I know I write about this a lot. This is how I process through it, really. And I’m processing it again. But here it is: I really don’t know what faith looks like in this place.
It’s a sad reality that when I discuss our situation (and I’m sorry if you’ve heard about “our situation” from me a hundred times, but here’s the rundown: expecting a baby with a severe heart defect that will require surgery almost immediately after his birth, my husband’s lack of employment, not knowing how to pay our already-mounting medical bills or other basic expenses while I’m on unpaid maternity leave), some adopt what we’ve come to call a “Pollyanna” attitude about it. God will take care of you. Things are going to be okay. It will all work out. Let go and let God. If you have to go back to work two weeks after he’s born and still in the NICU, you should view it as a blessing in disguise. You can handle this.
While I appreciate the good intentions of those who offer these words, more often than not, all these attempts at simplicity and comfort manage to achieve is a minimization of our situation that infuriates me. Any one of these dilemmas would be bad enough, but the union of them all together makes for a thorny reality that none of us can brush aside. These words are band-aids on bullet holes, and it is in those moments I want to invite the people who say these things to inhabit my reality deeply for a time, to take upon themselves my thoughts and emotions and questions, to follow me into the closet when I close the door, fall on the floor, and fall apart completely, weeping from a depth that is bottomless. I wonder if they would be able to say those same things. I wonder if they heard those same words from someone else, if they would find them a warm blanket or a blast of cold.
We have faith. We have believed: in God’s provision, in His wisdom, in His timing. And we are still in a place where we don’t know how any of this is going to work out or in many instances, how we should act: we have no clear sense of whether or not we will even be one of the fortunate sets of parents who will come home with the baby they birthed, the baby whose movements they have felt and experienced for months on end, whose life they have witnessed squirming and stretching through his mother’s skin. This is a reality that we don’t dwell on, but must acknowledge. We cannot presume upon anything.
We are working, thinking, and praying with every last fiber and blood cell we have, wondering what God wants us to do. There are no promises about the outcome. There are no clear directives on what decisions to make. And it’s not because we haven’t been listening. We have been asking God and listening, interjecting our pleas and waiting. We are in a season where, like the mountain I sometimes see on my drive to work, God looms large in the distance, but is ultimately still and silent. I know, rather than feel, Him there. He is under a cover of clouds and veiled with an impenetrable an inky night. Job experienced this, mystic spiritual masters like St. John of the Cross wrote extensively about it, and recent saints like Mother Teresa lived it: the dark night of the soul.
I used to be afraid to say that that’s what this is. That’s for spiritual giants and I’m just a normal person. But now I don’t need to ask or question it or be afraid to call it what it is now, because I know. Dark nights are for normal people, too. Dark nights are those places where our ability to sense God in any way is gone, and where we are continually brought to the end of ourselves and asked to go still further. Where we feel like we have been stripped of everything we possess, and asked to give still more. God is deeply present in these dark nights, but in a way that is imperceptible to one in the thick of it.
It would be a mistake to say that there are not shafts of light that pierce the dark night – many moments of laughter, of profound joy as we prepare to embrace the mystery that is this child, that is parenthood. But it is joy that lives in the hollow of a crucible, in a place where layers of dross rise to the surface in the boiling heat and are skimmed off, in a place where we find the ends of ourselves again, and again, and again. And we know: we have deeper yet to go.
Perhaps these ends, these peelings away will increase our capacity for joy. Perhaps in coming to these ends we will learn to lean more fully into our invisible God, and come to know what it means to draw on His strength instead of defaulting to our own. Perhaps we will taste the faith the ancients did when they reasoned God could raise the dead and so held knives over their only children, when they stood in the blast of heat from a fire meant to incinerate their flesh and said, God can save us. But even if He does not, we will not bend the knee.
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
09 September 2010
02 September 2010
update: about his heart
We had our final fetal echo yesterday. In it, we learned that nothing had really changed, meaning: no miracles, but it isn't any worse.
Words can be plenty descriptive, but some of us are visual learners. So I wanted to show you some diagrams of the heart. The first one, a normal and healthy heart. The second is Ewan's heart (or as close as our doctors can see right now).
Ventricular-Septal Defect: This means there is a large hole between the right and left ventricles of the heart. This creates a situation where oxygen-poor blood is mixing with the oxygen rich blood.
Pulmonary Stenosis: A narrowing of the pulmonary valve. The pulmonary artery's function is to carry blood away from the heart and to the lungs to be oxygenated. In a normal heart, the aorta and pulmonary artery are the same size. In Ewan's heart, they had difficulty even finding the pulmonary artery on the first ultrasound. The fetal echo at 22 weeks showed a very small pulmonary artery.
Right Ventricular Hypertrophy: A thickened right ventricle. The right ventricle wall is thickened because it has to work extra hard to get blood through the pulmonary artery.
Overriding Aorta: In a normal heart, the aorta leaves the heart from the left ventricle. With an overriding aorta, the aorta is leaving the heart from right over the ventricular septal defect.
Pulmonary Atresia: No pulmonary valve, or the pulmonary valve is sealed. In a normal heart, this is the valve that acts as the doorway between the right ventricle and through the pulmonary artery where it goes to the lungs to get oxygenated. Right now, Ewan's pulmonary artery is much too small to see what the state of this valve is.
There remain enough unknowns at this point that nobody knows yet exactly what the prescribed course of treatment will be. After birth, he will receive a medicine intravenously that will allow pathways that are open in the womb that normally close within a few days of birth to remain open. This will allow for blood flow to the lungs to continue and allow doctors to take additional scans of the heart to determine what the best course of action should be. We are looking at a least a few surgeries over the course of his life: one within a few days of birth, another probably around four months or so. Again, these are just guesses.
In the meantime, he is just fine where he is. I laughed at our birthing class last night when they talked about "kick counts" -- seeing how long it takes to feel ten kicks. In our birthing class, getting to a count of ten took about a minute and a half. He's not consistently that active, but there will be whole days (like yesterday, and like today) where the kicking starts before my 4 am alarm goes off and continues through just about every hour of the day until well after I've gone to bed.
I do think we have a feisty one on our hands, and I'm very glad for that.
In the meantime, I'm doing my best to remain as relaxed as possible. As we linger a little longer in this place where we can only anticipate, I'm having more days where an active imagination gets the better of me -- where I wind up in tears imagining what could happen, as I feel his movements, and just want to keep him inside there where he can be safe.
James continues to look for work, and we continue to run into brick walls in this endeavor (one employer he spoke with called this the worst job market she's seen in 25 years -- honest, but not encouraging). We have no idea what this means for me being on maternity leave -- how much time I'll be able to take, or how exactly we intend to meet our financial obligations for the period of time I am off. We continue to hope and pray and explore options. And periodically, I continue to have those moments where I lose it completely from the stress of it all.
I'm still determining how and where I'll be doing my updating the closer we get, and I'll let you know as soon as I figure out what will work best for us.
Many thanks for loving us through this.
Words can be plenty descriptive, but some of us are visual learners. So I wanted to show you some diagrams of the heart. The first one, a normal and healthy heart. The second is Ewan's heart (or as close as our doctors can see right now).
Ventricular-Septal Defect: This means there is a large hole between the right and left ventricles of the heart. This creates a situation where oxygen-poor blood is mixing with the oxygen rich blood.
Pulmonary Stenosis: A narrowing of the pulmonary valve. The pulmonary artery's function is to carry blood away from the heart and to the lungs to be oxygenated. In a normal heart, the aorta and pulmonary artery are the same size. In Ewan's heart, they had difficulty even finding the pulmonary artery on the first ultrasound. The fetal echo at 22 weeks showed a very small pulmonary artery.
