Thanksgiving Break 2015

Thanksgiving was really, really nice. Why?

1) No school on Wednesday! - This was a change now that we start before Labor Day, and one I can definitely get behind. After all, it's when I had a chance to handle all my hair anxiety.

2) A nice visit home! - The boys love seeing their Mama and Papa H and the feeling is mutual. Sometimes when I get annoyed by NOVA or get antsy like I want to pick up and move on a whim, it's nice to be reminded why we moved here in the first place. Seeing MDG and PDG light up and rush inside for hugs and toys and stories as fast as they can does just that trick.

3) Christmas card photo success! - I'll do another post on that when I'm sure I've tracked down all my addresses and gotten them out. Hopefully you've gotten yours by now. Clearly we needed Mama and Papa H to help with this year...

4) Family photos! - Mama H is sending a letter and some photos out with her cards this year and asked for something non-silly. I'll post what we got below. Someone please explain to me why my very happy baby boy refuses to look happy for the camera. The fact that we got a smile for the card was its own Christmas miracle, and clearly not repeated.

5) A nice trip to Great Grandma's house! - Sometimes MDG and PDG flip out when we go to GGma's house in Maryland. They have tantrums or refuse to give hugs/kisses/any attention at all. It leads to conflict because we don't visit enough and stress levels go up. Of course, we usually aim for morning visits. This time we did a 4pm arrival, the kids were awesome even without many toys to distract them, they were super affectionate, and we all left feeling all holiday happy.

6) A warm day for putting up lights! - J-Man is slowly becoming less grinchly over time, and while he's still winning the artificial tree battle, our yard gets brighter each year.

7) Even more warmth for raking the leaves! - Procrastination can pay off, folks. I've been too lazy or cold or dry to want to step foot in the back yard for a while, but then this warm spell came through and I was so glad I didn't do it earlier. PDG jumped, then taught MDG to jump, and I raked for all of ten  minutes before just taking pictures and heading back inside.

So yeah, a great five days with a million things to be thankful for. Now, when's Christmas break?

These Bodies of Ours

Two weeks ago was one of those magnificent weeks that we teachers survive our first quarter awaiting: only three days of instruction! November is pretty great like that. I mean, September only gives you Labor Day (which used to come before instruction even started) and then October gives you that awkward-to-celebrate Columbus Day nonsense where we have teacher conferences but November... I love November.

This year the end of the marking period lined up with election day, so we got ourselves two work days in a row. Not as crazy awesome as the kiddos, who got a four day weekend straight up, but still pretty sweet. On Wednesday when we finally started teaching, it felt like we hadn't seen these kids in ages. I'd almost forgotten what I was doing. I was rolling my cart back to the planning room for the last period of the day when I found out my work BFF Sra BK had passed out while teaching.

What?!?!

My Asst Principal joked that maybe Sra BK was preggo (which I'm sure Sra BK had NOT found funny when being wheeled out of the school en route to the hospital) and immediately the speculation began. Dehydration? Blood sugar? Overexertion? Something scarier???

I don't do all that well with mortality. J-Man finds that ironic since the LDS church is all about eternal life and heaven for everybody and a billion second chances to do things 'right.' Still, when people around me get sick, I freak out. My neurons start firing in crazy directions and I can't concentrate and temporary madness sets in. (If you're thinking I should tell a shrink instead of you about this, don't worry, I'm steps ahead of you).

So I called J-Man to tell him about my weird day and how I was worried about Sra BK and might be emotionally a little off for the evening until I worked through my feelings in the ways I've learned to calm myself down, when he told me he had a terrible day too. Turns out one of his coworkers, our same age, way more physically fit than either of us have ever been, black, Georgetown Law grad, nice guy, etc, just dropped dead on the basketball court the night before.

I couldn't believe it. J-Man couldn't believe it. We were both being in-your-face reminded that our bodies are unpredictable and unreliable at the same time, and neither of us liked it.

I know everyone grieves differently, and luckily on my end Sra BK ended up being totally ok, but it just started feeling a little overwhelming. I thought about the four high school suicides that happened a couple weekends prior in our county. I thought about the Statistics teacher whose 34-year-old daughter (1999 valedictorian from the school where I teach) just died while biking to work. I thought about the eleven year old grandchild of two retirees from my school who just died on a dirtbike. Suddenly it felt like no one was surviving and everyone's life was fleeting and I needed to hold on to my J-Man a little tighter and kiss my boys eighty more times at bedtime. 

When I saw the Stats teacher a few days later, I felt guilty standing next to my boys in their matching shirts and boots and ear to ear smiles. My heart is so full of laughter and hers was still so visibly breaking and I was helplessly out of words. Not that my words mattered, the moment wasn't even about me. Which only made me feel this selfishly uncomfortable form of worse. I wished I knew her well enough I could have just hugged her and let that speak for itself, sparing us both the strange moment on the sidewalk.

I walked away from that enounter and took time to look at my family, I know I'm lucky. I know I have so much to be thankful for. I know we can't live forever, at least not here on this planet. I'm glad for every moment I spend with them. And I try to snap out of too many sad thoughts, because I want to make the most of the time I do get here. It's the best thing I know how to do. Also, on a practical note, I should probably listen to J-Man and go up my life insurance soon. These boys are fun and cute and all, but they're not cheap.

