green bean

Letter to My Daughter On Her First Birthday

2011-06-12T18:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Josephina,

For your first birthday, I wanted to write you a letter like one Marmee would write to her daughter, Josephine March. You’re named after her, you know. I remember telling someone in 9^th grade—a popular girl I didn’t know very well who had mysteriously decided to sit at my table in the cafeteria that day—that someday I was going to have a daughter and I was going to name her Josephine. Her reply was a very serious and thoughtful, “That’s a good name. A strong name.” Of course, that was before I met your father and took his last name and realized that Josephine Green sounded like a Dr. Seuss character. So Josephina you became, and it suits you perfectly. It was a name a long time in the making, just like this letter. Sometimes dreams come true. Sometimes really big dreams come true.

It’s a very popular mom cliche to say that you felt intense, complete love the moment you laid eyes on your baby. It’s right up there with “Because I said so” and “Don’t make me turn this car around.” And it’s true. But it’s not the whole story. I also felt terror. (And disorientation, and exhaustion, and a hankering for Taco Bell, but I digress.) You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, otherworldly beautiful, like you belonged in a Renaissance painting, and I, woefully unprepared and unworthy, was responsible for you. I immediately wished I had brought my baby books to the hospital, because I suspected diaper-changing would be a complex origamic art beyond my comprehension.

Those early days were hard. Your eyes fluttered and I thought you were having a seizure. Your dad flew off to Target to buy formula and had a panic attack in Aisle 5, the weight of fatherhood suddenly hitting him like a ton of Pampers. Breastfeeding was an unexpected challenge that took me weeks to master. We had no idea what we were doing. Your colic was intense, and we would spend hours pacing the halls with you, driving in circles with you in the carseat. Daddy even slept sitting up holding you until he got a cyst on his tailbone from it. (Marmee would never have talked about butt cysts. Sorry, kiddo.) Sometimes I cried right along with you. Daddy always said you were colicky because you were so spirited and you hated being helpless. I think he was right. The more independent you became, the happier you were. And now you’re the happiest person I’ve ever met (so you can cool it with the independence for a while).

We’ve had some good times, my love. If I were to list them, they would sound cliche—rocking your soft, sleeping body. Watching Daddy melt into a Daddy-shaped puddle the first time he looked at you. Laughing at you when you tasted your first banana and turned into a banana zombie. Seeing you meet your incredibly proud grandparents for the first time. It’s the stuff of every baby book, a carbon copy of every other parent’s memories. But every moment of it was special and extraordinary because you are so special and extraordinary. You didn’t just reach for an object for the first time, you grabbed it with your trademark zeal, as if you were claiming your place on this planet. Everything you do illuminates the world a little because you are so full of light. Everything you do makes me proud.

Before I met you, I didn’t know if I was “maternal.” I wondered if I was “mom material” the way Jennifer Garner’s character is in Juno. But when you came along, I realized that I wasn’t some generic, abstract, TV version of a mom. I was your mom. Josephina Rownan’s mom. That, I can do. That, I’m qualified for. I will never be a perfect mother, but I know we are perfect for each other. And I will spend my life trying to be deserving of the wonderful work of raising you.

One of my favorite lines in the movie Little Women is what Friedrich says when he’s gazing adoringly at our favorite March girl: “Jo. Such a little name for...such a person.” There are no words that can contain you, just as there are no words that can contain how much I love you. The first time I saw you, I thought, “That’s my baby? I get her? Am I dreaming?” and I’ve thought the same thing every day since. My spunky monkey, my vibrant, smart, sweet, funny, beautiful, free daughter, you are the center of my heart and the joy of my life and I am lucky beyond all reason to be your mother.

Happy birthday, baby. I can’t wait to see what the next year holds.

Love,
Mama

2011-01-08T13:50:00.000-08:00

This child. She's a mystery wrapped in a stinky enigma. We've always thought it was funny how, beneath her colicky (cowlicky?) exterior, she's utterly (udderly?) easygoing. The only thing that seems to bother her is boredom. Loves a diaper change. Loves putting clothes on. Loves a hat. Loves a bath. I can't tell you how many times I've done something or watched her do something to herself that I was sure was going to elicit some outraged response only to be proven entirely wrong. Rectally taking her temperature comes to mind--she didn't even notice and was totally content. Or the first time I poured water over her head. She got this absolutely shocked, frozen expression on her face and I held my breath waiting for the silent scream that was surely coming. Instead she looked at me and grinned. What? I mean, I cried when I got water in my face until I was like...10. Okay, it was last week. But really. She gets it in her eyes and everything and she just finds it amusing. She crazy. I love her.

thankful

2010-11-16T16:07:00.000-08:00

This started out as a Jo-related "Things I'm Thankful For" list but then I realized that would be like making a list of your favorite breaths. So many favorite games, treasured familiarities and sweet surprises. So many intimacies and revelations and ordinary miracles. Honestly, there isn't a single moment that doesn't deserve its own kneeling, ground-kissing, reverent "thank you."

So I'll simply say that I'm eternally, completely, passionately thankful for my incredible daughter, every cell and second of her, my monkey, my butternut, my Josephina Rownan.

High Needs Babies

2010-11-04T11:07:00.000-07:00

As most of you know, almost since the day Jo was born, we suspected there was something different about her. Not just that she was super smart, super cute, and extraordinarily awesome (duh), but that she seemed to cry and fuss much more than a typical baby, and that she demanded a higher level of care and engagement than the average baby. We assumed, and were told, that this was colic. We were never totally satisfied with this explanation, though. It explained why she cried so much, but it didn't explain the rest of her behavior: Why was she so hyper? Why did she need constant stimulation? Why did she want to eat so often? Why were her screams so intense? Etc.

It seemed that whenever we weren't baby-wrangling, Tim was on the internet searching for possible answers. (I say Tim because a long time ago he banned me from Google. This is because I would look something up and some website would say something like that "It is probably gas, but it might be A FATAL BRAIN TUMOR" and I would totally freak out. Google is evil.) A couple weeks ago, he found this.

Have you ever taken one of those Kiersey temperament quizzes and read your results and been almost freaked out because it's so scarily accurate? That's what it was like reading about what Dr. Sears calls "High Need" babies. It was like Dr. Sears had been spying on Josephina. So dead-on. Almost every characteristic described her perfectly (I say "almost" because we don't really know yet if she has separation anxiety). It was a relief to know there's a name for this, and that it's strictly behavioral--there is nothing physically wrong with High Needs babies, and they're not mentally impaired in any way. Actually, they're quite smart; possibly too smart for their own good.

It's also a relief to know, according to Dr. Sears (we also bought his book on the subject), that we've been doing all the right things. With High Needs babies, it's important to meet their needs and respect their boundaries and not try to "toughen them up" or try to force them into being typical babies, as the latter doesn't mesh well with their sensitive, highly perceptive personalities, and can teach them that the world is an unpredictable place and their parents aren't dependable. We've listened to our intuition from day one on that--feeding her whenever she wanted to eat, holding her when she needed to be held, not letting her "cry it out" in her crib, etc--and I'm really glad.

