a high shot of a relatively "normal" (considering her parents) life if she did. So go baby! Just don't take that too much to heart. I'm happy to wait. Really. You can keep growing and developing and whatnot. We can keep talking about how we're really going to get to packing that hospital bag and pre-registering for the birthing center and setting up the nursery and... yeah, you can wait. August is a nice month for a birthday, little one. 

Odds aside, the little one continues to make her orbit about the produce metaphors. This week she is theoretically 3-4 pounds and around 17 inches. In others more florid words:

1. A Jicama - Well, she hiccups a lot. That's kind of similar, right? I'm all for jicama. I could eat an entire veggie plate of jicama and still want more. Again, I promise not to eat the baby, but... also, most jicama I buy are significantly smaller than the whole 17 inches, although I'd buy that they reach 3-4 pounds. But that's a side quibble. Produce mileage may vary. 

2. A Napa Cabbage - California gal like her daddy, eh? Or, well, Chinese in honor of her mother's whylum undergraduate degree? In case anyone is wondering "Napa" in this case is from the kanji "nappa" which refers to the leaves of any vegetable. I think the Chinese name for Napa Cabbage is something that translates to "big white vegetable" Not as much to the wine valley. But to each fetus her own. 

3. A Small Watermelon - But does she have seeds? Well, actually, her reproductive system (or his - we only have the one ultrasound to go off of still) should be pretty well formed by now. So some form of fecundity at any rate. 

As any enormous white produce might be expected to have, she's got a nicely developed skeleton of soft and pliable bones. And fingernails that may be getting long enough to require postnatal trimming. Oh my lucky innards. 

In theory she sleeps 90% of the time now, but if this is true, I'm pretty sure she has vivid dreams, because she's still as active as ever. I can watch my stomach really get rolling when she starts shifting positions. Maybe she's a tosser and turner like her daddy. But whichever, the promise of baby movements "chilling" due to less room have yet to manifest. Still this may be the peak week. Maybe. 

Speaking of getting bigger (which I strongly hope she is doing and right on schedule - fingers crossed for next week's ultrasound), she's packing on the chubs. I'm still expected (though I don't always live up) to gain a pound a week. And half of any weight I gain will be her from here out. So I guess I'd better devour the heck out of the "fruit plate" left over from yesterday's joint session. Incidentally when did brownies and macaroons become fruits? I knew about ketchup, but apparently I still need to pay closer attention to the health news. 


And, yes, I'll be getting bigger. In fact, I rather have. Quite rapidly. I suspect it has to do with her changing position as much as growth, but I look visibly more gravid than I had previously. I'm pretty sure that confirms that all my internal organs are getting squeezed out some more. Which supports the ongoing breathlessness and digestive woes. I'm looking forward to the prognosticated "heart palpitations" (not that my heart doesn't just skip a beat when I see my sweet husband and feel his hand on my belly from pure love), and increased braxton hicks contractions. 

Don't forget the swelling! But I have pretty new compression socks for that. They're really cute and very effective, although they scratch at the very top of my calf and generally irritate my skin. Kind of a trade off. But not having several tons of water flopping over my ankles is generally appreciated. 

Oh and that back pain! I think I've jump-started that a bit by beginning my practice squats. At the childbirth prep class, they gave us a hand-out of exercises to do in order to prepare for labor. Seriously, preparing for labor is a full time job. I may really need to take that maternity leave soon. A billion strengthening exercises, packing, forms to fill out, breathing to do, and various massage and stretching that may or may not make nursing and birthing easier (best left to the imagination). I won't go into too vivid a narrative, but at least with the easier exercises, I'm peppering them into my daily routine. I climb stairs a lot and am no stranger to squats, but this sheet suggests doing "ten a day for up to 90 second each." Squatting in itself isn't hard, but holding a squat (in goodish form) for a minute is not super easy. Especially by the seventh or eighth squat. Definitely good preparation for doing several cat rolls.

Aside from the stereotypical hand-on-lower-back waddle, I am told I can alleviate a sore lower back with a heating pad. No. Just no. Because my ears don't light on fire in a 64 degree room. Not happening. 

Maybe laying on a tennis ball or something. And I do think it's time for Andrew to also help with the preparation. While I practice various "positions" he really might want to practice those massages and pressure points and holds. He doesn't realize how much he will want to train for this nonsense. Of course if we both really did, I'm pretty sure I'd have an emergency c-section before even starting labor. The fates don't appreciate well-prepared anything. So maybe just as well. But if something should be practiced, I'm thinking it's the massage part. 

