Here’s the thing – the baby weight gain thing is kicking me in the tail this time around. Not that I’m gaining more weight than I did with any of the other three, but rather that I seemed to have…ahem…spread out a bit more this time around.
Awesome.
My original due date was September 19, but after the 20 week ultrasound, the technician felt we needed to push the due date back to September 30. Because I apparently offended her somehow upon walking into the room. Or maybe she just hates pregnant women?
Hard to say, really.
So if anyone asks me when I’m due, I will give the oh-so-vague reply, “Some time in September. Mid to Late. Hopefully closer to mid than late.” It’s not a cool answer. I can’t even tell you for sure how many weeks along I am. 25? 26? 27?
WHO KNOWS?!
At this point, I’m starting to wonder if this pregnancy may, in fact, be a permanent condition.
Earlier this week, three different women asked me if I was having twins. “Are you sure?” one of them replied when I told her no. Well, my new friend, now I’m not. Maybe one of them is good at hide and seek? Who can be sure of such things, really? Based on how quickly I’ve grown from cute little bump to MASSIVE MELON-BALL BELLY, perhaps I’ve spontaneously and miraculously begun growing triplets.
If that were to happen to anyone, it would be me.
Other than already being uncomfortable, and wondering how on earth I’m going to make it another 13-15 weeks, things are going relatively smoothly. I haven’t slept well in a week, which I attribute to a potential hormone surge by baby girl. Because carrying girl babies tends to put me through the ringer.
I don’t have any big cravings this time around, although my car did steer itself into a McDonald’s Drive-Thru today, and the possessed pregnant side of my brain ordered a chocolate milkshake. I tried to talk her out of it, but the urge was ultimately too great to ignore.
That was the best chocolate milkshake I’ve ever eaten.
Amen.
I leave on Wednesday for California for a week with my tribe, my fellow creatives who gather yearly to spur one another on toward our passions and goals. When thinking about the trip, I feel near giddy with excitement. But when thinking of the plane ride across country to get there, I feel suddenly light-headed and nauseous.
I mentioned the fact that I’m carrying a large watermelon in my midsection, right?
Two weeks after that trip, we will pile into our (smokin’ hot) minivan for a road trip north. Hours upon hours in a car with a 15 pound watermelon in my gut (that also happens to kick me repeatedly in the bladder…yay me) sounds a bit like a torture chamber, but whatever. It will make the time pass quicker, and time passing means that soon I won’t be pregnant anymore.
Unless, of course, my suspicions are true and I really am going to be pregnant for the rest of time.
I sound like I’m complaining, don’t I?
That’s because I am. Humor me, please?
It’s not all horrible, to be sure. There are moments that I enjoy. I do love feeling the baby kick. It’s really magical to feel those bumps and know that life is growing inside me. I won’t ever lose the awe of that experience.
Other than that, though, meh…I’m over it.
Keeping my eye on the prize is the only thing motivating me to power forward. Well, that and the fact that I have no choice. There’s a sweet baby girl waiting at the finish line, so I’m choosing to focus on her, and I am really, really excited to meet her.
Sometime in the next 13-15 weeks…hopefully closer to 13 than 15.
Before my first trip to Belarus as a fifteen-year-old, I, along with the rest of our team, went through extensive training on how to travel overseas. We learned behavioral differences between our country and others (Americans are loud), we learned how to properly and respectfully address the people we would meet, the rules for public transportation, and how to react to a plate of jello filled with sardines if it was placed before you.
Hint: Don’t make gagging noises and push it away. Act normal, swallow hard, and prepare for a culinary adventure.
By the time we left, we were fully ready to conquer the world, and for the most part we did a great job. There were a few instances, of course, when our American senses would overwhelm and we’d let out a shriek of excitement only to be met with the tsks of a nearby Babyshka. And really, no matter how hard you try, you couldn’t parade a group of 15-18 year old Americans down a Belorussian sidewalk in 1994 and not expect some sort of gawking.
Mostly, though, we handled ourselves well. Until that one day…
We made a stop in Frankfurt, Germany on our way home. It was a day and a night to decompress and explore. We grabbed our monstrous, rolling suitcases after making it through customs and in a long line, we made our way to the train that would take us to our hotel.