Back to Bluemont

This summer I have made it my goal to visit as many local parks as possible.  (I know, it isn't a quantifiable goal, but I wanted the kind of resolution that you can't really fail at, you know?)  Also, I'm not going to try to rate, map, photograph, and catalogue them for you. The Meanest Momma already did so on her site, and I use it to pick my destinations.

Really, I just want to get out of the house and get PDG exhausted enough in the mornings that he keeps taking naps. Everybody is happier when PDG naps. Especially PDG.  But without a 5:30am wake-up, the nap isn't as guaranteed these days.

Last year I discovered and fell in love with Bluemont Park thanks to my church's weekly playgroup. They also rotate parks during nice weather and I join in with the SAHMs during my summer vacation. I wrote about a sweet day I spent with PDG while pregnant last year and how we sat watching the bubbles in the little creek there and felt genuinely happy. Here we were then

summer 2013

This year, we already crossed Bluemont off the list one hot day. It's great because it's so shaded and I knew we needed a big enough place for PDG to run around lots without overheating. We succeeded.

Then, when it was time to go, the same thing happened. He heard the water and wanted to go look. Mesmerized at first by the bubbles, and later by all the tiny minnows he discovered, the three of us sat entranced at the waters edge for a long, long time. This year he had the vocabulary to tell me what he saw (and that he did NOT want to leave). This year my MDG was outside my belly being all mobile. This year I had a new understanding of having my arms full.

We've grown a lot in a year. It just keeps happening. But I do love the chance that summer gives me to sit, reflect, and in the sweaty craziness of Virginia heat, count my blessings for this wild ride I'm on with my loves.    

Non-Hallmark Dad Love

You guys, dads are the best. Well, they can be, at least. And around here, my J-Man puts up with a lot from our G-crew.

Sometimes we can be bossy. Or cranky. Sometimes we get hungry or sleepy and the world is ending until we get fed or naps and then it's all magically fixed again.

This guy puts up with all of it. Even when we're kinda pains-in-the-rear on Father's Day. Of all days! (I know, sorry J-Man. Seriously.)

We did try to make up for it that week with some cute chalk art. And an overkill of hugs and "I love you's" and such.

But mostly, this is just a post to let you know, J-Man, that you're the best.  And there are precious few things that make me happier than seeing you be a great dad with our little boys. So happy non-hallmark father's day to you. Today. Tomorrow. Always. Thanks for being a great guy. And thanks for mowing that jungle of a yard of ours.

Meatloaf, Mac n Cheese, and Mom-Mom

My grandmother has been on my mind a lot lately.

There's no particular reason.  It isn't the anniversary of any particular milestone for her.  I haven't been back home for a few weeks.  I've just been thinking about her.

Growing up my siblings and I spent a lot of time at Mom-Mom's house.  She lived a mile down the road - just far enough to ride our bikes independently and feel like we were in a whole new place.  Just short enough that Mama and Papa H never had to worry about the trip.

When I was younger I would look forward to the random but frequent dinners at Mom-Mom's. Poppa passed away when I was only five or so, leaving most of my childhood to be just her.  I loved her house.  I loved dinners there and breakfasts there and the snack drawer that I'm pretty sure every grandmother has - stocked of course with her grandkids' favorites.

While I have no idea why, around her table was a rolling office chair with torn black pleather patched with duct tape.  That's where I sat.  I could spin in circles and feel as tall as Big Bro and Big Sis.  I could feel as important as any grown up.  I'd sit there when she'd perm my hair.  I'd sit there when we'd play heated round after round of Boggle.  I'd sit there for any meal when Mama H needed a night off and we got to go to Mom-Mom's.

Mom-Mom could cook almost anything, and always from scratch.  A generational gift/burden I suppose.  Still, there was one meal that was so simple it almost didn't fit her at all, and I remember it as a favorite: meatloaf, Stouffer's mac n cheese, and a veggie (usually lima beans).

I guess in part because I have been thinking of her so much this week, I found myself craving and buying a box of Stouffer's at the store.  And then, not sure what to make for Sunday dinner, searching the internet for quick and easy meatloaf recipes.  And without further thought, popping open a can of lima beans from the cupboard.

Sidenote - I apparently missed some of PDG's hunger cues as he was so excited to see me cooking that he started just grabbing cold beans straight from the can like he hadn't eaten in days.  I didn't stop him because 1) he was happy 2) it was super cute and 3) I try to never discourage vegetables

Anyway, as I sat around the table with my boys I felt grateful.  How lucky I am to have grown up so close to one of my grandparents.  How lucky my parents must've felt as well.  How lucky I am now that the hour and a half drive back home can feel as short as that familiar bike ride when I need Mama and Papa H, or PDG needs them, or Mama and Papa H need to see their boys.

I still miss Mom-Mom dearly.  I miss her laugh and stories and care.  I wish J-Man got to meet her and that she'd gotten to hold my babies just once.  But at least I have a million tiny memories.  Even if they are as simple as a meatloaf dinner on a rainy Sunday night.

M&N's Wedding

I'm sure I've said it before, but I love weddings!  I really do.  I love how happy everyone is.  The people getting married.  The people involved in the wedding.  The people in the audience, watching the two in love, reflecting on their own loves.

So. Much. Love.

