An illegal picture I snapped of Seth. I should have gathered that someone who had taken the trouble to set up this elaborate backdrop and bring lights and a fancy camera might not want someone else standing beside him taking picture, but it honestly didn't cross my mind until he yelled at me that I couldn't take pictures here. I sheepishly apologized but didn't delete!
Seth's first fair as participant has come and gone. My first fair as mom has come and gone. Jay's first fair as trainer/protector/helper/reminder has come and gone. You can tell by the number of titles who had the hardest week. Jay was exhausted!
Jay and his siblings participated in 4-H and fair growing up. This was a normal part of their world. I went and rode the carnival rides and had the occasional lemonade as a child and teen. Visiting the animal and craft world on the other side of the fairgrounds was not something I did. Until this year, that is. It is a whole other world, let me tell you.
Jay and Seth picked out a calf to raise as his 4-H steer from Jay's small herd of cows when they returned from their summer pasture in the mountains of New Mexico last September. Jay knew the calf's mother was a calm cow and that the hereford breed is, in general, a calmer, smaller and easier to manage breed. I wasn't convinced when the steer violently ran its head into the metal corral in protest to its halter being put on, giving himself a big ol' cow bloody nose. Thankfully, it did gentle down.
Having Seth raise a steer for the past year has been an interesting thing. For the most part, it didn't affect my life at all. When Seth went to work with his steer (feeding him grain, hay and water, washing his hide, clipping its hooves, giving him a haircut, walking and leading him, curry combing him) it was mostly on Saturdays. Jay always took and taught him. I wouldn't have known what to do had I gone. Most of the other days, Jay fed him without bothering Seth to come as it coincided with a run or helping his dad change water, feed the cows or help hay. I worried a bit about Seth's preparedness as it was obvious to me that Jay was doing most of the work with Seth watching on or doing only the most basic parts of the job. I realize now that Jay perfectly prepared Seth by giving him the confidence he needed to have a successful experience at fair while simultaneously preparing the steer to not hurt our 80 lb eleven year-old. My heart has been softened by watching this beautiful example of a father's love and I was reminded of an eternal principle: line upon line. Seth will do more next year. You should hear the two of them making their plans!
I'll tell the rest of the story with pictures.
Seth's 4-H group had a club tour where they each presented on a topic of their choice and showed off their future fair exhibit. Seth researched the Hereford breed of cows and showed off Buddy, his steer. I laughed when I saw these pictures. He never wears these jeans because he hates them but must have not had any other clean clothes because I don't think most 4-Hers wear H&M skinny jeans and a Boden polo while working with livestock. I think he's adorable.
I don't have any pictures of the first few days of fair because I wasn't there for very long (weigh-in, cleaning out the stall, watching the other livestock shows) but this is on day 3 and Seth is washing Buddy for his big show. Jay realized how much showing steer has changed in the 20 year span since he's participated. He described his and Seth's set-up and equipment as "old-school farmer." Indeed, most of the participants had a much fancier set-up and much fancier steers. I was proud of them for their "old-school" way of doing things. I mean, who would have thought that steers need to be raised in air-conditioned shelters and fancy fans above their stalls to keep them cool during fair. We also didn't have any spray-paint to artificially heighten his hide colors. Considering how much less money was spent on this steer, he showed very well.
Seth was the only participant that showed a Hereford. Most of the other steers were some sort of a Black Angus cross.
The scariest moment for me was watching Seth lead that steer into the ring by himself without his dad anywhere nearby to help if Buddy got spooked or, by the nature of it being an animal, did something unpredictably violent due to stress. There were a few instances of Buddy not moving and someone would help him along by pushing his hind in the right direction but, for the most part, Seth did a GREAT job showing him. It was funny to watch Jay mime to Seth what he should be doing. I believe when I took this picture, Jay was trying to catch Seth's eye to motion for him to lift Buddy's head up by lifting up the halter.
Seth's class of steer, which were separated by hip height, was the largest. He didn't place high but he didn't get last, which was a huge relief for both Jay and I who are intimately aware of Seth's sensitivity to disappointment. We were thrilled when he got a Blue Ribbon group which qualified him for the auction the following night.
Grandpa Vaughn and Papa Jay were both very proud of Seth. I love this picture of three generations of cowmen. Seth's relief is visible, as is his excitement to go and get a cold rootbeer from a nearby vending machine.
The auction. Oh....the auction. Seth was 123 out of 125 animals to be sold. He didn't even get into the ring until after 11:00 at night and by then, most of the buyers had left. Still, Jay told him, "At this point, Seth, you are selling yourself and not your steer." Once again, we were unprepared by the changes that had occurred since Jay's fair days and didn't doll the steer up with garland, bows or glitter, nor did we have an expensive gift basket carried by a cute younger sibling to present to the highest bidder (can you imagine how cute Henry would have looked walking around the ring in wranglers and boots?). Thankfully, Seth's scout leader is married to a prominent business man in town who usually buys a steer and, unbeknownst to us, had decided to get Seth's. His steer, though second to last, went for a $1.50/lb more than the five or six steers had gone before his. Seth was beyond elated. He's naturally gifted at math and did the multiplication of price/pound times 1175 lbs before he even left the ring.
The auctioneers looking for bidders raising their hands. It was a full time job keeping Henry from bidding on things. There were actually a couple of bidders on Seth's steer, which got the bid up to $3.50/lb!!
Seth had a big smile on his face the entire time. He really did show well, in spite of Buddy not having any fancy bows.
The next day, when it was time to load the steers on their way to the butcher, Seth confidently led his own steer into the trailer, no tears involved (apparently, there are lots and lots of tears this day). Jay said there were dollar signs in his eyes instead and he knows that he has already earned a significant chunk for his mission. My greatest concern was that something would topple Seth's fragile confidence during fair week and he'd never want to do it again. Instead, Seth is looking at catalogs with his dad and wondering if he should try a heavier limousine cross breed next year. He'll learn much more about the reality of profit next year, as he'll have to use his own savings now to buy grain and other supplies, but I wouldn't trade a single moment of this year's experience. The money in the bank is a great and exciting thing, but I'm mostly happy watching Seth look at his dad with adoring and grateful eyes and Jay helping Seth become the great man he is destined to become.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
A Cow, A Boy and A Man
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Happy Birthday To Me
A card from my sister, Jen. I got several other cards but I love how she remembered my “Queen for a Day” mentality.
Seth and Sam on the Ferris Wheel. I appreciate rides with more speed and those that let everybody on and off at the same time. I think the boys became equally frustrated with how much of the ride was spent moving a few feet, then stopping to load and unload.
Henry stayed away from anything he thought of as scary and since I wasn’t riding, was limited to the little kid rides. He loved these cars that went around and around in a circle.
