Fighting Nature

I think one of the most fascinating aspects of pregnancy is how primal it is and how it forces you to relate to yourself - and life - with some of that veneer of social pretense and acceptability stripped away. For example, I'm one of the many people for whom the Protestant work ethic is indelibly ingrained. Working hard isn't just a means to an end. Industriousness is the point. It's not often aimed at getting what I want, but more a manifestation of who I am - of my worthiness as a person.

Yeah, I know that's not an entirely healthy way of relating to the world around me, but there are other aspects of my self and life that I like less than that, so it's never been my top priority to get over the what-I-do-is-who-I-am thing.

Anyway, I've turned that bend in the pregnancy where I no longer have the motivation to be doing a million things at once. A month ago I was frustrated with my weaknesses, angry that my body couldn't keep up with all the "stuff" that so urgently needed addressed. As of this week... well... if I manage to make a healthy (important food groups addressed, more or less) lunch for my toddler, I'm pleased with myself. If we all have clean underwear and it's in the requisite storage devices, I pretty much rock. If I manage to make dinner on top of all that... well heck, I figure there's a mother-of-the-year trophy out there somewhere with my name on it. But I don't think about any of that stuff all that much.

Because I'd rather be sleeping.

As with the first trimester, the last few weeks of a pregnancy bring a bone-deep tiredness that is difficult to explain to anyone who hasn't been pregnant. The closest thing I can compare it to is that feeling you get before surgery... when you're in pre-op they shoot some drugs into your IV. No general anesthesia, yet... just the opiate cocktail that washes over you and makes the idea of caring about staying awake or thinking about anything the funniest concept ever to crawl across your brain. Sleep is good and makes you insanely happy and satisfied. Trying to stay awake is stupidly, ridiculously painful. Forget it.

So - those of you who haven't experienced this - keep that in mind if I'm doing my best to engage in conversation with you. It's nothing personal. You aren't boring me. It's just that fighting nature only gets a person so far... so unless you're a child already dependent on my caregiving, your needs have probably gone to the end of the queue. Sorry. Catch me after a nap and I'll try not to be so rude and self-involved.

Better yet, just laugh at me - it's not like I'm going to expend the energy to get offended and I'll try to make it up to you in a few months. Right now I'm enjoying being huge and tired and lazy and going with the flow (or lack thereof) of inertia.

"Hmph!" hmphed Sara

I deleted my last blog entry because I couldn't stand the idea of presenting myself to internet-at-large as a self-indulgent whiner. I thought I'd start over with more positive stuff.

So the past week or so has been really great. I've been having SO much fun, just living and doing the normal mundane stuff. G-money (the munchkin formerly known as "G") baked her first batch of brownies ALL BY HERSELF. I had to sit on my hands a few times so that I wouldn't ruin the experience with all my "help." They turned out wonderfully and she was so proud. Bayba (the little monkey formerly known as "A") loves helping me with anything and everything I do... and offers two-year-old wisdom and insight that frequently floors me. So, to re-cap - life is good. I just haven't been writing about it because I've been too busy living it.

Then there's the not-so-good. I had a midwife appointment, this morning, and was basically put on modified bedrest. All the physical issues of the last pregnancy have recurred, and my midwife strongly encouraged me to spend as much time as possible laying down on my left side. Admittedly, if she was an OB, I'd probably blow off this advice as too extreme and alarmist... but given that she's from The Netherlands and extremely easy-going (tends to avoid medicalizing the whole pregnancy/birth thing as much as possible), I'm inclined to take it a little more seriously.

Which is difficult enough, what with a VERY active two-year-old and all... but I told her we were planning to leave on our Holiday pilgrimage to The Homeland, this weekend... so what am I supposed to do about that? She said she'd prefer that I not travel, but she understood that this is a pretty big deal, so she wasn't going to give specific orders not to travel... but she's strongly recommending that if I travel, I take it easy and spend as much of the trip as possible sitting or, even better, laying down.

Right.

This should be fun.

But at least the baby seems to be doing great, growing well, and not trying to make an early appearance... so, really, it's all good.

The Jig is Up

Yesterday something suddenly felt different. The sore, aching hips popped in kind of a strange-feeling-almost-audible way. The symphisis has a palpable separation, probably slightly less than a centimeter. What's kind of weird is that it's slightly right of meridian... so I'm not sure what's up with that.

Anyway, bear with me here. This is not a whiney post. Not really much point in whining, now. Besides, it's not like I have a lot of time left to put in. It was a lot scarier with the last pregnancy, when I was worried that I would be stuck like this forever. Fortunately, while it took a long time, my body did take care of the healing stuff without much medical intervention. I don't see why this time should be any different. Last time I was worried about surgery and long-term pain. This time - eh... I'm just wishing I'd made it to the library before my legs quit working. Oh well. I'll get some books reserved and send Superhusband.

