Apparently, being pregnant is somehow like running for public office; it enables random people to ask questions and make comments that they never would ordinarily. I don't remember signing up for this...
Tips on Dealing with the Pregnant Woman
Don't touch. I guess it's one thing later on, when there's a cute basketball-belly full of baby; some people can't help themselves. But if your coworker spills the beans that she's 9 weeks pregnant, DO NOT grab her belly. Yes, someone did this to me. I had to grab her hand, push it away, and say, "That's NOT BABY, that's my belly. YOU ARE GRABBING MY BELLY FAT." I explained in graphic detail that the "baby" is at that point the size of a Lima bean, floating in a uterus the size of a grapefruit that is still tucked securely in my pelvis. Anything that is "showing" on me right now is just weight gain due to the excessive hunger and complete cessation of all physical activity. Babies don't start behind the belly button and grow out; they start wayyy down, below the pubic bone, and grow upwards.
On a similar note, how is it appropriate to make comments about someone else's body? Unless my baby is finally showing up front, there is no call for this. My growing ass and boobs are not your concern and it is tacky to mention them.
If someone you know is suffering from ongoing morning sickness, do not do any of the following:
Do not repeatedly exclaim that you never had a day's worth of being sick! Isn't it just funny how some women get sick and some don't! Well, I'm so happy for you, but it sure doesn't make me feel better right now. Misery does not love gloating. I prefer to hear about similar stories from women that are understanding, that remember clearly the relationship that develops between preggers and their toilet bowl. (Or bucket. I heart my bucket.)
Do not imply that worry, ambivalence, or unhappiness with the pregnancy is causing morning sickness. What a toxic, disgusting idea. We've been trying for the better part of a year to make this baby. Had a terrible miscarriage just a few months ago. If I were any happier about being pregnant, I would float into work instead of walking. (Dragging. Whatever.) I know I look miserable, but that's because I feel like shit, not because I'm ambivalent. DO NOT say, "Oh, I never got morning sickness, I think I was just so happy to be pregnant that it just didn't occur to me." Because if I killed you, I think I would be acquitted. Here's the thing: during early pregnancy, the female body is flooded with hormones. Some women react better to that than others; some react as though they are being poisoned by these unfamiliar chemicals that are building up in the liver and kidneys. The body's natural response is to get rid of the 'toxins' the only way it knows how, which is barf. And I'm sure that being on these hormone supplements for the last month is not helping my case. But it doesn't give anyone the right to question how I feel about being pregnant, which last time I checked wasn't even anyone else's business to begin with.
Sharing the news. I had to share my happy news at work much earlier than I intended to, because of the constant illness. Half had already guessed, because let's face it, when you see a woman going to barf several times a day for days on end, it becomes clear that it isn't a virus. But here's the thing; just because you know doesn't give you the right to share that with whomever, whenever. For example. I tell my manager about the Little Bean out of necessity, to explain a sick-day. The next day is a general announcement, congratulations, etc. OK. But why is she telling so many random people that couldn't care less? Our customers do not care. Visiting higher-ups and other managers don't care. Pregnancy only becomes interesting to strangers when it's visible and imminent. First-trimester pregnancy is boring. So please don't go, "And this is Mara, who just told us she's going to be a mother!"
Telling the people I work with every day out of necessity is a bit different than wearing a sandwich board as I walk down the street. I have no desire to share my happy news with random strangers, so could you please stop doing that? When I'm showing, that will be my sandwich board to the world. Until then, why not keep it among those who either need to know, or who care enough about me to find it interesting news?
On the same note, it's silly to ask, "Did you just find out?" No. I just told you. I've known for a month or so. How ignorant do you think I am-- to not realize that I'm pregnant for weeks and weeks? It seems I have more discretion than you realize; I can apparently decide to keep this news from you as long as I deem necessary. Sorry if that hurts your feelings, but managers and coworkers are not the same thing as close friends.