But there was a problem. We had to get down a long, very narrow escalator in order to get to the train. Perhaps, looking back, wisdom would have dictated that maybe we find an elevator that would better accommodate our bags, but we were running late, so we were instructed to turn our bags sideways and go down.
Only the first person in the group missed the instruction about turning the bag sideways.
He got to the bottom of the escalator and stepped off, but his bag did not budge. It was wedged tight. He yanked and pulled and in the meantime, the person behind him tried to step up and over his bag, only to lose her bag behind her in the process.
On and on it went with each of us trying to dive over the now growing pile of baggage, piling up like the players in a really bad, painfully humiliating rugby match. The ever moving escalator continued to propel everyone behind us downward, though some of the smart ones turned and fought the current to get back to the top.
It was the most hysterical mess as we all tumbled to the bottom, then slowly began to disentangle the unfortunate bags. We brushed ourselves off, held our heads high, and made our way to the train trying to communicate that we weren’t always this cool.
These last few days have felt like another ride on that fateful escalator. As one “bag” after another piled up at the bottom, I could see the mound approaching, and I hoped I could leap over it.
I tripped and fell yesterday. It all hit me. The stress of a job change, last minute flights to Arkansas that had to be changed into last minute flights to Houston for job interviews. Last day of school. Cancer diagnosis.All of life piled up before me, and instead of gracefully leaping over it, I fell miserably, a hyperventilating, panicked mess of a woman who thought she could hold it together.
It’s my fault, really. I forgot I’m pregnant, and that emotions when pregnant tend run a little…um…hotter than normal. I forgot to sleep, and I didn’t eat properly. I tried to do everything, and to be everyone to all my people. I wanted to be the strong one – the one who held it together.
Instead I’m the one who had a panic attack in the school parking lot.
I’m better today. It’s a new day, and releasing a lot of the pent up fears and heartache helped to dislodge the baggage waiting to trip me up. That’s the problem with keeping everything squelched up inside. It’s like trying to fit an oversized rolling bag on an undersized escalator.
It’s bound to cause a fall.
Are you feeling overwhelmed today? Is there a mound of life piling up before you? Before you try to jump over it, can I encourage you to call a friend, or meet with someone face to face who will let you unload some of the emotions?
Trust me – you will much prefer that to hyperventilating in a parking lot. I’m not always this cool, folks…
Here’s to a restful, balanced, baggage free weekend.
We still have a week of school left, but already I’m gearing the kids up for summer expectations. More and more, Lee and I have felt pressed to teach our kids how to fill their time wisely. This is a difficult task as it requires us to fill our time wisely. That whole “leading by example” mentality that’s supposed to be so effective in parenting, you know?
As we head into the summer months, my goal is to have plenty of fun activities planned, with a fair amount of downtime built in. So, without further ado, I give you…
The Stuart Family Summertime Agenda of Awesome
I doubt this will drastically curb the desperate pleas for help entertaining themselves, but hopefully it will give them a reference to look to instead of tugging on me day in and day out with all their woes of boredom.
This sign hangs proudly on the laundry room door, right outside the kitchen. It is our agenda of all the awesomeness that’s about to go down this summer.
See how exciting I’m making it sound?! Think they’ll buy it?
So sprinkled in between visits to Adventure Island and the beach, my hope is that all of us will enjoy a little more downtime this summer. Time spent reading, relishing the silence, electronic free mornings and maybe…juuuuuuust maaaayyybeeeee, my children who love to hop out of bed before the sun even peeks over the horizon will sleep in just a teeny, tiny bit.
All I’m asking for is 7:00 WHICH SEEMS ENTIRELY REASONABLE TO ME!
I’m not holding my breath…feel free to send coffee and Peppermint Mocha Creamer my way.
So tell me – how do you keep your kids active, engaged, and free from the summertime boredom blues? Do share!
My children were all up and dressed before the sun awoke up this morning. This is partly my fault since I put them all to bed before the sun went down last night because PREGNANT MOMS GET TIRED!
I also forgot, yet again, to play Tooth Fairy last night because PREGNANT MOMS HAVE NO BRAIN CELLS! So Sloan, bless him, woke up disappointed one more time when there was no money left under his pillow.
