Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sundries
I'm writing this in a rush at the office while I wait for Tim to finish something, so sorry if it's full of typos.
- 21 weeks. More than halfway there. Aw yeah.
- I've been feeling Green Bean move for a couple of weeks now. I was actually feeling it before then, I just didn't realize that's what it was. I actually told Tim, "You know when you get a twitch in your eye? It feels like that in my uterus, but that couldn't be the baby, could it?" to which he gave me the side-eye and replied, "Um, you're right at the point when you should start feeling the baby and you have a new sensation in your uterus you've never felt before? Yeah, pretty sure that's the baby." Oh. Oops.
- It's a neat feeling. I like it.
- I signed up for an all-day childbirth prep class at the end of April. I will be hee-hee-hooing with the best of 'em.
- My belly is huge. At 9 months I will look like I swallowed Epcot Center, I know it.
- I am eating well now and gaining the appropriate amount of weight.
- Tim talks to Green Bean every day and tells her about our day and what the world is like. Sometimes I have to blink back tears. She has no idea how much we love her. But she will.
- The bean is the length of a banana this week and weighs 11 ounces.
- The brochure for the hospital I'm giving birth at boasts about the fact that they have seaweed soup available 24 hours a day. What's with that? Is seawood soup some sort of pregnant woman staple or something? Do Los Angelians just need a constant supply of seaweed because they're health nuts? Does a seaweed fisherman work at the hospital cafe? I don't get it.
- I can only sleep on my side now. I'm a hardcore stomach sleeper. It's a hard habit to break.
- I think Green Bean likes The Beatles. She kicks when I play them. Doesn't move a muscle for The Rolling Stones. Good girl.
Friday, February 12, 2010
diamond in the rough
As Tim said in his last blog post (which, by the way, made me cry like a--well, like a pregnant lady), we have a very fortunate life in so many ways. But there's one challenge (which Tim didn't want to mention in his post out of respect for my sense of privacy about it) that our family will probably have to grapple with for a long time, and it's a toughie.
I have Interstitial Cystitis. Since being diagnosed 5 years ago, my life has been different than most people's lives, though on the outside I look completely healthy. One of the most dramatic impairments the disease has bestowed upon me is my inability to travel. Flying for any length of time or driving for more than 7 hours lands me in severe pain for weeks afterward. I've never had much of an adventurous spirit--I never dreamed about backpacking across Europe or being a missionary in Africa like many people my age seemed to--but you don't realize how essential basic travel is until you're unable to do it. I've missed out on countless experiences over the years because of it: My best friends' weddings. Being able to see my mom's new house. Touring the places my husband grew up. Writer's conferences. So many things that most people take for granted.
And it's hard on the people I love. Family and friends who live more than a few hours away (which is almost all of them) always have to come visit me. Tim can't bring me with him to see his family, or take me on a romantic getaway, or benefit from my help at professional events. And I know Green Bean will be burdened with it, too. Daddy will take her on less restricted excursions, no doubt, but our family vacations will be limited (I'm really glad we live in such a beautiful and diverse place, though--and that Disneyland is only an hour away). I do have hope that something will change someday, that a cure, or a really effective treatment option, will be found, or even that this high-speed train thing I keep hearing about pans out. But the reality is that I probably will not be able to show my daughter the world, at least not in the foreseeable future, and the guilt of that weighs heavy on my heart.
I also wonder how it will affect Green Bean when I have a flare-up and am in too much pain to be the silly, playful mom I always want to be to her. I wonder if it will bother her that we have to plan outings according to whether there are bathrooms in the near vicinity. I want to shelter her from the reality of this disease, but that's impossible. I have tried to do this to some degree with my husband, family and friends by not talking much about it, by downplaying its significance in my life, but I don't want to teach GB that it's constructive to hide one's problems. I know she will have to know that Mommy gets sick sometimes.
I know people with IC who can't tolerate an hour-long drive, who are on disability, who can't get insurance, who hurt all the time--people much, much worse off than me. Many of them still have happy, well-adjusted children. One thing ICers often say about their children is that they are incredibly empathetic people. If there is one good thing that Green Bean can reap from having a parent with health problems it's compassion, a kinship with and understanding of those who hurt and struggle. It's a facet of life many people completely ignore, terrified to even look in the eyes of someone who is in pain. My daughter will never be one of those people. That's a silver lining.