The bad news about this is that...well, it's hard. Hard for her, hard for us. Hard to see your precious baby cry so much and know there's nothing you can do to make her happy. Hard to have to be constantly stimulating to keep her calm. Hard to run on so little sleep. Hard not to know when or if she'll improve. Hard to hear about other babies that seem so different from Jo (We hate "Bringing Home Baby" couples with their "Honey, the baby cried for TEN MINUTES STRAIGHT today!" and "She's fussing again and it's only been 3 hours!" As Kevin James would say: "SHUTTY.") . It's not really scary, or sad, or anything horrible, and it's not more than we can handle. It's just hard.

I'm atheist, so I don't believe that Jo was hand-picked by a higher power especially for us or vice versa. But if life did work that way, I do think we would be chosen for her and she for us. No parents could be better for her than we are. We get her. We like her. We love her completely. We do anything she needs and are happy to do it. We're far from perfect, but we're perfect for her. And she strengthens us. Our marriage. Our patience. I'll never regret not spending every minute with her, because she demands that we spend every minute with her. And she's saving us tens of thousands of dollars throughout the years, because we are so not doing this again. (Kidding. Sort of.)

Plus, her high-maintenanceness (totally a word) is a small price to pay for such an incredible kid. I knew from the minute I laid eyes on her that she was special. All children are special, and I know all parents say this, and I know it's an absolutely obnoxious and gag-worthy thing to say but...I truly believe she is marked for greatness. I believe she is just practicing for the Presidency really early. I believe baby Jesus was a High Needs baby. He screamed the cows right out of that barn, trust. Those angels peaced out real quick. That's right, I went there. I just compared my baby to Jesus. And?

Anyway, we're glad to have a definition for Jo's unique behavior, and hopeful that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. In the meantime, we'll continue making the most of every moment--the hard ones and especially the happy ones.

A Day in the Life of Jo

2010-10-10T12:42:00.000-07:00

6 am: Wake up. Let this be known by shouting "BAH!" Get pissed if it's more than 0.001 milliseconds before my dad comes to get me. He brings me to my mom so she can feed me. I'm super happy to see her and give her my biggest cutest smile. It's been like six whole hours and apparently she's been sleeping that WHOLE time. God, Ma, get a job. Milk AGAIN?!

6:30 am: Why'd you let me eat so much? Ugh. Get my diaper changed and a new outfit and then lay bloated on my playmat while my mom attempts to entertain me. She really makes a fool of herself sometimes.

7 am: Time for a nap. Mommy usually has to put TV static on pretty loud to coax me to sleep. If she tries to turn it down even gradually while I'm sleeping, I wake up immediately and start crying. It's pretty funny! Mom works while I sleep.

10 am: I'm awake! Whose diaper do you have to change to get a little milk around here? Mom changes me and then tries to get me to roll over on my playmat. I'm sooo over rolling over. Maybe the other 3 month olds are still doing that, but I'm a trendsetter. I sit up in the Bumbo or lean against the couch. I get a big proud smile on my face because I'm so awesome and smart. You don't have to be humble when you're a baby. You're going to work, Daddy? See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.

11 am: Another nap?! WTF? This is an outrage. I have things to do. I have to pay my mortgage, invest in my 401K, get my eyebrows waxed, post my latest diaper outcome on Twitter, clean the ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

1 pm: Wake up. Mommy's usually cleaning something. I stare at her for a while. I'm in a pretty good mood. We chill. Gossip around the milk cooler. I usually sit on the couch like a big girl, or sit in my bumbo, or lay on the couch and Mommy plays with my toys while I look at her funny. Sometimes she puts on musical soundtracks and performs the songs for me complete with theatrical singing and dance numbers. She would be embarrassed if she knew I told you that, so keep it on the DL. She also sometimes straps me in the carrier and dances around with me. She says it's good exercise. She has to constantly entertain me or I get really upset. I know she loves a challenge!

4 pm: Daddy's home! I smile really big at him. Mommy seems really happy to see him too. She looks tired. I kick it with Big D for a while. He reads to me. I don't know who Faulkner is but he uses a lot of big words. I like Pat the Bunny because the bunny has soft fur. I mean, I'm a baby, what do you expect, a book report? Sometimes he takes pictures of me. My grandparents like looking at me because I'm America's Next Top Baby. I love going for a walk with him in the stroller. There's so much to see! Trees, old ladies, butterflies, an occasional crazy homeless guy....ah, Los Angeles.

5 pm: Mommy's eaten dinner so now Daddy eats. They try to watch TV (sometimes they even try to hold hands and cuddle with each other--barf!) but sometimes I don't let them. I'd rather scream and make them walk around with me. I hate it when they're comfortable. I like it when Mommy sits me in her lap with her arms around me and rocks back and forth while shushing in my ear. This means she can't see the TV, but whatever, that stuff rots your brain. Put on Sesame Street, please.

6 pm: If it's bath night, I have a bath. It's really relaxing and I'm usually a really good girl. Then they have the nerve to take me OUT of the glorious warm water! Can someone call CPS on them? I have to spend a whole second in the cold bathroom butt naked before I'm wrapped in my hooded towel and by then I'm so mad I just can't even deal. Now I'm going to be extra cranky all night. Thanks a lot. I look really cute with my wet hair sticking up all Alfalfa-like, though, so they forgive me.

7 pm: If I'm really unhappy, we all go for a drive in the car. I'm so big now I can hold my head erect in the carseat--until I fall asleep, and then Mommy has to hold it up for me because it flops all over the place. Mommy and Daddy use this time to talk about boring stuff. I really don't see why they need to talk about anything but me.

9 pm: I decide I hate everything with the passion of a thousands suns and want the whole world to know. Daddy tries to put me to bed for three hours (sometimes more!) while I scream my head off. Mommy tries to help and he tells her to go to bed. I don't think she can sleep very well when I'm crying. Sometimes I play a fun game where I fall asleep and my parents think I'm asleep for the night and just when they're falling asleep I wake up again! Guys? Why aren't you laughing?

12 pm: Asleep in my crib. I shouldn't have partied so late. I'm gonna really feel it in the morning.

2010-09-16T21:03:00.000-07:00

She was the most beautiful pink all over. She even smelled pink. That sounds weird. I can't describe it--that little, pink, baby smell. The first time her eyes focused on me and her little fingers reached out...I was someone new. She had me. --Lorelai, Gilmore Girls

Because you're mine I walk the line.

2010-07-30T08:57:00.000-07:00

I think Spiderman said it best: "With great power comes great responsibility."

And with great love comes great worry.

If there's a downside to the incredible, overwhelming, monumental, unbreakable love I have for my daughter, it's the worry. Everyone tells you, before you become a parent, that you're going to worry. People recite that quote, "To have a child is to have your heart go wandering around outside your body." Being a worrier by nature--and that's somewhat of an understatement--I believed it. I knew I'd be concerned about the well-being of my child. I just had no idea that it would be this acute, just like I had no idea the love would be this strong.

There are so many things to worry about. SIDS. Sickness. Accidents. Every day in the news, there are statistics about fatal diseases, stories of murders and strollers falling onto train tracks. Just today on MSN I read that 100 babies die from the flu every year. When I hold her, I could drop her. When she's sleeping, she could stop breathing. Anyone around her is a potential illness-spreader. We have to situate her right in the sling so she doesn't smother; we have to be careful bathing her so she doesn't slip; we have to maneuver her around with care so we don't hit her head or let it drop. Everything I do is an exercise in Making Sure She's Okay, which inevitably makes me think a lot about her Not Being Okay. And I'm not okay with her not being okay.