Ahh, labor and birth. Why would you tell me that I'll need the drugs? Is it because you did, so you can't stand the idea of anyone else daring not to? If I heard that you were training to run a triathlon in six months, I would never pat you on the back and say, "Honey, you'll never make that. I'd look into steroids, if I were you. Everybody does it!" Obviously, I don't KNOW what labor will be like for me. Obviously, you don't either. Personally I believe that I was built to give birth, as anyone who's seen me in real life could understand... I have the HIPS, baby. But you know, I can't guarantee that I won't need pain relief, I understand that it's a possibility. I just don't understand why you would try to undermine someones desire to do that "natural thing".
How OLD are you? Are you married? Was this planned? Wow, could you be any ruder? Did you parents forget to teach you manners? Were you brought up in a barn? Sorry, I forgot that turnabout isn't fair play. I am 26 year old. Yes, I realize that I look younger than my age; five extra years so far of getting carded doesn't let me forget. Guesses tend to range from 19-24, average about 22. I know full well that if I were ten years older (or looked ten years older) you wouldn't dare to ask these impertinent questions, nor would you even care. My story is pretty boring: 26, married, very much planned. A long time trying, actually. Does that excuse your asking? No. What the HELL. If I WERE 21, single and completely surprised by this, would that justify you? Would that make it OK to ask these kinds of things? My being young (or young-looking) does not somehow give you the right to ask me questions you'd never ask a 36 year-old matronly type. I do not like seeing you prepare to judge me, and then change your mind because I have the right statistics. You have no right to judge in the first place; my answers are irrelevant.
This lesson brought to you by one grumpy-assed pregnant lady!
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
OMG!!!
Sorry about the netspeak, but I just couldn't help myself...
AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! re: Deathly Hallows.
I can't say anything because I think it's too soon to spoil. I don't want to ruin anything for anybody, so if you haven't finished the book... Hurry Up! There's so much to discuss!
***********************************************************
I just saw a button that says, "Less Bombs, More Art Supplies" and it really bugs me. Not because I disagree with the principle, but because it ought to be "Fewer Bombs, More Art Supplies"... right? It gets under my skin.
AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! re: Deathly Hallows.
I can't say anything because I think it's too soon to spoil. I don't want to ruin anything for anybody, so if you haven't finished the book... Hurry Up! There's so much to discuss!
***********************************************************
I just saw a button that says, "Less Bombs, More Art Supplies" and it really bugs me. Not because I disagree with the principle, but because it ought to be "Fewer Bombs, More Art Supplies"... right? It gets under my skin.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
YAYYYY!!!!!!
It's all good. Embryo is alive, has a heartbeat. Looks like the Michelin Tire Man, but in a good way. It looks like I'm actually pregnant for the long haul this time...
I had to wait one day to write about it, because yesterday it would have been all gibberish and blubbering, which doesn't translate well onscreen. I cried all over the nurse as she tried to explain various part of my Little Bean as "the yolk sac" and "the arm buds". Honestly it looks just like a blob. But a living, flashing blob; very cute. So different than the dark empty spot in the last one. I called my parents last night to share the news (finally!) and (of course!) they're thrilled to death.
The sickness is getting old. I find myself calculating the statistics: throwing up between two and six times a day, mean of 3, median 2. If I had a point for every new bathroom explored, I'd have a lot of points-- who's in charge of the points, anyway? I need to talk with them. Everyone at work asks me how I feel, multiple times a day. I don't know what to say; do I tell the truth-- I feel crappy, I wish I were at home in bed with my bucket? Because that's getting old and boring. Do I lie and say I'm fine, even though they are asking genuinely? bleh.
HARRY POTTER TOMORROW. SO EXITED. Here are the theories that I'm hoping will bite the dust once and for all:
The Harry-and-Hermione-are-brother-and-sister theory. PLEASE.
The Harry-(or his scar)-is-a-Horcrux theory.
The Harry-will-die theory. (I hope, I hope, I hope...)