When I'm not awkwardly squatting and massaging myself, I may be bringing good fortune into the office by my sheer presence. Or absence. Yesterday, I was a brave little girl and asked a girl from the childbirth class to tea/coffee/gelato. While we were out, Mombossa settled an impossible case. Just a few weeks shy of trial! A trial for which we knew the preparations were going to be absolute stressful agony for us and our client and her family. I can't tell you what a relief it is to have that off. I've been dreading the trial ever since I was a few months pregnant. Baby doesn't need that kind of toxic stress soup in her tasty amniotic piss water. 

To celebrate we'll likely be happy little logs on the desk today. There's work to do, but my god, my mombossa went through hell yesterday (settlement conferences are exhausting - and I know because I participated in a lot of the prep work). And hell, I'm kind of tired after all those squats and stretches. Oh and that growing a thrashing little baby thing. 

Tonight Daddy Dubya is staying over so he can rise nice and early and accompany my husband (who is less aware that baby birth could theoretically happen anytime now and is thus a little more focused on getting in work and cycling while he can instead of sitting around staring at his wife and waiting for a baby shoe to drop) to a big endurance race in Canada. I theoretically will use this weekend time to jump start a bit of nesting, do some thank you cards, and pre-register already. But I'll likely actually just find a nice couch and some air conditioning and slip into a semi-cool coma. 

It will be quite strenuous that coma, so I'd best rest up now for it! Much practice required. 




Bring on the Massage And the Cabana Boys

Well it's a solo-Saturday for this gal (bike race). To be complemented by a solo Sunday (work for Andrew). And followed up next week by a solo weekend (wedding in San Francisco I finally admitted I wouldn't be able to attend). Yeesh June, you're crazy!

Last night was very non-solo. Andrew and Daddy Dubya are going to a big endurance race in Squamish (hinterlands of Canada) today. Since they had to leave ridiculously early and Seattle is a few hours further away, I suggested it would make the most sense if Daddy Dubya slept over last night. We decided with the variability in schedules and all that it might be nice to invite my mom and her boytoy over for take-out pizza.

The dinner party ended up eating in shifts a bit, but that worked well considering we don't quite have enough chairs for five people anyways. This morning, I roused the loris, made breakfast and kind of dazed myself through some conversation about bike shops and race routes. Just as Andrew was off to the bathroom, Daddy Dubya came up and I baffled some expectations (and pre-evening kitchen training) by making him breakfast too. We had a very pleasant and desultory morning before I took off for my massage and they took off for some epic and ridiculous Andrew-race. He claims the race will take fourish hours. Given the post-race wander about, the post-race eating, the border rates, and the saturnine speed of post-race settling in, I'm pretty much expecting him to be gone for the bulk of the evening.

In a brutal turn-around, he has to work tomorrow in preparation for a big meeting with a client on Tuesday. This is after working late a bit this week as well. We're hoping that he can take some time off on Wednesday or Thursday. And since my schedule isn't booked, I'll try to take whatever time he has off.

We do already have an ultrasound on Thursday to attend! Bring the popcorn baby! Although I suspect he'll want some time to just catch up on his usual weekend stuff as well. But by golly, the baby could pop outta me at any time. I'm rather determined to get some personal time with the husband before that's a major feat of acrobatics and goodwill of trusted relatives.

Today, I'm planning on ... well I don't know yet. A massage for sure. But after that, my hopes to be very productive are thumping up against my desire to be a diffused log loller. It will be interesting to see how these impulses battle it out. But hey, I've got two days and an upcoming weekend to be productive. Just enough to not feel enough urgency to actually be so! Maybe the inevitable bout of hormonal introspection.

We talked briefly in our birthing class about our fears around becoming new parents. One of the ones that struck me was when one of the other women said she was afraid of the resentment she'd feel for her husband's freedom. I admit, I struggle a little with that. I realize how amazing it is to have life growing inside of me. I realize that I would choose this over and over again. I am so thoroughly excited and immersed in the childbearing experience that even the thought of a decision is a no brainer.

But it was bought at a hefty personal cost. I went through some pretty heavy stuff to get pregnant (that month of self-inflicted shots, near-daily blood tests, and endless commutes). The limitations on my body right now can also be tough. Really, anything beyond focusing on this life inside of me is tougher to nearly impossible. I can't not be aware of this baby and of the impact of any actions I take on it. I can't not be concerned. I can't not make our little belly creature a priority. Maybe it's choice, proximity, hormones hijacking my brain, or just how I was wired all along, but I can't "shelve the baby thing" and have a total personal day or completely pursue a self-focused passion. There are multiplying categories of "plans I can't make" and "interests I can't pursue right now."