Now let me give you a tiny glimpse into our philosophy on the “magic” of childhood. We have always celebrated things like the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and Santa Clause with our kids. I know some people do not agree with this, but for us, it was fun and we’ve never felt that it was harmful practice.
I destroyed the myth of the Easter Bunny for our children last year because, honestly, it was my least favorite story. I mean, it just logically doesn’t make sense.Bunnies don’t even lay eggs, for heaven’s sake!
Side note: I have a distinct memory from my childhood, when I swear up one side and down the other that I saw the Easter Bunny. I heard a noise outside and went to cross the hall to my parent’s room, and a six foot rabbit stood on his hind legs at the end of the hall. I was so terrified, I dashed back to my bed and pulled the blankets over my ears.
My parents maintain to this day that it was simply a result of my overactive imagination. I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t one of them dressed up to torture me. Either way, the memory is as real as the nose on my face and I will stand by the story until the day I die.
End side note.
I came stumbled into the kitchen this morning at 6:20, and the first words to greet me were, “Mom! The Tooth Fairy didn’t come again. Is the Tooth Fairy even real?”
I’ve been wanting to let Sloan in on the secret of the Tooth Fairy and Santa for awhile now. I just really wanted him to hear from us, and not other people, that these were simply the fun aspects of being parents, so I took him to his room and tried to let him down gently.
“No. The Tooth Fairy isn’t real. I’ll give you a dollar for your tooth later, though, okay?”
Bribery is an art form, friends. Don’t judge.
“Well,” he said, and I knew it was coming. “What about Santa?”
“Saint Nick was a real person, and he really did give gifts to those less fortunate. They hung stockings outside their windows, and on Christmas morning he would leave little treats, or necessary items in their stockings. It’s the magic of giving to others, and that’s a part of Christmas we like to celebrate.”
“Sooooo…Saint Nicholas is real?” Sloan asked.
“Well,” I answered, “Saint Nicholas was real. But he died a long time ago.”
Tact is also an art form. Look at all the things you’re learning from me today!
“And now,” I continued, “one of the fun things we get to do as parents is carry on his magical tradition of giving. We give to others at Christmastime, and we give to our children. We are Santa Clause! It’s a privilege to be Santa for our kids, and now that you know the secret, you can be Santa with us!”
He sits on his bed, face registering utter disbelief. “So you bought all those presents?”
“Well, yes,” I answered. You’re welcome, I thought. I wisely didn’t say that out loud.
“But I’ve heard Santa’s sleigh on the roof on Christmas Eve!”
There’s no real answer to this, so I stay quiet. This is probably somewhat akin to my vision of the Easter Bunny as a child.
“So,” he continued, still processing. “If I get to play Santa with you, does that mean I get to climb on the roof and slide down the chimney?!” His eyes light up.
“Uh…no. That doesn’t actually happen. That’s part of the myth of Santa.”
Face falls again.
“Now,” I continued. “Part of the fun of being Santa is keeping it a secret. You can’t tell anyone else about this because then it’s not as fun, so can you keep this just between us?”
He nods slowly. (I give it a week before the other two kids know about Santa.)
“I just can’t believe you’re Santa,” he says, shaking his head. Then he shrugs, stands up, and asks for some cereal, because when you’re a ten year old boy, food conquers all disbelief.
So the basic theme of this entire story is that I was Mommy the Dream Slayer this morning, and I destroyed the magic of childhood before the sun even rose above the trees. Later, after I’d sent them off to school, I got tickled about the whole conversation and called Lee (who is out of town) to tell him that I destroyed childhood for our firstborn today, and to congratulate him for missing out on that parenting milestone.
So…anyone else in need of a little dream slaying today?
Apparently I’m on a roll.
(PS – I know this can be a hot button topic in some circles, so respectfully I ask that it not become one here. Santa and the Easter Bunny always have very small roles in our holiday celebrations. Kind of like Nutella plays a small role in our every day snacking, but it is not our main source of nutrition…We spend a lot more time discussing the true meaning of those holidays than we do on the commercial characters of the holidays. I’m not defending my position – I’m just stating the reasons behind why we chose to include those stories in our celebrations. Thanks for understanding.)
If that were to happen to anyone, it would be me.