I have learned, in the past couple of years, how to be happy in spite of IC, and I truly am. My life is happy and full and I know our life with Green Bean will be even happier. And we are going to have fun. We are going to swim in the ocean and play in the snow and ride Splash Mountain and sing and dance and roll down hills. Our home will be filled with love and joy and ridiculousness. But sometimes, the realities of my illness are going to challenge us. There's no getting around it and there's no denying it. And all I can do about that is try to cope with it with grace, honesty, and love--and hope that it enriches, in some small way, my daughter's life education.
I have Interstitial Cystitis. Since being diagnosed 5 years ago, my life has been different than most people's lives, though on the outside I look completely healthy. One of the most dramatic impairments the disease has bestowed upon me is my inability to travel. Flying for any length of time or driving for more than 7 hours lands me in severe pain for weeks afterward. I've never had much of an adventurous spirit--I never dreamed about backpacking across Europe or being a missionary in Africa like many people my age seemed to--but you don't realize how essential basic travel is until you're unable to do it. I've missed out on countless experiences over the years because of it: My best friends' weddings. Being able to see my mom's new house. Touring the places my husband grew up. Writer's conferences. So many things that most people take for granted.
And it's hard on the people I love. Family and friends who live more than a few hours away (which is almost all of them) always have to come visit me. Tim can't bring me with him to see his family, or take me on a romantic getaway, or benefit from my help at professional events. And I know Green Bean will be burdened with it, too. Daddy will take her on less restricted excursions, no doubt, but our family vacations will be limited (I'm really glad we live in such a beautiful and diverse place, though--and that Disneyland is only an hour away). I do have hope that something will change someday, that a cure, or a really effective treatment option, will be found, or even that this high-speed train thing I keep hearing about pans out. But the reality is that I probably will not be able to show my daughter the world, at least not in the foreseeable future, and the guilt of that weighs heavy on my heart.
I also wonder how it will affect Green Bean when I have a flare-up and am in too much pain to be the silly, playful mom I always want to be to her. I wonder if it will bother her that we have to plan outings according to whether there are bathrooms in the near vicinity. I want to shelter her from the reality of this disease, but that's impossible. I have tried to do this to some degree with my husband, family and friends by not talking much about it, by downplaying its significance in my life, but I don't want to teach GB that it's constructive to hide one's problems. I know she will have to know that Mommy gets sick sometimes.
I know people with IC who can't tolerate an hour-long drive, who are on disability, who can't get insurance, who hurt all the time--people much, much worse off than me. Many of them still have happy, well-adjusted children. One thing ICers often say about their children is that they are incredibly empathetic people. If there is one good thing that Green Bean can reap from having a parent with health problems it's compassion, a kinship with and understanding of those who hurt and struggle. It's a facet of life many people completely ignore, terrified to even look in the eyes of someone who is in pain. My daughter will never be one of those people. That's a silver lining.
I have learned, in the past couple of years, how to be happy in spite of IC, and I truly am. My life is happy and full and I know our life with Green Bean will be even happier. And we are going to have fun. We are going to swim in the ocean and play in the snow and ride Splash Mountain and sing and dance and roll down hills. Our home will be filled with love and joy and ridiculousness. But sometimes, the realities of my illness are going to challenge us. There's no getting around it and there's no denying it. And all I can do about that is try to cope with it with grace, honesty, and love--and hope that it enriches, in some small way, my daughter's life education.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
It Hurts So Good (by Tim)
Three thousand or whatever years ago, the Buddha taught that all life was suffering, and that there were only two kinds: desiring what you don’t have, and dreading the loss of what you do. Megan and I aren’t the kind of people to want for too much – we don’t care about keeping up with the Jones, for example – and I’ve never had a problem at all with desirous suffering. But I’ve been feeling a miserable kind of underlying anxiety over the few months.
At first I thought it was worry that the pregnancy would go well, that the Green Bean would have five fingers and five toes and a fully functioning mental faculty, and with god knows what in the atmosphere, anything might happen, and that seems like something worth worrying about. So I desire a healthy baby, and that’s pretty simple, right? It just feels strange because I’m not used to wanting something so bad.
But it just occurred to me that that’s not what the feeling in the pit of my gut really is. I don’t want it all; I have it all. I’ve graduated from the “have not” to the “have” side of the coin – Green Bean is right there, in Megan’s belly, kicking away and growing strong. I have a job I love, a beautiful, funny, intelligent wife that I love to spend time with. I walk to work and the sun is shining almost every freaking day.