It's like: I want to be a super vigilant mom. I'm glad to be firm about holding her carefully, checking on her often when she's sleeping, not letting sick people visit, washing my hands frequently, not letting the cats go in her room, etc. I want to be careful and concerned and follow my maternal instinct in everything I do. She's a tiny baby; that's the way it should be. I just don't want to be so wracked with worry that I can't just relax and enjoy motherhood. I want to perform the actions necessary to ensure her health and safety without the emotional distress that accompanies those actions. When we're in the tub together for bathtime, I want to be thinking "Yay! Bathtime with my baby!" and not "Oh-god-don't-drop-her-don't-drop-her-don't-drop-her." Is that even possible? I don't know. I just know that the fact that something bad could happen to her and it's 100% my job to make sure it doesn't--it's a lot of pressure. And a lot of fear.

One of the things that amazed me about becoming a mother is how quickly I couldn't care less about myself anymore. I really couldn't. I have to force myself to think about my own health now and it's only because I need to be healthy in order to take care of her. All I care about is her. I would die before I would let a hair on her head be harmed. And that's a beautiful thing, that kind of epic love, but it's also a really scary thing. She depends on me for so much and I also have to depend on myself because I depend on her (and I just gave myself a headache). I always thought fear and love were polar opposites, but apparently they're just two sides of the same coin.

Is this normal parent stuff? Will I always feel this way? Will it get easier naturally or will I somehow find a way to get my baby business done without stressing about it? (Find out, on the next episode of Neurotic Mom!)

Sundries

2010-07-09T14:18:00.000-07:00

Josephina weighs almost 10 lbs now! She has quite the healthy appetite. My boobs can attest to that.
She could hold her head and chest up at 2 weeks old. She's rolled herself over accidentally and can almost do it purposefully. When she's on her stomach, she tries to crawl. Not to brag but...pretty sure she's a genius.
I feel so happy when someone asks if I'm breastfeeding and I get to answer yes. It may sound silly, but exclusively breastfeeding is one of my proudest accomplishments in life. It's been a really rocky road and it still isn't easy, but I'm doing it, and my baby is growing healthy and strong on my milk, and that's the best feeling ever.
She already prefers her dad to me and it honestly kind of hurts my feelings. :(
When she hears my voice her eyes get really wide and she looks up at the ceiling like she's hearing the voice of God. I'm thinking that her believing I'm God is a good thing.
The girl loves attention. The other day Tim was holding her and admiring her and then he turned to his computer for a moment and she started screaming. When he looked back, she instantly calmed down and made her "I'm so cute" face. We're in for it.
She has baby acne. It's harmless, common and temporary, but it makes me sad to see it on her beautiful face. She's still adorable, though. Our little pizzaface.
Everyone says that nothing is gross when it's your baby. I'd have to disagree. She is cute; her projectile diarrhea is not.
If anybody has any ideas for really fast and easy dinners, please share them! Grilled cheese and salad every night is getting really old.
I've realized that when you have a baby, everything time you decide to do something, you decide not to do 100 other important things in its place. Sometimes I can either go to the bathroom or get a glass of water or brush my teeth; I can only do one so I have to choose carefully. Needless to say, posts here are probably going to be infrequent for that reason, but I'll keep trying to update when I can.
Tim keeps coming up with rules for her. So far she's not allowed to be a Yankees fan, join the military, or ride in cars with boys as a passenger (she has to drive). He also mentioned something about a chastity belt. Poor kid.
I'm horribly late on sending out Thank You cards. We've received so many incredible gifts, gifts with huge amounts of love and thought and time put into them; we've been blown away. If I haven't thanked you yet, I haven't forgotten, I swear!
Tomorrow Jo is meeting my mom and Rick, her grandparents, for the first time! I hope her cuteness doesn't make their heads explode.

isn't she lovely?

2010-06-25T11:34:00.001-07:00

I have so much to say about motherhood and no time to say it--I barely have time to bathe let alone blog--so this is just a quick update to say that we're alive and well and happy and only partially losing our minds.

It's a good thing Josephina is so sweet and smart and beautiful, because she's a little on the high-maintenance side. Breastfeeding is a major struggle. I'm determined to make it work, but we're dealing with multiple factors that are making it a constant battle. And because of her eating issues, she's not the best sleeper, either. Her doctor gave her a clean bill of health, so we think these are just behavioral issues. Needless to say, we're pretty exhausted, emotionally and physically. Everybody tells you how hard labor is, but I'm finding the postpartum period to be the really hard part.

The good news is that she's the cutest thing in the universe and we love being her parents. Tim is the most doting father ever. I don't think it's possible for him to look at her and not grin. We spend a lot of time admiring her and laughing at the faces and noises she makes. We adore her so much it's kind of disgusting.

Be sure to check out my Flickr for pictures of her.

labor and delivery

2010-06-20T20:27:00.000-07:00

note: i'm writing this in spurts between baby-wrangling, so it's kind of a big rambly ineloquent mess. i just needed to get it all down before i forgot the details.

At midnight on June 16 I'm lying in bed reading O magazine and watching South Park, getting ready to go to sleep, when I start feeling weirdly crampy. I'm slightly freaked out but I really think it's just gas pains. Like most birth-related happenings, it's not like I expected. I expected labor to start like it does on TV--with my water breaking dramatically or a sudden, undeniable, major contraction doubling me over. I didn't think I would just feel stank and farty. Anyway, it gets annoying enough that I hobble out to the living room to sleep on the couch, which for some reason usually makes me feel better. Tim is sitting out there getting ready to go to bed. He asks if I'm okay and I tell him I'm feeling really crampy. I think he says something like "Aw, that sucks. 'Night!" He's used to me bitching about every ache and pain. He goes to bed and I just sit there for a few minutes being a lump of pain and confusion. Like, "Could it be? But no. But ow. Really? No. Okay maybe." I hobble back into the bedroom and stand in the doorway and say very tentatively, "Babe? I think I might be in labor."

Tim comes out to the living room with me and times what I refuse to believe are contractions. They're coming every 3 minutes, which seems impossible to me. According to the baby books I should be in the pushing stage by now if they're really that close together. I use this to convince myself that these couldn't possibly be real contractions. Nevermind that they're painful, increasing in severity, and are accompanied by crazy lower back pain--all signs of true labor. Tim keeps saying we should call the doctor and I'm all, "But it's 3 am! That's so rude! It's nothing!" I'm just walking around cringing and clutching at myself wondering if I should take Bean-O or something. I'm that confused. Finally Tim calls the doctor and makes me talk to him. I explain my symptoms and he says we should go to the hospital.

I whine all the way there. We're just going to get sent right home; this is stupid; I don't wanna be *that* pregnant lady who goes to the hospital every time she's constipated. Tim keeps saying "I'm pretty sure this is real" but I don't believe him. We get there and the nurses at the counter tell me I picked a bad day to give birth because they're really busy. Oh! I'll just come back later then! They say they don't have a room for me yet and I have to go sit in a tiny dark waiting room until one opens up. I hate my life at this point. We sit in the Waiting Room of Doom for what seems like an eternity. Do you have any idea how much it sucks to labor in a hard plastic chair? My contractions are getting worse. I keep muttering "I don't want to be in this room." Finally a nurse escorts me to a real room, which looks like paradise in comparison.