This looked like a ride I would have enjoyed.
One of those helpful carnival workers adjusting Henry’s burlap bag underneath him after he tried to start going down the slide with the bag in his hand.
Getting it.
Perfect.
A spinning ride. Good luck with that one, boys.
My cake. I guess I didn’t have candles. I meant my above sentiments figuratively then. And my sister, Sarah, was so sweet to arrange for me to have a Cold Stone ice cream cake from long distance. I just had to go pick it up!
A lovely bouquet of fresh flowers from my sweet friend, Lori.
A watch from my mom (that we actually purchased duty-free on the cruise ship a month earlier.)
Jen also mailed me the first baby boy outfit as of yet. I know people say baby girl stuff is way cuter but I think this darling ensemble gives any frou frou dress a run for its money.
Til next year!
Monday, August 08, 2011
Birthday Week - Bullet Style
As far as birthdays go, I have a feeling my 36th on Thursday is going to be a bit of a disappointment. Perhaps since I'm already declaring it to be so, it won't be - sort of like when you lower expectations for a movie or book and then end up loving it. Nevertheless, the day itself already has dentist appointments (dentist appointments of all things!) scheduled right in the middle and fair responsibilities that take Seth and Jay away for most of the day and so, in order to preempt any sort of self-pity which is likely to shadow me on my birthday, I'm declaring it birthday week. I'll take the celebration in bits and pieces rather than in whole-day form.
I started today. Nothing official. Merely treats and gifts thrown my way by me throughout the day. To be fair, Jay is very disappointed that I am taking away all of his super-husband-points by buying my own gift, but it's just easier this way. He's already earned them anyway. This is what I've done so far:
- Got my house cleaned. True, I do this every other week, but that doesn't mean it's not a gift. I usually only have the two ladies that come clean do the main floor, but today I splurged and paid them for an extra half hour to get the upstairs bathroom spic-and-span as well. It brings peace to my soul to walk inside my house and have every room within sight sparkle. The joy comes from not having to do it myself. The floors are mopped and vacuumed. The bathrooms are cometed and vacuumed (because I am still dealing with nasty carpet in my bathroom. Who puts carpet in a bathroom? Widowed women, that's who! Not anyone that has to deal with boys and splatter). My kitchen is clean including microwave, range, sink and, of course, counters. I really love it. Really, really, really.
- Treated myself and the boys to lunch at Costa Vida. It involves a 45-minute road trip but as we had school shopping and elementary registration to do anyway, we made a day of it. I got the pork salad and a diet coke with pebble ice and am grateful that my boys like the food there as well. They are so good with the gluten-free crowd. Not only do they claim to have gluten-free options, but they know about contamination and do their best to avoid it by changing gloves and using different surfaces for things ordered to be specifically gluten-free. Can't beat that.
- Bought a Bose Sound System for my Ipod. I have been wanting one of these for years but always shied away due to the cost. They had one reasonably priced at Sam's Club and I told Jay it was all I wanted for my birthday. I picked one up and have been listening to Adele as she was meant to be listened to. O.K, that's probably not true. She's probably phenomenal live, but listening to her with a Bose Sound system is a close second. I just love the sound! I've been listening to my music either with the cheap white headphones that came with my ipod or over the computer speakers on our seven year-old desktop system. I had no idea that any of these songs had bass!
- Finished school shopping for the boys. I admit it's not really at the birthday-gift level, but it sure is nice to have it done. No running around various stores during the last two weeks of summer for me (not counting today, of course). Hopefully, next week when this fair thing is over, we can get to the lake instead of rioting with all the others over #2 pencils at Walmart.
- Bought three newborn outfits for baby boy. I know he'll need other sizes but it was so fun to pick out these cute little things. I probably shouldn't shop with big brothers again unless I want to end up with ALL football-themed jammies.
- Got a fun birthday decorated package from my sister, Jen. I'm waiting to open it on Thursday so that there is something to open that day, but I'm kind of embarrassed about it. She is so good at mailing things! The rest of our family uses the wait-until-someone-else-visits-and-then-send-it-back-with-them-to-hold-onto-it-until-desired-recipient-visits-middle-man system and I have something that I said I'd send her from a month ago! I'd promise to get it done this week but I don't think she'd believe me. No matter - I vow to make it so!
So...yeah. I kind of spent a lot of money today. That wasn't really the point of celebrating, but it's how today went down. Everything was planned and included in the budget so I'm not going to let the numbers, or the fact that the Dow Jones lost over 600 points today, get me down. Because birthday week doesn't come around every....week!
Saturday, August 06, 2011
Road Trip 2011 - Second Stop - Seattle
Cousins! And very loud duck quackers which had to be confiscated later.
I was not looking forward to the 600 mile drive between my parents home in Montana and my brother's place in the Seattle area. Originally, I had planned to drive the distance in one day but my lackluster pregnancy energy made it seem like a bad idea. Spokane seemed like an ideal place to stop but my two usual hosts were both out of town so I made a small southern detour and went and stayed the night with my sister in the Tri-Cities. It was a very quick stop but still nice to see her on her turf.
Driving on to Seattle the next day will go down as the worst day of the entire trip. I left in the late afternoon and couldn't even get to Yakima before I had to pull over to throw-up. My kids were horrified as I'm usually much more discreet about it in a bathroom, but that's just the nature of the beast sometime. I made it to North bend before I had to pull over again. I knew I was in for a long night.
My brother and sister-in-law were very gracious hosts, but I fear I was a horrible guest. I was traumatized from vomit coming out of my nose (sorry about the TMI, but I need to adequately describe my horror) and very tired. The boys were in heaven to see their cousins and immediately started playing basketball, baseball and other various games. I went to bed. Or tried to. It was one of those nights were my stomach just decided to be angry and I retched several times throughout the night.
We had planned on doing tourist activities the next day so we valiantly set out for downtown with the intention of riding the light-rail to avoid parking fees. We couldn't find a single parking space in the park and ride so we ended up caravaning into downtown. I'm glad I had my brother to follow, who is an excellent navigator, and other than the expensive price to park, it wasn't too inconvenient.
Our first agenda item was to Ride the Duck. I thought this was a very entertaining activity for the kids. The driver was fun. The music was fun. The tour itself was rather uninformative but my boys were singing and clapping the entire time so it was 90 minutes well spent.
Passing another duck in Lake Union.
Where the duck vehicle enters the water.
This guy was very funny. His character name was Joaquin d'Plank. His jokes were very funny to the 13 and younger crowd and I loved his music selection.