Right Ventricular Hypertrophy: A thickened right ventricle. The right ventricle wall is thickened because it has to work extra hard to get blood through the pulmonary artery.
Overriding Aorta: In a normal heart, the aorta leaves the heart from the left ventricle. With an overriding aorta, the aorta is leaving the heart from right over the ventricular septal defect.
Pulmonary Atresia: No pulmonary valve, or the pulmonary valve is sealed. In a normal heart, this is the valve that acts as the doorway between the right ventricle and through the pulmonary artery where it goes to the lungs to get oxygenated. Right now, Ewan's pulmonary artery is much too small to see what the state of this valve is.
There remain enough unknowns at this point that nobody knows yet exactly what the prescribed course of treatment will be. After birth, he will receive a medicine intravenously that will allow pathways that are open in the womb that normally close within a few days of birth to remain open. This will allow for blood flow to the lungs to continue and allow doctors to take additional scans of the heart to determine what the best course of action should be. We are looking at a least a few surgeries over the course of his life: one within a few days of birth, another probably around four months or so. Again, these are just guesses.
In the meantime, he is just fine where he is. I laughed at our birthing class last night when they talked about "kick counts" -- seeing how long it takes to feel ten kicks. In our birthing class, getting to a count of ten took about a minute and a half. He's not consistently that active, but there will be whole days (like yesterday, and like today) where the kicking starts before my 4 am alarm goes off and continues through just about every hour of the day until well after I've gone to bed.
I do think we have a feisty one on our hands, and I'm very glad for that.
In the meantime, I'm doing my best to remain as relaxed as possible. As we linger a little longer in this place where we can only anticipate, I'm having more days where an active imagination gets the better of me -- where I wind up in tears imagining what could happen, as I feel his movements, and just want to keep him inside there where he can be safe.
James continues to look for work, and we continue to run into brick walls in this endeavor (one employer he spoke with called this the worst job market she's seen in 25 years -- honest, but not encouraging). We have no idea what this means for me being on maternity leave -- how much time I'll be able to take, or how exactly we intend to meet our financial obligations for the period of time I am off. We continue to hope and pray and explore options. And periodically, I continue to have those moments where I lose it completely from the stress of it all.
I'm still determining how and where I'll be doing my updating the closer we get, and I'll let you know as soon as I figure out what will work best for us.
Many thanks for loving us through this.
25 August 2010
fyi (a service announcement for the general public regarding my pregnancy)
I don't know whether I receive more unsolicited pregnancy comments than the average child-bearing woman, but I seem to get plenty. This should cover all the bases for those curious strangers out there ...
We are having a boy and are naming him Ewan (pronounced like the words "you win" strung together). My due date is October 5.
Yes, the belly is "for real".
No, I am not having twins (or multiples of any other number).
Yes, I am sure about the due date (really).
Yes, it is quite hot this summer and no, we don't always get to plan when and how these things happen.
No, I haven't popped yet. Speaking of popping, could you please make your eyes pull back into your skull? They kind of freak me out.
Yes, I do know that my ankles are swollen. If it bothers you to look at them, please avert your eyes.
No, I am not ready to "just be done." Here's a thought: try asking me how I feel about it instead of assuming that I must loathe my pregnant condition. While I am well aware that this stage of pregnancy comes with its share of discomforts, I am one of those rare creatures who truly enjoys being pregnant and giving this baby what he needs for as long as he needs it. It's a privilege, not a burden.
Thank you very much for your unsolicited opinion regarding my size, and I am terribly sorry to have to reveal the wrongness of your opinion, but my doctor and medical science would disagree with your assessment that I'm "huge" or "so big." I am measuring exactly on track for a woman carrying one baby at this stage of pregnancy. I'm supposed to look this way.
It's really not any of your business, but my weight gain is also within normal ranges.
I am feeling great (thank you) and my energy levels are off the charts. I can still kick butt at the gym.
Yes, I am hungry again.
And yes ... I am going to eat that.
 |
| 34 weeks pregnant by kirsten michelle |
We are having a boy and are naming him Ewan (pronounced like the words "you win" strung together). My due date is October 5.
Yes, the belly is "for real".
No, I am not having twins (or multiples of any other number).
Yes, I am sure about the due date (really).
Yes, it is quite hot this summer and no, we don't always get to plan when and how these things happen.
No, I haven't popped yet. Speaking of popping, could you please make your eyes pull back into your skull? They kind of freak me out.
Yes, I do know that my ankles are swollen. If it bothers you to look at them, please avert your eyes.
No, I am not ready to "just be done." Here's a thought: try asking me how I feel about it instead of assuming that I must loathe my pregnant condition. While I am well aware that this stage of pregnancy comes with its share of discomforts, I am one of those rare creatures who truly enjoys being pregnant and giving this baby what he needs for as long as he needs it. It's a privilege, not a burden.
Thank you very much for your unsolicited opinion regarding my size, and I am terribly sorry to have to reveal the wrongness of your opinion, but my doctor and medical science would disagree with your assessment that I'm "huge" or "so big." I am measuring exactly on track for a woman carrying one baby at this stage of pregnancy. I'm supposed to look this way.
It's really not any of your business, but my weight gain is also within normal ranges.
I am feeling great (thank you) and my energy levels are off the charts. I can still kick butt at the gym.
Yes, I am hungry again.
And yes ... I am going to eat that.
17 August 2010
22 July 2010
kansas :: two
One of the things we did on our last night in Kansas (besides watching a completely awesome lightning display) was go out to the family farm. Now, c'mon people ... you know me. And you know James a bit. We totally did a photoshoot at the farm.
Here are a few of our favorites ...
For someone who doesn't mind having her picture taken, it's so fun to have someone who has skill with the camera nearby. And lest you think I don't take a bad picture, well ... let's just say I wish I hadn't deleted some of the ones where I look drunk, severely pained, or like I swallowed a double-wide (which describes approximately 80 - 90% of the photos taken). You should really see those babies!
I've got so many more (and more interesting) pictures of the scenery here that I can't wait to show you. Look for those tomorrow!!
Here are a few of our favorites ...
Psst! This last one made it into Flickr Explore ... wahoo!
(If that doesn't mean anything to you, I explain it here.)
For someone who doesn't mind having her picture taken, it's so fun to have someone who has skill with the camera nearby. And lest you think I don't take a bad picture, well ... let's just say I wish I hadn't deleted some of the ones where I look drunk, severely pained, or like I swallowed a double-wide (which describes approximately 80 - 90% of the photos taken). You should really see those babies!
I've got so many more (and more interesting) pictures of the scenery here that I can't wait to show you. Look for those tomorrow!!
17 July 2010
a very awkward exchange indeed
It's the pregnant lady here again with another rant about people's comments about my size. For the record, I feel fantastic. I still love (and I don't use that word lightly) the way I look. I love the way this belly feels. But I'm learning now that it is a well-established fact that there are those people out there who see a pregnant belly and check their brain cells at the door.
I'd like to detail this exchange which happened at an organic grocery store in Kansas.
Employee: When are you due?
Me: October 5.
Employee: [Eyes bug out and mouth hangs open a little bit]
Employee: Are you sure?
Me: Yep, October 5. I'm 28 weeks.
Employee: Well, maybe you're having twins. Doctors can miss those things, you know.
Me: Well, we've been extensively scanned and the baby that is in there is quite a mover, so I'm sure we would have noticed if there were two babies in there.
[Pause.]
Employee: Well maybe the doctor got your due date wrong.
Me: [Slightly irritated] No ... we've been practicing NFP [Natural Family Planning] and we know exactly -- to the day -- when this child was conceived.
Employee: Well ... uh, well ... Are you SURE there aren't twins in there??
Me: Yep, we've very sure.
Employee: WOW, you're just ... really, really BIG.