The Snape-and-Lily theory. Ewwww. Nuff said there.
I had to wait one day to write about it, because yesterday it would have been all gibberish and blubbering, which doesn't translate well onscreen. I cried all over the nurse as she tried to explain various part of my Little Bean as "the yolk sac" and "the arm buds". Honestly it looks just like a blob. But a living, flashing blob; very cute. So different than the dark empty spot in the last one. I called my parents last night to share the news (finally!) and (of course!) they're thrilled to death.
The sickness is getting old. I find myself calculating the statistics: throwing up between two and six times a day, mean of 3, median 2. If I had a point for every new bathroom explored, I'd have a lot of points-- who's in charge of the points, anyway? I need to talk with them. Everyone at work asks me how I feel, multiple times a day. I don't know what to say; do I tell the truth-- I feel crappy, I wish I were at home in bed with my bucket? Because that's getting old and boring. Do I lie and say I'm fine, even though they are asking genuinely? bleh.
HARRY POTTER TOMORROW. SO EXITED. Here are the theories that I'm hoping will bite the dust once and for all:
The Harry-and-Hermione-are-brother-and-sister theory. PLEASE.
The Harry-(or his scar)-is-a-Horcrux theory.
The Harry-will-die theory. (I hope, I hope, I hope...)
The Snape-and-Lily theory. Ewwww. Nuff said there.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Still alive, checking in. I no longer have the energy to do things like read or write, so no blogging of late. I get sick everywhere: home, work, the grocery store. The other pregnancy was nothing like this, can I take that as a good sign? My doctor's appointment and ultrasound is tomorrow. After last time I'm scared for what we'll see. But could a nonviable fetus make me so darn sick? Update tomorrow with the results, whatever they may be.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Oy Vey!
Am in the grips of an alien occupation. No longer have control over any aspect of my own life; have been reduced to squirrel-like status of eating-sleeping-hording food, with occasional outbursts of crazy emotion.
I have to eat every couple of hours or else feel that lovely motion-sickness-like pregnancy feeling. This takes a lot of planning and strategy, as I have to actually go to work and stuff. So I have a bag of trail mix in my purse, half my lunch in the break-room fridge, and here at my work-station-- water and part of a cookie. Just to keep from feeling dizzy and nauseus...Really, like a squirrel. And not a paticularly healthy squirrel at that...
For one thing all I want is carbohydrates. Potatoes. I made latkes a few nights ago, only six months out of season. Chanukah food in the middle of summer? But they were so good.
Yesterday Don and I BOTH had the day off, something that only happens every blue moon or so. Most of the day was spent in lessons on "How to treat your pregnant wife":
DO talk to the "baby". DON'T just shout HELLO and blow raspberries on belly.
DO bring her cereal in bed. DON'T say, "here ya go, Barfy!"
DO make dinner. DON'T talk about disgusting things...
Etc. I think we're making progress.
I have to eat every couple of hours or else feel that lovely motion-sickness-like pregnancy feeling. This takes a lot of planning and strategy, as I have to actually go to work and stuff. So I have a bag of trail mix in my purse, half my lunch in the break-room fridge, and here at my work-station-- water and part of a cookie. Just to keep from feeling dizzy and nauseus...Really, like a squirrel. And not a paticularly healthy squirrel at that...
For one thing all I want is carbohydrates. Potatoes. I made latkes a few nights ago, only six months out of season. Chanukah food in the middle of summer? But they were so good.
Yesterday Don and I BOTH had the day off, something that only happens every blue moon or so. Most of the day was spent in lessons on "How to treat your pregnant wife":
DO talk to the "baby". DON'T just shout HELLO and blow raspberries on belly.
DO bring her cereal in bed. DON'T say, "here ya go, Barfy!"
DO make dinner. DON'T talk about disgusting things...
Etc. I think we're making progress.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
I'm hungry, are you cooking?