I get all sappy at weddings.  Especially during the vows.  I can't even blame it on pregnancy this time - I'm just a softie who loves hearing people say sweet things to the person they don't ever want to live without.  Oh, and I should mention, these vows were fabulously crafted, extended metaphors on tandem biking.  Exquisite.

The other thing I love is how weddings are such a great fit for the couple.  Like, this wedding screamed M&N because it was their day.  The wedding I attended for Miss R in October had a totally different feel and was equally amazing because it screamed R&G.

Bonus points if you can find Miss F in all but one of these :)

Can I say though, I'm kinda glad I got married before all my friends started attending bunches of weddings and would have opinions one way or another about any choices I made.  Not that I'd change them.  I loved my wedding.  I just know that being me, I'd manage to worry.  Even just the anxiety of the possibility of added pressure would get me.  Which, when it comes to anxiety, it's all about perception anyway.  So yeah. Phew.  And if you're reading this and not married and one day I'll get to be invited, know that I will be oohing and ahhing no matter what decisions you make on the billion choices that go into a wedding day. Because, if you hadn't gathered, I love weddings.

So, right, back to M&N.  It was fabulous.  J-Man enjoyed the light-hearted homily that acknowledged without overstating the same-sex nature of the union.  And the oysters.  And the seared tuna.  And the fact that the dancing started full-on before the salads were even served.

I loved the dresses and the venue (which I introduced to M back when we saw Music Man there) and the way the two of them looked at each other and smiled all night.  And the photo booth.  And the mad libs.

There was just so much to love.

Above all, I got to spend the evening with three of my favorite ladies.

It was a night out that I really needed.  A chance to dress up and dance with J-Man and be carefree (except for the necessary pumping in the bathroom) and feel young.

I'm lucky that I found my someone to love and that we still feel the same, even seven years later.  I'm lucky to have sweet boys to care for, and parents who will care for them instead when I need a break.  I'm so glad to see M&N enjoy that same lucky feeling too.

November Thanks but No Thanks

Oh friends, what a trying first week of November this has been.  Rather than lament what feels like one disaster after another, I'm going to try to channel some of that Facebook what-I'm-grateful-for November attitude and reframe it all.

So with that said I'm grateful that....

1) PDG's doctor's office is open late.  Much better than a $200 emergency room visit when his random 102.5 fever joined up with crazy huge welts all over his body.  fyi - hives.

2) amoxicillin tastes like bubble gum.  Makes 10 days of antibiotics for strep for a 19 month old actually possible to administer.  Benadryl - work on that, would you? (did you know strep can cause hives? weird)

3) PDG is old enough for, and loves going to, nursery at church.  I do feel guilty sometimes at wanting to spend any more time away from him than I already do, but since he turned 18 months and started getting to attend Nursery, I've gotten to feel like I'm getting more out of Sunday School and Relief Society again.  Plus, it's helped him learn to fold his arms to pray - super duper adorable.

4) My nesting carried over into having my 1st quarter grades entered well before the deadline on Tuesday.  Otherwise I would've joined the ranks of teachers flipping out that our electronic gradebook shut down the three school days before all grades/comments were due.  Instead I got to spend all day making copies of worksheets for the next six weeks and weekly outlines of lesson plans for whenever this baby MDG decides to show up.

5) NPR keeps me calm when a tractor trailer full of fuel crashes on I-95 south, shutting down the entire interstate, and turning my 30 minute commute into a 90 minute one.  No longer can I say I've never been late to work.

6) Mama H answers the phone as early as 5:30am.  (Sorry Mama H for all the calls this week!)

7) Papa H insists I keep AAA coverage.  When stranded on the side of the road with a dead car and a very active toddler, knowing help is on the way is one of few positive thoughts

8) My coworkers are as excited about this baby as I am.  So when I thought my water might have broken during 1st period (I'll end details there for TMI reasons) I had an army of women getting a sub to cover, walking me to the bathroom, and getting me a ride to L&D to get checked out.  Of course, as you probably guessed, it wasn't my water.  And not enough contractions to move things along.  But a good practice run I guess.

9) PDG can cheer up just about anyone.  After this long week, and particularly long day, I told PDG it was time to go "night night." Because he's a strange little boy who loves bedtime - don't hate me, ok? - he immediately put down his toy, started waving his arms to say bye, and then looked at J-Man.  He stopped, smiled, said "kiss" and then walked over and gave his daddy a kiss.  Then he began climbing the stairs waving at us both again and repeating "night night."  I don't think I could love that boy more.  And I don't think J-Man's smile could have been bigger.  What a perfect way to end a far from perfect week.

So, November, what are you gonna throw at us G's this week to keep us focused on gratitude?

Dear J-Man (5 years in)

Dear J-Man

Can you believe it's been five years since this?

Or this?

Since you promised so many sweet (and practical) things and I did the same.

And our friends danced the night away with our relatives.  So did we, of course.  So much so that my calves cramped when I finally got to sit down and eat cake in our little cottage.

Remember how happy we were?  Not, like, remember-when-things-were-great-and-now-they're-not, but, you know, remember that crazy-good and inexpressible happiness of tying your life to a person that is truly your best friend.

You really are my best friend, you know?  Sure, our beginning was unconventional.  But you had that A/C unit.  And you weren't scared to talk to me, despite me supposedly being 'standoffish.'  And if someone had told us at any point before we met that we would fall in love like we did, we would have laughed and moved on.