Me & hubby: [Awkward, irritated chuckle].
Me: Well, I feel great.
[Somewhere in there, we probably said goodbye]
This photo was taken the day AFTER that exchange.
We had to laugh about it, really. But Ikinda really just wanted to slap her.
I'd like to detail this exchange which happened at an organic grocery store in Kansas.
28 weeks pregnant
Employee: When are you due?
Me: October 5.
Employee: [Eyes bug out and mouth hangs open a little bit]
Employee: Are you sure?
Me: Yep, October 5. I'm 28 weeks.
Employee: Well, maybe you're having twins. Doctors can miss those things, you know.
Me: Well, we've been extensively scanned and the baby that is in there is quite a mover, so I'm sure we would have noticed if there were two babies in there.
[Pause.]
Employee: Well maybe the doctor got your due date wrong.
Me: [Slightly irritated] No ... we've been practicing NFP [Natural Family Planning] and we know exactly -- to the day -- when this child was conceived.
Employee: Well ... uh, well ... Are you SURE there aren't twins in there??
Me: Yep, we've very sure.
Employee: WOW, you're just ... really, really BIG.
Me & hubby: [Awkward, irritated chuckle].
Me: Well, I feel great.
[Somewhere in there, we probably said goodbye]
This photo was taken the day AFTER that exchange.
We had to laugh about it, really. But I
06 July 2010
all kinds of baby progress
The belly continues to grow. I heard again today: Oh honey, any day now? You should have seen this guy's face when I told him I had 13 more weeks. The belly was feeling pretty solid today, and there was a part of me that felt like "accidentally" whacking him with it. If you read this post, you know how I feel about statements like that. I mean, you know how we pregnant women are with our altered center of gravity and all that. Anything could happen.
But speaking of an altered center of gravity, I must reveal that in one day this past weekend, I managed to knock over a display in Starbucks and spill an entire salad in the middle of the grocery store. The funny thing is, is that my belly is looking bigger these days than it feels. Don't get me wrong, I have trouble getting out of the car, up off the couch, or out of bed ... but I don't feel like my protruding belly is all that cumbersome just walking around. In fact, I'm still able to work out (with weights and cardio) quite comfortably. Looking at this picture, I actually had to ask James if this is really how big my belly looks, and he affirmed what the camera was telling me. I still have to say though: I'm loving every minute of it.
And Ewan continues to have more clothes in his closet. What? What's that you say? You want to see the adorable baby swag we have? Well, well ... if you insist!!
We already had a few outfits in the newborn to 0-3 months category, so the shopping my Mom and Kaari (my sis) and I did on Saturday focused on the 6 to 12 month range primarily. There are a number of cute things not hung up as well, but I won't go into showing you every single outfit. At least not yet. ;o) In related news, I continue to learn that adorable baby clothes at clearance prices (with an additional 20% off at the register) means that I cannot be stopped. Go figure!
We're also making progress on his room. It's becoming less of the "this is all the stuff we need to go through since we moved" room to the "this is soon going to be the baby's room" room. Basically, this means that now, there is less stuff in there than there was a couple of weeks ago. Trips were made to Goodwill and the used bookstore that lightened our load considerably.
Then there is the decor which is, at this point, minimal but adorable. We have no furniture yet and this is a good thing, since we're still in the clearing-the-room-out phase. Even though we still plan on painting (I'm planning on a light spring green as the base), I couldn't resist getting a few things up on the wall just to see how it looked.
The bulletin boards are from Target and I picked up the little wooden animals from Michael's. Ah, this is so much fun!! The Lego rosary was made by a family at my church.
And that, my friends, is where we stand now. I feel good about all the work we've gotten done, and look forward to filling his room with more baby things.
Knocking on the door of the third trimester. Yikes!!
But speaking of an altered center of gravity, I must reveal that in one day this past weekend, I managed to knock over a display in Starbucks and spill an entire salad in the middle of the grocery store. The funny thing is, is that my belly is looking bigger these days than it feels. Don't get me wrong, I have trouble getting out of the car, up off the couch, or out of bed ... but I don't feel like my protruding belly is all that cumbersome just walking around. In fact, I'm still able to work out (with weights and cardio) quite comfortably. Looking at this picture, I actually had to ask James if this is really how big my belly looks, and he affirmed what the camera was telling me. I still have to say though: I'm loving every minute of it.
And Ewan continues to have more clothes in his closet. What? What's that you say? You want to see the adorable baby swag we have? Well, well ... if you insist!!
We already had a few outfits in the newborn to 0-3 months category, so the shopping my Mom and Kaari (my sis) and I did on Saturday focused on the 6 to 12 month range primarily. There are a number of cute things not hung up as well, but I won't go into showing you every single outfit. At least not yet. ;o) In related news, I continue to learn that adorable baby clothes at clearance prices (with an additional 20% off at the register) means that I cannot be stopped. Go figure!
We're also making progress on his room. It's becoming less of the "this is all the stuff we need to go through since we moved" room to the "this is soon going to be the baby's room" room. Basically, this means that now, there is less stuff in there than there was a couple of weeks ago. Trips were made to Goodwill and the used bookstore that lightened our load considerably.
Then there is the decor which is, at this point, minimal but adorable. We have no furniture yet and this is a good thing, since we're still in the clearing-the-room-out phase. Even though we still plan on painting (I'm planning on a light spring green as the base), I couldn't resist getting a few things up on the wall just to see how it looked.
The bulletin boards are from Target and I picked up the little wooden animals from Michael's. Ah, this is so much fun!! The Lego rosary was made by a family at my church.
And that, my friends, is where we stand now. I feel good about all the work we've gotten done, and look forward to filling his room with more baby things.
26 June 2010
five assorted & sundry confessions
Some of you have been visiting me here for awhile, and many of you are a bit newer. Even if the former description suits you better, there are a few things you probably don't know about me: random, weird, totally idiosyncratic things that will now be available for the world to see.
That's right. This is Kirsten: Unplugged.
Here we go!
1. I'm a compulsive fingernail-picker (but definitely not a biter). This is my go-to bad habit when I'm anxious or stressed or ... whatever.
2. I waited until I was 26 to get my wisdom teeth pulled. What, you thought I was only 26 now? God bless you! When the bottom left wisdom tooth was pulled (sorry, I don't know the correct dental terminology for this location) it damaged a nerve so that the left side of my tongue is pretty numb. It's been healing slowly, but 6 years later, I still have some residual numbness on the left side of my tongue.
3. I have done almost nothing to get Ewan's bedroom ready. Assuming I give birth at around 40 weeks, this means I have about 14.5 weeks left to execute on my nesting instinct. Oh, okay. I have done something. I painted these letters. And I hung up some of his clothes. Want to see what his room looks like now? And does moving four weeks ago count as "just moved"?
4. After I finished college and up until the time James and I connected again, I was convinced I didn't want children. I was rather passionate and adamant about it (you know, "I want a career," "I'm more than a uterus," "No way I'll be barefoot and pregnant" all that. Ironically, as I sit here and write this, I am barefoot, and most definitely pregnant -- just in case you missed the huge belly). Nine years later, I became reacquainted with James and couldn't wait to start having babies with him. Just needed to find my Mr. Right, I guess.
5. Generally speaking, I really don't like shopping of any sort: for clothes, for shoes, for groceries, for cleaning products ... you name it. I just don't. I can actually think of just two times in my life I enjoyed shopping: 1) In the spring of 2008 when I discovered I'd lost yet another pant size, and 2) Shopping for maternity clothes (when I needed pants with lots of elastic in the waist). That's pretty much it.
So ... anyone else in the mood for a little fessing up? What sorts of fun and interesting things does the bloggy world not know about you?