One could argue that fixation of one's proto-progeny is the ultimate selfishness but in other ways I just can't be as self-focused as I was before. And that makes it harder seeing Andrew out there able to turn off awareness of this thing that's coming into our lives (and me and everything around him but the self at hand). Able to focus entirely on his own personal goals, his hobbies, his little adventures, and his work. Not particularly anxious about the impact of his personal choices on third parties. Not constantly wondering if he'll be strong enough to get through labor. Not wondering if such and such an action will make breastfeeding easier. Not just waiting and wondering and caring for himself as a means to an end instead of an end in itself. 

And maybe it's challenging to realize that this isn't a focus that I can entirely share with him. Back in our pure DINK days, we had parallel personal interests. We could run together, for instance. We can also do this birth-thing together, but in a more lopsided fashion. As much as we're "a team" going into this, I've got a lot more self-interest and palpable altruistic interest in nailing the birth and pregnancy (or at least getting through it safely and with minimal intervention).

I think we both make and have made many sacrifices; and we will make many more, but there is a freedom that he has that I don't now and probably won't again have. The connection I feel to this creature and the way it springs from an utter dependence on me is going to fill up my life for at least the next few years (which is amazing and difficult in the same stroke). And it's a memory that will shape my attitudes and concerns and very personhood for the rest of my life.

And, yes, ok, I'm a little disappointed that the image of the nervous expecting father constantly doting and rushing home and overly concerned is not actually how fathers-to-be act. More like "munching an apple and fantasizing about forums while holding up the legs and remembering to say 'good job honey'." We're in this together, but not entirely. And that's going to endure through at least the beginning of parenting. I'll have the memory of that dependence and connectedness coursing through me for the rest of my life - the sense of sharing flesh, blood, and soul in a tangible way. I won't be able to just go back to where I was before when this is all bled and born. 

It's a minor pebble in my shoe. I empathize entirely with his pursuits, and understand that what's most real to him right now is that a time is coming where he'll be less free to embrace them. I know why the birth thing isn't as engrossing for him yet. And I don't fault him for that.

And the power of that little kicker in my belly is utterly indescribable to the point where I am sorry for him that he can't experience. But it's something to be aware of. And from what I understand of parenting, it will always be there.

Maybe just a little more noticeable when back to back weekends of adventures for him and not-being-able-to-have-my-own for me (except this biggest one at all) mean we don't really see much of each other.

But massages loom and I'm running late already! I suspect I'll feel miles better after a good squeeze and wring out of all those retained fluids!

And a day of staring does sound rather nice!




Sizzlin' Summer's Papa's Parade To Work and Back

Well, we are officially sprung right out of unseasonably warm spring into dauntingly toasty (or so sayeth all augers) summer! Bring on the BBQ! I'll enjoy the smell from inside my walk in freezer! 

Quite a day yesterday, being both Father's Day (a/k/a "every restaurant in town is packed for breakfast and stay away from the card sections of any local shops day") and summer solstice. Didn't see too many druids or other celebrants of the solstice. Maybe they were all bonding with their fathers. Or sacrificing them. I don't really know that much about druidic practices honestly (but bet that last flip comment was offensive to somebody somewhere). 

Summer is less exciting when we've already hit our typical "warmest summer" weather in April and May. Now we're just getting to the blobby sweaty period. Less inspiring for celebration. 

So... to father's day I guess. Despite his preternatural talent for being insensate to these sorts of events, Andrew certainly got his Father's Day fill this weekend! On the one hand, he has a pregnant wife who already likes buying him socks and children's books (and occasionally stuffing him with fancy celebratory foods and other candies that don't quite qualify). On the other, he spent pretty well the entire weekend with his very own daddy. Well... kind of. He spent Saturday riding a bike in Canada somewhere, but his dad drove down and back with him and stayed over both nights. And then he spent Sunday working, but with a two and a half hour break to again meet up with his dad, show him around his work and get lunch. 

I decided to channel the whole "Father's Day is also a pretty good day to celebrate single mothers" vibe and focused on my very own pending motherhood (which was a bit more single this weekend due to all the excursions). Channeled some powers to get a wee bit of nesting going. I don't have that charging instinct I've been promised, but I did sort out more of the baby room, put together more toys and set up the crib! Before collapsing in a pile of my own "meh" in a happily air conditioned cave. 


