Wednesday, May 23, 2012

The Business of Being Bullied

This. Is excellent. The author's conclusions are exactly right. We deserve ample opportunities to make rational pregnancy, childbirth, and parenting choices and receive encouragement toward those decisions, not romanticized or fear/shame-ridden lectures about "natural" or "unnatural" approaches and ridicule from one camp or another about whether we are drinking the KoolAid over what we favor.  There is no such thing as "unnatural" or "unauthentic" labor or parenting. There is just whatever we do.

Ina May Gaskin and the battle for at-home births (NYT)

Monday, May 21, 2012

Second Tri for the Second Time

Hellooooo, second trimester. Are you ready to give me a break? No, not yet? Fine. Please hurry.

I have a mental list of Things That Must Be Done around the house in the next few months, while I still feel like doing anything at all, and it's daunting. The third bedroom needs to be emptied of its current office furnishings, these need to find a new home somewhere in the family room and/or basement, and we need to bring new baby furniture in. And assemble it at some point. I haven't gotten that far in my imaginary to-do list. I sort of want to repaint that room but just a darker shade of the same color, and repaint the trim, but that may get scrapped as unnecessary work. And we have boatloads of yardwork to do but are thinking of hiring someone to do it this year. Throw money at the problem!

I've started looking at real estate listings again lately and everything I find online that looks like a house I'd want to live in for 20+ years is at the very tippy top of our price range. It probably exceeds what KB wants to pay. But I covet a newer turnkey house. I don't mind if we need to paint and refinish floors before we move in, but I don't want to create nor live in a construction zone, and end up paying more at the end of it all to do major renovation than if we'd bought a remodeled or new house. And I rationalize that my student loans will be paid in the next few years, and the cost of daycare will disappear in a few years, too. So it doesn't have to be a horizontal move (and if it were, would it really be worth moving?). I still hold out hope we could pull it off by next summer. Sure.

So don't burst my bubble, y'all. I just found a "Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired home" that I totally want to live in. The master bath alone would be worth it.

 

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

And So On

Still here. I know you missed me. Sure.

Let's do bullets.
  • Still incredibly nauseous. Mostly at night, right before bedtime. This is fantastic. I wish I could throw up and get relief, but it doesn't even work that way. Riding this out for a few more weeks until it (hopefully) gets better. Pregnancy is beautiful. Uh-huh.
  • We're hitting a rough patch with Jackson. About 50% of the time (or maybe more?) he throws total meltdown tantrums during meals and is sometimes refusing to go to bed. Not that we give into it, but he puts up a good fight. He's getting big and Hulk-strong so it's harder to man-handle him into submission these days. Especially when you're not into getting kicked in the gut by a wriggling angry mess of a toddler. He's growing more independent (won't let us help him eat meals anymore, has to feed himself everything and wipe his own mouth, etc.) so I feel like this is just an internal struggle for him to sort out that not everything can be at his command. He doesn't have the insight yet that he can't actually make every decision. Riding this one out, too.
  • I am out to the world, more or less. It's starting to look obvious so I may as well let it all hang out. I haven't gotten daily calls from the usual suspects, but every time I do see them or talk to them I get the full inquisition re: symptoms. Because I love nothing more than to describe my nausea to others repeatedly knowing that they have no clue what I'm talking about (according to my mother-in-law, her pregnancies and births and child-rearing skills were all picture-perfect *cough*bullshit*cough*). 
  • Out with work clients, too. I was getting repeated requests to do work planned for the late fall and had to finally tell them why I can't do it. After the congratulations were doled out, the scramble to get me on board with as many projects as they can before November began. Now comes the part where I have to make a cocoon and protect my time ferociously. I have this dilemma that shouldn't be a dilemma: I figure, if I'm going to work then I should have/meet certain reasonable professional goals, including hitting quarterly and annual financial targets. What I currently have on my plate for the remainder of the year would accomplish this just fine. But I also don't like disappointing good clients when they want to work with me, and I don't want to end up with too much time on my hands toward the end of pregnancy (distraction was good last time around, took my mind off of how goddamned uncomfortable I was). So I have to find and keep the balance. It will mean saying "no" a lot. I am not great at doing that (except to toddlers, in which case it falls on deaf ears anyway). I guess this is one of those opportunities for growth that asshole optimists like to proselytize about. We'll see.
  • I saw the mom from school that I had bumped into at my RE clinic recently, and she looks pregnant as well. We have a school fundraiser to attend this weekend, and I'm hoping she'll be there and I can saunter on over and talk to her. I'm not really the social butterfly of any party, but I can't help myself with this one. We have the same fertility doctor, for crying out loud. Our older kids are about the same age. Our second kids will be about the same age. It is Meant To Be. Or maybe we'll never speak and it will be unrequited infertile love.
  • A dear friend is having her baby shower next month (she finally got pregnant after months of donor IUIs) but her sister planned it on Father's Day. The sister is sweet, but may actually be retarded. Who would do this? Also, it's several states away, in Iowa City. I haven't been back there more than once or twice since college (go Hawkeyes!). It will be my first overnight away from Jackson. And I'm leaving The Tantrum King alone with KB on Father's Day. What a treat. KB wants me to go, and is the one who convinced me I should, but I have to come up with some sort of kickass make-up day for his Father's Day. It probably will have to involve putting out to make up for this. *sigh*
  • Had a 12-week scan as part of the sequential screening and baby looks fine. Has wee little legs (like me) and a face and hands and whatnot. Was dancing a little. I'm not sure if I want to know the gender or not when we schedule the 19-week scan. It was nice to be surprised with Jackson. But it might be nice to know, too. I don't even know why I think that. But I don't really want to share it with others if we do find out, mostly because I don't want to be inundated with gender-specific shit we don't need. We have a plethora of Jackson's footie onesie pajamas for the winter, which will be the infant uniform of choice as it was with Jackson. And if we find out it's a girl, I don't want to get piles of impractical itchy lacy pink frilly tutus and headbands (I know what would be awesome -- a rubber band tied around a baby's head with a giant plastic flower dangling in her eye! she'll love it!). And I know we would (in-laws are a sure thing). I mean, we'd still get this stuff after the birth, but then I'd at least be in the throes of baby love and could ignore it better.
  • Is anyone watching Game of Thrones? I just want to say that motherhood is a bitch in that world. Nothing good comes from it. You can run around bellowing, "I am the mother of dragons!" all you want, it ain't helping matters.
  • That's all I got. Nothing new but the same ol'.
 

