Happy Feet!

I was going to call this post, “Pedicure II: Electric Bugaloo” but decided against it.  (Read about my White Trash Pedicure here!)

Thanks to my friend Megan, I had the best pedicure of my life at Ladies & Gentlemen Spa and Salon at Legacy Village in Lyndhurst, OH.  Thanks also to my pedicurist Amy who did a great job of making me feel relaxed.  I have no clever and/or snarky comments to make.  This pedicure was well worth the price ($64) and a definite must for any pregnant woman who can no longer see, let alone take care of her feet.

Thanks Meggy!

My Thrice Rejected Article About My Second Pregnancy

Below is an article that I submitted to Plum Magazine, Babble and Literary Mama.  All three rejected it   So I shall post it here for your enjoyment and wonder! It was written at the beginning of my second trimester.

Why I Don’t Like to Tell People I’m Pregnant…Again.

When I was pregnant with my first child, everything was so magical. Every single day there was a new milestone to celebrate. I would pour over information in magazines and on the internet about the growth of my baby and my changing body. I wrote in a journal daily to the small bean-sized fetus in my womb. I joined mothers-to-be online chat groups. I spent hours shopping for maternity clothes, baby toys, and accessories. My husband and I made sure that every cute little detail in the nursery was just right. We didn’t want to know the sex of the baby, because it was such a miracle. My joy and ignorance kept me in that “glow” that is so often talked about. I had no idea that there would be any negative side effects of the pregnancy or of the post-natal experience. Sure, the baby would hurt when it came out, but after three or four hours of natural child birth, my midwife would lovingly place the tiny babe to my breast, and he would immediately begin to suckle. Thus my perfect life as a perfect mother would begin perfectly.

Fast forward seven years to my current pregnancy; I have put off maternity clothes until the absolute last minute in the hopes that people think I’m merely getting fat and therefore do not begin defining me by my pregnancy. The journal I tried to start for the newcomer only has three entries. I refuse to get on any chat group that includes expecting women who think it’s cute to put pictures of angels and flowers in their posts or who type on and on about how much they love their husbands (which basically eliminates them all). I have a shirt that states in big letters “I ♥ Epidurals” even though I haven’t worn it yet. And most importantly, my husband and I have made the decision to find out the sex of the baby in order to plan accordingly.

What I did not know, and what nobody talks about when you are pregnant with your first child, is that the first month of being a new mom sucks, and the first year of being a mom can be the hardest of your life. They don’t tell you about just how utterly exhausted you will be or how gross your body becomes. They don’t tell you that you will feel absolutely void of energy or beauty. You will cry a lot, and worry more. You will feel like you live outside of your body. Then as the months go on, you will either snap out of it, or you will be like me and feel less and less like the old you and more and more like the kind of person you never ever wanted to become.

It took me nearly three years and a move to our old stomping grounds to feel like myself again. I had to lose 40 pounds, get new friends, go back to work and rediscover who I was before I was truly happy again. Finally, I feel like super mom and super woman. Why would I want to spoil that?

I remember a couple of years ago when a friend of mine was trying to decide whether or not to have a second child. She had just turned 35 and her daughter, Amy had just turned five. She said to me one day while we were pushing our adorable only children on the swings that she thought she should just get it over with and have another one. I couldn’t believe my ears! Get it over with? Is that really a “good” reason to have a baby? I remember ripping her to shreds behind closed doors with my husband. How could anyone say or think such a thing? If she doesn’t want a child, then don’t have one, but don’t have one because you feel like you “might as well.” There are thousands of couples who would kill for that kind of ambivalence.

Now that I am pregnant with my second, seven years after my first at age 35 I understand what she was saying. She knew that it would be better to have the child now than later. She looked ahead to the sleepless nights, the leaking breasts, the milk machine, the post partum blues, the baby weight, the loss of independence and knew that she certainly didn’t want to do THAT at age 38, 39, or God forbid, 40! So she made a conscious decision to “get it over with” in order to get her life back by the time she turned 38, 39 or 40.