That's right. This is Kirsten: Unplugged.
This picture has nothing to do with this post. Just a pic from our wedding that I really like.
Photo by Jen Fox Photography
Here we go!
1. I'm a compulsive fingernail-picker (but definitely not a biter). This is my go-to bad habit when I'm anxious or stressed or ... whatever.
2. I waited until I was 26 to get my wisdom teeth pulled. What, you thought I was only 26 now? God bless you! When the bottom left wisdom tooth was pulled (sorry, I don't know the correct dental terminology for this location) it damaged a nerve so that the left side of my tongue is pretty numb. It's been healing slowly, but 6 years later, I still have some residual numbness on the left side of my tongue.
3. I have done almost nothing to get Ewan's bedroom ready. Assuming I give birth at around 40 weeks, this means I have about 14.5 weeks left to execute on my nesting instinct. Oh, okay. I have done something. I painted these letters. And I hung up some of his clothes. Want to see what his room looks like now? And does moving four weeks ago count as "just moved"?
4. After I finished college and up until the time James and I connected again, I was convinced I didn't want children. I was rather passionate and adamant about it (you know, "I want a career," "I'm more than a uterus," "No way I'll be barefoot and pregnant" all that. Ironically, as I sit here and write this, I am barefoot, and most definitely pregnant -- just in case you missed the huge belly). Nine years later, I became reacquainted with James and couldn't wait to start having babies with him. Just needed to find my Mr. Right, I guess.
5. Generally speaking, I really don't like shopping of any sort: for clothes, for shoes, for groceries, for cleaning products ... you name it. I just don't. I can actually think of just two times in my life I enjoyed shopping: 1) In the spring of 2008 when I discovered I'd lost yet another pant size, and 2) Shopping for maternity clothes (when I needed pants with lots of elastic in the waist). That's pretty much it.
So ... anyone else in the mood for a little fessing up? What sorts of fun and interesting things does the bloggy world not know about you?
24 June 2010
a word to the not-so-wise
25 weeks pregnant & feeling fabulous
22 June 2010
That being said, I love my belly. I love the shape and the feel of it, and I love how it looks. But even having this mindset coupled with a good sense of humor, dealing with these comments is getting to be
Perhaps I just have not been around enough pregnant women lately, or maybe I just haven't been noticing. But I've always taken it as a universally understood point of social etiquette that when commenting on a pregnant woman's appearance, stating anything other than "You look great!" should be considered with the same amount of caution with which one would consider jumping off a fifty-story building without a parachute or the guarantee of an appropriately soft landing spot.
Boy, was I wrong! As it turns out, common sense is not so common, and people out there everywhere are throwing caution to the wind and putting themselves in harm's way: straight in the path of the irritated pregnant woman.
I kid you not -- if I had a dime for every time someone told me how huge or ready-to-pop I looked over the past three or four days -- I would have at least a dollar. Quite possibly more (but not quite enough to buy a grande decaf soy coffee frapuccino lite with one pump of sugar-free vanilla). And though perhaps I shouldn't be, I'm surprised.
Here are two things I (and most other people -- I think) know:
1. Nearly all women at some point in their lives are sensitive and/or emotional about size/weight/appearance.
2. Pregnant women have, at any given time, an overwhelming and unfathomable amount of hormones coursing through their bodies, the likes of which tend to amplify or exacerbate any given emotional state.
Therefore:
"You look great" is always an appropriate thing to say to a pregnant woman.
"You're HUGE!" , "You look ready to POP! When are you due?", or alternately "Are you sure you're not having twins?" are good examples of things that definitely should not be said.
Needless to say, I am going to spend my free waking hours and minutes coming up with some witty repartee for these types of comments. Or maybe I'll swing my hips just so, and swing them back with enough velocity so as to whack them with my huge must-contain-twins belly.
What about you?
If you've been pregnant before, have you come across this type of commentary? What did people say? What was your response? If you have suggestions, I'd love to hear them!
Or, have you said anything like this to a pregnant woman before (and are brave enough to admit it here)? How did she respond?
P.S. Please keep in mind this is all in good fun. :o)
P.P.S. There's a new post up over at the Team Ewan blog about asking God why. It's not quite as funny as today's post, but I still think there's something to it.
07 June 2010
so much to say
The past several days have been the oddest mixed bag of hope and of joy, of grief and near despair. We've felt positive and assured, and then we've felt like nothing could possibly lift our spirits. It's a wicked seesaw to be on. I've desperately wanted to feel normal and to maintain my excitement that we're having this beautiful child, and yet ...
And yet.
A steady stream of good days and good moments make the appearance of bad ones all the more surprising. They sneak up on me like a thief, and cause me to search despairingly in my empty hands for things on which I thought I had a grip: hope, and faith that all will be well. Before I'm able to identify my emotions or determine where they're coming from, I find I've become frustrated, snippy, and short-tempered. On the bad days, I hate who this is turning me into.
Determined not to let the diagnosis rob me of my genuine excitement, nor suppress the nesting instinct, I've prepared items for the nursery. I've hung up his clothes in the closet, and I've completed my registry (I think). This past weekend, I bought wood blocks of letters that spelled out his name and I painted them. I sing to him in the mornings and talk to him all day, and I smile whenever I feel him move, stretch, and kick. Sometimes I imagine his kicks as a baby form of Morse code, a way of communicating with me: Chill out, Mom. It will be okay. I'm going to be fine.
More than knowing that my child will be facing tremendous challenges in the first weeks, months, and years of his life, I'm grieving the loss of companions who have been mine for this journey thus far. Before I was pregnant, I knew I wanted to seek the care of midwives when it came to pregnancy and childbirth. For many reasons, it's a model of care I believe in. More than our caretakers, these midwives have been our advocates and supporters. They understand this is deeply personal to us, and it is personal to them too. I looked forward to having them attend this birth, to meeting my son in the comfortable birthing suite at their facility.
Now 23 weeks pregnant, I need to find a new provider, someone who is currently a stranger to me. Some think perhaps that this shouldn't be a big deal to me (since as a mother, I should naturally want to do what is best for our baby -- which I do), but I am losing something real here -- something deeply important to me, and I just don't know how to come to peace with this, or how to reconcile myself to another abrupt change in our plans. It isn't something I can easily dismiss.
All the what if's? plague me. Questions arise that if voiced, many would be quick to dismiss, telling me I can't dwell on things like that. I don't dwell, but denying the questions exist doesn't help either. They brew and they bubble inside me, and while I don't roll out the welcome mat for them, their presence lurks nearby like an unwelcome stranger. And then I turn into that person I hate again. My own company becomes unbearable to me, and my behavior hurts those around me.
What if he's one of the 5-10% of children that doesn't make it after surgery? What if my body has betrayed him? What if, in having another child, we find he or she has the same condition?
Many are quick to preach hope, and not without cause. The odds are in our favor with an early diagnosis, and with finding more than nine out of ten children living healthy, normal lives after a series of procedures to correct the issues present. We are in one of the best possible places we can be when it comes to the treatment available for the tiniest of hearts. In the weeks since learning the diagnosis, we've been connected with other parents whose own children were diagnosed with serious congenital heart defects (none of them the same as Ewan's, but still plenty serious) and have gone on to become thriving and active children. These are the only people who can really understand what we are and will be going through.
And then there's you. Praying for us, adding our request to the prayer chains at your churches, sharing it with your friends. We have people praying for this unborn child from coast to coast, and in countries across the world. Like my sister says, "We're going global!" There is so much love coming our way, so many advocating for Ewan's life, I cannot comprehend it. I want each of you in the same room, and to embrace every one of you tightly. I don't know how to say thank you. The words are a feeble representation of the heartfelt gratitude they are meant to convey, and yet we all know that even the most powerful and perfectly chosen words utterly fail in their reach at times like this.