OK - one little whine... I MISS my deceased laptop. It was one of the very nice things about last pregnancy... Sure, I was stuck in bed, but at least I could chat online and play games. If that's the best thing I can think of to whine about, I'm in pretty good shape.

Intervention

Talk me down, guys.

A nesting obsession has hit and I don't know if I can handle the fallout.

I. must. paint.

About a year ago I painted two walls of my livingroom/dining room gray and two purple. I LOVE the purple. J likes the gray (not so much the purple). Don't get me wrong - this was FUN and a vital step for me in feeling like I was really in my OWN home.

Times change. People grow up.

So, months and months ago I decided that I wanted to do all my main downstairs walls (we have an open floor plan, so all the walls kind of bleed together) a light cafe-au-lait color and paint the trim white (right now it's kind of oakey - which is probably real oak but just looks like the cheapo imitation oak to me). I've been kind of daydreaming about it - yet still enjoying my purple.

Well, last night It hit. I need to finish my main floor. NOW. Why, you ask? Window treatments of course. Duh. I want to put up wrought iron curtain rods and either deep purple (to accent my sofa) or sage green (just 'cause I like sage green... it probably wouldn't go with anything) curtains. In all our years of apartment and rental house dwelling, I've never felt motivated to take on "window treatment." Mini blinds were good enough and there wasn't any point in investing too much thought or emotional attachment to any place I'd be leaving in a year or two.

Now, after getting used to how stunning my wrought iron mirror is, I realized that motif would be fantastic to carry on to other accents in the house. In this case, curtain rods.

Big whoop, right? A quick trip to Ikea or Target and a fresh charge on my cordless screwdriver and I'm good to go! Except that there's no point in putting them up, only to have to take them down again for painting. And the oakey color of the trim just wouldn't look right.

I thought about just painting the trim for the sliding door and livingroom window (that's it - we're only talking about TWO sets of curtains/rods for this obsession) and then postponing the walls indefinitely. But... Aaaargh! I'd really like to just get the whole project done so I could sit back and enjoy the beauty of my home.

So I'm contemplating running down to Lowe's and at least getting some painter's tape. And drop cloths. And some tinted primer (the gray walls are oil-based and the purple are - well - purple). And just getting started. I'm pretty sure I can move the entertainment center and TV by myself. Not so sure about the fridge or stove. *sigh*

If I had a 10-15' ladder I'd be painting already. Yeah. HIGH ceilings in the entryway. I looked it up. Those things are expensive.

So... if any of you have wisdom to share, I'd love to hear it.

Self-Pity

It's my blog, so I can whine if I want to. Right? Right.

My hips hurt. At this point, I don't remember if it was worse with my last pregnancy or not. Up until the last week or so I've been able to mostly get by without admitting there's a problem. But now it's too obvious to hide (very well).

About halfway (give or take) through my pregnancy with A, the symphysis (cartilaginous joint) between my hip bones gave up the ghost and refused to properly hold the bones in place. This is rather painful and caused all sorts of fun complications. Plus, it took over a year after A was born before I could take stairs or go hiking without pain.

I had high hopes that I'd get through this pregnancy without dealing with this... every time I had hip or lower back pain, I'd tell myself to slow down and back off the physical activities and would pretty much feel better the next day. Despite going much lighter on the housework, yesterday, I have not recovered from Tuesday's nesting.

When it hurts so bad to roll over in bed that you get tears in your eyes... the jig is up. When you can't stand up without holding your breath to keep from swearing... well, you get the picture.

I hate feeling weak. I hate feeling needy. Right now both feelings are completely overwhelming me.

And what really makes me angry is that there's nothing I can do about it.

Complaining doesn't help. But using my deeply ingrained stiff-upper-lip technique is making things worse because nobody understands that I've been pushing through pain and have pretty much reached my limit... the point where sucking it up and pushing through the pain becomes a physical impossibility. I tell my legs to go and they simply won't do it.

And I'm really really really angry that this makes me feel like such a useless wimp and I don't know what to do.

But if you'll forgive my obsessive need to find something to be thankful for (yeah, I was way too into Pollyanna as a kid), I need to end even a self-pity post with something positive: Today is the first day of my third trimester. I've made it through the majority of the pregnancy without major issue. Even if I'm stuck in pain for the rest of the pregnancy, I only have three months left to deal with that. I can do this.

Nesting

If I had any doubts before, they have been overrun and drowned in Pine Sol. I am nesting.

Yesterday began innocently enough, as I faced a rather dingy kitchen. First I decided to reorganize the drawers (once the dishwasher was already running, of course). Halfway into drawer #1 (the junk drawer), I realized that I should probably dust off the range hood. OK. The exterior shed its dust easily enough and then I foolishly peeked underneath.