It’s very alienating to feel this cynical about my second pregnancy. I know that when people ask me, “Are you excited?” I’m supposed to say, “Of course! My husband and I are delighted. We’ve been trying for so long and now it really is happening…again.” But what I end up saying more often than not is, “Sure,” and then I get the hell out of there. This is because I’m simply not excited, and my husband and I haven’t been trying for a long time. I know what’s coming, and it terrifies me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not unhappy. We made the choice to have another baby, and know we are very lucky that we had no problems conceiving right when we wanted to, but it’s such a different feeling; more tentative and subdued.

I’m truly thankful for my son, who actually is excited. This is his first baby, and although it probably won’t happen, he envisions long nights of playing Star Wars in the back yard and tons or wrestling on the couch. He pictures he and his brother (because he is sure it will be a boy) doing all kinds of boy stuff that includes superheroes, fort building and hole digging. I try to remind him that he will be seven years older, but he doesn’t seem to care. His excitement knows no bounds. He will spend time talking to my belly, telling it secrets and thinking of more and more ridiculous names for the baby. Right now, he is thinking of naming it Boba Fett.

I’m glad he is excited and know it will rub off on me soon, perhaps when we actually get the ultrasound done that lets us know if the baby is a boy or a girl. In the mean time, I’m going to let my son be excited for all of us. I think it is important for other mothers out there who are considering their second (or third) child after a long break from diapers and nursing to know that you are not alone. It’s ok to feel ambivalent about the pregnancy, as long as you are still taking care of yourself and your baby. Of course when she’s born, you will love her and say, I can’t imagine why we waited so long. But for now, it’s ok to not glow. Don’t let others judge you or your feelings, and certainly don’t feel guilty for thinking, “Why am I doing this again?” Eventually, the reason will be crystal clear.

Post Script: It’s amazing what one ultrasound can do. We saw our beautiful baby girl. She was moving and sucking her thumb, kicking and waving. Now, I am finally getting excited to welcome her to our home. My son, however just got the blues.

Ten Years!

As you may recall, last year I spent my husband and my 9th wedding anniversary blogging and watching “Friends” reruns while my husband went out with the guys.  I wasn’t upset about it, really. In fact, I kind of liked the alone time. 

To celebrate 10 years (2 shaky years and 8 good ones), we have decided to celebrate all year long by subscribing to the Broadway Series at Playhouse Square.  That’s 7 dates (which I am pretty sure is more than we had this past year.)  I’m very much looking forward to it!

On our actual anniversary this past weekend, my parents came over to watch our son while we went to a movie on Friday night (The Soloist) and dinner on Saturday night (Fire-food and drink). The date had to be split into two evenings due to the high stakes sports night that Saturday was supposed to be.  Sadly, we should have just went to dinner AND a movie on Saturday because watching the Cavs lose their shot at the finals, and watching the Indians lose to the Yankees, AND watching the Penguins lose to the Redwings was a little much even for this non-rabid sports fan. (Check out my friend Lisa’s blog entry about Cleveland Sports!) Regardless, it was still a very nice weekend.

It is interesting to be married for 10 years. It doesn’t seem like a big deal or a long time until you start walking around your house and realize almost everything in it you received as a wedding present, and you’ve had it all for 10 years.  The plates we eat off of, 10 years. The vacuum cleaner, 10 years. The toaster, 10 years. Silverware, glasses, that weird picture of a lemon, all 10 years old. Our mattress, 11 years! (Dude, we need a new mattress!), our Dog, 12 years. It really makes one wonder where the time has gone, and it makes me want to haul ass to Crate and Barrel and get some new, hipper, trendier stuff. Alas, baby on the way prevents an extreme shopping spree.  Maybe when we move to Montana (hopefully in about three years), we’ll just chuck the old and get all new stuff.

Baby Name Poll Results

I thought you’d like to see the results of my poll.  Also, a little explanation of why each name made it to the list. Here they are!