They check me and I'm only 3-4 cm dilated, but the monitor confirms I'm having real contractions every two minutes. They tell us we could go home but we'd likely be back later in the day. We decide to stay. Horrible Nurse #1 tries to give me an IV and succeeds in making my hand swell up like a balloon. Another nurse is brought in to try. I have needles shoved into me for no reason three times before the IV is inserted right. "You have really fragile veins, so if you feel any pain in this arm, tell someone right away because the vein might blow." THE VEIN MIGHT BLOW? BLOW?! I want to go home. The IV and monitors I'm hooked up to mean I have to lie on my side which is incredibly uncomfortable. I want to sit up and they won't let me. People keep coming in and sticking me and strapping things on me and asking me the same annoying questions over and over. Meanwhile my contractions are getting worse and worse. The back pain is brutal. I tell Tim I totally regret coming to the hospital so soon. At least at home I could move around without dumb nurses all up in my face.

After a few hours of suffering and hating the word, my doctor comes in and checks me. "You're 5 cm dilated, fully effaced, with a bulging bag of wa--" and suddenly my water explodes in his face. It's the weirdest feeling ever and I gasp in shock. His face quickly turns serious and he tells me that the water is brown, which means it contains meconium, which means the baby pooped inside me. This is bad. The baby will have to be whisked away quickly upon delivery to make sure she doesn't inhale the meconium. I'm worried sick. Then he tells me I shouldn't get an epidural unless I really need one. Um, okay. I wanted one 3 cm ago, but I'm trying to obey.

The only nurse I like, who I only see twice, comes in and asks if I want the epidural. I tell her what the doctor said and that I'm trying to hold out. She can see I'm not winning the battle. She basically says "Dude, get the effing epidural, it's good shit." She tells me I'll be more relaxed with it and the relaxation will help my labor progress. Well, twist my arm then. I say yes, give it. The anesthesiologist comes in twenty minutes later, right when the pain is becoming intolerable. I'm really scared about getting the epidural. I've heard horror stories about paralysis and spinal headaches and permanent back damage. It takes 10 minutes to complete the process. Tim is watching with this stricken look on his face. Later he tells me he was totally terrified and could hardly bear to watch. The anesthesiologist is really nice and everything goes well. And in ten minutes the pain is gone and I feel like the "Walking on Sunshine" girl from Intervention.

My nurse is the most un-reassuring person in the universe. She keeps reminding me about the meconium in this really uncompassionate we're-all-gonna-die kind of way. Then she moves my monitor and tells me, alarmed, that my stomach feels really hot and then takes my temperature and tells me, alarmed, that I have a slight fever and that this means I might have an infection and they need to put me on antibiotics because I could give it to the baby. This is about the same time that my doctor checks me and finds that I'm still 5 cm. My labor has stalled and they're going to start me on Pictocin, which I don't want because it seems scary. The nurse informs me that she has to put Tylenol in my rectum. Of course she does. I'm a humiliated worried lump of unhappiness, quietly crying into my hospital pillow. The nurse keeps barking at me to relax because my pesky emotional distress is raising my heart rate.

Nothing changes over the next few hours. I just lie there painlessly, silently freaking out. I feel helpless. Tim keeps telling me everything's going to be okay. The nurse keeps coming in and saying crazy things to me. At one point she says "I know you're worried, but we're going to do our best." WTF? That's something you say to someone dying of AIDS and even then you probably wouldn't say it. I hate her. Where is my doctor? Finally he comes in. I expect to be dilated another centimeter or two. Instead he says, "Okay, Megan, we need to start pushing." Start the what, now? I'm shocked. "Wait, so how dilated am I?" I say, in what is undoubtedly the stupidest question ever. "You're fully dilated. It's time to push." I suddenly have a burst of energy and excitement. My baby's almost here!

Apparently I am a good pusher. That's what everyone keeps telling me. I respond well to that kind of encouragement. I'm pushing with everything I have. I'm in some other place, so deep inside myself that it's like I'm outside my body. It's hard to explain. Horrible Nurse #2 won't tell me when to push so I have to figure it out myself. Tim coaches me. 45 minutes later, the doctor is back to deliver the baby. He tells me to reach down and feel my baby's head, which is amazing. As I'm pushing and moaning and panting this child out of me, my doctor makes a joke and the team of people suddenly in the room all laugh hysterically. It's a long joke. I'm just sitting there stunned that I'm trying to have a baby and it's suddenly become a comedy club in here and everyone is ignoring me. I don't even remember this until Tim reminds me of it later when he mentions what a surreal bad-movie moment it was.

After five minutes of everyone telling me I'm SOCLOSE and me pushing with strength I didn't know I had, I feel an incredible sense of relief as the baby slips out of me. She's rushed to the baby station in the corner and all the people surround her and look busy and important. While the doctor stitches me (I tore slightly) and delivers the placenta (I didn't even have to push it out), I look at Tim as he's looking at her. He's crying a lot, in a happy way. I can tell by his face that she's okay. That's my favorite part of the whole experience, watching him look at her for the first time. My doctor tells me the cord was wrapped around her neck twice and that we're really lucky. Aside from a major conehead, which they assure me will go away, she's totally healthy.

They give the baby to Tim and he brings her over to show me. I'm crying with relief and happiness. The first thing I see are her chubby cheeks. She's beautiful. Finally they let me hold her. I'm in awe, but in a different way than I expected. I thought she would feel familiar, like a natural part of me. Instead she is this whole new different person, a mystery. We made this? She's ours? All that sappy stuff moms love to spew about how wonderful that moment is when you hold your baby for the first time, how it makes all the suffering worth it--it's all true.

And that's how Josephina Rownan Green came into this world on an ordinary June 17th, a totally unexpected 11 days early, to two parents whose only plans for the upcoming week was to go out for Thai food. I usually hate the world "miracle" but it suits her. She's beyond anything we ever dreamed and we love her more than words can say.

june is busting out all over

2010-06-14T13:16:00.000-07:00

This song came up on my Pandora radio station the other day and I thought it was funny. I'm really bringing a whole new meaning to it right now, dontcha think?

Just a quick update to let y'all know that I'm still alive and still pregnant. I haven't felt much like writing or doing anything but sitting on the couch being cranky. Everything hurts, sleep is elusive, my hormones are out of control (I'm prone to bursting into tears for no reason) and simple tasks are taking all the energy I can muster, which isn't much. In short, I'm 9 months pregnant and I feel like it. Still, I'm grateful that these are just normal aches and pains and my pregnancy continues to be healthy and uncomplicated.

It's just a waiting game at this point. The doctor says it could be any day now...but it could also be several weeks. Birth is certainly mysterious. But everything's normal with me and the baby and the doctor thinks I'll have a smooth, short labor.

I am starting to get a little nervous about the labor thing for the first time. I mean, how are you supposed to feel when you know the worst pain of your life is right around the corner? I know the suffering is temporary and totally worth it and all that, but damn, pulling your lower lip up over your head? Do not want. But I'll get through it and soon it will just be a distant, gory memory.

Can't wait to meet you, Green Bean. Please don't hurt me.

Celebrate Good Tims

2010-05-20T14:39:00.001-07:00

Taken a few minutes after we found out I'm pregnant

Today is my baby daddy's birthday. He is 30 years old. And for the past few weeks I've found myself mulling over a familiar question: What the heck do I get him?

