Wednesday, February 5, 2014
I don't have a dramatic delivery story. Much like my pregnancy, it was smooth sailing. The few days after were rough. I had never spent the night in a hospital, and had no idea how difficult it was to sleep. (Big duh there.) Luckily, I had my mom at home to help me out. Rather than google potentially terrifying things, I could just say..."Mooooom, is this normal?" and she'd allay my fears. Her most fantastic help meant that when she left, it was extra terrifying. In fact, the night after she left, my husband and I high-fived for making it 24 hours.
There are still moments when P.I.C. and I look at each other and laugh in disbelief. We have a kid. We are parents. We made a baby. SHE'S SO CUTE. (Everyone says that, I know, I know.)
You know what? All of those parenting cliches are so true. It's the hardest job in the world. It's the best job in the world. Blah blah blah. All you talk about is poop. (Partly true.) The entire first two weeks you are topless. (Um, try entire first month. Even now, I feel like I'm always experiencing an intentional nip slip.) I cry at the drop of a hat. The hormones that messed me up during pregnancy have evolved to make me a weepy mess.
I have so much to say about it, and yet have such a difficult time finding the words. I guess I can sum it up by saying...I am really, really happy. I wish that I could fit back into my jeans again, but I know this will happen with time. I'd rather focus on taking care of the little lady for now.
I go back to work on Friday. That makes me mostly sad, but a little happy, and for the happy bit, I feel guilty. ALL THE FEELINGS. Seriously. Anyhow, I will leave you alone with some four-day baby fingers.
Meet the little lady.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
By the time I hit thirty, I definitely had a better grasp on my own self. I was happy. Healthy. Strong. I was in a good relationship. I had wonderful friends. I was close with my family. I knew what was important to me, and I lived my life accordingly. We took vacations, I went out for dinners with my friends. I pursued hobbies. I tried to make myself a better person. Life wasn't easy. I know it wasn't perfect. But I was really and truly happy.
Today, I am 33 years old, three years past that point where I felt like I had it figured out. Of course, because life is complicated and messy, I decided to throw a wrench in my happy life. My husband and I decided to procreate.
I am adding a tiny, squealing, complicated mass of cells to my life. It could be as soon as tomorrow, or nineteen days from now. Of course, this baby is wanted so very much. For a very, very long time, I knew I wanted to have a family with my husband. But when it comes down to actually happening, and finally acknowledging the fact that this baby is going to come out and stay out...forever...it's terrifying.
This year, I went to Mexico for a dear friend's wedding and drank copious amounts of bottled water instead of margaritas. I rang in my birthday with a non-alcoholic drink rather than bottles of champagne. I have abstained from deli meats and sushi for nearly forty weeks. I have accepted my growing waistline and increasing number on the scale with little more than a shoulder shrug. I stopped all training for races finding that peeing my pants was more of a probability than a possibility. My life has already changed.
I'm a little sad. My identity is changing once again. I sure hope it's a person that I like as much as I like the one I have discovered now. I hope that it's one that my husband loves as much as he loves me now. And I really hope it's one that this child will love and respect as it grows.
Friday, September 27, 2013
I used to write all the time. Clearly, I don't do that now. I have SO many reasons, guys. Number one is that I tend to have all of thoughts during the workday and guess what? BLOGGER IS BLOCKED AT WORK. So you're not privy to my random thoughts during the day. I'm too tired at night. Once I remember that I thought about something to write, I'm probably eating.
I also don't want to talk about my pregnancy all the time. I mean, those thoughts run from very serious TMI thoughts. I just don't want to talk about nipples or gas or hormones. (NO, YOU WERE CRYING HYSTERICALLY OVER THE BABY HATS WITH THE EARS ON THEM AT THE GAP WHILE YOUR HUSBAND LOOKED ON HELPLESSLY.) I've also had probably the easiest pregnancy in all the land, so I don't want to be all, "Pregnancy, no big deal." It is a big deal, it's beautiful, blah blah blah.
The fact is, right now my life is rather boring. I wake up in the morning, usually pretty tired despite putting myself to bed at a reasonable hour the night before. I allow myself some coffee (and yes, it's fall, can I tell you about pumpkin spice creamer? It's made my world.) and a little bit of time to check my twitter feed. I mean, I have to see what all the fun kids talked about after I put myself to bed. Sometimes I go to the gym or do my workout video. I usually eat one to two breakfasts. I pack another one for work sometimes if I'm really hungry. I stare at myself in the mirror for a good five minutes to see if I have developed stretch marks, or how much bigger I have gotten overnight. (It seems to happen a little bit more each day.) I go to work, listen to wbez.org, do some work, and take walks in the loop when it's nice. (There have been lots of really nice days.)
During the work day, I have found that I try not to leave my office. It's not that I'm antisocial, but I find that people tend to STARE at my stomach, then want to discuss my pregnancy with me, even if I have never spoken to them in my life. Sometimes I just wanna check my mail, and I don't want to discuss where I will be giving birth, thank you. I feel like that girl that just got a boob job and wears her boobs out all the time. People can't help but stare, but it makes me feel SO uncomfortable. MY EYES ARE UP HERE, GUYS. I don't even want to talk about the person who asked to see my belly button.
After work, I go home. I probably eat way more than I should, watch some TV, read a little, and then go back to bed. I let PIC do more cooking now. He still cleans up. I love him. I try to ignore the boxes and boxes of baby supplies that seem to have taken over my house. I realize that in a few short weeks, I will be 33. (HOLY CRAP.) Then I'm sleeping. Sometimes I get up a few times to pee, sometimes I make it all the way through the night. The next morning, I get up and do it all over again.