I was still extremely low on energy due to my rough night, so we skipped the next item, visitng the locks (sp?) and instead walked down to Pike Street Market. This was not so fun for the kids and I wish I could have spent an hour or so looking at the various booths without them but they did get to see some fish thrown, so that was worth it. Next, we walked to my brother's office building and relaxed for awhile on the idyllic 17th floor. I guess its all the rage for companies to include a peaceful spot to work and Jon said that he sometimes takes his laptop out there to get some work down. Amazing views, serene landscaping. Very Seattle:)
The view from the 17th floor of my brother's office building. Not too shabby.
We took it easy for the rest of the night. Jon and Tara were very accommodating to my situation and the kids probably had more fun just playing together than they would have doing anything else.
Friday, Jay flew into Seattle as he was running in the Seattle Rock-N-Roll marathon the following day. I left without the boys to pick him up at the airport and we immediately went downtown to pick up his race packet at the Expo. It's been awhile since I've driven by myself in a large city and it was crazy! I am officially a hick. I couldn't stand the traffic and the noise and the people everywhere!
That night, we had a great double date with our originally double daters. Back when we were both newlyweds, hanging out with Jon and Tara was our traditional Saturday night date. We went and watched my amazing niece, Alyssa, practice gymnastics for a little while (she is amazing. I know it's super competitive but I really think she'll be in the olympics someday. If not, then at least an elite college gymnast. She can already do the most incredible stunts like giants on the uneven bars and back walk-overs followed by a back handspring on the high beam and she's only 10!) and then got some Thai food, which tasted a lot better after a relatively sick-free day. Thank goodness.
Saturday was the marathon and a long drive to Boise when the race was over. Jay and my sister's husband, Christopher, were both running the marathon and Tara was running the half-marathon for the third or fourth time (I can't remember, Tara!) Jon took them to the starting line nice and early and then I followed his lead into town for some sweet parking and easy walk to the finish. I love this about my brother. He really knows his way to things. He's got a very innate sense of direction and shortcuts:)
We had a blast cheering everyone on. I know it seems boring to some, but I actually enjoy watching a race. I love looking out for Jay and this time, it was even more fun because I was able to look out for Christopher and Tara as well. We had signs and cameras and lots and lots of kids so we could make quite a ruckus when we wanted to.
After Tara finished, I went in search of a good place to cheer on Jay at about mile 26. I knew what he would be racing in, so I wasn't expecting it to be difficult to spot him. He had very deliberately found a racing outfit that looked like one of his high school uniforms. The sentiment obviously worked because he ran a new PR yet again, finishing in a blazing 2:53! He finished 16th overall and almost won his age group. The guy in the yellow singlet in front of him in these pictures beat him in time by 3 seconds, even though Jay passed him and beat him by 2 seconds at the finish line. Those timing chips!
As soon as we watched Christopher finish and visited for awhile at the finish line, we had lunch and headed towards Utah for football camp on Monday morning. I don't think sitting in a car for 7 hours is an ideal activity post marathon, but we made it. I wish we had had more time in Seattle and I really wish I hadn't been sick during the short time I was there, but I'm glad I went and very glad I was able to spend time with my brother. He's a favorite of mine:)
I first spot Jay and his candy-stripped shorts.
He sees us and turns on the heat, passing a guy. He ran his last half mile in under 6 minute/mile pace! Said he didn't feel like he had anything left in his tank but seeing us all cheering gave him the burst of energy he needed.
Making his move.
So good looking:-)
At the finish line with his proud boys. Henry was feeling shy because he decided his sign looked dumb. You can see his legs hiding behind Jay.
We convinced him it was an awesome sign. He made it himself!
Christopher smiles at the end of his marathon. I don't know how anyone smiles at this point.
The three victors. Very proud of all of them. We married well.
Jon and I showing off our own particular set of skills. Holding heavy cameras and cheering at the same time. Go us! Please excuse the frizzy hair and no make-up. Like I explained, the day before had been very rough and I was just happy to be there feeling human. I kind of lose my vanity when I'm pregnant, much to my chagrin when I look at pictures.
Thursday, August 04, 2011
The Activist Gene
As I drove to the hospital for my monthly OB appointment, I noticed much ado about something from afar. When I got close enough to the fracas, I could clearly see a group of about 30-40 individuals (today the paper says 70 so either I or they are poor estimators) holding signs with several police cars nearby. The group included men, women and more than you'd think of the twelve and under crowd holding signs against the evils of abortion, signs protesting a certain doctor with hospital privileges who performs abortions and all of the other ones you'd expect from this group about the sanctity of life, the rights of the unborn and the certain damnation of those who don't heed their warning.
As uncomfortable as I was, I still felt safe within the relative anonymity of my car. This group of anti-abortion activists didn't single me out even though I was on my way to an appointment at the OB/GYN practice where this very doctor is one of several partners (who, I will admit, I don't schedule appointments with because of his very public support of world population control. I just don't see how you can be in the business of doctoring women who are having babies while being against their baby's soon-to-be existence because the planet, in your opinion, is over populated. I would rather pay someone to help in the delivery who is or can fake their happiness for my new bundle of joy). It wasn't until I was making my way into the office and saw MORE uniformed police officers standing guard, just in case, that I became slightly worried and very annoyed.
My thoughts throughout the remainder of the day have frequently returned to my reaction to this small group of crusaders. It's not just what they protesting against, or where they were doing it, although both of those things mattered today as I don't think anyone, including myself, should be harassed or bothered while seeking out any kind of medical treatment (Get out of my way! I didn't drink that nasty orange glucose syrup for nothing!), it's that they were protesting period. Is this really the best way to bring attention to your cause?
Looking back throughout history, I suppose the answer is often, "yes." I think about the women who chained themselves to buildings to bring attention to the suffrage movement and how grateful I am for the right to vote. I think about the non-violent actions of those involved in the fight for civil rights in the South and how the country needed to wake up from decades of injustice. Time has shown that those were battles that needed to be won and it wasn't going to happen by everyone minding their own business.
Still, I wonder if I would have had the gumption to join in. You see, my hours of introspection today have made me realize that I am not a comfortable activist. The thought of trying to persuade or convince someone to believe what I believe or do what I do, based solely on the merits of my beliefs or actions being right - even if I could prove that they are - is repellent to me. To do so seems not only presumptuous but also terribly self-important. I'm of the camp that considers opinions and advice most effective when asked to give them. And while that persuasion may protect me most of the time from the ridicule of the opposing view, it also limits my voice as well as my influence.
For the most part, I am fine with that. I have realized that even if I passionately think Tupperware superior to Rubbermaid or circuit training more effective than jazzercize, I wouldn't be good at selling either. Because that's what activists do - sell the world their point of view. From what they think should or shouldn't be legal, the humanity of an animal's environment or the kind of food that's safe to eat, there is a driving force to convince others to think the same. Some people seem to be born with that activist gene. If they believe in something or know about something great or horrible, by golly, you're going to hear about it. I've never felt that need or that duty to share.