What do you get the man who puts you first in everything he does, who's constantly thinking up ways to improve the life you share, who lives by a standard of integrity that would make Atticus Finch jealous? A man who rubs my disgusting swollen feet, compliments my beauty when I resemble Shrek, whose response to me being an intolerable crankypants is to go get me my favorite passion iced teas from Starbucks? A man who makes me so happy I miss him when he's gone for more than a few hours? A man I can't believe exists let alone belongs to me?

You don't get him a tie, that's for sure.

I struggle with this every year. How to tell him. How to thank him. How to acknowledge the epic wonderfulness of who he is. But especially this year. Because for the past 8 months, he's gone above and beyond his usual selflessness. He was my constant caretaker through my months of intense morning sickness. He's washed a million dishes, done a million loads of laundry, bought me a million burritos, given me a million backrubs. He's assembled furniture, accompanied me to every doctor's visit, spent hours researching baby stuff. He's talked sense into me when I freaked out, comforted me when I hurt. I'm not allowed to so much as pour a glass of water without him scrambling to do it for me. Mariah Carey wishes she was as pampered as I am. And it's all done cheerfully, without a thought, without even the shadow of a complaint.

A yacht made of diamonds seems the most appropriate gift this year. Sadly, I can only afford a model yacht made of Cheetos and I'm not sure I'm skilled enough to assemble something like that.

I wanted to do something special to celebrate his 30 years on this earth and to thank him for spending 6 of those years loving me. Something epic and elaborate and memorable. But that's another thing I love about him: he hates that kind of thing. Every year he says he just wants to relax and spend time with me and it took me a while to understand that he really means it. All he wants this year is to go out for Thai food and for me to bake him a Funfetti cake. Dream big.

And so I will give him an inadequate gift that is neither a yacht nor made of diamonds, shower him with inadequate kisses, and tell him here, inadequately, how thankful I am to be his wife, how excited I am to watch him become an incredible father in just a few weeks, and how I really appreciate that he understands that I can't drink out of the same water glass twice because it is gross which results in a ridiculous amount of water glasses all over the counter which means we probably waste a lot of water just washing my extra non-cootied glasses but like I said he gets it because he's awesome that way.

I love you, honey. Happy 30th birthday.

Brisé

2010-05-16T17:43:00.000-07:00

Not much to report this week. The doctor estimates that Green Bean weighs about 5 lbs now. She is in a head-down position, which is good. It's crazy seeing her on the ultrasound now--her head takes up the whole screen. I've definitely started to feel like there's a big ol' baby moving around in there and not just a twitchy little fetus. She's not such a little bean anymore.

A few days ago Tim and I tried to do this 2-hour online instructional carseat safety course that had been recommended at our birthing class. After half-an-hour of being instructed on not driving with the baby in our laps, not buying used carseats that have been damaged in car crashes, and how to buckle a seatbelt, we figured we might be able to navigate the carseat thing on our own, seeing as our collective IQ is not in the single digits. We've done our research and will be getting the carseat on Thursday. Hopefully installing it is not the brain surgery level ordeal people are making it out to be. And even if it is, I think Tim can handle it. ;)

Speaking of Tim, it's really cute watching him earnestly read the baby book while watching baseball. If that's not the epitome of new fatherhood, I don't know what is.

Our main goal, besides getting the carseat, for the next couple weeks is to finish setting up the baby's room--assemble the swing and bassinette, get rid of the bed in there, and hang up the pictures. I can't wait to see it looking all baby-ready. I spent a blissful day in there last week opening packages, removing tags, and organizing things while listening to the "Rock Lullabies for Babies" CD my friend Tiffany sent us ("Bohemian Rhapsody" in lullaby form? Love it!). I love being surrounded by all her adorable things from people who love her. It's surreal looking at her little outfits and realizing that an actual baby--our baby--is going to be wearing them very soon.

I had a dream last night that we named the baby Brisé. I just googled the word and apparently a brisé is a sharp, brisk ballet kick. Green Bean has certainly been brisé-ing it up in my uterus lately. Apparently my subconscious is smart (and bilingual).

hot mamas

2010-05-07T17:56:00.000-07:00

My mom flew out for a few days last weekend and we had a great time! She made it very easy to be my lazy pregnant self. We painted ceramics, shopped, went to the movies, went out to eat--not exactly a whirlwind of excitement, but I enjoyed every minute of it. It was just nice to see her, especially at this stage of pregnancy. She even got to feel the baby kick!

And I was really impressed with how much baby stuff we (and by we, I mean she--have I mentioned we're spoiled?!) knocked off our list in one relatively short shopping trip. We're almost all set for Green Bean's arrival now. I really need to get some pictures of her adorable things. (She now owns Beatles onesies. OMG.)

For now, check out this ridiculously cute keepsake box my mom painted for Green Bean's room:

And here's a photo she took of me at 32 weeks:

I wasn't happy to see her go back to the disaster area of Nashville, but she got home safe and sound and her house is fine. I think she missed the thick of the storm, fortunately.

And now the countdown continues. 52 days to go!

hee hee freakin' hoo

2010-04-26T10:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was our all-day birthing class at the hospital. It was...interesting. While Tim joked that we learned just as much from the birth episode of The Office, there were a few aspects of the class I found enlightening.

The breathing exercises, for example, were helpful. We tried different methods of breathing in different positions while our husbands provided physical support, like massage--and while holding ice cubes in our hands so we could get a tiny (okay, REALLY tiny) taste of the discomfort we'll be enduring. I hadn't thought about breathing at all, and I was surprised at how relaxing slow, focused breaths could be. We also practiced various labor positions and holding our breath during contractions. I'm sure some stranger walking into the sight of 15 pregnant women on all fours clutching ice cubes and panting with men rolling tennis balls over our backs would've been really disturbed.

Much of the information we did already know; I guess we're more prepared than I thought. But it was nice just to be in a room with other couples in the same boat as us and to have all that time and energy to focus on just learning and thinking about birth. (Some of those couples, though, should NOT be breeding. Like the husband next to us who talked the ENTIRE time and made gross noises at every opportunity. Seriously, like, the instructor would mention water breaking and he would go "PSSHHHHH!!!" and laugh hysterically. He walked into the class shouting "PUSH, PUSH!" The future of America, people.)

At one point we watched a video of a real couple in labor and going through a vaginal delivery. It wasn't an easy birth, but I was touched by what a team the couple was--the husband was so present, quietly and lovingly coaching and encouraging his wife every step of the way, and she leaned on him completely. The moment the baby emerged and was laid on her chest, you could see the change in both of them immediately. They were parents, a family, and nothing else mattered. When the lights came up, I was relieved to look around and see at least three other women wiping away tears. (I probably would've seen the same thing if a Hallmark commercial had been shown--we're pregnant, for god's sake--but still.)

I left the class feeling, for the first time, really excited about giving birth to this baby. Up until now, I'd been so focused on just getting through the torture. Give me the drugs, hurry it along, get this child out of me. Now I feel like it's more than just something to endure. It's a really incredible thing we get to do. I'm never going to be one of those women who turns it into a spiritual experience and thinks every painful second is a noble miracle or something, but I do have a lot of respect for what a life-changing adventure it is. I want to make the most of it and not wish it away.