I've read in my housekeeping books that these things should be scrubbed down and degreased at least twice per year... but I uneasily ignored that advice, hoping it could be banished to the realm that shelters such notions as keeping hand-crocheted doilies covering all horizontal surfaces and teaching the servants to properly polish the silver (and counting it when they're through). No such luck. In thirty-two years, I've managed to never take apart or scrub a fume hood. Until yesterday.

Short recap of things that don't work: Soaking the metal filter in soapy water does nothing to degrease it. Scrubbing does little more. Dishsoap won't cut through years of grease built up on the underside of the hood. Comet will, but it will get all over your brand-new stove and give you panic attacks about scratching its pristine surface. Elbow grease? Overrated. Chemical arsenal? Good clean fun.

What ultimately worked: letting the dishwasher do its pots and pans thing on the filter and lightbulb cover. Straight-up pine sol (orange scented - I'm not a barbarian) and a teflon-safe abrasive sponge cut through the years of grease build-up like nobody's business.

While the dishwasher was coping with its job, I tossed A (tutu, cowboy boots and all) into the car and we went to the local hardware store. For those of you who grew up in my homeland, I thought I'd mention that this hardware store makes me nostalgic for Linton's Big R. They have the same kind of stuff... everything from Wranglers and Ropers to John Deere ride-on toys and veterinary supplies for livestock (and 2-3 times per week they have a mobile veterinary clinic in their parking lot... wally world could learn something about one-stop shopping). They also have furnace filters and hardware. So A and I bought two furnace filters and some wall hooks... and then I noticed that they also have the big old-fashioned bags of candy, so I bought some of that, too (cinnamon bears (remind me of my Dad), pink wintergreen candies (Grandpa used to always buy me those) and circus peanuts (I don't know why I like those)).

A and I came home and binged on candy. She wasn't terribly impressed with the cinnamon bears. Woo Hoo! A whole bag of candy I don't have to share! I think I'm beginning to see why my Dad liked them so much.

After that fine, nutritious lunch, I changed the filters (hauling all necessary ladders out of the garage, up the stairs, put them away, etc.). After all that, I also did the "normal" stuff of sweeping/vacuuming/dusting, etc. Then the day was gone and it was time to make dinner.

I think I've mentioned that I instituted family-member request-specific dinners. Tuesday nights are A's dinners. I made pork lo mein stir fry.

One last little helpful bit of information: Cast iron skillets are fabulous for most things. Not so much for stir frying.

The Perfect Mundane Day

I'm hoping today will be a good day. I chucked the idea of a Costco run, today. J invited a group of coworkers over for dinner on Friday night, so I'm going to wait until tomorrow or Friday to go buy supplies. Today I will reserve for doing things I like to do.

The nurse at the midwifery practice called, last night, to discuss the results of the ultrasound. She thinks that the radiology/imagery people ought to redo the test at no charge because they didn't get the medical measurements they were supposed to. In a few minutes I'll be calling her to see what she found out about that. I'd love to actually know if we're having a boy or a girl, but I won't shell out another $200 for it.

After that, I'm going to toss A in the car and go to the mall. I usually avoid that place like the plague, but the mall has an Old Navy - which has cheap maternity clothes. And my size 10 maternity jeans are falling off... so I guess I need to go try on sixes and eights. If I wasn't pg, I'd be thrilled by this. I haven't been in single digit sizes since junior high. However, since I am pg, the weight loss issue is problematic. Regardless - I need at least one pair of pants that will cover all the necessary parts. And I intend to splurge on two long sleeved T-shirts too. For a non-fashionista like me, two t-shirts and a pair of pants should be enough to see me through about four days out of the week... and I'll still have my big jeans and the hand-me-downs from my fabulous little sister for when other attire is in order.

Assuming I'm not too traumatized from the mall, it will be followed up by a trip to Trader Joe's. For those unfortunate enough not to live near a TJ's, let me just tell you - it's one of my favorite places to shop. They have great artisan breads, cheeses, wines, etc. And carry a lot of organics (especially for such a small place). It's very laid back and one of the few places I can shop without having to retire the rest of the day.

All of this precedes the arrival of my great friend, The Urban Princess. She'll be over in the afternoon, with her son (The Wild Man) and daughter (Punky Monkey). The Wild Man is one of G's oldest and most beloved friends, and Punky Monkey and A enjoy hours of reciprocal toddler antagonism. The Urban Princess and I can chill out and hash out solutions to all the world's problems while the kids entertain each other. A bonus is that Princess is a total food snob and it's really fun to cook for her.

For dinner, tonight, I'm doing chili w/ salad and fresh corn bread. It's a cold, rainy day. Should be perfect.