the christian left

We  have decided to stay with my OB for the delivery.  It was a tough decision as I am really set on a home birth, but since the father of the baby isn’t…  it’s going to be better to go this route.  He’s voting a thumbs down on the doula, but if I want one, I’m getting it anyway.  It’s MY mission to not get cut where the sun doesn’t shine — stitches down there hurt more than just about anything I can tell you about.  Take my word for it.   And it’s good  to have the  decision made, at least, and it’s one more thing checked off the infinite list.

I have  some lingering attitude, which is why I haven’t posted much lately.  I’d just sound like someone with some sort of hate wish on the world, and, well, I’m not totally sure why it is.  I can stop at just saying that I feel ok these days (despite a cold) and that I’m happy to get to have an ultrasound on Thursday to possibly determine baby #3’s gender and development.  I’m nervous, however, for the  weigh-in.  So far I’ve lost weight and maintained some confidence that way.  Confidence that I won’t get out of control and  blimp up.  Well…  this time I fear I’ve lost control and blimped up.  I’ve been eating junk — pizza, candy, chips, etc.  It’s just what I want, not that there should be an excuse for it at all.  Maybe I’ll see the light after the weigh in.

Related more to the attitude and possibly the hormones, I’m pretty sure that I’m a victim to the world.  Yeah, I know — terrible thought.  Why would I feel that way?  I’m not really too sure.  I’ve been enjoying lots of things lately — getting things decluttered (still have a long way to go), swimming, working on blanket squares, eating, tv watching, etc.  Maybe it’s that I don’t LIKE maternity clothes that are out now (is it really a good  idea to put a BOW over a belly?  am I four again?), maybe it’s that for some idiot reason I feel completely friendless, maybe it’s that I’m scared I’ll be as lonely as I was after the boy was born.  I was so happy, although I felt crummy from being stitched up and down my thing (read above goal to not get cut),  but so lonely.  Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a haircut since November, and if I want to wear my pants that fit me to leave the house, I have to often wait until they’re clean.  Yes, I’m reduced to one pair of not ugly pants.  And one not ugly skirt, but there is leg maintenance required for the skirt.  I have more like 5 shirts, and some wintery ones that were loaned to me and that I had during the last pregnancy that I can wear on the cold days.  Maybe Juno’s stepmom can come make me some cool pants sometime.  I’m too tired to.  My maternity bathing suit doesn’t fit, it’s too large still, but my regular one makes me look like I really do sit about eating spoonfuls of Crisco and like I probably hold my toddler outside of  Walmarts whilst smoking.  I have  denounced shirts that tie in the back as frumpy.  I also do not want cargo pants.  I do not wear them when I am not pregnant, so why start now?  I don’t understand the  difference  between “tops,” “shirts,” and “tees.”  Perhaps I am not well enough educated, but what is the difference?  I am tempted to go naked, but it would probably add foundation to the fear that there are really no people in this world who would care to spend time with me…

So it goes.  I will start documenting the belly soon as  it is beginning to look like I am on a steady diet of beer and cheetos.  On a lighter note, I have been bugged by a constantly moving fetus.  My money is on a boy, here.  Ideas?  I’m hoping for a boy or a girl because they’re both lots of fun.

I’ve got a bad  attitude.  There’s no shaking it — it’s just a bad attitude.

It’s strange how things flip, how people change, how shapes change, and how it affects.  Maybe soon enough I’ll be willing to document my lard belly, but today is not that day.   With my other pregnancies, I was overcome with an extreme excitement despite all the side  effects.  Don’t get me wrong, I want this baby just as badly as the babies I have  already, but there’s a disenchantment I have never before felt.  Physical changes are always tough, especially when they are rapid, nearly uncontrollable, and inevitable.  These physical changes are more than tough.  They’re enough to bring me to tears every day.  Although I am at a grand total of -8 lbs so far (at 16 weeks) I am lumpy and fat.  My chins have sprouted, my belly is hovering over my waistband, and I look like I have consumed a ridiculous amount of straight butter over the last few months.  There’s something incredibly desperate about this situation, somehow, and I can’t explain it.

Possibly it’s the indecision on birthing options.  I’d love to do a home birth, but I’m being overwhelmed by “what ifs” and I don’t want to go the midwife + hospital route.  I’d rather keep my OB than do that.  I’m just not sure what to do.  I don’t know  if I would be stepping on my good relationship with my OB by hiring a doula or if I would be jeopardizing a good  birth experience by having fears surround me about possible problems with delivery.

I don’t know what it is.  But I hope it passes soon.  I’ve been swimming, and that’s refreshing.  I’m looking forward to a possible burst of energy from somewhere.  A possible attitude adjustment.

At least it snowed today.  It was short lived, and I miss it already.