The nasty mood lifted and the physical symptoms descended, all at the same time. I guess the hormones affect the mind before the body? I don't feel so apathetic and overwhelmed as I did; I feel more in control. For example the thought of having to do the dishes, wash some clothes and clean the kitchen does not make me want to hide under the comforter and cry as it did last week. This is progress; it is being pulled back from the brink of the nasty depression. Don's take on it: of course you're feeling psychotic, in addition to all the regular hormones you're shoving extra ones in!
But those are supposed to be filling a deficit, so it should all come out the same, right? Anyways I'm taking them with mind-numbing regularity; it's amazing how easy it is to remember the meds when it's such a life-of-death matter as opposed to getting rid of strep throat or something. Probably the first time I've ever stayed on a prescription for more than a week without missing a dose.
Friday I looked in the mirror at work and realized that I have a glow. I thought that was just a myth, and old-wives-tale. I've been worried about my belly popping out before I'm ready to tell, about my boobs giving me away, when my secret is written across my cheeks for any observant person to read. It's like a sunburn but more even and kinda shiny. And the nausea and overwhelming obsession with food have arrived on schedule.
I feel a little lonely and isolated, probably because I haven't told anyone in my family about this pregnancy yet. Wanted to hold onto the pregnancy for a few weeks first, although that makes little sense; the last one didn't end until 10 weeks along so what good is holding out a few more weeks going to do? Yesterday I decided I'd tell my mom but I completely forgot that she and my brother are travelling to Peru for a couple of weeks, doing a Boy Scout trek along the Inca Trail among other things. Some daughter/sister I am, huh? To forget about a trip like that? So she calls me from the airport a few hours before I'd planned on calling her with THE NEWS and I couldn't tell her; the timing was all wrong, we could barely here each other. They will get back shortly before my ultrasound, so maybe I'll just call after that, either way.
The ultrasound is scheduled for two and a half days before the Harry Potter release. I know that for any normal person, this would not be a conflict of interest. Have I EVER claimed normalcy? Normal is overrated. I am afraid that if it's good news (you know, there's a baby with a heartbeat and etc) it will overshadow THE BOOK. What if I can't concentrate, due to overwhelming joy/happiness? On the other hand if it's bad news, it could poison the whole HPexperience! I guess I'll just have to set the whole pregnancy aside for a bit, to read.
And, Don will be out of town on a business trip then, so he can't come with me; I'll have to call him afterwards. I couldn't have picked a worse time, but waiting even another week to know what's going on in there would kill me, which would totally defeat the purpose. Honestly, if I could just take a nap and wake up on the 18th to go to the doctor's, that would be great. Right now I need to go eat something... again.
But those are supposed to be filling a deficit, so it should all come out the same, right? Anyways I'm taking them with mind-numbing regularity; it's amazing how easy it is to remember the meds when it's such a life-of-death matter as opposed to getting rid of strep throat or something. Probably the first time I've ever stayed on a prescription for more than a week without missing a dose.
Friday I looked in the mirror at work and realized that I have a glow. I thought that was just a myth, and old-wives-tale. I've been worried about my belly popping out before I'm ready to tell, about my boobs giving me away, when my secret is written across my cheeks for any observant person to read. It's like a sunburn but more even and kinda shiny. And the nausea and overwhelming obsession with food have arrived on schedule.
I feel a little lonely and isolated, probably because I haven't told anyone in my family about this pregnancy yet. Wanted to hold onto the pregnancy for a few weeks first, although that makes little sense; the last one didn't end until 10 weeks along so what good is holding out a few more weeks going to do? Yesterday I decided I'd tell my mom but I completely forgot that she and my brother are travelling to Peru for a couple of weeks, doing a Boy Scout trek along the Inca Trail among other things. Some daughter/sister I am, huh? To forget about a trip like that? So she calls me from the airport a few hours before I'd planned on calling her with THE NEWS and I couldn't tell her; the timing was all wrong, we could barely here each other. They will get back shortly before my ultrasound, so maybe I'll just call after that, either way.