The guilt comes when asked to be an activist. It might be a stretch to compare my aversion to today's abortion protesters to the commandment to share the gospel, but my unwillingness to infringe on another's life philosophy is nearly as firm as my reluctance to use crappy toilet paper because it's better for the environment. It seems as if I'm ashamed or embarrassed by my beliefs, but that is not the case. I don't think there are many who have met me who don't quickly learn that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I believe it to be true. I believe that everyone deserves the happiness and peace that comes from the knowledge of its truths. But that hyperlink was an effort to include. I'm counting on the fact that if you're reading this, you are, by default, asking me for my opinion:)
I think the best missionaries have that activist gene. Even in the scriptures, some of the best missionaries were activists for the other side before they converted. There is a passion and a fervor given to some. Not me.
Sometimes, like today, when I think of the zealots who intimidate and harass outside of hospitals or clinics or, worse, funerals of soldiers, I am content to be the type who lets things be.
Other times, I wish I had that gene.
Wednesday, August 03, 2011
The Art of Conversation
Today, I heard three examples of what NOT to say in a conversation.
1. While lunching with my boys at my favorite locally-sustainable-organic-fresh-mexican restaurant (believe me, they're proud of themselves so I'm just passing on the kudos), I couldn't help but overhear the conversation between the two women seated at the table next to us. I say couldn't help because one of the women who dominated the conversation, nay monologued for the entirety of it, loudly started in on the Mormons.
This volume challenged woman didn't bash my religion exactly, but she bemoaned the change that happened to some mutual friend of theirs who used to be fun and Roman Catholic but then converted and married a Mormon girl, had a bunch of kids and became totally boring, as in, he no longer went out for drinks with her and when they passed through town and stopped to visit, declined all of her suggestions for activities because it happened to be Sunday. I smiled until I noticed Sam intensely listening to this loud woman as well and then wondered if I should be worried as she went on and on about how obnoxious his children were and how she imagined they'd be better behaved, what with his wife staying home to raise them and all.
Then she started insulting Joe Mormon or Joe Smith or whoever that person was she didn't know anything about, and I imagined myself having a Joseph F. Smith moment and declaring myself true blue, dyed in the wool through and through, but then she started talking about vaginal itching, still as loud as ever, and I decided that some people are just socially tacky. Seriously. I don't think I'm overly sensitive, but in today's day and age where tolerance is the cool catchphrase, few would ever so loudly trash Jews or Muslims or even Catholics. For some reason, it is still o.k. to be publicly rude about Mormonism. So, example number one is that it isn't graceful conversation to loudly put down a religious group in a public setting because you never know who you're sitting by. Also, it should go without saying but, apparently, it needs to be said, it isn't o.k. to discuss vaginal discomfort.
2. A friend of mine who also happens to be pregnant had a scary pre-term labor episode last night. This woman was so kind to me in the early stages of my pregnancy when I was sad and angry and constantly sick and brought my family a meal, even though she was still in the throes of nausea and vomiting herself. For the last few weeks, I have felt so much better that when I heard about her worrisome hospital visit, I insisted on repaying the favor and brought dinner over to her family tonight. When I delivered the meal, my friend informed her husband standing near by that I was having another boy. His response: "I am so, so sorry for you!"
You know...I get that with three boys, it seems obvious that I must have been hoping for a girl. I admitted as much. But, that absolutely doesn't mean that I am sorry I'm having a boy. And it certainly doesn't mean that anyone else should be sorry that I'm having a boy. I don't need, want, or appreciate sympathy from misguided people who don't have manners or filters. Example number two: when having conversations with pregnant women, don't have strong opinions about their future baby's gender, name, or really anything that has nothing at all to do with you. And if you do have feelings either way, keep them to yourself.
3. Tonight at mutual, we watched the LDS version of Pride and Prejudice. The story line itself lacks most of the necessary nuance and feeling between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth, which is kind of the point of the story, but it has some hilarious interpretation of the supporting characters. My favorite was Collins, a very awkward, socially inept man seeking an engagement with just about anyone. His proposal to Elizabeth, which included the line, "The Lord commanded us to be fruitful and multiply," might just be my favorite line of the movie. Why more earnest young men don't include this in their own proposals is beyond me. It's a keeper. For real, example number is this: stay away from heralding commandments when trying to woo. It ruins the mood.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
Baby #4
That is me on the way to the hospital for my ultrasound. For some reason, I really dislike pregnancy pictures of myself. I have very few shots like this, where I'm holding my belly, but I was trying to be cute and pregnant and felt happy so decided, what the hey. It might be the last one I take:)
It was so great to see baby this afternoon. I think the twenty-week ultrasound helps me to start bonding with my children. Before anything was even said, I teared up seeing the clear pictures of a head, a spine, a beating heart and little dancing feet.
For quite some time, I thought I'd have to leave the hospital without knowing the gender of our baby. It was curled up into a tight little ball and the tech was worried more about getting any good pictures than gender at that point.
Then, baby started the show. What a mover and shaker! Hands lifting up and down. Thumbs going into mouth. Feet performing a near Irish jig. What a personality.
Everything looks great. I'm so relieved. I'm also relieved that my subconscious really felt the same way my intellect did - that either a boy or girl would be wonderful.
Because, when the tech told me, I felt nothing but joy.
It's a boy!
Monday, August 01, 2011
Road Trip 2011 - First Stop - Home Sweet Home
Growing up in Montana is an important part of my identity. Benefiting from the state's confident sense of self and my own family's happy bond, it is both a place and a memory I am always eager to revisit.
I missed its big sky last summer so there was no way I was going to allow distance, nausea or a tight schedule to interfere with my sojourn home. Although I was only able to stay for a brief four days, those four days were an absolute delight.
There was a pang of regret as I passed through Utah on my travels north. For several pre-pregnancy months, I had planned on getting my Zumba instructor certification on June 17th in Sandy. As I threw up in my sister's toilet instead of donning fitness gear that morning, I felt very sorry for myself. I know there's still plenty of time for that dream/goal/ambition to come to pass, but it felt like an empty day to me.
My melancholy faded as I drove up to my parent's house, however. How lucky am I to be able to return to the home of my childhood? There isn't a step I can take or a turn of my head that doesn't transport me to another time and place when I took similar steps or saw a similar view. As happy as I was growing up in that house, I will admit my very first thought as I crossed its threshold was, "Did this room shrink?" Not once did I ever wish for more space or bigger rooms while growing up among with my five siblings and grandmother. I'm sure my mother did and when she visits my large home, she must think me incredibly spoiled, but she seems happy enough to dwell in a small, happy home.