But somehow, we've never given up on each other.  Even when we drive each other crazy.  No matter how messy of a cook I am, and how infrequently I manage to adequately clean up from that.  No matter how loud you blast your gangsta rap.

These five years of marriage have reassured me daily that we did the right thing.  We were young.  We were a little reckless.  But J-Man, we were so happy.  I am so happy.  I don't think I could ever really tell you.

Thanks for being my baby-daddy.  My dance partner.  My chauffeur. My pop culture guru.  My pillow.  My rock.  My.... ok, it's getting sappy.  You get the point.

lovelovelove

your nicole

Creekside Magic

PDG and I had this kind of magical moment today.

The day, honestly, started a little rough.  While I love summer vacation, it's definitely an adjustment to be back home - just me and the kid.

I was all "I have no friends" and "I'm bad at being a SAHM" and "poor me with 9 weeks paid vacation" when I put him down for his first nap.  Yeah, we're transitioning from two naps down to one, it all depends on how many distractions he has in the morning and if he starts throwing tantrums.  Tantrums = morning nap. I don't know if great disciplinarians would commend me for this approach, but it's keeping us sane and he's still sleeping at night.

But anyway, while he napped, I remembered my free meal at Cafe Rio.  And the fact that there was a park I'd been meaning to go back to that we visited months ago.  And we still needed some more spaghetti sauce.

I woke him at a reasonable time, and we headed out.  We devoured a totally free meal that fed us both, and I even indulged in a Cherry Coke.  Probably the reason I'm writing now instead of napping with him.  Cherry Cokes are delicious, no?

We headed to Bluemont Park, found the hidden entryway to the  playground area, and explored our way through the big toys.  After nearly an hour, which has to be a record for him since he usually gets bored or hungry by 30 minutes, we headed to the car.  He was stinky, I was sweaty, and we both needed to save just a little energy for the grocery store.

Right by our car was a babbling creek, and I couldn't just walk right by it.  I mean, I could, but it's a babbling creek.  I had to.  We sat on down, swinging our legs over the little cement bridge connecting the parking lot to the baseball field, and watched all the bubbles.  The man-made dam below us kept the water going at just the right speed and my little PDG does love any kind of bubbles.

Holding him on my lap, feeling a few little flutters of MDG in my belly, I thought to myself how perfect my world is.  Yes, I was uncomfortably sitting on both my keys and cell phone.  Yes, the heat of my boys inside and outside had me sweating like crazy.  Yes, PDG really, really needed a fresh diaper.  But in the semi-shade on a sunny, summer day, thinking about the world and all its miracles, as tiny as bubbles in a babbling creek that form and combine and shift and fade by the second, everything felt just so, so perfect.

I stood up to get going, but PDG refused to hold my hand and sat down stubbornly reaching for the water.  He must've felt it too, because he didn't want to leave.  So again we sat silently, legs dangling, and kept watching the continual flow of bubbles and creek water.  Passersby came and went, and he didn't even notice a dog that walked right by us.  Finally, I guess he decided he was done, so we stood and ambled back to the car, got ourselves cleaned up, and headed to the store, home, and after plenty of ice water, to bed.

I have no clue what we'll do when he wakes up.  Maybe legos?  Elmo videos?  Drawing (aka pulling crayons out of the box then attempting to put them back in again - over.and.over.and.over)?

Whatever.  My day is happily complete.

Looper and Love

What's a girl to do when feeling irrationally emotional and her J-Man has left her for the evening to join a volleyball club?  Turn to the inter-webs, I suppose.

I could blame this odd heat wave that had me and PDG at the park this afternoon rather than our usual crawl-around-the-house-finding-stuff-mama-missed game.  (fyi - he was not impressed at all by the sandbox despite his fascination with overlooked sandy dirt particles here at home).

I'm pretty sure, though, that it's from watching Looper.  Why do I watch these time travel movies?  Without fail I get angry, emotional, or both.  I think they make me think too hard.  And the result of that thinking invariably leaves me annoyed with the complexities of time travel and the unexplored plot edits that a careful consideration would require.  I'm no time/space genius, but I am a former mathlete and I did geek out in my science classes and above all I happen to find consequences of actions to be incredibly important to weigh, no matter how minute the decision.  Am I the only one?


So as JGL and Bruce Willis and an adorable kid whose bright eyes and sweet cheeks reminded me of PDG, and the rest of the cast were winding through a plot that infuriated yet captivated me, I got all overwhelmed.  What sacrifices would I make for my boy?  What would he do for me?  What would I do to ensure a lifetime and beyond with J-Man?

I don't know if those are the questions I was supposed to leave with, but whatever.  After formulating an entire argument I'll have with J-Man about the film (I don't really need his side, I know what he'll say, but we'll discuss when he gets home anyway) I had to peek in and see my little guy.

It was a need.  Not a want.  A need.

If him sleeping wasn't so intricately linked to my sleeping, I would've picked him up and hugged him tight and kissed him and rocked him and told him how much I love him.  Yes, he would've cried.  But somewhere in his baby psyche he would've gotten my intentions. Of course, he'd only been asleep an hour so sanity won out and I grabbed the laptop instead.

I just sometimes feel so full of love and gratitude for him, and for J-Man, and for my family, and for my friends that I get all teary for no reason.