Other (see below) 25%

Boba Fett 21% (My son wanted to name it Boba if it was a boy)

Bailey Catherine 17%  (Actual name contemplated and then discarded)

Hannah Elizabeth 13% (A combination of my Mother and MIL’s name picks from my last pregnancy)

Megalynn Clairisa 13%  (The names of my four friends combined)

Dorothy Jean 8% (My grandmother’s name. I never met her)

Veronica Ann 4% (My dad’s name is Ron, so I was thinking about how to name her after him. Unfortunately, Veronica is the name I used in college when I went out to bars.)

Beulah Carol 0% (My great Grandmother’s name and my MILs name)

Faye Christina 0% (Tina Fey!)

Other Answer Votes

Carol Anne, Bernice Lynn, Daisy May, Bacon McButter, Summerfall Winterspring

10 More Things I Never Want to Hear Again…Ever

10. Tabloid buzz about the marital problems of Jon and Kate (plus 8).

9. Notre Dame students vs Barack Obama.

8. Adam Lambert screaming.

7. Anything about Swine Flu.

6. Dick Cheny yappin’ his gums.

5. The story of Farrah Faucet’s battle with cancer.

4. “And again, the Indaians lose in the 9th inning due to their bull pen.”

3. Teenagers talking about stuff that is featured on their cell-phones and/or iPods.

2. Anything about or from Carrie Prejean, Miss California, USA. I mean really, WHO cares!?

1. “Hello and thanks for your query. Unfortunately we are not assigning right now. Best regards.”

White Trash Pedicure

Have you ever gotten a pedicure? For me, it is a rare occurrence.  Very rare. Because these wonderful indulgences are so few and far between, I must admit that I expect a lot from them.  Not only should my toes be soft and cute afterwards, but the experience has got to be wonderful too.  Otherwise, I’d just paint my own freakin’ toes and put some lotion on my feet, right?

I decided for my 35th birthday, I’d get a pedicure. Since I’m pregnant, and it is increasingly harder to see my toes, let alone paint them, it seemed like a good idea.  I decided to add a haircut, take a half day off of work and really pamper myself.  I even decided to call my old salon which is miles and miles away because they feel like home to me, and the last time I got a haircut and a pedicure there I was extremely happy with the results.

So off I go, away from my very, very talky coworker to the Salon (which I do not want to dis because this is the FIRST time I’ve had a bad experience here). At first it is as I expect. I have to wait a bit. I talk to the staff. They remember me. They ask me all the right questions about me and my family and my bump.  I’m scheduled for a pedicure at 2 and a hair cut at 3. 

So it begins. I am instructed to go back to the spa room, where the water is ready for me. I go, take off my shoes and dunk my feet. I’m alone for about 2 minutes. No,  had I known that this would be the most relaxing part of the experience, I would have savored it more, but I did not know this.  The woman came into the room, and I knew I was in trouble when she stated loudly, “You look like that and you’re pregnant. I look like that and I’m FAT.” She then plopped down and started to tell me WHY she was fat. She apparently decided to stop smoking and drinking (good for her!). So far, I’m not too upset, but then she goes on.  The following is inspired by her dialogue as I cannot remember it word for word, but you get the picture:

“I stopped drinking because I gotta new man in my life. He don’t drink, so that’s why I stopped. He’s a PROFESSIONAL paint baller! Have you ever heard of such a thing? I went to his website. He’s legit, and he is so hot. He is bald and muscular (add gross mouth/tongue gesture here). He also works for Harley Davidson. And he is so great to my two sons. My one son, I call him the “Spawn of Satan. ” He’s a horrible child. His dad is a cop. I was married to him for about five years. He’s such an asshole. He won’t even let me see his new baby daughter. His wife is great though, but anyway. Do you know when the new Fast and Furious movie is coming out? It’s this weekend right? I can’t wait! Do you like Vin Diesel? (No) What? Well, I ain’t rubbing your feet no more. Oh my god, if that man was within 20 miles of me, I’d need a restraining order because I would go right up to him and ask him if he wanted to f@#k me, then they’d probably lock me up. Which my ex would love. He’d just love to send me to jail. He should lock up that lazy ass son of his. All Spawn of Satan does is play X-box all day.”