This is my life. To be honest, I've never been happier. Ya know, despite the whole fat ass and stomach thing.***
* Seriously, Tracy Anderson might be strange and advocate anorexic eating habits, but her pregnancy workout video has actually been a fun thing.
** I have always known that I have sausage-like fingers. Playing on an iphone 5 makes me feel like a giant. Seriously, how to people with REAL man hands use this thing. HULKSMASHIPHONE. It makes me love my husband's non-work Nexus 5 so much more. I play Candy Crush on that one too.
*** I know it's not a fat ass or stomach. I know it's just pregnancy. I know I'm not even THAT big. But it's fun to say that I'm fat. I mean, I seriously cannot fit through small spaces anymore. It's funny to me.
Friday, July 19, 2013
I just want to discuss my roller coaster of emotions that have been seemingly taking over my life lately. Now, I am the first to admit, I am an emotional person from my very core. Hallmark commercials? SOB. Folgers Coffee commercials where the military brother/son comes home? SOBSOB. I am, to put it kindly, a hot mess of tears on a regular day. Add a healthy dose of hormones to this, and I just cannot get a grip on my life. PMS tends to be a time when I put P.I.C. "on notice" of my emotions. Because yes, those tears can turn to rage at the drop of a hat. Even better than PMS? PREGNANCY HORMONES. Guys. This is serious. I am hot mess times nine bajillion.
Sigh. Please tell me it gets better. Once that sweet little fetus is evicted from my womb, tell me eventually my tears will be reserved for commercials and real things...but...I just said sweet little fetus and thinking about the baby in a real way makes me cry. EVERY. TIME.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
I mean, it seems like this is a good excuse for me to post a little somethin' somethin', given my love (errr...like?) for running.
2013 has been a decent year race-wise. I ran the Shamrock Shuffle faster than last year, and I finished the Soldier Field Ten Miler about five minutes slower than last year with a rather lackadaisical training effort. I'm pleased. However I think my best running experience of 2013 would have to be running a 5k with my sister-in-law.
It was a damp and chilly April morning in the northside Chicago neighborhood. I had run the Ravenswood 5k last year and found it be very fun. Low pressure, gorgeous houses along the route, everyone was just out for a good time. I knew that this race would be the perfect choice for my sister-in-law for her very first 5k. I remember my first 5k (I wrote about it here), and it was such a fantastic and defining moment for me, I was so thrilled to be a part of that with her.
Her goals? To not be the last person and to beat 45 minutes. Her goals became my personal mission. I wasn't worried about the first one. This race aways has lots of walkers, so I knew that so long as we ran SOMETHING, we wouldn't be last. We committed to a ratio of three to one: three minutes running to one minute walking. When we crossed the start line, we were off! And...speedy. We were running at a pace that definitely felt faster than what she had told me she was running in her training. I went with it though. After about a mile, she told me that she was getting winded. I slowed it up, and we were just fine. The ratio worked out perfectly and we were plugging along just fine.
At two miles, I realized we were doing well enough that we were for sure going to beat her time goal. I think I got a little eager, and my pace crept up a little. She was great at communicating this to me, and I slowed down. I started pointing out that we were getting very close. When we got to what I knew was the home stretch, I told her to forget the last walk break, we were going to finish strong. She protested. But I wasn't having her quit on me with the finish line in sight.
"IF YOU DON'T STOP, WE NOT ONLY WILL CRUSH YOUR GOAL TIME, WE WILL FINISH IN LESS THAN 40 MINUTES."
She didn't love me at that moment, but she sucked it up and kept on running. We finished in 39:44. I felt so proud of her. It was almost like it was my first time again as I felt that sweet rush of crossing the finish line.
Running is just...well, it's changed my life. If I can share a part of that with other loved ones, you'd better believe I will. It's not abouy losing weight or getting faster (both are awesome, obviously), but it's so much fun getting up on a Sunday morning and getting fresh air and a good start to the day. So, while I might have had a personal record for the Shamrock Shuffle, the 5k with my sister-in-law was my favorite running experience of the year.
Now...about that 13.1 in two and a half weeks...I guess we will see!
Happy National Running Day to all those who love it like I do! (That is, tolerate it, like getting medals and shirts, and really are in it for post-race brunches and cheeseburgers.)
Thursday, April 11, 2013
I feel I've been holding onto some anger lately. It's no real mystery as to the source of it. I am aware that the issue causing me this anger is outside of my control. That might be what bothers me most.
I have always been the type to hold onto grudges passively. In this case, it might not be so passive. I am learning to be okay with that. While the situation is not within my control, my reactions most certainly are. I now refuse to be nice.
This posting brought to you by the most passive-aggressive of all the passive-aggressive people in the land.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Then I decided I was TOO GOOD FOR THAT. I would no longer write LOL. It was stupid. Especially when a simple "hahahahahah" would suffice. NO MORE LOL.
That all changed the one day I watched this STUPID video. If you have little tolerance for stupid funny, fast forward to the 2:40 mark. "LOL penis face. TAKE THAT MOM." I can't stop laughing. So I started saying that. Then i decided, hey, I can type LOL sometimes. Or lol. I can type that too.
Now I'm back to using LOL. I feel a little gross, but whatever. I don't care.
Did I just blog about LOL? Sorry.