I know we will get through this, and I know there is hope. I know there will continue to be those days that are good and those that are not. All we can do is take it a minute and a step at a time, praying through every moment, being open to what comes, talking about everything. We will breathe in and out, stepping again, and give ourselves and each other the grace that we need to be where we are.
And yet.
A steady stream of good days and good moments make the appearance of bad ones all the more surprising. They sneak up on me like a thief, and cause me to search despairingly in my empty hands for things on which I thought I had a grip: hope, and faith that all will be well. Before I'm able to identify my emotions or determine where they're coming from, I find I've become frustrated, snippy, and short-tempered. On the bad days, I hate who this is turning me into.
Determined not to let the diagnosis rob me of my genuine excitement, nor suppress the nesting instinct, I've prepared items for the nursery. I've hung up his clothes in the closet, and I've completed my registry (I think). This past weekend, I bought wood blocks of letters that spelled out his name and I painted them. I sing to him in the mornings and talk to him all day, and I smile whenever I feel him move, stretch, and kick. Sometimes I imagine his kicks as a baby form of Morse code, a way of communicating with me: Chill out, Mom. It will be okay. I'm going to be fine.
I hope that's what he's saying to me. I hope that he's right.
More than knowing that my child will be facing tremendous challenges in the first weeks, months, and years of his life, I'm grieving the loss of companions who have been mine for this journey thus far. Before I was pregnant, I knew I wanted to seek the care of midwives when it came to pregnancy and childbirth. For many reasons, it's a model of care I believe in. More than our caretakers, these midwives have been our advocates and supporters. They understand this is deeply personal to us, and it is personal to them too. I looked forward to having them attend this birth, to meeting my son in the comfortable birthing suite at their facility.
Now 23 weeks pregnant, I need to find a new provider, someone who is currently a stranger to me. Some think perhaps that this shouldn't be a big deal to me (since as a mother, I should naturally want to do what is best for our baby -- which I do), but I am losing something real here -- something deeply important to me, and I just don't know how to come to peace with this, or how to reconcile myself to another abrupt change in our plans. It isn't something I can easily dismiss.
All the what if's? plague me. Questions arise that if voiced, many would be quick to dismiss, telling me I can't dwell on things like that. I don't dwell, but denying the questions exist doesn't help either. They brew and they bubble inside me, and while I don't roll out the welcome mat for them, their presence lurks nearby like an unwelcome stranger. And then I turn into that person I hate again. My own company becomes unbearable to me, and my behavior hurts those around me.
What if he's one of the 5-10% of children that doesn't make it after surgery? What if my body has betrayed him? What if, in having another child, we find he or she has the same condition?
Many are quick to preach hope, and not without cause. The odds are in our favor with an early diagnosis, and with finding more than nine out of ten children living healthy, normal lives after a series of procedures to correct the issues present. We are in one of the best possible places we can be when it comes to the treatment available for the tiniest of hearts. In the weeks since learning the diagnosis, we've been connected with other parents whose own children were diagnosed with serious congenital heart defects (none of them the same as Ewan's, but still plenty serious) and have gone on to become thriving and active children. These are the only people who can really understand what we are and will be going through.
And then there's you. Praying for us, adding our request to the prayer chains at your churches, sharing it with your friends. We have people praying for this unborn child from coast to coast, and in countries across the world. Like my sister says, "We're going global!" There is so much love coming our way, so many advocating for Ewan's life, I cannot comprehend it. I want each of you in the same room, and to embrace every one of you tightly. I don't know how to say thank you. The words are a feeble representation of the heartfelt gratitude they are meant to convey, and yet we all know that even the most powerful and perfectly chosen words utterly fail in their reach at times like this.
Even so, what you say has not failed to touch our hearts. Please know that. Your words are a blanket and cocoon, a lifebuoy in a raging sea. I cling to them, wrapping myself in them over and over and over.
Much love,
k
02 June 2010
keeping it real & raw.
I wonder if I'll regret writing this with all this hanging around me, the ink still fresh and wet on this news, the unfolding reality giving rise to an exponentially increasing number of questions, as well as new and complex feelings. My emotional landscape is changing constantly and dramatically, ranging from sharp peaks to deep valleys with a few muddied level places in between. At a time like this, everything feels volatile, and change is the only thing that is a constant. None of it feels real.
Yesterday's fetal echo confirmed what the first doctor suspected. I'm not going to name the diagnosis here because I don't want it to show up anywhere on a Google search (even if it's the 10,394th page listed). There is a whole range of fetal heart defects that exist, and this one exists on the side of the range that, if your baby has to have a heart defect, you definitely don't want to land on. It is severe. There are holes in places there shouldn't be. There are vessels a mere fraction of the size they need to be.
Unless a miracle happens between now and his birth, Ewan will be spending the first weeks of his life in a hospital. He will need multiple tests and operations to deal with these abnormalities. Defects. Whatever you want to call them. Whatever the label, I hate them.
I can't tell you how much it hurts to know that I won't be able to take him home with us. That I will need to leave the care of my midwives more than halfway through my pregnancy and deliver in a hospital. That within hours of his birth, he will be transferred to a different location while I recover from labor and delivery. That in his first weeks of life, I will need to get in my car and drive to the hospital to see him, to touch him. That after he's born, he won't immediately occupy the room we have set aside for him.
I know he will be well cared for. I know these steps will be necessary if he's going to live and thrive. I know we are fortunate to be so near a facility that can handle this, and that we live in a time where babies who wouldn't otherwise have a chance of making it can grow and thrive thanks to some extraordinary advances in modern medicine. I know there is nothing I could have done to change this. According to the doctor, these things "just happen." No one really knows what causes it, only that it's something that likely started within the first three or so weeks of my pregnancy.
None of this makes it any easier. Believe me, I wish it did. It would make things easier on all of us; we wouldn't be huddled and weeping in the corner, and you wouldn't be shifting in your seat, searching for the right words or wondering if it's okay to hug us. We are walking a path no parent wants to walk, and having to make choices no parent wants to make.
I know that our feelings will continue to shift, change, and evolve. I know we aren't the first to experience this. I know that we will experience substantial hope, and that we will find peace and laughter in unexpected moments. I know that our son is a gift and a blessing, and already a joy to his parents. But it still hurts in a way no earthly tongue can describe, and only a supernatural and heavenly power can change or heal that.
This is a portion of what I wrote to my dear friend Christianne this morning:
Lord, have mercy.
Yesterday's fetal echo confirmed what the first doctor suspected. I'm not going to name the diagnosis here because I don't want it to show up anywhere on a Google search (even if it's the 10,394th page listed). There is a whole range of fetal heart defects that exist, and this one exists on the side of the range that, if your baby has to have a heart defect, you definitely don't want to land on. It is severe. There are holes in places there shouldn't be. There are vessels a mere fraction of the size they need to be.
Unless a miracle happens between now and his birth, Ewan will be spending the first weeks of his life in a hospital. He will need multiple tests and operations to deal with these abnormalities. Defects. Whatever you want to call them. Whatever the label, I hate them.
I can't tell you how much it hurts to know that I won't be able to take him home with us. That I will need to leave the care of my midwives more than halfway through my pregnancy and deliver in a hospital. That within hours of his birth, he will be transferred to a different location while I recover from labor and delivery. That in his first weeks of life, I will need to get in my car and drive to the hospital to see him, to touch him. That after he's born, he won't immediately occupy the room we have set aside for him.
I know he will be well cared for. I know these steps will be necessary if he's going to live and thrive. I know we are fortunate to be so near a facility that can handle this, and that we live in a time where babies who wouldn't otherwise have a chance of making it can grow and thrive thanks to some extraordinary advances in modern medicine. I know there is nothing I could have done to change this. According to the doctor, these things "just happen." No one really knows what causes it, only that it's something that likely started within the first three or so weeks of my pregnancy.