It went on like this for a LONG time, so long in fact, that the girl who was supposed to cut my hair at three came in and asked if she could cut my hair now and my pedi could be finished afterward.  So that’s what we did. I put on some flip flops, got my hair cut and then went BACK to the spa room.  The second half of the pedicure was longer than the first, because now she had TIME to talk. 

As my mom said when I told her this story, “When you go to get a pedicure, you want someone to rub your feet for a half hour and shut up!”  Indeed.  So, my relaxing, birthday indulgence day did not go as planned. My toes are cute, but at what cost?  I will never get that two hours back. Hopefully, I can get a more relaxing end-of-pregnancy pedicure elsewhere.

 

Watch the hilarious SNL commercial mocking Fast and Furious!

Ten Things I Never Want to Hear Again…Ever

10.  Sentences that begin with “In these troubled times…” or “In today’s economy…”

9.  Anything having to do with Octomom.

8.  Anything having to do with Chris Brown or Rhianna.

7.  The sound of Rush Limbaugh’s voice.

6.  Someone asking me, “How are you feeeeeeeeling?” as they fake concern for my well-being.

5.  The “Crazy Frog” song.

4.  My coworker telling any story I’ve already heard.

3.  Any advice regarding my pregnancy or any stories which details someone elses.

2.  Fear mongering stories and/or weather reports on the “news”.

1.  Birds at 5 am.

Valentines Day. (An e-conversation twixt friends)

Claire’s Story…

So my husband left roses in a coffee can half-filled with water on the seat of my car this morning for me to find when I was getting the kids ready to go to school. I have mixed feelings about this.

1. He got me flowers without me telling him to – good, right?
2. They’re in a coffee can with water on my seat in the car in the garage – ???
3. I had to leave them in the garage – what was I going to do with them – drive around with a coffee can of water? Go back in and make
everyone tardy?

and then later….

DH was very concerned that I tell you what a nice Valentine’s Day we had. He’s right.  He arranged for my parents to babysit so we could go out to dinner (planning points!). We went to our favorite restaurant which had this amazing 5-course menu for the occasion. In addition to the flowers, he got me a nice musical card (”I Can’t Fight This Feeeling AnyMorrre!”) a nice stuffed gorilla (you know I love the
toy primates) and a nice (now almost gone since I am grading) big bag
of Valentine’s M&M’s. So even though we were both somewhat under the
weather – very nice. He thought you should know!

Lisa’s Story:

DH got me two dozen roses from whole foods, which, if i want to be all claire-like, i would respond to as follows:

1) he bought me flowers because i told him Claire’s husband did.
2) he put them on the car seat because i told him Claire’s husband did.
3) he had to do SOMETHING because the card my son made at school was addressed only to DH. (don’t get me started.)

we were supposed to go out for dinner, but got signals crossed with my parents. we may do something this weekend.

Bethany’s Story:

DH got me flowers and cheese.  He asked for the best sex he’s ever had. Well, due to lack of martinis in my diet, he basically got the most Average sex he’s ever had. (Is that possible?)

Are You There God? It’s Me Superboy.

I do not believe in God.  It’s not a secret, and the fact that I work for a science-based institution and attend a Unitarian Church makes me feel like I am not alone in this world.  Most of my friends are not believers, nor is my father. My husband and my mother understand what I do and do not believe as well.  With this huge cushion of tolerance, I am often taken-a-back when Jesus is mentioned in an inaugural prayer or when families say grace at Taco Bell before a meal, or when my son’s “non-Catholic” Montessori school attached to a Catholic Church sends me information about HIS Glorious Resurrection.  My in-laws, too, are extremely religious and rather than having conversations with me about what I believe and how we are raising our son, they choose to ignore the fact that I don’t believe in God. This causes a lot of stress on holidays (for me anyway) and when they try to tell my son what to believe when I’m not around.  However for the most part, I try to live and let live.