Friday, May 4, 2012

My Cup Runneth Over

What a week. And it ain't over yet. This fat lady is just warming up.

Client work (as in, the paid part of my life's work) was nuts but is easing up a bit, finally. I might have flipped the bird and let out some primal screams/sobbing wails while on mute in a teleconference. At least I believe I was on mute. They're still speaking to me, so let's assume. Then KB was out of town the past several days on a golf trip with his friends and Jackson decided to throw the Greatest Bedtime Tantrum In History last night. Two hours of screamy fun. I finally got to bed myself but had a pit in my stomach from all the back-arching wails I fought through (his, in case you're unsure) to calm him down. I'm pretty sure his teeth were bugging him (he now has all but his back molars in -- whoa -- but some are still working their way through the gum). So that was real neat.

Today went much smoother, except for some bathtime shenanigans that concluded with a triumphant piss on the floor. Oh, but he grabbed a roll of toilet paper and unraveled it to "help" me clean it up. But he went to bed with no complaint and fell right asleep, so good night, Gracie. Natch, the dog then decided it was HER turn and peed on the rug by the front door. It's a favorite spot to lay her claim to her kingdom. Whatever. So instead of going to bed extra early, which I would like to do at the ripe ol' hour of, say, 8PM, I have to stay up and wash a rug and may as well do Jackson's laundry while I'm at it. (One side effect of his being in the toddler room now is that he gets his clothes changed once, sometimes twice, and today, four times a day. They encourage him to feed himself independently every day at lunch, which is good, but usually results in yogurt-smeared/smashed-cheddar bunny-slurried/spilled water shirts and/or pants, and then when they play outside he, of course, gets filthy. Also, paint and markers.) This is what they dug up when they rummaged in their spare clothes bin for him after the fourth clothing change today:
What. He's secure in his manhood. I will relish showing this to my mother-in-law who will begin lighting candles immediately to pray to sweet baby Jesus for heterosexuality.

Speaking of kooky family, we are telling them about Kind Nummer Zwei this weekend. For my birthday. Happy birthday to me? I'd be willing to keep it under wraps until the kid is born, but I suppose my growing tits and belly might draw suspicion. So let the daily phone calls and the Symptom Watch and also the Inquisition (are you going to find out the sex? why not? what names did you pick out? what? why? when? who? where? blah! blah! blah!) begin.

So that's the end to my long week. But WAIT! There's MORE!? Tomorrow night we're going out late (like, we might be out past midnight -- is that a thing people still do?) to my brother-in-law's band reunion/charity show thing with some other bands from the 90's who are getting back together, to raise money for a friend who is recovering from cancer but has piss-poor healthcare coverage to pay for it. (Please let the Supremes uphold the ACA, or honest guys like this will not only continue to be under-insured but he'll likely lose coverage and then be denied future coverage due to his pre-existing condition. And if you need something personal to connect with the ACA, consider this: insurers can refuse to pay for any fertility treatments, as we know, but can also refuse to insure you if you've been diagnosed with infertility, even though they don't cover it. Double whammy. So. But I digress.) But BEFORE our late-night rock and roll party jam (is that what the kids call it these days?) we're having dinner with friends of KB's (at which there will be Telling) and then before THAT we have to go to the annoying neighbor's house for an annoying party they're hosting. Didn't I vow to not do this anymore? Waste precious oxygen in their presence? Indeed, but they informed us that they moved the time up JUST FOR US because we've told them (apparently too many times, however many) about Jackson's early bedtime. Blargh. Pretty much everyone invited to this retarded party (retardy?) is an alcoholic, so it will stick out like a sort thumb that I'm not drinking. And KB won't because we have to drive all over town for dinner and our musical hootenanny later on. So we've been sucked in to their vortex of Gah.

But...Sunday is my birthday, and there will be cake. Let them eat cake.

Saturday Update: we're bailing on dinner and the late night gig. The place will be standing room only and this heifer needs to sit. Or, by that time, be in bed. So we'll pig out at the neighbor's boozefest (sans booze) and then watch some tv and park our lame asses in bed. As it should be.