None of this makes it any easier. Believe me, I wish it did. It would make things easier on all of us; we wouldn't be huddled and weeping in the corner, and you wouldn't be shifting in your seat, searching for the right words or wondering if it's okay to hug us. We are walking a path no parent wants to walk, and having to make choices no parent wants to make.
I know that our feelings will continue to shift, change, and evolve. I know we aren't the first to experience this. I know that we will experience substantial hope, and that we will find peace and laughter in unexpected moments. I know that our son is a gift and a blessing, and already a joy to his parents. But it still hurts in a way no earthly tongue can describe, and only a supernatural and heavenly power can change or heal that.
This is a portion of what I wrote to my dear friend Christianne this morning:
I am jealous of every parent who's never gotten bad news, of every parent who has had a healthy, normal baby, of those who have never had to navigate this path, of those who have not had to weigh the sometimes tremendous cost of choosing life when its beginning looks so bleak and challenged. I've heard some of the traditional platitudes that inevitably come forward in the speech of those who mean well: things like "God doesn't give us anything we can't handle." Pardon me, but what a load of bull. Maybe He allows these types of trials precisely because He already knows we can't handle it -- that we would need to lean on Him chiefly, that all our dependencies would be on Him and not on what we could do, that we would humble ourselves and ask for help from those friends and family that surround us and stand with us. If there's one thing James and I are strikingly aware of, it's how completely helpless we are in this place. We can do nothing to effect the change we desire.And so here we are, at the head of a path we did not expect, wondering what kind of story will be told in the steps we take.I'm confident of God's infinite love for this little boy. I know His heart for children. I know this news does not surprise Him. Sometimes this knowledge is a tremendous comfort, and at others, it makes it all the more difficult to reconcile with the truth that I'm waking up in a world where babies are born with severe heart defects and don't get to go home with their parents after they're born. And somehow, inexplicably, the world keeps turning and the birds keep singing when the sun comes up.
Lord, have mercy.
28 May 2010
prayers for baby ewan
If you can't tell by the splashes of blue here now, James and I learned least week that we're having a baby boy. We were delighted to see the pictures of him dancing, waving, kicking, and moving all over the ultrasound. The technician had a hard time getting pictures at times, he was moving so much!!
We already had a name picked out: Ewan Eliezer. Our child has a name. Ewan is the Scottish/Gaelic form of "John" (for the apostle, our favorite personage of the New Testament, Christ excepted), and Eliezer is after Abraham's servant (mentioned by name in Genesis 15, and doing selfless and amazing things for his master Abraham in Genesis 24).
But there was also some less delightful news.
There may be something wrong with little Ewan's heart. The diagnosis is not definite at this point, so we've been scheduled for some additional testing, intended to give the doctors a clearer picture of what might be going on. It's entirely possible that everything is okay (Ewan's daddy's heart is unlike the hearts doctors are used to seeing) and that they just couldn't see well enough, or it is possible that there may be an actual defect. With this, we've also been introduced to the possibility of a chromosomal abnormality, such as Down's syndrome or something similar.
As you might imagine, the past week hasn't been easy. The tears I've cried and the grief I've expressed has come from places deeper than I knew existed, and hurt more than I knew was possible. The news stunned us; this was not what we were expecting with our ultrasound, nor (obviously) was it what we were hoping to hear. We didn't sleep well or at all in the first days after the news, and when I did, I had horrific and violent dreams. Over the course of the past week or so I've felt saddened, angry, guilty, disconnected, and completely robbed of my joy.
Though we are both in a better place now, the coming days and weeks will determine much in terms of the course of our care and where we deliver. Even before I was pregnant, I had my heart set on receiving my prenatal care exclusively from midwives and delivering in a birth center or at home. We love our midwives, and couldn't be happier about the care we've received. But if little Ewan needs to be born where the best medical care is immediately available to him, our plans will have to change. Much will have to change.
All this remains to be seen. Please be praying for the three of us -- though we are certainly hoping and praying for a whole and properly-functioning heart, any other diagnosis will not cause us to love or cherish Ewan any less. This next test is coming up this coming Tuesday (June 1) at 3 pm (Pacific Time).
Thank you for holding us up. The prayers of the saints are really what have held us up and kept us sane during the past week, and what will hold us up in the days and weeks to come.
We already had a name picked out: Ewan Eliezer. Our child has a name. Ewan is the Scottish/Gaelic form of "John" (for the apostle, our favorite personage of the New Testament, Christ excepted), and Eliezer is after Abraham's servant (mentioned by name in Genesis 15, and doing selfless and amazing things for his master Abraham in Genesis 24).
But there was also some less delightful news.
There may be something wrong with little Ewan's heart. The diagnosis is not definite at this point, so we've been scheduled for some additional testing, intended to give the doctors a clearer picture of what might be going on. It's entirely possible that everything is okay (Ewan's daddy's heart is unlike the hearts doctors are used to seeing) and that they just couldn't see well enough, or it is possible that there may be an actual defect. With this, we've also been introduced to the possibility of a chromosomal abnormality, such as Down's syndrome or something similar.
As you might imagine, the past week hasn't been easy. The tears I've cried and the grief I've expressed has come from places deeper than I knew existed, and hurt more than I knew was possible. The news stunned us; this was not what we were expecting with our ultrasound, nor (obviously) was it what we were hoping to hear. We didn't sleep well or at all in the first days after the news, and when I did, I had horrific and violent dreams. Over the course of the past week or so I've felt saddened, angry, guilty, disconnected, and completely robbed of my joy.
Though we are both in a better place now, the coming days and weeks will determine much in terms of the course of our care and where we deliver. Even before I was pregnant, I had my heart set on receiving my prenatal care exclusively from midwives and delivering in a birth center or at home. We love our midwives, and couldn't be happier about the care we've received. But if little Ewan needs to be born where the best medical care is immediately available to him, our plans will have to change. Much will have to change.
All this remains to be seen. Please be praying for the three of us -- though we are certainly hoping and praying for a whole and properly-functioning heart, any other diagnosis will not cause us to love or cherish Ewan any less. This next test is coming up this coming Tuesday (June 1) at 3 pm (Pacific Time).
Thank you for holding us up. The prayers of the saints are really what have held us up and kept us sane during the past week, and what will hold us up in the days and weeks to come.
03 May 2010
we now interrupt the series in progress for an adorable belly shot
Good morning, my friends! I've been working on the next post in my Becoming Catholic series, but this Little Bean (who is decidedly bigger than a bean right now, but until we know if it's a girl baby or boy baby baking in there, the name is Little Bean) is still running the show. I'm mostly feeling better (more energy, less nausea -- yeah!!), but still have the occasional bouts of sickness which tend to exhaust me and make my stomach feel as though it's been turned inside-out.
I'm 18 weeks tomorrow (May 4) and cannot believe I'm nearly halfway through this pregnancy!! This was taken about a week and a half ago, and I just got around to processing it. This one, I think, is what they call a keeper.
Love and hugs to you all, and thanks for your continued prayers and well wishes for the three of us (not the four of us, as one of us in this photo may occasionally contend -- I won't say who he is, except that he has facial hair).
xoxo
kirsten
P.S. A few more belly shots here.
P.P.S. Ultrasound is two weeks from Wednesday. Any guesses as to what we're having? Feel free to cast your vote in the poll at the upper right-hand corner of the blog!!