If I were pregnant I'd blame that, but instead I think it's just me being a little crazy.

Maybe it's time to turn on a crime drama and mellow out a little.  Those irrational plots are somehow much less disturbing.

A Good Day

It's weeks like these that I remember I'm pretty lucky.  I take a few minutes to count my blessings and ignore the looming question marks and concerns.  The world is a crazy place, but life in the G house is going pretty well.

I've appreciated all the responses and support about PDG's sleeping, and not sleeping, as it has changed week by week by week.  This parenting stuff is as confusing as those smiles are rewarding.

But when things on the job front look up, J-Man showers me with unexpected flowers, treats, and tickets, and I feel somewhat rested (even if it won't last) I can't help but think life is good.

Now I'm off to watch my favorite musical with a great friend while my boys play together. I hope you're having a fabulous Saturday too

Father's Day

Sometimes I wish I could be a dad.  Don't get me wrong, I love love love being a mama.  Despite the pain and discomfort, the confusing hormones, and the feeling that I'm an all-night milk vending machine, this role is pretty grand.

But dads are awesome.

My daddy rocks

There's something about their man love that's just so darn cute.  And the way they hold babies, slightly awkward yet adorably perfect, that melts my heart.

I'm so blessed to have a great dad of my own, and to be married to another allstar pops.

Hope they both had fantastic weekends to celebrate their fatherhood.  And J-Man, aren't you glad we finally live near a Joe's?

Welcome PDG

Ok, I know, this is late.  What's that saying - better late than never?

Let's rewind a few weeks to March 12, 2012.  The big day my life would change forever.  Despite being told at my 36 week appointment that I was already progressing (80%, 1, 0 station) and this baby was  "low, low, low," it had taken five more weeks to arrive at this day.  I should've known then that PDG would have quite the firecracker personality.

By this point I'd endured two false alarms, one requiring the ER and one demonstrating that I really didn't know what a contraction felt like... yet.  I had passed my due date, had a non stress test, been assured baby boy had plenty of fluid and a healthy food source and still might come before a medical intervention.

My parents and Big Sis were in town, the nursery was good to go, my nerves kept me from sleeping well on this last night for months that no child would depend on my being awake to be fed.  I woke up, put on perhaps the best maternity shirt ever, and headed to L&D.

I met my nurse, Hala, who was the most amazing person I'd meet until later that afternoon, and immediately I felt at ease.  She took care of everything.  She got me popsicles and juices.  She showed me exactly where my contractions were on the screen.  She told me I could have my epidural whenever since I'd come in already between 3-4cm.  (I didn't wait long to take her up on that).

My family was pretty amazing too.  Big Sis took pictures that I won't post of me looking exhausted already, Papa H came in and out of the room, while also making friends with the other families down the hall.  Mama H took a quick nap to reserve energy for later.  J-Man told jokes and saw to it that all needs were met.  I was in fantastic hands.

Around 6cm Dr. S broke my water (so they say - I felt nothing) and then things got really moving.  I'd been on the pitocin for four or five hours at that point, and my family left to get lunch.  By the time they were back I was at eight, and not long after I had the strangest feeling.  It was like I wanted to dance, or couldn't get comfortable, and I kept shifting around.

J-Man asked what was wrong, but I didn't have the right words. 

"Um, I might need to push?" I asked.  Or told.  It was 3pm and I got the feeling the little guy would be out soon.  Dr S confirmed I was "complete" and Hala had me do a practice push so that I'd know what I was doing.  Turns out you can push wrong.

That was the beginning.  I wasn't in pain, thank heavens, but I also didn't know I was in for the workout of my life!  For two and a half hours my life slipped into intervals of a minute off, then three consecutive counting-to-ten, all-energy-in, no-holds-barred pushing.  They had me on my side, then my other side, then on my stomach, then back on my back.  Anything to get PDG's head and body facing down, not sideways.  I was being commended for doing a great job and being "almost there" time and again, and with even more positivity while puking into some tiny blue bag.  It was intense.  Period.

I was going so long that Dr. S's shift ended and Dr. M came in for "the good stuff."  By the time she told me she'd need to use the vacuum suction I told her to do whatever it took to get him out.  I was pretty sure my body was going to give up on me soon, and I am not a quitter.

With the decision made, it was only a couple more contractions and there, lying on my deflated belly, they plopped my squishy, squealing, slimy PDG.  Instantly I was in love.

I could see only his toes as J-Man cut the cord before they whisked him away.  The room had become abuzz with nurses and family but I hadn't even noticed.  All I remember is watching my J-Man watch our PDG.  They were the only two people in my world right then.

Within an hour my whole family had held him, and he had attempted his first homemade meal, with success.  Everything felt so natural, so perfect.  I looked at my child and realized I had just been entrusted with a gift from God.

There were no other words.  There will never be words.

One day, this precious little being will walk, and talk, and make decisions.  One day he will create and lead.  One day he will provide.  For now, he is our responsibility, mine and J-Man's, and one we couldn't be happier to take on.

The nine weeks since then have been full of fantastic memories, siren-like cries, and a near doubling in his weight.  I wish I could promise to record them all here, but I'm resolved to record what I can, and spend the other moments getting to know this budding personality of his.  