When we broke for lunch, we sat outside on a bench in the sunny courtyard eating our PB&Js and watched a couple loading up their car to bring their new baby home for the first time. She looked extremely sore. They both looked terrified. As we watched the man fumble with the carseat, Tim remarked that the last 9 months of their lives have all been for this moment. Wow. And in two months that's going to be us. In that same parking spot. Probably with those same looks of terror on our faces.

So, the class was mostly not that helpful but weirdly and unexpectedly enlightening at the same time. Definitely worth it--especially since it was free. Then we came home and gossiped about our classmates. Typical us.

building a mystery

2010-04-19T11:35:00.000-07:00

As you can see, Tim was quite busy (and sweaty) yesterday. He spent the entire day assembling baby furniture. (I contributed by bringing him sandwiches.) Many thanks to Tim's mom for the beautiful crib and my mom for the beautiful dresser (we're spoiled!).

I'll definitely post more pics as the room gets more set up.

And here's a picture of mah belleh taken today at 30 weeks:

As an aside, I was just reading in my baby book about how dangerous the common cold and flu can be for a newborn baby, and that I'm not supposed to let anyone with so much as a sore throat anywhere near the baby as she could develop pneumonia and be hospitalized. I must be a totally clueless mama, because I had no idea it was that serious. So, everyone who's coming to visit Green Bean: I forbid you to get sick! I want you to be able to cuddle her to your heart's content, not have to observe from the corner in a gas mask. That goes for you and me too, Mr. Green. Let's get some economy-sized bottles of vitamin C up in here.

In other news, my mom is coming to visit next week! We're going to do some baby shopping, paint things for Green Bean at Color Me Mine, and just spend some time together. I'm excited to see her and for her to see me so pregnant.

We also have our all-day birthing class next week. My main concern is that we only get to eat once the whole day. You can tell where my priorities are.

10 weeks until my due date. I'm not sure if that sounds like an eternity or the blink of an eye.

And lastly but most importantly, I'm thinking of getting my hair cut short-ish but I can't decide. To momcut or not to momcut?

big girls don't cry

2010-04-06T21:03:00.000-07:00

There's been a shift in the Green household lately. Tim is taking out a life insurance policy. We're selling our second car to save money. We've been talking about trying to build up a down payment in case we ever get the opportunity to buy a house in the future. Tim is taking on on new businessman-like responsibilities in his career. We're concerned about things like finding a good pediatrician, taking care of our health, ensuring our financial security. Basically, we're two steps away from those furrow-browed old people sipping Metamucil and looking through brochures in commercials for retirement investments, talking about "We have to take care of our future!" I think I know what these changes are all about. I think the day we've been warned about our whole lives is upon us. We've become adults.

When Tim and I first met, my biggest worry was passing my community college astrology course and his was showing up on time to his overnight job at a group home. Now we're married with careers and having a baby. The future we dreamed about is here. We did it. But with that dream comes responsibility. We're not carefree kids anymore. And if we're feeling humbled by responsibility now, I can't imagine how sobered we'll feel when we hold our precious daughter for the first time and realize that her life depends on us. There are two emotions people consistently describe when talking about parenthood: joy and fear. I'm not used to those states co-existing. But what a privilege, to have a life so valuable you'll do anything to preserve it.

I don't mean to sound as if I think our youth is over, that from now on life will be nothing but taxes and ironing and checkbook-balancing and homework and somber family portraits in matching outfits. I fully expect Green Bean to bring a whole new mindblowing level of fun and silly to our lives. But it won't be the driving-to-Vegas-in-the-middle-of-the-night, blowing-a-whole-paycheck-on-shoes kind of fun and silly. When she gets hurt, it will be up to us to to heal her. When she can't figure out her math project (oh god), it will be up to us to help her. If someone threatens her, it will be up to us to protect her. There was a certain cheerful meaningnessless that defined life before Green Bean--and even, to a degree, before marriage--but now the joy is huge and intense and the meaning is equally huge and intense. Never again we will have nothing to lose.

That's what growing up is. Taking big steps toward a big future, even knowing how big the drop is should you fall. I look at the fulfillment our work brings us, the incredible happiness and comfort and strength of our marriage, the way my heart swells with love and awe when we see our baby on the ultrasound or feel her moving inside me, and I know there is no price too high, no challenge I wouldn't rise to in the name of this beautiful life. I may not always feel confident and prepared, but I'm ready. Bring it on, adulthood.

2010-04-01T14:51:00.000-07:00

Had a doctor's appointment today and my gestational diabetes screening results came back normal! Yay! And I don't have any more blood tests to take! Yay again! And Dr says I'm totally healthy! Triple yay! And I get to keep eating sugar! YAYS ALL AROUND!

just a quick update

2010-03-27T17:54:00.000-07:00

I had my gestational diabetes screening yesterday. Upon walking in, I was immediately given a drink that tasted like super-sweet flat Sprite and made to chug it as quickly as possible in front of the staff person. Which was weird. And gross. Then I was supposed to wait an hour and have my blood drawn, but the staff forgot about me and probably would have just left me there, thus ruining the whole test, had Tim not walked into the testing area and demanded they see me. As is, they drew my blood 15 minutes late, so I'm hoping the results are still accurate. If the results are at all fishy, I have to go back and do a 3 hour screening. I do not want to do that.
Green Bean weighs 2 1/2 lbs now! The fact that she will eventually weigh 7-8 lbs scares me a little.
Tim insists on giving me back massages every day. It's heavenly. I'm starting to feel those aches and pains that third trimester ladies complain about.
I'm supposed to start feeling mild Braxton-Hicks contractions soon. More discomfort to look forward to!
We are slowly but steadily acquiring and receiving (mostly receiving, thanks to generous grandparents!) a collection of baby stuff. I'm definitely in nesting mode. Today I made a spreadsheet of stuff we need vs. stuff we have, quantities included--can you say "nerd"? We still have plenty of time, but it feels good to be getting preparations underway.
Green Bean has the hiccups right now. It's adorable and freaky.
I have red hair and blue eyes, my mom has brown hair and blue eyes, and my dad has red hair and blue eyes. Tim has brown hair and brown eyes, his mom has brown hair and brown eyes, and his dad has brown hair and blue eyes (his brother also blue eyes). Any guesses as to what Green Bean's hair and eye color will be? I think auburn hair and brown eyes.
We've both been dreaming about our daughter a lot. We're getting anxious to meet her.

26 weeks

2010-03-22T19:08:00.000-07:00

And not so much enjoying these pictures (or looking in the mirror) at this point. But at least it's nice to see Green Bean's progress!

(not) working 9 to 5

2010-03-18T14:05:00.000-07:00

I've always felt very lucky that Tim and I have such extraordinarily wonderful jobs, but now that we're becoming parents, I am doubly grateful. What more could working parents want than to have jobs that allow them to set their own hours, work at home much of the time, and work with each other--and that are fun and interesting and fulfilling to boot? It's an ideal arrangement: Often we'll both work at home while on baby duty, most of the time I'll work at home and and he'll go to the office, sometimes I'll go to the office and he'll stay home with Green Bean. Did I mention that we can walk to our office? I mean, really: so lucky.

I'm also stoked that our job situation will allow us to co-parent much of the time. I'm the one with boobs, of course, and the stronger nurturing instinct, so I'll be doing more of the baby work than Tim--which works out, because I'm also the one with the part-time job--but Tim wants to share as much of the load as possible. He'll be changing diapers and getting up at night and giving the baby bottles (I'm really hoping pumping works out!) and going to doctor's appointments right along with me and I know all that wouldn't be possible if he were away for 10 hours a day.