I didn't get my camera out too often. Instead, I just enjoyed being there. My body relaxed perfectly in the environment it learned to sleep in. The meals my mother prepared, as well as my favorite flavor of pie, Rhubarb, were perfect. The boys and I managed to eat at Staggering Ox, a favorite sandwich place, twice for lunch, climb my favorite mountain, hit some balls at the batting cage and go to the local farm team baseball game. The only thing that wasn't perfect was the length of stay. I wished for more time. An entire summer, perhaps.
These are the pictures I did manage to take.
Rowdy boys at the Ox. Seth is chowing on the sandwhich that made it famous: the clubfoot. Sam is staying gluten free by eating a Nuke potato and Henry, who detests crust, is having some Ox fingers (the inside, gutted meat from the clubfoot, with some ham and cheese. Just fueling up before our hike!
View a quarter of the way up of Sleeping Giant. Can you see it?
At Devil's Kitchen cave halfway up.
Near the top, Henry stops and says, "Mom, my glasses fell off." Expecting them to be at his feet or at least very close by, we searched and searched and searched for those glasses -- with NO help from this little man. I almost gave up and wondered how he'd do during the remainder of our two weeks away from home without glasses. Then, nowhere close to where they should have been and after a silent prayer, I found them closer up the hill but further along the trail. Exasperating.
At the summit!
Me. Feeling queasy.
Seth went through a fascination with baseball for a couple of months (he's over it now). He just lived and breathed baseball. The poor boy has never actually played or been properly pitched to. This is his first time in a batting cage and he could have stayed all day. I was surprised by how quickly he improved and how good he was with no coaching.
Even Henry hit a few of the slow pitches.
It took Sam awhile to figure out his timing, but once he got it, he got it. He kept moving to faster and faster pitching speeds.
I Guess I Don't Play Well With Others
One of the joys of country living is the quiet it affords....to me, on a daily basis. I absolutely love it. Today, I sat still for about ten minutes near an open window and just listened to the sounds that surrounded me. Birds chirping. Leaves rustling. My boys playing somewhere.
Unfortunately, this sweet serenity also means that spontaneous play with friends is almost out of the question. Planning...scheduling....discussion among parents seems to be necessary for any kind of social gathering. In the last twenty-four hours, I have been told by three different parents that we "need to get our kids together to play!"
O.K. Is the ball in my court now? Because, here's a bit of important information, I am unlikely to organize these pow-wows of play. I swear I like children but I find I don't like playdates at my house. My own boys usually play extremely well together. Of course, they enjoy their school and church friends like any child would and should, but they don't need other children around to avoid fighting with each other or to create their own fun.
Some moms swear having other children around makes their days more productive. I don't see how this could be. When I have extra kids, I feel....burdened. Fixing snacks. Reminding which toys stay downstairs and which belong upstairs. Encouraging everyone to be outside. Promising the discontent that their moms will pick them up soon enough.
I realize this sounds horribly selfish and unfeeling and I admit it's not always this way. Some children are absolute delights to host. Still, there is not a single day when I wake up thinking the plan will be to call up friends and invite them over. I'm horrible.
What I think I mean with all of my defensive rationale is that if you think our kids should play, then invite them over! I have two messages on my answering machine from moms wanting me to call them back so we can get our kids together. Neither of the children are favorite playmates of my boys. Both of these moms are notorious for somehow getting me to offer my house for the playdate (I'm usually not going anywhere and they are) and the polite person inside of me knows I need to return these calls and play nice. But, I don't want to.
I'm not sure what my point is other than I have guilt and either wish I was a more social person for all the political correct reasons or more comfortable in my hermit-ness to not worry about what other moms think of me. Just getting more thoughts our of my head:)
A Post In Which I Wax Philisophical About Something I Know Nothing About
I wish I enjoyed politics. For something that seems so staged, slick and frivolous, the things they do and do not have serious implications for the rest of us. My friend, Michelle, has gotten quite involved at the local level on the side of things she feels passionate about and I've noticed a feeling akin to envy when she speaks so eloquently on issues she's clearly studied.
I'm sure my innate laziness which hounds me in all aspects of my life is the same thing holding me back from really jumping into the fray, but there's another slightly more noble reason. I cannot decide which side is more right. Or, for that matter, which side is more wrong.
I am a moderate. An independent. One day, while still on our cruise, my sister Sarah and I were watching CNN in our room/stall while a panel of pundits discussed the "fairness" of the debt ceiling limit negotiations that Speaker of the House John Boehner supposedly walked out on. The democrats were screaming foul by declaring their side had made so many concessions and this deal that President Obama had suggested was completely fair. Even so-called moderates, the ones that are supposed to be representing me, said it was a shame that the talks had broken down because it was the best deal that had ever been on the table.
I looked over at Sarah and said, "You know if the democrats think it's fair and a republican stormed out, that it wasn't at all fair. The most "fair" deal will be when both sides are unhappy about what is passed."
I know that is a simpleton's view of things but as I've read and watched the news today, everyone is lamenting about how horrible this current deal is. Obama can't lead. Tea Partiers are holding the nation as hostages. Romney would never accept this plan. Democrats lose. Republicans lose. The middle class loses. America loses.
This universal discontent makes me think that maybe, finally, the balance between cuts and social spending is where it needs to be...for now. I don't actually know and I hate to trivialize something that is a really big deal. Debt is a nasty master. It holds our nation hostage. It controls our foreign policy, controls our states and cities and even our individual families. As a Dave Ramsier, I wish all of our leaders, liberals and conservatives alike, could see the wisdom in austerity. That you can do more, be more generous, have a stronger national defense, plan for the future when freed from the bondage of debt.
I have no idea if the drama in Washington will help our nation or hurt it. But, as someone who considers herself a reasonable person, it makes sense to me that both sides are going to have to let go of the pipe dream, at least for the moment, and grab hold of an actual compromise.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Sweltering with Sackett and Stench
I love summer. I do. I love it at the lake. I love it near a swimming pool. I even like it inside an air-conditioned car during a road trip. I'm finding it a bit more difficult to love in my non air-conditioned house during the hours of 4:00 and...say...8 pm.
Those hours have long been known to be bewitching to mother and children alike, but I have found those hours to be incredibly important to my day. It's when I....
...frantically pick up so Jay doesn't think I've done nothing all day.
...start dinner (why haven't I become a religious crock pot user yet???)
...clean up dinner (just finished and my hair is wet with sweat. I kid you not).
...think about blogging before I call it a day and go read/take a bath/sleep.