It turns out, after all, dreams can come true

Eight Thankful Weeks

Every week I get more and more shocked by how soon this little guy will be here.  I mean, I can feel it's getting close.  The midnight leg cramps, the back discomfort, the hitting myself with the car door because I can't slide where I used to.  All that says "coming soon to an empty nursery near you."

exactly 32 weeks

Speaking of empty nurseries though, I am so amazed by the generosity of our friends and coworkers.  I shouldn't be, because J-Man and I like to think we surround ourselves with pretty fabulous people, but still.  I have bags and bags of hand-me-downs already.  I'm pretty sure this kid will be better dressed and with more options than I have and we haven't even had the shower yet.

And speaking of the shower - super psyched to get to see some of my favorite people tomorrow.  I even had a dream about it two nights ago and woke up as disappointed as a 5th grader who erroneously dreamt of a snow day in May.

Every time I look at the pile of baby gear in the nursery, only one tiny item of which has been purchased by us, I get all teary.  Then I start going through all these blankies and onesies and I ooh and ahh and imagine.  I try not to look at the rest of the emptiness of the room, but soon enough there will be furniture and shelves and places for a baby to exist.  At least, I think that'll happen...  Otherwise PDG will grow up to be more like his parents than expected, with lots of piles that make sense to pile people.  Fingers crossed for a more organized future. Come on nesting, work your magic on this third trimester, insomniac, mama-to-be.

Tires and a Belly

I'd like you to take a moment to close your eyes and paint this picture.  (Don't really close your eyes, silly, you won't be able to read what's in the picture!).  It's a dreary rainy day.  A big ol' Pathfinder is pulled to the edge of the busy road.  A pregnant woman bends alongside to investigate the dilemma.  A tire is flat.

Pretty pathetic, right?  And sad?  And makes you think, gee I'm glad that isn't me.  I hope someone helps her out.

I'm glad it wasn't you either.  In fact, it was me.  Not all too pitiful, as I was able to get to a close by gas station, read Bossypants warm in my car, and wait for the slow-but-sure arrival of AAA to get things moving again.

It's just funny because only 15 minutes prior I had been happily standing in my bathroom posing for this

You see, I was celebrating 27 weeks.  According to various sources, that means I have reached the third trimester.  It's the final countdown...  Ok, so there are still somewhere between 10 and 14 weeks before this little guy kicks his way all the way out, but it still feels like a countdown can begin soon.

Even if people continue to try to tell me I don't "look" pregnant (which, I gotta say, is starting to be a little offensive.  how did I look before?  like I just hid random round objects under my shirt to practice what life as a kleptomaniac might be like?) I feel pregnant.  It's glorious and exhausting but hey, not nauseating anymore.  Except when I overeat, but that's my own fault.

So there I waited with my temporarily out of service SUV, my bladder that PDG confuses for a soccer ball, my book that makes me laugh out loud now and again, and daydreams of March.

The AAA guy was pretty useless, unable to assemble the tools to release my spare, and instead having me follow him to a tire place whose compressor was broken, from which I would later need to drive to yet another tire place.  My work morning was shot. But in the end, the best part of the day was picking out a shirt to take a picture of my little PDG and marking yet another milestone that a year ago felt like something I would never be blessed to know.

As J-Man put it recently, there used to be a sadness that, even on my happiest days, couldn't fully be squelched.  Now there's a happiness that even on my roughest days, can't be overshadowed.

To My Friends

You know how the holidays make you all nostalgic?  It's like you can't help sitting there with turkey or ham on your plate and reflecting back to the good ol' days (or the not-so-good ol' days) and thinking about how far you've come.

At H-Family Thanksgiving this year we did the usual tradition of going around the table and sharing the things we're thankful for.  I went last because, if you've been reading over the year, I have one heck of a lot to say.  I started thinking about all the people who love me, and who have loved and supported me through the crap times of infertility, the rocky months of daily vomiting, the exhaustion, the highs, the questioning of my faith, the return to my religious beliefs, the general awe of life and love and creation.

I feel like I owe so many thanks that I don't know what I've taken time to give.  I realized that I might have let myself slip into a little too much G-wallowing and G-celebrating and not enough G-giving.

So this month I'm coming back.  Gosh darn it I'm going to write again. And I'm going to remember how awesome all of you are.  With your new loves and new locations and new babies and new jobs (and unfortunately some new heartaches out there too).  You all are the best, and I remember it most when I take time to reflect like I do when I write.

So if this little blog still pops up on occasion and you happen to be reading this then yes, I'm talking about you.  You're what makes me thankful.  And tearfully happy.  (Well, hormones help with the latter.)  But for realz, with a z, you are the people that make me excited to be welcoming another person into the world next year.  Look what extended aunts and uncles he's going to have!

The Little Dangers

There are dangers of being pregnant.

Now I'm not talking the big ones like falling or car crashes or the scary-worst-case-never-google-about types of fears.  I mean, little dangers

For instance, when left alone with a Chinese takeout menu and a suggestion to just "order something that sounds good," a certain pregnant woman might order over $30 worth of food for just two people.  Well, three if you count a little half-pound fetus as a full person (spiritual definitions aside)

Also, when an amazingly kind coworker offers a full shopping bag of baby clothes that will match season for season with her baby's due date, she may become overwhelmed with gratitude to the point of tears and inability to form actual sentences.