Don't get me wrong--our life isn't perfect. Sometimes we worry about what it will be like to raise a child in the city, in an apartment, without a yard--a childhood so different from our own. But then we remember the reason we're here and we realize it's so worth it. To be really truly happy in our career and to both be able to be there to raise Green Bean every step of the way--that's a big deal. Maybe one day we'll move and be able to give her a swingset, but if and until then, hopefully she'll be satisfied with having happy, present parents. (Actually, no, she'll probably just want the swingset. Too bad, Green Bean. There's a perfectly good park right down the street. Some kids have no shoes and have to walk to school uphill both ways! <---practicing my mom-ness)

In other news, my gestational diabetes screening is next week and I've been having a couple symptoms that are worrying me a bit--feeling very tired after eating sugar and being thirstier than usual, which, granted, could totally be just normal pregnancy symptoms, but duh I'm a worrier--so think good thoughts for me if you're so inclined.

BTW, are you The Office fans following Jim and Pam's baby blog? How cute is little Cecilia Halpert?

free to be you & me

2010-03-11T19:13:00.000-08:00

My friend Beth emailed me this song recently. I love it--and the fact that it made her think of me and Tim.

Before I got pregnant, I didn't visualize myself as a mother much beyond the general desire to be a good one, a capable one, one who could provide my child with the necessary tools for living a happy and productive life. I pictured holding my baby, pushing her on the swings, walking her to school, wiping Oreo residue off her face, fumbling over answers to her whys about the world, but I didn't imagine myself doing those things, exactly; just the way it would feel to do them. I was the observer, the narrator, in those daydreams. I didn't exist as a dimensional person.

In my first few months of pregnancy, that changed. I began to think about the role of motherhood and how I fit into it. I didn't have any illusions of transforming myself into June Cleaver or anything, but I wondered if my personality, my identity, was conducive to motherhood--or, more accurately, society's image of motherhood. Mothers, according to the media and mainstream culture, cut their hair sensibly short, drive minivans, have complicated relationships with their cleaning products (anybody else find those Swiffer commercials creepy?), talk to only other moms and only about designated mom topics, refer to themselves in third person as Mommy in all company, and lose their sense of humor save for jokes about diapers and spit-up. They aren't feminist atheist liberal vegetarian poets with nose rings who use the word douchebag and never clean their ovens. (Note to self: clean your oven.)

I recently briefly met this really perfect pregnant lady. She was beautiful, petite, stylish, glowing, professional, poised, wealthy, and married to a similarly perfect man. I was frumpy, ogre-like, oily, awkward, and stumbling over my two-inch heels, and married to a wonderful man who I had to convince to wear shoes that day (love you babe). I pictured her forthcoming child in immaculately pressed brand-name fashions, in his or her professionally-decorated designer nursery, being cooed over by two parents as glossy and flawless as a Banana Republic ad. I pictured Green Bean in her simple little nursery, in our two-bedroom apartment, in a cute, stained jumper, with me in sweatpants singing her showtunes and Daddy crawling around on the floor to make her laugh, the pipes making that squeaky sound in the bathroom, the oven still uncleaned. And I realized that I don't care about the artificial expectations, the conventions, the societal pressure: I wouldn't trade lives with her in a million years.

I know that motherhood will change me--at least, I know it in an abstract way, though I can't yet know it through experience. I know it will likely stretch me beyond my wildest imagination. That's necessary and good. But I can still be me. I don't want to lose my personality, to morph into some sort of Stepford creature, to lose what's authentic in favor of what's appropriate--whatever that means. My baby may face the challenges of being raised by two weirdos, but they'll be two weirdos with integrity who love her beyond her comprehension. And when the other kids ask her why she's not saved, why she doesn't eat meat, why she has so many weird books in her house, why her dad listens to feminist folk rock, hopefully she'll have the self-esteem to simply smile proudly and call them douchebags. Kidding! (Yeah, I should probably cut down on using that word before she gets here.)

mmm...pizza

2010-03-04T16:54:00.001-08:00

Well, I had hoped to have an ultrasound picture to share from our appointment today, but our doctor informed us that ultrasounds get very blurry from here on out and that he won't even be performing them at every visit anymore. We did get one today, but it was hard to make out anything but a rough outline of the baby's massive head. We did get to hear the heartbeat, sort of--it just sounded like static to us and we were both really worried for a second that he couldn't find it, but then he announced that it sounded perfect, so apparently we just didn't know what we were listening to.

The good news is that Green Bean and I are both healthy. In a few weeks I'll be tested for gestational diabetes--a normal required screening. I'm a little nervous about that, as it's the most common pregnancy disorder, but no use worrying about it yet, and even if it does happen, it's not the end of the world.

Green Bean is really partying in my uterus these days. She's taken up the habit of punching my bladder, which is not pleasant, but not as bad as I would have thought. Sometimes it feels like she's doing pilates in there. Tim is disappointed that he hasn't been able to feel her kicks from the outside yet--she seems to get shy whenever he puts his hand on my belly. Maybe she just doesn't want to hurt you, babe!

I seem to have two modes at this phase of pregnancy: hunger and fatigue. I'm either fantasizing about pizza or desperate for a nap. Basically I am a grizzly bear. Pregnancy really does make you feel animalistic--this physical phenomenon that's bigger than you has taken over your body and you're just along for the ride. I'm very thankful to be able to eat and sleep again, though. They call the second trimester the "honeymoon trimester" and I don't know about that--more like "the less torturous trimester"--but it's a good stage.

Every time I see a baby now I look at it the way a 12-year-old girl looks at Zac Efron, like it's an untouchable rock star too perfect to be real. They're just so soft and little and delicate and I can't believe I get to have my own in only four months and I won't even have to give it back! Amazing. I hope I am worthy of the privilege.

22 weeks

2010-02-25T14:55:00.000-08:00

Sundries

2010-02-15T16:45:00.000-08:00

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.

diamond in the rough

2010-02-12T19:47:00.000-08:00

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.

It Hurts So Good (by Tim)

2010-02-09T10:56:00.000-08:00

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.

two girls and a boy

2010-02-04T04:00:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-01-26T20:56:00.000-08:00

I'm 18 weeks today, entering my 5th month of pregnancy, which sounds all official and stuff. My belly has really popped these last couple of weeks, startling me and making me do double-takes when I glimpse my reflection in a mirror. Green Bean is the size of a chicken breast, which is teensy (and a little bit creepy) but sounds huge when you consider that a mere three months ago s/he resembled a sea monkey. S/he can also hear our voices now, apparently, so Tim has started talking to my belly, confusing and possibly frightening the poor babe with tales of life on the outside. I still haven't felt any movement, unless I'm mistaking it for cramps and gas, which I have in ample supply. I hope Green Bean isn't becoming a couch potato in there.Calisthenics, Green Bean!

The day after I wrote my last (well, second to last) blog post and said I was feeling better, I had a few days of some of the worst nausea ever. It seems that happens every time I think I'm improving, so I'm not jinxing myself anymore. I'm just going to plan to be a ball of puke until the birth and if by some miracle the gods of nausea smile upon before then, it'll be a pleasant, unexpected surprise. And that's the last thing I'm going to say about my tummy trouble. Until the next time I complain about it.