July and its usually pleasant upper 80 degree temps that feels like 105 to my bloated body isn't conducive to any of those things. I think I've made an actual meal for my family, and not just set out things to eat, only three times this month. Tonight was one of those rare nights. I grilled a beautiful fillet of wild Alaskan salmon, steamed some string beans and cut up some cantaloupe, even though I don't enjoy that particular taste of melon. I had nearly forgotten how enjoyable it is to set a table and call children to the table and then call a second time to the one that's missing and then a final warning that if he doesn't come, he doesn't eat for the rest of the night. No, really, it WAS delightful and the highlight for me was to watch everyone simultaneously laugh following Henry's declaration during our baby naming discussion, "Let's just go with Sackett, Mom." In all seriousness. Darn that Jay and his love of Louis L'Amore.
By the way, our baby won't be named Sackett.
It also doesn't help that during our afternoon viewing of National Geographic's The Womb, Jay and I both caught the repugnant whiff of skunk and realized our more adventurous and obnoxious cat, Scout, got sprayed. Her seeming method of dealing with the stress is to stand by my bedroom window and flop around. It's so strong that all windows have had to be closed and Jay's handy Ozone machine, which he purchased to rid his truck of the previous owner's cigarette presence, was used, shutting down the use of our bedroom for four hours. Who knew a generator of free radicals to eliminate odors would come in so handy? Jay is just a new breed of cowboy with his Ozone totin' gun. Eat your hearts out, Sackett boys.
That's a long winded way of saying I'm hot. I'm hot! But, since I managed to cook dinner and clean up the inevitable mess that comes with it, I thought I'd hit three out of the four and blog. I miss thinking outside my own head. Even when it is my sweaty-hair-on-the-back-of-my own head.
On Tuesday, I am officially 20 weeks pregnant. Halfway through! Woo-hoo! That is also the day when I am scheduled to have my ultrasound. I toyed with the idea of not finding out the gender of this baby, just for experience's sake, but with names like Sackett flying around the house, I need all the time I can get to think about, decide upon and then convince the others what the name of this child should be. It helps to have narrow it down to either boys names or girls names. Trust me on this, if it is a boy, I'll need all twenty of the remaining weeks to work out a name. The ones I like bore Jay, the ones he likes have got to be jokes and the boys throw out names like Bobby Jr.
I feel like I must declare pre-ultrasound that I really will be happy with either a boy or a girl. I've thought a lot about it. Again, for experience's sake, I'd love to have a girl. I'd love for the boys to have a sister....a future woman in the house to learn how to treat and respect. I'd love for Jay to have a daughter because I hear that relationship is pretty special. Myself, I'd love to discover how parenting a girl would feel. Would it be harder because of my own preferences and experiences or easier for the same reason?
That declaration made, I adore boys. There is a huge part of me that wants our family to remain a clan of boys with me as their queen. Seriously, I think having another boy would be wonderful. He'd have shining examples to look up to in any and all of his brothers and...well...we know boys. We have boy things. I'm pretty sure having a boy would be an easier transition for our whole family.
I have one more day to wonder. I googled the statistics because I'd heard somewhere at sometime that the odds of having the same gender baby if you have three of the same was around 70% but it's more like 57%. 57% chance of having another boy and 43% chance of having a girl. Jay scoffs at those numbers. He says it's always 50/50 but I'll stick with the science of statistics and won't be shocked when the ultrasound tech announces little Sackett is coming to our home.
It's 7:30 and starting to cool off. I'm also starting to get sleepy. Still, July got TWO posts so I'm clearly on the upswing.
Man...it's hot.
********Prediction time! What do you think #4 will be? A baby boy or baby girl?**********
Friday, July 08, 2011
It Wasn't Me
For the past two months, I have been suffering what I self-diagnosed as partum depression. Of course, when I mentioned my concern to my doctor, she asked me if I had any suicidal thoughts and when I replied, "No," she said, "Well, it's not really a great surprise that you feel down. You're throwing up and tired and have all sorts of hormones running through you." Lucky for her, my feelings of contempt towards others has been somewhat universal and there isn't enough spare spite to hold a very strong grudge towards her professional blow-off.
While it's true that I never wanted to "do myself in," I have felt like an alien was controlling my thoughts and feelings. It wasn't me at all. The world at large and people in particular overwhelmed and annoyed me. The simplest stresses became major irritants. I could fake normality for a few hours if I had to but those close to me usually paid the price later in the evening with some major moodiness and emotional withdrawal.
I tried perspective. In truth, I have been an anti-Job. Job, who intellectually must have known his right to complain and curse his fate, spiritually couldn't leave the God he loved. Me? Intellectually, I know every single reason to be grateful, happy, at peace with what is happening to my body but spiritually, I have had some rather murmurous moments and hope Heavenly Father will forgive my rather biting thoughts towards Him and how I'd have arranged to bring about the human race in an altogether less obnoxious way.
I use the past tense because for the past few days, I feel more and more confident that I am shedding this alien skin and replacing it with my own. I feel more like....me. And I like me!!!
I have been blessed and exhausted with both a trip and company for the last three weeks and I'm sure all of that forced socialization and out-of-my-cave excursions have helped my mental state. I'll report on all of that soon, I promise (mom).
There have been many, many times when I have wished to be the type of person who can be gracious in the midst of trials. These past months have only been the latest in my own history that prove that I have a lot yet to learn about the "Be still and know that I am God," counsel. Is it wrong of me to blame the hormones? Is that part of me still me? I can't help but wonder if my meltdown is just a preview of things to come. Will I be maniacal in menopause. Or, when I'm old and perhaps ill or stiff or lonely or forgetful, will not feeling like "me" turn me into a crotchety crank? Am I really responsible for all of my bad behavior?
For what it's worth, I appreciate the notes, texts, emails and calls to check in on me. I felt the baby move for the first time last night and had what I think is the first non-forced positive thought towards this pregnancy since it began. I'm not sure why feeling what is akin to a bag of microwave popcorn going off in my stomach should bring peace and joy to my troubled mind, but it did. And at sixteen weeks, I am more than ready for a change of heart.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
What I Miss
You know what I miss most since being pregnant? Having any kind of energy.
In a lot of ways, this pregnancy feels nearly identical to my others. My gag reflex is exactly has it has been in the past: highly sensitive so although nausea can definitely make me throw up, so can coughing, sneezing or burping. I crave horrible food that makes me fat. I feel depressed and cry at the drop of a hat. I murmur. A lot.
But, one sensation that seems extra heightened this time 'round is my extreme fatigue. I don't know if it is my 35 years compared to my 24, 27 and 30 years in comparison, but I am tired all the time. Bone tired.