One of the reasons we chose a Unitarian Church was so that our son would learn the stories of the Bible (and other sacred texts) with the freedom to question what is being taught. We want him to make up his own mind and develop his own beliefs while still feeling included in a church community.

With this in mind, it is rather difficult for me to hear things that my son picks up at his school. Did I mention that it is a “non-Catholic” Montessori school attached to a Catholic Church?  Guess what? There is no such thing. While one has the chance to opt out of the “Good Shepard” Catechism stuff, there is still Mass once a month and a  Catholic “nook” in the classroom for children to practice the rosary, etc. The school recognizes only Christian holidays, and it is my understanding that the Board of the School are all prominent Church members.  Finally (and the thing that bothers me the most) the geological time-line that the children learn from and work on includes God.  

I understand that my son might be too young to grasp the concept of God as anything other than “big man in sky who made stuff” but sometimes it gets to me, especially since we work so hard in his Sunday School class to offer all kinds of explanations of what or who God could be. 

Yesterday, I was reminded to calm down about it all, and just let him be six. We were in the car on the way to school.

My son asked, “Mom, how come nobody will make me into a Superhero?”

“Because there are no real superheroes out there honey.”

“But I ask God every night for super powers, and he never gives them to me. ”

“I’m sorry, Monkey.”

He says pouting, “All he gives me is the power to love.”

He’s wrong. If there is a God that grants wishes, he made my son Super Cute.

I’m Telling!

When one finds herself knocked up, one is immediately confronted with the immeasurable task of deciding who to tell, in what order, and when. It is truly an art that I admittedly am not very good at.  Because I am a person who generally likes to be open and honest with everybody, I am not used to keeping secrets. I am horrible at it. I want everyone to know my opinion, my past, my advice and/or what is going on with me, now!

When I was pregnant with my son, I couldn’t wait a day!  NOT ONE DAY. I called my friend Lynne right away. Then my husband and I were going to wait until we went to the doctor to tell our parents, but I couldn’t wait then either.  I told everyone immediately.  To some, it may have seemed like the longest pregnancy ever, because they knew about it from conception. I will never forget Jeff’s grandmother’s response when we told her, I think I was maybe 8 weeks along, and she said, “Well you can’t be so sure yet.”  Thanks Ruth! You are the sweetest.

So when I discovered that I was pregnant on December 1, I was again hit with the big question. Who do I tell, in what order, and when? This time it was not so easy. I am seven years older now. The chance for complications is a little bit greater. Also, Christmas was coming! What a great time to tell our parents! Could I wait until Christmas to tell everyone? That was the plan anyway, and again I failed miserably.

Of course, I told my husband right away. The next day I told Lynne. Then I was good for a while, but felt guilty that I hadn’t informed my other friend Megan yet, so I told her after a week. On December 12th, I told my other friends Claire and Lisa.  On the 15th, I told a random person at work.  I don’t know why, it just came out.  We told our son on the 18th, because my husband, who is WAY better at this than I, wanted to tell his best friend that night when they went out for drinks. He refused to tell anyone before he told our son. (Again, he is much better at this than me!) And finally on Christmas day, my parents and my husband’s parents and brother & sister-in-law were informed. On New Year’s Day, I told the one friend I was putting off telling, mostly because she is trying too and because I actually felt guilty about BEING pregnant before her.  All this activity before my first doctor’s appointment in January.

Not telling people at work has been the hardest. This is because, currently all I do at work is yawn. I am SO tired. Exhausted! I want to tell people, “Well in my delicate condition, I can’t help but be tired.” Then all would be forgiven. I might even be able to nap! People would perhaps bring me my very own cot! What bliss. What complicates things is that my boss is also a very good friend.  So I WANT to tell her, but don’t want to tell her.  I’ll tell her the day after my appointment, which is finally tomorrow. Wish me luck.  (Oh and Carin, if by some extremely odd chance that you are reading this before Tuesday, I’m sorry you had to find out this way!)