18 March 2010
11 weeks
Dear Little Bean,
There is no doubt in my mind or in anyone else's that you are moving and shaking and swimming and growing. Mama has felt very, very sick over the last week or so. You should know that no matter how many times I throw up and how much I don't like it, it doesn't make me any less glad that you're here. You're a gift and a miracle, and I never want you to forget it, no matter how tired I am, how much heartburn I have, or how many stretch marks I get.
Before we knew you were coming, we both wondered if we'd be able to have a baby at all. The last few years of my health have been a roller coaster and it got bad enough at times that I was pretty sure that having a baby wouldn't be possible at all. We were open to you, and we waited. And then suddenly, there you were. We know many people who have tried and tried and tried to have a baby, and it just doesn't happen for them. It is one of the saddest things in the world, baby, to want to give life to a little one such as yourself, and not to be able to. So it's really not lost on us, what a great gift this is, and how fortunate we are to be able to have you around at all.
We got to hear your heartbeat last week, and we nearly floated out of the midwife's office with joy. You must have been squirming and swimming and doing flips or something, because you were so hard to find. And then just about when we were ready to give up on finding you this time around, you paused long enough for us to hear that long-anticipated thud-thud-thud-thud; it sounded like someone running on a treadmill. Loren (the midwife) said you sounded strong and healthy. Somehow, we knew you would be. Even so, we do not take that fact for granted.
You should know, Baby, what a good man your daddy is. He's taken such good care of me when I've been feeling too sick and too tired to take care of myself. He makes me breakfast, puts together my lunch at night, and sets aside my prenatal vitamins since the sight and smell of them tend to make me sick. He gets the foods I crave and doesn't cook with the ones that don't sound good to me. He talks to you and tells you how much he loves you. I'm sure by the time you're born, you will know his voice well.
Love to you, sweet one. I hope you liked the granola and yogurt.
There is no doubt in my mind or in anyone else's that you are moving and shaking and swimming and growing. Mama has felt very, very sick over the last week or so. You should know that no matter how many times I throw up and how much I don't like it, it doesn't make me any less glad that you're here. You're a gift and a miracle, and I never want you to forget it, no matter how tired I am, how much heartburn I have, or how many stretch marks I get.
Before we knew you were coming, we both wondered if we'd be able to have a baby at all. The last few years of my health have been a roller coaster and it got bad enough at times that I was pretty sure that having a baby wouldn't be possible at all. We were open to you, and we waited. And then suddenly, there you were. We know many people who have tried and tried and tried to have a baby, and it just doesn't happen for them. It is one of the saddest things in the world, baby, to want to give life to a little one such as yourself, and not to be able to. So it's really not lost on us, what a great gift this is, and how fortunate we are to be able to have you around at all.
We got to hear your heartbeat last week, and we nearly floated out of the midwife's office with joy. You must have been squirming and swimming and doing flips or something, because you were so hard to find. And then just about when we were ready to give up on finding you this time around, you paused long enough for us to hear that long-anticipated thud-thud-thud-thud; it sounded like someone running on a treadmill. Loren (the midwife) said you sounded strong and healthy. Somehow, we knew you would be. Even so, we do not take that fact for granted.
You should know, Baby, what a good man your daddy is. He's taken such good care of me when I've been feeling too sick and too tired to take care of myself. He makes me breakfast, puts together my lunch at night, and sets aside my prenatal vitamins since the sight and smell of them tend to make me sick. He gets the foods I crave and doesn't cook with the ones that don't sound good to me. He talks to you and tells you how much he loves you. I'm sure by the time you're born, you will know his voice well.
Love to you, sweet one. I hope you liked the granola and yogurt.
12 March 2010
pregnancy dreams
Everyone knows that with pregnancy comes a surge of hormones so incredible, they practically swallow you whole. These hormones are wonderful and magical things, protecting the baby in the earliest stages of pregnancy, helping him/her grow. They also have the added effect for some women, such as myself, of making them very sick, and often very, very emotional.
And that's all I remember of that dream. Aren't you glad? :)
And I've really been having some doozies lately, most of them not at all related (as far as I can tell) to being pregnant, giving birth, or even babies in general. I wish I had kept a journal of all of them, but here are some of the ones that I recall.
* My sister is getting married but even by the day of the wedding, has not introduced her husband-to-be to any of her friends or family. Just trust me, she keeps saying. She is looking rather gorgeous, by the way. She's having an outdoor wedding and I can see all these quaint little benches sitting in a sweet, tiny garden. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you can ever so faintly hear the angels singing. Just then, I remember that I don't have my camera with me (which, if you're related to me, you know full well that The Camera comes even to the must mundane of family events). I yell, "Wait just a minute, I've GOT to get MY CAMERA!!" and when I run out of the house to get my camera, a torrential downpour outbreaks, complete with thunder and lighting. They wedding is delayed, Kaari is crying, and I am soaked to the bone. [[And then I got up because I had to use the bathroom, no doubt spurred on by the torrential downpour in dream]]
* I end up at a retreat or summer camp-type week with a bunch of young girls (about high school age, like, OMG!!). Everyone in attendance had the habit of leaving their items in the common restroom where we all showered. I was very put out on the day we were packing up to leave to discover someone had taken ALL OF MY AUSSIE HAIRCARE PRODUCTS. AND MY BODYWASH!! I made an announcement to hundreds to let them know how angry I was, and to return my conditioner promptly. I'm pretty sure they were all shaking in their boots. But I don't remember if I did get my conditioner back.
* James and I learn that the Lord of the Rings films were not filmed in New Zealand like everyone thinks, but actually they were filmed on Cougar Mountain in Issaquah -- right where we live!! And we had NO IDEA!! We decide to go on one of the tours being offered, "Walk in Frodo's Footsteps." It was magical. Really, you had to be there.
* I also dreamed last night that I had to pee so much that I made the toilet overflow due to the volume of urine I was expelling. [[You might also notice this is the only dream that is even remotely connected to pregnancy, and the one most closely linked to reality.]]
Well, even though this side effect is utterly bizarre and leaves me wondering at what kinds of substances I have flowing through my system (and at what levels), not to mention what underlying psychoses might be cropping up, at least it doesn't involve me losing my lunch.
One additional side effect is what one of my pregnancy books calls "vivid dreams." That's a really, really nice name for what they are. My dream life has always been on the unusual side, pulling together the most ridiculous memories, imaginings, and things seen over the course of my lifetime and putting them all together and then hitting the "Randomize" button. For example, there's one dream I had when I was probably in elementary or middle school. It's still famous in my family. It goes like this:
I'm on vacation in Spain with my Mom and Dad, my siblings having opted to stay at home. While in Spain, my Mom and Dad and I somehow end up in pursuit of dangerous criminals who have disguised themselves as babies [[I told you this was ridiculous!]], wearing baby-type clothing complete with bonnets, ruffles, and rattles. In pursuit of these criminals, we end up chasing them not via car, but via a crazy roller coaster that instead of coming to a stop like normal roller coasters do, ends up plunging us all into a big vat of chocolate sauce [this part is not so bad]. Criminals-disguised-as-babies have been STOPPED. Hoorah!!
So, after our successful capture of these Spanish criminals, we return home in seeming triumph. Peder and Kaari are standing in our driveway and behind them where our house used to be is a black pile of smoldering rubble. Oh yeah, Peder says. We forgot to tell you, the house blew up.
Desperate for accommodation, we decide turn to the summer camp that is just a few miles away, toward the south end of the lake. After setting up our gear [from whence did this camping gear come, I do not know] in a cabin, we walk down to the lake where we can see the small island that is just across from the camp. As we look closer, we find that Fraggles (you know ... Fraggles ... of Fraggle Rock fame ... you know, the cousins of the Muppets??) inhabit the island and have come out to greet us.