Most days, I can get away with it. My world has been very sympathetic to my expanding womb plight. My young women didn't bat an eye when I came unprepared last Sunday to teach my lesson (a big chunk of the problem was because I had planned to show a movie I had ready on my laptop...which I forgot at home) and ended up holding up my cell phone at the front of the room so they could watch it start and stop intermittently as it buffered slowly on the Verizon network. Embarrassing, for sure, but I even got a hug from one of my laurels afterward telling me it was a fine lesson. My sister came down for a long weekend and patiently did my laundry, cooked my children's meals and repeatedly cleaned my kitchen while I sat moaning on the sofa. My husband is a saint and always asks me how I'm feeling when he walks through the door instead of looking around at all of the piles of things I didn't get done.
My mother's brother died this week from pancreatic cancer and I'm leaving tomorrow morning for his funeral up in Utah. As much as the past month has tried to convince me otherwise, some things, such as getting ready for a trip, can't be sloughed off. The tire pressure sensor all aglow on my dashboard needed some attention (nail - slow leak - all fixed). Milk, as well as a few other staples, needed to be purchased. Child care needed to be arranged and the big Young Women's Camp Fundraiser, which is being held next Wednesday, needed to be organized enough to be delegated. I also tried to sneak in a cut and color today because I have looked hideous for a month and am tired of braiding my hair. When you add my unrelenting need to eat at least once an hour, it makes for a busy and very tiring day.
It doesn't sound like a lot, but my whole body is screaming for sleep right now. Why don't I indulge and take a quick nap, you ask? Because there is still stuff to do, it is almost dinner time and I want to go to bed early tonight so I can wake up as early as I need to and not fall asleep during my seven hour drive tomorrow.
I could really use some energy. Just a small amount. Nothing Herculean required. Just the amount needed to get up out of this IKEA chair, walk down the hall and switch my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Perhaps if I just close my eyes for just a minute....
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Last Day of School
Another school year comes to a close and I am really looking forward to having my boys home for the summer. Seth and Sam are spending the day participating in the school's traditional "River Walk" which parents weren't invited to (and, really, who am I kidding? There's no way I'd make an all day outing. Lately, I barely make it out the door at all) and I'll head over in a couple of hours to watch The Big H graduate from preschool. I signed up a month ago to bring a salad but find tossing greens with a dressing too overwhelming today. Instead, I'll drive to a deli and pay way too much for something they made.
It's been a big week. Seth's fifth grade graduation was on Monday. He really is growing up. It makes me feel proud and scared all at the same time. The other night, he cleaned the entire kitchen and dining room by himself (there was a money incentive, but still!). He put away left-over food. He hand washed pots and pans in the sink, then rinsed, dried and put them away. He wiped off counters. He even vacuumed the floor. It is comforting to know that not only is he able to help during the moments when if I move, I'll vomit, but willing.
There was a talent show on Tuesday. Seth performed his Clementi Sonatina. I'm glad to put that song to rest finally. He has a love/hate relationship with it. After so many months and months, he can't help but play it when he passes the piano but it'll be nice to hear something new.
Yesterday was the school's field day. Jay was Super Dad and volunteered for the day. I did the opposite of playing outside in the sun and water and played the organ at a funeral. It was held at a local mortuary instead of a church and the piano/organ was in a small curtained room just off to the side of the casket. I was only uncomfortable after the funeral ended and they opened up the casket for one more viewing before heading to the gravesite. I played postlude and after about a half hour, the man's children each came up to the casket individually. Their grief, through words and tears, felt very private and I was sorry to hear it. It didn't feel right to be so close.
We've also had my niece and nephew stay with us this week as their parents are on a cruise. I feel bad for them because they have the most boring aunt ever. It's been a really difficult week for me. I had some hope last week that the Zofran was going to help but it doesn't look like it has any real effect. Somedays, I feel kind of o.k. That's as good as it gets. I never feel great. I never feel normal. But, there seem to be more and more days that are becoming just awful. I feel grumpy and pathetic. I tried to stay up and chit chat and be interested and attentive their first few nights here, but the past few nights, I have just had to go to bed. The sooner the day can end, the better. To make it extra fun, all five of us have Pinkeye and yesterday, we found another tick embedded into Henry's nape. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't freaked out about it.
My dad's birthday was yesterday. He turned seventy-four. I love him with my whole soul. He is such a good man and I'm a fortunate girl to have had someone so noble to learn from all these years.
So You Think You Can Dance starts tonight! That might be just what I need to get my mind through this pregnancy. I've just about exhausted Netflix's British Period pieces miniseries. I highly recommend North and South. Downton Abbey was good and I'm looking forward to some resolution but I didn't like Wives and Daughters very much. They needed a better climax for the romance between Roger and Molly.
I'm on some sort of a french braid kick. I just finished doing my hair and think it's the fifth or sixth day in a row I've braided my hair. I don't know what got me started and really have no idea what keeps me thinking it's a good look (it's not) but a braid it is again. I feel bad for my niece. She asked me the other morning if I'd braid her hair for school. The little talent I have seems to be isolated to having my arms in an up and back position because her poor hair barely resembled braids when I was done (she wanted two). I noticed when she came home from school, the braids were out. It made me wonder if I should actually be hoping for a girl.
Oh my goodness, I am rambling. But, I wrote. That's something.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Fantasy Friends
Feeling completely justified in taking a break after managing to clean my entire kitchen and dining room, vacuum three rooms, clean the main floor bathroom, fold one of the eight loads of clean laundry needing to be folded (taking bids to fold the other seven!) AND shower, I decided if I'm going to sit, I might as well blog. Perhaps my less than energetic current state will actually be good for the blog.
While I might get a self-congratulatory pat on the back today (actually, the entire family has been impressed by my surprising motion), I admit last night was a completely different story. Jay was exhausted from his preparation and presentation of cancer statistics to a local womens conference and his afternoon fifteen-mile trail run and the boys were glued to the Rockies game playing in the living room and so it was up to me to put on dinner. I felt sick and very put upon and grouchily called everyone to the gourmet feast sitting upon the table: Hebrew National grilled hot dogs (hey...we're fancy and I don't do mixed meat wieners. They must be all beef), an assortment of chips, strawberries with their stems still attached and a jar of pickles. Once my showy feat of domesticity was over, I left the table and headed to my bedroom where I got lost in Tina Fey's new memoir, Bossypants.
I finished the entire thing and laughed out loud more than I have in awhile. I decided when I closed it that Tina Fey and I could be good friends if we ever had the chance. O.K. Probably not since she seems to be more infatuated with the Alec Baldwin/Amy Poehler crowd but I think maybe pre-fame/pre-millions, we could have shared some great laughs. I love funny people. Not hyper funny people, mind you, who actually drive me a little nuts, but witty, sarcastic, self-depreciating, non-mean people. And it's not like it would be all one sided. I could throw a joke in there on occasion and supply some store-bought refreshments during our funny night pow-wows.