Since we've been following our weekday morning schedule (well, at least getting up at the weekday time and having breakfast - Saturday was followed by a longer linger with Daddy Dubya before bikes were packed up etc.), I'm quite disoriented today. It feels like the weekend didn't happen. And also like it's been eons since the workweek happened. 

Doesn't hurt that our week last week was a doozy. Mostly for my mom, but I pick up those vibes. We settled a pending trial. It was going to be brutal and painful and messy for all involved. No doubt the angst and pain vacuum will be filled with a dozen other emergencies, but for now there's a nice sense of space, quiet and breathability. Or so I imagine. I'm actually quite short of breath these days, having a squirming creature practicing karate on my diaphragm. But I think there's breathing! 

And plenty of it. 

Fingers crossed for a similar resolution for Mr. (W)right, who begins a week of meetings with the client to review the progress of a very large contract. And for me, for that breathing thing to continue eeking through. Maybe a little bit for some unpredicted rain, just because.





Internet Fiasco and a Phew of a Fix 

Another one of those rare mornings of sheer and utter panic: the internet at the office was down when I arrived this morning. Dead as a doorknob that's been melted down to little pieces and poured into an early grave... This is, of course, problematic on many fronts. Of course it interferes with any procrastination and social internetting. So there's that. But it also means that we have almost no access to our emails, the court records, most research tools, a variety of documents detailing vital case information... 

There's very little to be done in the absence of internet. I did, in fact, manage to find some drafting work to be done. But some of that still is inaccurate because little details were missing and only likely to be found in emails or court records.  Oh you necessary evil and merciful savior, speedy internet. How did we survive without you? Well I guess back then we had these things called "books" and "files" and people with my sort of organizational bent got to archive them and... ok that sounded pretty cool. 

Ah well. Phew is all I can say. Disaster averted. Because my motivation to actually work was already strikingly slim. And once I got through those drafting tasks to a shoddy semi-completion, I was pretty well tapped out. Not that I mind not having a trial the prep for which I'd been procrastinating on, well... it was certainly a constant source of "stuff to do when I really had nothing else."

We are inching slowly towards the theoretical end of the hubba-hubby's big work push. They have their big meeting today, meaning yesterday was definitely clean up and last minute rushing about time. I realized about a half hour before the bike-and-chain usually gets home that I hadn't heard anything from him yet and subsequently affirmed that he was still at work. Just shy of his usual arrival time, he confirmed that he was actually departing. He hied with haste, though. And after inhaling his dinner, he did still leave some time for our evening Angel ritual. Talking maybe in a more limited fashion, but we'll talk when we're old and empty nested again. 

Nests! Oh right those. I'm much more fascinated by playtime with proto-baby exercises. This mostly involves laying on the bed or couch (wherever the fan/air-conditioning is most effective), waiting until the bizarre belly rolls and kicks start happening, exclaiming "oh you brute" and "hellooooo," and then playing a gentler version of Whack-a-mole (pet a mole?) with the little creature. 

She's got a bassinet and fifty billion different donated outfits. And plenty of stuffed toys from the shower. That's good enough, right? But hey, just in case she's a neat freak in rebellion against her parents, we do have the cleaners coming today. 

At any rate, yes, there may be a brief moment of "catch up time" between work insanity, cycling season grand finale with major dad-and-son time, and grand wedding in San Francisco (which is predicted to be about 15-20 degrees cooler than here, making me all the more rueful that I won't be going). Maybe. Of course between the folks and fun, the boy hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in eons and is itching for some kind of purely self-indulgent ride plus a major catch up and errands involving his new computer. Now that me and a wee one are bottom priority, but it will be a bit of a battle for mental attention on those grounds. I'll just get the little belly creature to launch a belly attack. That oughta get some attention!

Or demand proper pregnant lady treatment. I have thus far received no late night on-demand deliveries of pickles and ice cream. I wonder if Ben and Jerry's has done pickles and ice cream yet. They really ought. I wonder what else they might add... Oh or some version of milk-cookie (cookies that involve potential galactagogues for mothers hoping to boost their natural supply)  ice cream with brewer's yeast and oatmeal/flax cookie... and chocolate. Because chocolate is a superfood goshdarnit. It cures heart disease and makes you hundreds of times thinner and smarter. So it probably boosts production too. And magnesium is good for pregnancy and baby. Ok, forget the ice cream. How about just late night deliveries of chocolate? Pickle highly optional. Maybe instead of the pickle, I could have some extra truffles. I think my time has come!

But we're getting there. And I'm getting closer and closer to unthrottled and full on work here! Fingers crossed for me!

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