I’m considering delivering my new baby at The Farm in Summertown, TN.  It’s a hippie commune well-known for philanthropic works and reinventing the womanly art of midwifery.

I have known since the moment I delivered our boy that I would never again have an epidural.  I felt my epidural site for a year after his birth, and I felt the birth.  By the time we all realized that the epidural wasn’t going to take,  it was too close to delivery to do anything about it.  My legs were useless, completely numb, and the birth was nowhere as bad as I could have imagined.  Sure, there was discomfort, especially as my doctor was forcing the baby into a true vertex position and unwinding the cord from his neck one of the times it was wrapped.  That part felt like it lasted three hours, but it couldn’t have been more than 45 minutes.  From start to finish, the labor was 5.5 hours.  I received my epidural before I experienced any pain, and then when the discomfort started, it was just transition.  I had the terrible shakes, cold, nausea, and then quickly I was able to work on getting the baby out.  So I did.  And I remember the tremendous relief from my body as he passed through it.  I also remember how amazing he looked even before they cleaned him up because I was holding him then.  I nursed him after they checked his breathing and wiped him down.  They left him with us for a good two hours before B went with him to get a bath and I ate.  I don’t have a negative birth experience — it all went how I asked for it to go.  But because I went through that, I know I can get back to the basics and do it on my own.

That’s where the Farm may come in.  If not them, then possibly a hospital, but it’s to be our experience.  Discomfort and all.  I want to feel it.

I can also choose midwives at Vandy, or in Franklin, or simply use my OB who will let me do as I please.  For now the options are open, but I’m really curious about becoming  a hippie for a few weeks.

Two years ago today, I was in labor with the boy.  Then he decided he wanted to tear his way into the world, so he did.  It’s gone  by pretty fast, but it’s been good to have a boy around.  We’re  making a special trip to the train store, and I’ll include some party pics later (by party I mean we’re having pizza and cake with our family tonight) if anything sweet happens.

In the new baby news, I haven’t gained  any weight yet at nearly 13 weeks, so I consider that a triumph.  Sickness has mostly left me, but I have a flare up now and again.  The baby’s heartbeat sounds really good, and it’s in the right spot.  I don’t really have a belly yet, but I’ll probably start doing some belly pics at some point to mark the progress.  I’m fearful that when the belly does kick in, it’ll be like a torpedo hanging out of my midsection all at once.  I guess I’ll wrap a few towels around  it and head out since I’m planning on ridding myself of most of my maternity wear.  Especially since it’s all wintery stuff.  I’ll try to concoct some shirts out of cold packs so I can keep my cool.  At least I will have  to find some tank tops and shorts.   That house really fat bellies.

Anymore the kids are sick and the belly buddy is getting to me.  Fatigue, sickness, you name it, they cramp my style.  I am unmotivated to work out, I’m depressed about my surroundings (like how they’re messy and cluttery), you name it, it needs some help.  Anyhow, I’ve decided to tackle at least one big thing a week.  Friday it was our closet.  Yesterday, it was our taxes.  Tomorrow, hopefully, it will be taking things to Goodwill.  See, after I did our taxes and spent the real amount of time that it takes to do the deductions, I was made aware of the beauty of giving to Goodwill.  I have 3.5 boxes full of winter time maternity clothes that I will not need with this new baby.  Provided that everything goes well and looks good with this baby (I have an appointment on Thursday) I will unload these clothes.  Realistically, when will I need them again?  If EVER, it would be way down the road.  And I’ll want new things.  So they’ve gotta go.  So I can make room for the shorts and tank tops you wear when you’re pregnant in August.  None of which I already own.  Pregnancy 3, and a brand new round of dumping tons of money on new clothes.  So it goes.

I have begun to worry a tad that I am at 12 weeks and don’t have a belly.  All of the chicks on my pregnancy forums are talking about outgrowing their clothes and needing Bella bands and maternity clothes, you name it.  Their belly pictures are cute and sort of rotund.  Mine is none of the above.  Possibly this is good — to spare me from yet another month of being large and uncomfortable.  But it’s scary to think that the main indicator I have at this point to know for sure the baby is growing is to see ME growing as well.  I’m sure I will, in time.  Right now, I just feel fat and dumpy and sick and unattractive.  And angry that I’m just going to get fatter.  But happy about the baby, to be sure.

So I cleaned out our closet.  B helped to go through his things, but I dug deep.  I’m sick of living with so much.  I feel like I’m turning into my mom who keeps it all — she couldn’t wait for us to leave so she could spill over her clothes into our closets when my brother and I both went away to college.  Ridiculous.  She and her sisters complain that my grandmother would “get rid of” things that were perfectly good and they still liked.  BUT WHEN YOU HAVE SIX KIDS you get rid of stuff.  Because stuff doesn’t define you.