It seems the biggest news in our life right now (besides the fact that we discovered a restaurant with amazing vegetarian black bean jalapeno burgers, which a pregnant woman should really never eat, but YUM) is that we're seriously thinking about selling Tim's car and being a one-car family. As is, my car is only driven one hour a week when I go to the grocery store. Tim walks to work every day now, so he rarely uses his car either. We're not hurting for money, by any means, but it seems a waste to be spending thousands of dollars a year to insure and maintain a car we don't need--and in fact have been using so rarely that Tim has to go out and start it every once in a while to keep it running. Anyone have experience sharing a family car? We're really leaning toward it, but's a big decision and we want to make sure we consider the outcome carefully before we take the plunge.

I'm having trouble thinking of anything to write about this week besides the fact that at this time next week we will know if Green Bean has a bean or just has bean envy. For a hippie from a college where gender was irrelevant as showering and the mainstream media (oh, Evergreen, I miss you), I sure seem to be fixating on this boy/girl thing, eh? It's not that I'm chomping at the bit to adorn my kid with either a football jersey or a pink tutu (okay maybe a little bit the tutu) and therefore firmly enslave them within the bonds of oppressive societal gender expectations for life (again, Evergreen, I miss you), I swear. It's mostly the pronoun thing. I am so sick of saying "he or she," "him or her," "the guy or the doll" (I've never said that one but I really should start). And yeah, I get a little thrill at the thought of saying "my son" or "my daughter." It's just a gap to be closed, something that will make us feel closer and more familiar with this sweet stranger wreaking havoc on my uterus.

One week. Wow. And hopefully we'll get a good picture at the ultrasound so I can share it here and brag about how my fetus is the fetusiest fetus that ever feted.

Dear Green Bean

2010-01-20T15:32:00.000-08:00

I hope you are healthy. Always.
I hope that you know how special and wonderful you are, but also realize that you are not the center of the universe. I hope your passion to serve others is greater than your desire to serve yourself.
I hope you believe in something so strongly you'd die to defend it. I hope you never have to.
I hope you respect and employ rationality and logic more than delusion and blind faith.
I hope you love animals.
I hope you find joy in some kind of physical activity.
I would hope that you never have to go through an "I'm ugly and unworthy" phase, but I know all of us do. So I hope yours is brief, that it makes you stronger, and that it helps you see through the lies society will feed you about what beauty and worth is.
I hope you develop a lifelong love of learning.
I hope if someone ever messes with you, you stand up to them. And I hope Daddy never finds out who that person is because I don't want him to go to jail for breaking someone's kneecaps.
I hope math and science are not the struggle for you that they were for me.
I hope I never have to embarrass you by calling your teacher and asking her how DARE she give my brilliant baby a C, but I probably will. Sorry.
I hope you have far, far more joy in your life than fear.
I hope someday you love someone the way I love Daddy.
I hope you feel like you can talk to us about anything.
I hope you are never one of those people who obliviously block off the entire aisle at the grocery store with their cart. I know you won't be.
I hope someday you find a job that you feel good about. I hope you never stay too long at one that makes you feel like your soul has been sucked out.
Most of all, I hope it doesn't matter much what I, or anyone else, hope for you. I hope you do whatever that pure, honest place in the center of your being drives you to do. It will delight me to watch you follow whatever paths fulfills you.

Don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden

2010-01-18T13:27:00.000-08:00

My mom found this painting online when I told her I love Beatrice Potter art. If Green Bean is indeed a girl, it will be hung in her room. I just love it. We're planning a simple, old-fashioned kind of nursery.

Speaking of stuff, I've been looking at baby items online and holy crap, there is a LOT of STUFF. And according to Babies R Us's "guide" for first-time parents, we must have it all or our baby might as well be sleeping in dirt and playing with twigs. As you've probably noticed, Tim and I are minimalistic people, which is why we have a cell phone that cost $10 and a TV we bought at Goodwill. We want Green Bean to have everything s/he needs, as well as some stuff s/he doesn't, but is a stroller more pimped out than a Bentley or a nursery that looks like Celine Dion's mansion exploded all over it really necessary? Some of this stuff just seems excessive. (I'm looking at you, The Babykeeper.)

It is fun looking at baby things, though, and imagining Green Bean in them. Sometimes this whole thing seems really surreal--like the baby is just an idea rather than a living being inside of me who's going to actually emerge in 5 1/2 months.

I'm feeling pretty good today. Didn't even have to take my anti-nausea medicine this morning! I'm always cautious when I have a few good hours--it never seems to last--but almost 17 weeks would be a great time for a dramatic dip in queasiness.

Tim and I have fallen into the habit of calling the baby a "she," which we swore we would not do. There's still a 40% chance that Green Bean was just being shy about showing his bean that day, and we don't want to fall in love with the idea of a girl only to be disappointed if the next ultrasound reveals the opposite. I don't think we will be, though--it's hard to imagine being disappointed with Green Bean, the future first female president and/or star shortshop for the Mets (oh you didn't know? Yes it's true.) In any case, we'll find out in two weeks!

Nausea and headaches and zits, oh my!

2010-01-13T18:32:00.000-08:00

As of today, I'm 16 weeks pregnant, and as you can see, I'm starting to show it. I ordered my first maternity dress online last week and was thrilled to see that it's basically a socially acceptable nightgown. I could get used to that.

I could not, however, get used to this constant nausea. It's definitely better than it was at week 6, but I still feel like crap pretty much all the time and vomit if I don't take my nausea medicine. I basically feel like I have a mild case of the flu 24/7. I'm really hoping it eases up soon--I'm greatly looking forward to feeling and acting like a functional member of society again, even to a small degree. But if it doesn't, and my face stays this lovely shade of green for the entire 9 months, it'll still be entirely worth it. Remind me of that when I wake up gagging tomorrow.

The baby book says I'm supposed to start feeling Green Bean's movement any minute now. I have no idea what it'll feel like. Butterflies? Gas? That scene from Alien? In any case, I'm looking forward to it, though I should probably be trembling in fear, given the way Green Bean was punching and kicking like Muhammad Ali at the last ultrasound.

I have finally started reading up on first-year baby stuff. I was so gung-ho about absorbing as much information as I could about trying-to-conceive and pregnancy stuff, but I've been intimidated when it comes to actually learning about what to do with this child after the ordeal that is birth. I mean, on the message boards on the baby sites there are hundreds of messages dedicated to your baby's stool color. It's intimidating. But I couldn't avoid it forever, so now I am starting to getting my learn on so as not to be bringing my baby home in a grocery sack.

Doctor Awesome (I call him that cuz he is) recently ordered tests for Down's syndrome and other abnormalities and they came back negative as can be. Green Bean is totally healthy and apparently my womb is pretty fabulous, which is a weird thing to be complimented on but I'll take it. At our next visit, in a mere three weeks, we'll find out the sex, which is some kind of exquisite torture. I cannot wait! I have no idea how my mom held out for 9 months with me. The curiosity has been killing me since day one.

I'll try to update this blog as often as possible, but honestly, I have a pretty packed schedule. I mean, I have to watch my programs, complain at least ten times a day, cry every time I hear a song that reminds me of Green Bean, eat weird things, and lay around in unbuttoned pants drinking ginger ale. It's a fast-paced life.