That thought led me to wonder who my other fantasy friends might be. It gets tricky because lots of famous people, who are sort of the only ones in the running since I don't know about the other non-famous people, aren't very down to earth which is an absolute essential ingredient for friendship. No high-flutin' girly girls for me! That weeds out a lot but I think Adele for karaoke nights, Peggy Noonan for intellectual discussions over hot cocoa, CJane for all things regarding mormon momminess (although her infatuation with Provo might get on my nerves), and Katherine Heigl for the Hollywood scene. She doesn't seem to try too hard and I loved her in Twenty-Seven dresses. I should say Victoria Beckham since, you know, we're practically the same family (I swear I wasn't trying to copy her with this whole pregnant thing) but she scares me and doesn't eat enough. Any friend of mine would need to enjoy food.
Interestingly, I constantly tease Jay about his fantasy friends. He is not a very social creature but any tiny need he might have is filled by Dan Patrick and the Dannettes and Tony Kornheiser. He passes on their funny stories to me just like he would had an actual friend from school/work/church or the neighborhood shared them. He feels...close to them. After reading Tina's book, I know how he feels and that's just after one book. After years of listening to their daily podcasts, no wonder he feels as if he's friends with these men even though they have absolutely no idea who he is.
Who are your fantasy friends?
Friday, May 13, 2011
What Is It Worth?
I'm determined to blog through this pregnancy. I have zero, zilch, no record of any of my other pregnancies. I didn't write in a journal. I didn't scrapbook. I didn't even take pictures. I think there are a total of five pregnancy pictures from all three and most are me sitting down looking at the camera with a visible wish that whoever was taking the picture would go away. Other than my memories and actual children to show for them, it's like they never happened!
My only concern is that my record might sound like a sad sounding country ballad on repeat. Um...I feel sick. And tired. I need to reach deep for new material.
I had a doctor's appointment yesterday. She came in with a sympathetic smile tinged with a smirk. You remember our last conversation was about getting an IUD. She did redeem herself by running for saltines and water when I started to dry heave in front of her. Fun, fun, fun! I left with some serious swag and a prescription for Zofran, an anti-nausea drug I've taken in the past that really does work wonders.
One ironic thing about being married to an actual practicing physician now vs a medical student or resident is we have horrible insurance. I say horrible, Jay says adequate, but I think that's because his partners chose it and he's being gracious. Compared to what we paid for our three other children's births, this is going to be a lot more expensive. Each doctor's visit requires a $65 copay. I'm paying that much to be weighed and pee in a cup. It doesn't feel like a bargain. And would you believe that my ultrasound and future ultrasounds are not free? The radiologists can waive their fees but the techs and hospital still need to be paid. Reimbursement rates are at a horrible low in this economy and Jay refuses to add to the statistic or demand special treatment. Fine.
Except I just went to fill my Zofran prescription. $144 dollars for 60 pills. The script says to take up to four a day for nausea/vomiting. At $2.40 per pill, that's almost $10 a day for nausea relief. Is that expense justified? I'd spend $10 for lunch but not every day. I'd spend $10 for a book but, again, not every day. I'm trying to justify the cost here. Can I legitimately and in good faith spend $5 or $10 every day to feel better? Or, should I just save the money and sit around some more? Well, when I put it like that....
I think I'm going to decide it's worth it. I have a feeling this is just the beginning of a pretty expensive baby.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Alive...Yes. Kicking...Not So Much
I'm not gonna lie, it's been a rough month. I think there must be some kind of natural blogging instinct to not write when frustration or despair is raw. Part of me wishes I had - to capture the real emotions as they happened, but, I think for history's sake, it's more kind to document with the perspective of hindsight.
However, the longer you go without writing, the harder it is to jump back in. It's almost as if you need something really BIG to be worthy of breaking the silence. I think I've got just the thing.
I'm pregnant.
It sounds incredibly stupid to say this came as a complete shock when I haven't done anything to prevent a pregnancy for the last three years, but after that much time, and because I needed help conceiving with all three of my others, I really didn't expect for it to happen. In fact, I had a doctor's appointment last week and made a plan to get a Mirena IUD at the start of my next cycle. Well...that cycle never came.
When a bout of nausea hit me last Tuesday, I had my first suspicion. It's such a particular sensation associated with being pregnant for me. I kept my worry to myself but at my Wednesday morning workout, my trainer asked me if everything was alright and after some tears, convinced me to go buy a pregnancy test. I had such low energy. While I drove home from Walmart, I glanced over at the passenger seat to see the IUD pamphlet jutting out from beneath the plastic bag holding a bright pink pregnancy test box. I thought, "I bet most people don't pick up both of these things in the same week!"
I wish I had more faith or less pride to be able to say with complete confidence that this is the way things are supposed to be or that this is all part of a specific plan. I'm not sure how that all works out after seeing many wonderful people and couples remain childless and some I consider undeserving proliferate with ease. And unlike some I know, I've never felt that whispering or prompting that there were more spirits waiting to join our three boys. I felt...good. I felt content to move past the young-child-at-home-stage with Henry starting Kindergarten next year. The idea of starting over - of getting all the things we'll need to have a baby again - still feels overwhelming. And it's not just all of the paraphernalia we'll need. It's really hard being sick again. It's really hard to think of all of the work I've put in to losing weight these past months being undone. As willing as I want to be to stay in shape and keep exercising, I have no energy. I feel sick all day. I'm throwing up in the morning and due to some troublesome spotting, have been instructed by my doctor to avoid anything strenuous. That means my workouts as I know them have stopped. Oh, I should still be going for some walks, I suppose, but it's easier to feel bad on my couch and watch movies. It makes taking one of my three to five naps a day more convenient.
Even though this wasn't planned or expected, Jay has been really sweet and reassuring that we have a great home to welcome whomever is coming. I like that thought. We told the boys last night and I wish I would have thought to videotape their reaction. Seth seemed a little upset. Sam seemed excited once he actually believed us. And Henry...oh, sweet Henry, well....he's in for the shock of his life. I hope to feel like a normal person again soon, but if not, I know come Christmas time, when the baby is due, that this confinement, which turns out to be an appropriate description for now, will end. Then, it'll be car seat/stroller/diaper bag/portacrib time. Oh my goodness.
Please forgive my bemoaning. I realize there will many blessings associated with this experience. I have no doubt, whatsoever, that when all is said and done, this new life will bring more joy, more spirit and more love to our home. And if there happens to be more estrogen as well...I certainly wouldn't be disappointed:)