All I could ever want is right here, and I don’t want anything to change. I want us to stroll Green Bean down the sidewalks of the cute little neighborhood across the street. I want to push her in the swing on one corner, and take her to get 7th grade books at the library on the other corner when she’s six. I want her to poop in a pile of poetry submissions, and walk her to the Carpenter School on my way to work, and shush her to sleep in the front room so she won’t wake the neighbors. I can see it all so clearly, and it’s not a daydream, it’s right here. Me, Megan, and the Green Bean, food to eat in the fridge, a roof over our heads, and a job I can stand. There’s not another thing I can even think of possibly wanting.
Except a continuation of all those things. Getting over desire is an easy trick, once you get the hang of it. But getting over the dread is a new one. What if I lose my job, what if the dollar collapses, what if one of us gets sick? What if? What if? What if?
Sometimes when Megan’s asleep and I can’t, I put my hand on her belly, and there’s so much joy in that moment it hurts. But I think the trick to this kind of suffering isn’t the detachment I’m used to; it’s not to ignore the worries away. It’s to just to acknowledge the overwhelming joy and enjoy it.
At first I thought it was worry that the pregnancy would go well, that the Green Bean would have five fingers and five toes and a fully functioning mental faculty, and with god knows what in the atmosphere, anything might happen, and that seems like something worth worrying about. So I desire a healthy baby, and that’s pretty simple, right? It just feels strange because I’m not used to wanting something so bad.
But it just occurred to me that that’s not what the feeling in the pit of my gut really is. I don’t want it all; I have it all. I’ve graduated from the “have not” to the “have” side of the coin – Green Bean is right there, in Megan’s belly, kicking away and growing strong. I have a job I love, a beautiful, funny, intelligent wife that I love to spend time with. I walk to work and the sun is shining almost every freaking day.
All I could ever want is right here, and I don’t want anything to change. I want us to stroll Green Bean down the sidewalks of the cute little neighborhood across the street. I want to push her in the swing on one corner, and take her to get 7th grade books at the library on the other corner when she’s six. I want her to poop in a pile of poetry submissions, and walk her to the Carpenter School on my way to work, and shush her to sleep in the front room so she won’t wake the neighbors. I can see it all so clearly, and it’s not a daydream, it’s right here. Me, Megan, and the Green Bean, food to eat in the fridge, a roof over our heads, and a job I can stand. There’s not another thing I can even think of possibly wanting.
Except a continuation of all those things. Getting over desire is an easy trick, once you get the hang of it. But getting over the dread is a new one. What if I lose my job, what if the dollar collapses, what if one of us gets sick? What if? What if? What if?
Sometimes when Megan’s asleep and I can’t, I put my hand on her belly, and there’s so much joy in that moment it hurts. But I think the trick to this kind of suffering isn’t the detachment I’m used to; it’s not to ignore the worries away. It’s to just to acknowledge the overwhelming joy and enjoy it.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
two girls and a boy
Can't stop listening to this song.
So, by now you've heard the news that we've shouted from the proverbial rooftops: We're going to have a daughter! When the doctor gave us the good news--and we saw for ourselves the basically-unmistakable proof on the ultrasound--we couldn't stop smiling. We're so happy, but it's not an "OMG, srsly?!" kind of happy. It's a "Oh, yeah, duh" kind of happy. It just seems so natural and right that we would have a girl. I can't say I knew all along though; I really had no clue.
All is well with Green Bean otherwise (I'll continue to call her that here because we're keeping the name a secret except from the grandparents) and with me. She looked enormous on the ultrasound today. Tim kept commenting on how huge her head is, which is easy for him to say because he doesn't have to push it through his nether-regions. Long frog legs too. I'd post the ultrasound picture here, but it's literally just her spread legs and genitals, and as parents it's our job to make sure that pictures of our daughter with her legs spread never ever grace the internet, right? But trust me: she's cute and healthy and feisty.
We spend an inordinate amount of time today making a baby registry. Can you tell we're slightly excited? I felt really old and married (in a good way) as we were furrowing our brows and puzzling over which car seat had the best features and which diaper pail would be most durable. We used Dr. Spock's "What You Need" list as a guide, so I think the registry is fairly comprehensive, but if you see anything we've left out that you think is essential, please let us know! We didn't include much clothing or toys, just because those seem too weirdly specific to register for. Anyway, don't feel like you have to buy us stuff--it's actually mostly just a really helpful thing for us, to have a list of baby must-haves that we can refer to in the coming months.
Dr. Awesome gave us some information about childbirth classes today, which I'll likely be starting in a month. Should be interesting.
Wow, this was a really boring post for such an exciting day--sorry, y'all. We didn't get much sleep last night!
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