And that's all I remember of that dream. Aren't you glad? :)
And I've really been having some doozies lately, most of them not at all related (as far as I can tell) to being pregnant, giving birth, or even babies in general. I wish I had kept a journal of all of them, but here are some of the ones that I recall.
* My sister is getting married but even by the day of the wedding, has not introduced her husband-to-be to any of her friends or family. Just trust me, she keeps saying. She is looking rather gorgeous, by the way. She's having an outdoor wedding and I can see all these quaint little benches sitting in a sweet, tiny garden. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you can ever so faintly hear the angels singing. Just then, I remember that I don't have my camera with me (which, if you're related to me, you know full well that The Camera comes even to the must mundane of family events). I yell, "Wait just a minute, I've GOT to get MY CAMERA!!" and when I run out of the house to get my camera, a torrential downpour outbreaks, complete with thunder and lighting. They wedding is delayed, Kaari is crying, and I am soaked to the bone. [[And then I got up because I had to use the bathroom, no doubt spurred on by the torrential downpour in dream]]
* I end up at a retreat or summer camp-type week with a bunch of young girls (about high school age, like, OMG!!). Everyone in attendance had the habit of leaving their items in the common restroom where we all showered. I was very put out on the day we were packing up to leave to discover someone had taken ALL OF MY AUSSIE HAIRCARE PRODUCTS. AND MY BODYWASH!! I made an announcement to hundreds to let them know how angry I was, and to return my conditioner promptly. I'm pretty sure they were all shaking in their boots. But I don't remember if I did get my conditioner back.
* James and I learn that the Lord of the Rings films were not filmed in New Zealand like everyone thinks, but actually they were filmed on Cougar Mountain in Issaquah -- right where we live!! And we had NO IDEA!! We decide to go on one of the tours being offered, "Walk in Frodo's Footsteps." It was magical. Really, you had to be there.
* I also dreamed last night that I had to pee so much that I made the toilet overflow due to the volume of urine I was expelling. [[You might also notice this is the only dream that is even remotely connected to pregnancy, and the one most closely linked to reality.]]
Well, even though this side effect is utterly bizarre and leaves me wondering at what kinds of substances I have flowing through my system (and at what levels), not to mention what underlying psychoses might be cropping up, at least it doesn't involve me losing my lunch.
04 March 2010
creative energy
You might have noticed that I've been pretty quiet around here lately. I used to have something to say most days of the week, and now I seem to be in the blogging equivalent of hibernation. I know lives go on and all that, but I do miss the interaction that occurs here. I'm thankful for those of you who stop by, and leave a comment to let you know you're thinking of me. Those are much appreciated and don't go unnoticed.
You want to know something else? This isn't the only space in which I've withdrawn a bit. I haven't taken any pictures -- or even picked up my camera -- in three weeks or more. My last upload to Flickr was on February 17. I've taken my camera with me on walks, more or less begrudgingly, and all I want to do is go home and kick my feet up on the couch.
Instead of lamenting that the creative energy is all gone (which I have cried about, make no mistake), I've chosen to understand it another way. The creative impulses that once flowed so naturally and abundantly aren't expressing themselves in the same way anymore. Instead of manifesting itself through writing and picture taking, they've been redirected for the time being to making this little person. It's a season and it's not permanent, but it is important.
For now, it simply is.
P.S. I have been spending some time thinking and discussing about issues of non-violence over at Christianne's beautiful space. If you haven't yet joined the conversation, you may want to take a look!! Here is the link: Journey Toward Non-Violence
You want to know something else? This isn't the only space in which I've withdrawn a bit. I haven't taken any pictures -- or even picked up my camera -- in three weeks or more. My last upload to Flickr was on February 17. I've taken my camera with me on walks, more or less begrudgingly, and all I want to do is go home and kick my feet up on the couch.
Instead of lamenting that the creative energy is all gone (which I have cried about, make no mistake), I've chosen to understand it another way. The creative impulses that once flowed so naturally and abundantly aren't expressing themselves in the same way anymore. Instead of manifesting itself through writing and picture taking, they've been redirected for the time being to making this little person. It's a season and it's not permanent, but it is important.
For now, it simply is.
P.S. I have been spending some time thinking and discussing about issues of non-violence over at Christianne's beautiful space. If you haven't yet joined the conversation, you may want to take a look!! Here is the link: Journey Toward Non-Violence
26 February 2010
love & potato chips
I'm certain that the fact that my once loose-fitting "I'm feeling so skinny" pants are now the snug "I'm glad I can still zip them up" pants couldn't have a thing to do with the fact that I've been padding the bottom line of the Kettle Brand Chips company lately. It couldn't possibly, could it? I mean, I know I'm pregnant and all, but ...
Could it?!
Yeah, that's what I thought.
I was really hoping that I would be one of those women who, when pregnant, sailed and soared through pregnancy without nausea or vomiting or lagging energy. So far, I've dealt with all three. Foods and meals I previously enjoyed now turn my stomach (split pea soup, vegetable soup, hot rice cereal, etc.) and foods that I've never enjoyed a close relationship with (eggs being at the top of this list, and orange juice being another) are now amongst the short list of things I can stomach without difficulty and actually crave.
So far, the best thing to eat -- the thing I've enjoyed the most and have not gagged on once -- are salt & vinegar potato chips (Kettle brand only, Little Bean is quite picky). James and I discovered a little grocery outlet near our home that sells the smaller bags for $1 when normally, they retail for $3-4. It's nice getting the food you crave on the cheap, and this is a very, very good thing for James whose task it is to take care of a very tired, very nauseated, and very hormonal woman.
And yesterday, I was nearing the bottom of the last bag we had in our apartment. Quelle tragédie!!
Too nauseated to go out myself, I asked this wonderful man if he wouldn't mind picking up another bag or two -- you know, since I've got this child growing inside me and all and this is one of the rare foods that doesn't make me gag to look at, smell, ingest, or have within a half-mile proximity of my person.
The man came home with 2 cases of these potato chips from the grocery outlet. That translates to 2 big boxes, 30 bags, and approximately 22,500 calories of tangy, salty goodness taking up residence in our laundry/pantry area. Now that is love.
I sure hope I have a hungry baby ... or that s/he doesn't suddenly develop a preference for the jalapeno flavor!!
Could it?!
Yeah, that's what I thought. I was really hoping that I would be one of those women who, when pregnant, sailed and soared through pregnancy without nausea or vomiting or lagging energy. So far, I've dealt with all three. Foods and meals I previously enjoyed now turn my stomach (split pea soup, vegetable soup, hot rice cereal, etc.) and foods that I've never enjoyed a close relationship with (eggs being at the top of this list, and orange juice being another) are now amongst the short list of things I can stomach without difficulty and actually crave.
So far, the best thing to eat -- the thing I've enjoyed the most and have not gagged on once -- are salt & vinegar potato chips (Kettle brand only, Little Bean is quite picky). James and I discovered a little grocery outlet near our home that sells the smaller bags for $1 when normally, they retail for $3-4. It's nice getting the food you crave on the cheap, and this is a very, very good thing for James whose task it is to take care of a very tired, very nauseated, and very hormonal woman.
And yesterday, I was nearing the bottom of the last bag we had in our apartment. Quelle tragédie!!
Too nauseated to go out myself, I asked this wonderful man if he wouldn't mind picking up another bag or two -- you know, since I've got this child growing inside me and all and this is one of the rare foods that doesn't make me gag to look at, smell, ingest, or have within a half-mile proximity of my person.
The man came home with 2 cases of these potato chips from the grocery outlet. That translates to 2 big boxes, 30 bags, and approximately 22,500 calories of tangy, salty goodness taking up residence in our laundry/pantry area. Now that is love.
I sure hope I have a hungry baby ... or that s/he doesn't suddenly develop a preference for the jalapeno flavor!!
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