Thursday, April 30, 2009

Polar Bears

Somewhere, sometime I read a little blurb about the club that Tolstoy started with his little brother when they were kids.  It was quite the exclusive club.  Only two members.  Perhaps exclusive because of the rigid requirements to gain membership.  Actually, there was only one requirement.  In order to be a member of the Tolstoy brothers' club, you had to stand in the corner of a room for 30 minutes and not think about a polar bear.  Sheesh.  When I was a kid I had a club called the Four Jewels.  Also, I was not cool when I was a kid.

But if you read our previous post, you would know the many reasons, in Eric's opinion, that our kid will be cool.  I'd like to state for the record that, in my opinion, any inherited cool-ness will certainly be from the paternal lineage.  It's really our kid's only hope.  And I'm okay with it.

I'll tell you one thing, even if our future kid will be awesome, he certainly isn't making me FEEL awesome.  (Warning! The next paragraph will contain untold amounts of whining and complaining.  If you don't have the stomach for it, too bad. I'm pregnant and I get to whine about whatever I want!)  For starters, I'm exhausted.  all. the. time.  I used to be able to come home from work, do a little laundry, cook dinner, clean up a bit, go for a run.  These days, nothin' doin'.  I mean, I'm lucky if my tush leaves the couch for more than 10 minutes in between the time I plop down after work and the time that Eric suggests that if I'm going to fall asleep, I might as well do it in our bed.  AND I'm always hungry, but nothing sounds good.  In fact, foods I used to love now disgust me.  And the list of acceptable food changes every day.  I'm actually convinced that the hormones now surging through my body are in fact changing the physical chemistry of the foods I put in my mouth.  Is that possible??  

Oh, and then there's the mood swings.  One moment I'm weeping because the little girl on the commercial gave her mom the perfect Hallmark Mother's Day card, and the next I'm cussing because I can't find the right pair of socks that I want.  Eric was rubbing my back during one meltdown and afterwards I said, by way of explanation, "I think I'm probably just reacting to the hormones."  And he said, "Yeah, I know.  I read that in the book."  There you have it.  And the baby's only the size of a blueberry.  

Last night as I was bemoaning all of the wonderful and disturbing changes going on in my body, I said to Eric, "I don't like being pregnant."  I can't remember his exact words, but it was something to the effect of, "That didn't take long." and "You've got a long way to go, lady."  So helpful, my husband.  Actually, he is very helpful.  Because of the aforementioned exhaustion, he has now taken on full responsibility of the laundry, the cleaning, the cooking and the wife-pampering.  I tell you what, I married a good one.  I keep asking him if he's sick of me, yet.  He says no, but I don't believe him.  

By the way, did I mention the nausea? (Look out! The complaining's not over yet!)  I don't even have a chance to defend against it!  It starts first thing in the morning like some vomit-inducing alarm clock.  I've been given all kinds of advice (keep some crackers on your bedside table, eat a snack before bed, try to eat first thing when you wake up), but when the foods that I can stomach one day repulse me the next, it's hard to be prepared for the onslaught of queasiness.  Sometimes I just sit there and think to myself, "Don't throw up.  Don't throw up.  Don't throw up."  But you know, that usually works just about as well as trying to not think about a polar bear.

Monday, April 27, 2009

My most blog ever!

I hate to start things off with such cynicism, but this whole blog thing already feels a little self-indulgent. No offense to those of you who do it regularly. You're awesome, and you bring us all joy.

Speaking of awesome, I'll bet you're wondering where this most brilliant of blog titles came from. I'll tell you. It's the freaking truth. My kid, regardless of gender which is yet to be determined, is going to be awesome like you can't even believe. More awesome than is even possible. Give me your tired cliches of archetypal awesomeness- your ninjas, your pirates, your robots and sharks and robot sharks. I don't care. My kid = more awesome.

My kid will be the only kindergartner with a Spinal Tap lunchbox, flabbergasting the other six year olds with hilariously relevant jokes about the decline of irony in popular culture and analyses of the latest Dogme 95 endeavors. Not to mention he or she will breakdance. Ozone style.

So, if said first child is a masculine one, ladies watch out. If she's of the fairer sex, then she's going to intimidate the crap out of you guys out there. You just wait and see. Make way.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

and now...everything changes

So, Easter Sunday Jon Shirley was talking about the two words for time used in Scripture - chronos (chronological time) and kairos (God time).  Jon described kairos moments as those that are marked by the understanding that, from that second on, nothing will be the same again.  Jon asked us to pull up a memory of one of those moments in our lives.  Uttering the words "I do," going to sleep the first night in my nosebleed bunk bed in college, signing our names to a $147,000 loan for our first house.  Big moments.  Life-changing moments.  Kairos moments.  What's that phrase in literature that suggests an omniscient narrator?  Oh yeah, little did we know...

Less than 12 hours later, Eric was already at work and I was lying in bed wide-eyed trying to get up the courage to pee on a stick.  What if it's negative? Again.  Maybe I should wait until tomorrow.  But I'm pretty sure...I mean I've been so tired.  But what if I'm wrong?  Maybe I'd rather not know.  Pretty soon my bladder at least got me out of bed and I just went for it.  Clear as day.  A plus sign.  That means pregnant, right?  Crap.  I threw away the package with the directions.  It's gotta mean pregnant.  But what if it doesn't?  What if it should have two plus signs?  Thank God for the internet.  Google..."Factplus pregnancy test results."  Searching, searching, searching.  Stupid slow internet.  Okay, that one looks promising.  Plus sign.  Pregnant. Oh. Wow.  I remember looking up at myself in the mirror and saying, "You're pregnant."  

And then it hit me.  We had put so much time and energy and thought and prayer and planning and...well...sex into just conceiving, but I honestly had not thought one second beyond the moment when the sperm meets the egg and says, "Hey let's implant over here.  Looks nice and cozy."  So beyond the initial shock of an actual positive pregnancy test, my only other conscious thought was, "Now what?"  Well, first thing's first.  Must tell the husband.  Must be creative. Must not cry.  Must not answer that phone call from Little Sister.  Must not tell anyone else before the husband knows!  Am I even ready to say it out loud?  I mean, not just to the mirror?

Well, I failed in the attempt to not let anyone else in on the secret before telling Eric.  Pretty sure the lady in Half Price Books knows.  Not hard to do the math: 1 wide-eyed girl + "What to Expect when You're Expecting" onto the counter = PREGNANT.  And the ladies at Hallmark probably have a pretty good idea.  The countdown calendar of weeks until she's a grandma I got for my mom was a dead give-away.  

Eric and I met for lunch that day.  I was frantically composing a plan for telling him...close to settling on just blurting it out.  He went to the bathroom to wash his hands and I had my moment.  I got out the book.  I pretended to read (who was I kidding?).  He came back and fell right into my little trap.  "What are you reading?"  I held up the book and looked pointedly into his eyes.  "Oh, that's a new...booooo..." That last consonant got lost a little there as he now did the math that took Half Price Books Lady half the time.  I just stared at him, unhelpfully.  "Are you kidding?  Are you serious?"  I just nodded and mumbled something like, "How 'bout that?"  Then brought out the proof (which was in a plastic bag for all you germ-concerned folks out there) and passed it across the table.   He just stared at me with his mouth open, his eyes wide, his hands grasping the evidence of conception.  And I finally said, "How's that for a Kairos moment?"