Such gratitude may lead to spending far too much time and money in the beautiful world of Papyrus choosing just what thank-you notes to send both today, and months in the future after her baby shower that is still just in the idea phase.

A pregnant woman may spend an inordinate amount of time with feet propped up, shirt pulled up to the ribcage, staring at her midsection.  This process may or may not include poking to see if she feels any bubbles/butterflies/flicks from the inside, and once that proves unsuccessful, resorting to trying to push back in the belly button that has not been an outtie for nearly 20 years now after an early childhood magical reversal.  This will only likely end when said woman has to go to the bathroom yet again, and/or is discovered by her still sane, non-pregnant husband.


And lastly, this same woman may fall to temptation and share her bed with another.  That is, another pillow.  One nearly as big as her devoted husband, and one who will never reject her spooning because it is shaped oh so perfectly.

Luckily, these are all dangers that so far J-Man seems pretty cool with.  Except possibly the pillow.  Time will tell.

Oh Boy!

J-Man and I took votes the night before: boy or girl.  Personally he and I had a hunch it was a girl.  We imagined little EG crawling around, stealing daddy's heart, making mama smile, getting away with everything.  Yet both of us had dreams it was a little boy.  I envisioned a little light skinned boy with tight tight curls and big bright eyes.  Who knows what J-Man dreamt.

We figured, either our hunches or our dreams were right.  Nothing like 50/50 odds.

At 6:30am I started drinking water.  Even though four cups doesn't sound like much, water isn't all that exciting so early in the morning.  Only a few weeks ago it still made me want to hurl (can we please thank whatever deity you believe in that those days are finally behind me?!)

I downed the water, with a little juice for sugar and we headed out to be the first appointment of the morning.

My doctor's office likes to outsource their sonograms due to having older equipment (the same equipment that terrified me back at 6 weeks) so instead we went to a very professional office that is oddly on the commercial first floor of what otherwise looks a lot like a project.  Whatever, it's legit. 

My lady was sweet, the jelly on my belly was warm, little PEG was there in all his/her glory.  Totally and completely upside down PEG stood, as if confused and thinking today was the day for the grand entrance.  Not just yet little buddy, still 21 weeks, give or take, til your debut. 

We checked head, shoulders, hands, toes, leg bones (where PEG seemed to want to give us a hint as to gender without us asking).  Our technician, after getting a majority of the measurements asked us one more time "So you want to know the sex?"

We agreed, and I reached my hand out from the table to hold J-Man's.  "It's a boy!" she said, showing us PEG's stuff.  For the last time, we saw our PEG, and then smiled knowing little Parker was who had been in there all along.  Little Parker Dennis, totally not shy with his privates at all.  Little Parker who would be his mama and daddy's boy from now and forever. 

If you couldn't tell, I got emotional.  I started silently crying a little, as the technician went on to examine things like bladder, heart, kidneys, and other black holes that really just looked like black holes. 

Soon enough it was time to check out Parker's face, but no luck.  He wouldn't budge from his funny position.  He was awake, as I swear he kept waving at us, taunting almost.  He wiggled around, but only so much,  Can you tell this is my J-Man's son yet?  Goodness gracious!

I laid on my side, but he wouldn't budge.  I walked around.  Still nope.  I even got to finally release all those cups of early morning water and juice.  Still nothing.  She thought maybe after lunch he'd decide to flip around some so she could finish up the report, so we gave up for the morning and headed home, with the least demonstrative profile printouts I've seen. 

By lunch, Parker was still head down bottom up, though at least turned just enough that we could see a little nose.  J-Man and I are already wondering whose nose he has.  She got one more measurement but let me know that my doctor would probably want me to come back. 

On the upside, I learned about the tilting of my insides that would explain why he doesn't have a ton of space for nonstop flips and why my belly doesn't yet tell the world he's in there.  As everyone else says, it'll push its way out before I know it, and I'll miss these barely showing weeks. 

At the end of the day I held my little printout close to my heart, reflected for just a moment on all the pain and uncertainty of 2010 and early 2011, and said a special prayer for my little PDG.  I told my J-Man I couldn't believe I could already love him so much.  J-Man responded he couldn't believe he could already worry about him so much.

I guess we're gonna be just fine.

(blah)ging

You may have noticed I'm a little less frequent with these updates.  It's a shame, I know.  I started with all this fervor and then wham, bam, I slow my roll.

Here's the thing.  I don't want to be a complainer.  I tried, though not always successfully, to write about the whole my-body-won't-do-what-I-want struggle with humor and brightness or else honest reflection, but I haven't found that balance just yet.  I want to be optimistic, but I'm not out of the pre 12week danger zone.  That, and I pretty consistently feel like crap.

See, the other night I was squatting over a McDonald's dirty toilet, dry heaving away, crying because I couldn't throw up yet crying because I wanted to throw up when I remembered this:

I really wanted to get pregnant.

I've never forgotten this fact. I remember it every time I feel sick.  Every time a smell makes me want to never breathe again.  Every time it's 8pm and I ask if it's bedtime yet.  Every time I sit up, wait a few seconds, then stand to pee in the middle of the night.

Most of me loves being pregnant and smiles constantly at the mere idea that something the size of a raspberry will one day be a living, breathing child that I can raise and love and support and teach. It's a miracle that I don't let myself overlook. 