I cleaned the baseboards, added a rug, dusted down all the organizers and ruthlessly got rid of clothes.  It was time.  I also made room for the handful of maternity items I just *might* get some use from this go round.  At least they’ll work until April.  Should I need them before then…

Here’s what it looks like now.

and…

and here’s what we are getting rid of…

It’s sad, really, to think I let it go that far.  And to look at the closet and know I could still get rid of about 30% of my things and still live a wonderful and fulfilled life.  Someone to convince me that it’s quality over quantity.

Next:  counters and new blinds.

I fired up the hot box tonight and whipped up some of this.

Lower-fat banana bread from the Veganomicon. And it was delicious. So much so that I had two nice slices…

I’m not sure if the kitchen is permanently up and running, but for tonight, it sure was. Enjoy.

So, I didn’t vote today because I voted early. But in case you were hoping to vote on something else today than a lesser of two evils, here’s a quick question.

What kind of counters should we get?

Choice 1 — Corian/solid surface (More expensive, but nicer-looking, maybe add a little value to the kitchen?)

Choice 2 — plain laminate (Cheaper, and I’d get to get the sink I was hoping to get and maybe a little nicer disposal.)

Help please!

OK, I scheduled the  laminate estimate.  That’s what we’re going to do.  Nobody can truly tell me the difference between solid surface and laminate other than the looks.  So, I’m going with the standard plus a single basin stainless steel sink. 

I’m not sure why I still love the weekends so much…  I don’t work professionally anymore, so weekends aren’t the superspecial time to spend with my kids that I never otherwise get.  In fact, since the kids don’t understand “sleeping in” there isn’t even that bonus to the weekend.  But for some reason, weekends are still special, and hopefully they always will be.  I guess I allow myself to kick back a little more than during the  week — I do less housework usually, and I eat more indulgently.  Of course, I allow myself to indulge a tad much.  I do dread Sunday mornings because they are a hassle, but it’s a good hassle.

So, today, I healed some personal wounds with muffins.  Sometimes if it ain’t broke, then you just don’t need to fix it.  I haven’t been up to par in the kitchen lately — usually soups that are less than noteworthy or straight up vegetable plates.  Uninteresting stuff.  People  get in funks from time to time and I am estimating I will slip out of it soon enough, but soon often feels like an eternity away.  Creativity has taken a hiatus, and new recipes aren’t as fascinating as they usually are.  I dragged my normally exhausted, reluctant, Saturday-morning-self to the table to enjoy warm muffins, yogurt, and some hot tea.

And  it was good.

I don’t even mind that we’re going to have six more weeks of winter.  Maybe some of that won’t be 67-8 degrees for the high the way Monday and Tuesday are supposed to be.  I just want a snow day.  SNOW DAY I SAY.  It’s been about five years since we had a REAL snow, you know, one that didn’t melt by 10:00 am.

The US has been ruled by 2 families for 20 years (28 if you count Bush Sr.’s VP terms).  Do we really want another 4-8 more?  Here’s hoping a secret lesbian affair between Chelsea and Jenna will bring the country back together.

So, on Saturday, B and  I are running the 5k at the Zoo.  What have I done to get ready?  Well, not a whole heck of a lot.  It’s been really cold outside, there has been sickness in the family, and it’s taking all I’ve got to do my moderate (15-20mins) weight training several times per week.  At least I can squeeze that in while the kids are playing or napping or something.

It seemed like this would be the world’s most perfect race — perfectly after the holidays to motivate us to get moving  after a few days more sluggish than should be.  But I have honestly found myself NOT CARING at all whether or not I get out and run.  And when  I do, I don’t feel well.  So, Saturday will be a struggle of me vs. me as well as me vs. race.

In the knitting news, I have been moving slowly.  I haven’t been feeling super great, so I haven’t cranked out a bunch of stuff.  That hadn’t bugged me until about last night.  I am now on a mission to finish the first real post-Christmas knitting project.  I guess since I knit so much for Christmas that I can’t really imagine just sitting around and knitting for fun during January.  But the hurry-up spring arm warmers will be accomplished before the week is out.  And if we’re really lucky, in time for tomorrow’s frigid blast.

I think I’m in a funk lately.  Maybe it’s the post-holiday, budget-resetting, other life-changing-things mindset.  There’s just been a little too much tv and not enough activity in the house.  I know that’s changed easily, but the motivation to get out there isn’t.  Once it starts to warm up today, I’m dragging the kids to the library so I can vote and so they can get out from in front of the tube.  I mean, it was the  same kind of way when I was a kid.  I remember endless tv hours.  I also remember my mom breaking the monotony at some point and making us do something different.  Now that I’m the mom, I have to be “responsible” and drag ‘em away today.