The only problem is, every once in a while, I get a little hint of feeling sorry for myself.  Crazy, I know!  I mean, do I need to go back and read my own blog?  I wanted this!  I actively WANT this.  And I do, I definitely do.  I just have to stop for a second and help myself snap out of it.  Get back to the Main Bullet Point, if you will.

So as I was in that gross bathroom, with Mama H and Papa H and Big Bro and Big Sis getting burgers and shakes outside, wondering if someone should check on me, I started laughing.  Right out loud, between spitting and crying and trying not to lose my balance and sit on the nastiness.  I laughed at the silliness of this all.  That the thing I wanted most in the world has temporarily overridden everything my digestive system ever knew.  I laughed that rather than a cute photo op with just the five H's getting late night snacks, I was the baby needing to be watched over.  I laughed that already I know I'll look back at these moments with nostalgic haze and forget what they really feel like.

Is there a part of me that eight weeks in sometimes thinks there's no way I'll do this again?  Sure.  But I already know in my bones that even if I don't get pregnant again, I'll manage to love even this part of the story.  The same way I somehow love the year plus that it took to get here.  The same way I'll love this little havoc-wreaking raspberry we call peg (gender neutral).

So now, onwards and upwards with carefully toned posts to frame the nausea and sleepiness and elation.

Baby, Baby, Baby, Oh!

Two weeks ago I woke up and did as I regretably have done almost every 12dpo for months now - I lost the battle to my addiction.  I was so disappointed in myself that I didn't even have the nerve to flip the test over.  Vacation was looming and I needed to get my pity party out of the way so I could relax in the hammocks like any other non-pregnant Mexico traveler.

I flipped it over only to see...

Could it be?

No.

No way.

Wait!

Maybe?

Definitely!

A second line?!?!?!

I got on the phone and frantically called my J-Man.

Office line.  Cell phone.  Office phone.  Cell phone.

"J-Man, it's me.  Um, call me when you get this. K? Bye."

I paced the apartment only half dressed and a neurotic mess.  I never put down that pee stick for fear it would magically shift back or I would wake up from the best dream of my life.

"Hello?  J-Man - we did it!"

Quiet pause. "Did what?"

"We made a baby!!!!!!"

------------------------------------

Fast forward two weeks, a few shrieks from the people I've had the chance to tell, a few nightmares about the million things that can still go horribly wrong, advice from some, hugs from others, continued hours on the same websites as before - but now as a member of a monthly message board, and we arrive at today, the big 1st prenatal appointment.

There's lots of information out there about what to expect.  This is especially true on a website titled after a book that tackles what to expect when, like me, you're expecting.  (I'm expecting!?!)

I had my pregnancy journal with my important dates.  It has questions to ask and things I've been feeling and other key things that might come up in a doctor's conversation.

I sat in the waiting room with women with big bellies, women with little bellies, women too old to be there about growing bellies, and I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

My doctor was already running behind, and when they called me back after nearly an hour, I felt less annoyed because my dizziness had subsided, I'd found a bathroom, and I'd been informed that she was running behind because she was dealing with an emergency of a woman who seemed to be dealing with a miscarriage.

How can you be mad at that?

I started thinking, while staring at my Parenting and Me magazine, that if I were having a crisis, I'd hope the doctor would care more about me than the waiting others, at least for a little while.  So I casually read.

Finally I went into the room with the sonogram machine, which was a surprise to say the least.  They'd been very clear that this exam would NOT inlude that, and therefore I had told J-Man not to worry and to come to the next one that probably would. 

I lay back as she did her thing, and stared at the screen in hopes of seeing a baby.  My baby.  If you can call something that tiny a baby.  ('When does life begin' conversation avoided)

We didn't see anything.

There was this black hole, a tiny black hole, where the doc said maybe something could be.  But her face showed concern. 

This practice is known for doctors who don't beat around the bush.  They're firm and caring, but they don't hold your hand.  They tell you what you need to know, and ask for questions after.

So much for my list of questions.  Instead, the only question that remained was - is a baby even growing? 

The machine is notably old - there was hope.  And perhaps it was still just a couple days too early.  At this stage, a couple days makes a huge difference.

Or it could be something really sad, that makes me teary just typing.

She gave me a referral to a lab with a fancier machine.  She reminded me it could all be great, but just in case we need to know.  We don't want the pregnancy to be in the wrong part of my body.  Or not developing at all. 

I emailed J-Man with the subject line "scared" from my phone.  They drew my blood.  I called the referral place.  I got an appointment.  I went to work.  I stuck with the motions. 

I asked myself, will crying help?

Nope.

Ok, I'll know something soon enough.  Nothing has been easy yet, why would my first appointment?  That's just how things are.  That's what I'm used to.  I'm kinda ok with that.  J-Man loves me still.

When I saddled up for a second ultrasound of the day the lady began clicking and zooming and measuring and very quickly I could see a black bean with a white circle and within that white circle a white little dandelion seed.  It vibrated ever so slightly, apparently just having developed its heart in the last day or so.  Next to that teeny tiny nothing of a dot, the technician drew an arrow and typed the word "BABY." 

That is my, very much alive, very itsy bitsy, child.  Everything it needs it has right now.  I'm ok, and it's ok and life is very much ok.

Due date according to current size - 3/3/12