The ultrasound is scheduled for two and a half days before the Harry Potter release. I know that for any normal person, this would not be a conflict of interest. Have I EVER claimed normalcy? Normal is overrated. I am afraid that if it's good news (you know, there's a baby with a heartbeat and etc) it will overshadow THE BOOK. What if I can't concentrate, due to overwhelming joy/happiness? On the other hand if it's bad news, it could poison the whole HPexperience! I guess I'll just have to set the whole pregnancy aside for a bit, to read.
And, Don will be out of town on a business trip then, so he can't come with me; I'll have to call him afterwards. I couldn't have picked a worse time, but waiting even another week to know what's going on in there would kill me, which would totally defeat the purpose. Honestly, if I could just take a nap and wake up on the 18th to go to the doctor's, that would be great. Right now I need to go eat something... again.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Yada yada yada
Still not much going on. Pregnancy takes over my mind, so that everything else seems unimportant and therefore not worth writing about. Had this overwhelming anxiety the last few nights, not a rational anxiety, like "OMG I don't want another miscarriage", but this kind of free-form, random, non-specific anxiety, like the whole world was just crashing in on me. I am usually pretty even-keeled so I don't know what it is. Pregnancy? The extra hormones? The combination? Who knows.
I don't feel very pregnant yet. It's probably not good, that the only personal comparison I have is a pregnancy that didn't work out. It's strange to be pregnant twice in the course of 4 months. Makes it too easy to compare/contrast, with no time in between. It's not that I want to feel miserable, but it would be a relief to get some of the morning sickness or whatever that indicates a real live pregnancy. I want to know what's going on in there, to feel pregnant in my body instead of just in my brain, where crazy emotions are making me nuts.
Work = normal. House= wreck. Me= tired and grumpy and trying to snap out of it.
I don't feel very pregnant yet. It's probably not good, that the only personal comparison I have is a pregnancy that didn't work out. It's strange to be pregnant twice in the course of 4 months. Makes it too easy to compare/contrast, with no time in between. It's not that I want to feel miserable, but it would be a relief to get some of the morning sickness or whatever that indicates a real live pregnancy. I want to know what's going on in there, to feel pregnant in my body instead of just in my brain, where crazy emotions are making me nuts.
Work = normal. House= wreck. Me= tired and grumpy and trying to snap out of it.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
No News is Good News
Haven't posted in a few days just because there's nothing much to write about, and I'm too busy holding my breath to internet anyway. Although I found out mid-Thursday that I am having progesterone issues (i.e. the hormone that is supposed to rise slowly and steadily was instead falling at an alarming rate), I could not get the progesterone supplements until Friday afternoon. Apparently they are not something pharmacists keep in stock, but have to be made to order; they are also, apparently, not an oral medication.
I was kind of freaked out at first by the idea of. . . (brace yourselves, now!) vaginal suppositories. Especially when the pharmacy clerk said--ever so cheerfully and loudly--"Keep them in the refrigerator, hon, so that they'll be easier to insert!" Because I need everybody at the Giant supermarket to know that I have insertable medicine! Yes.
Now, I think that they are the funniest thing ever, because I'm mature like that. Hey, just because I might possibly be having a baby doesn't mean that I have to be all mature and everything all at once, right? Anways. If you can picture incense cones made of candle wax, then you know what I've got in my fridge. And actually, given my terrible track record with taking pills, I'm starting to think that ALL of my medications should be applied this way. It would keep me from the choking, gagging, throwing medicine back up... I kind of wish that my prenatal vitamins were suppositories as well. It would beat my current routine of cutting horse-pill-sized-vitamin into small bits, mixing with yogurt, and very carefully swallowing each bit. Kind of a pain in the ass, really.
On the other hand, the progesterone supplements seem to melt and, um, run back out. I don't know how effective that makes them, if more of the medicine seems to be in my pants than in my girl-parts, but Don is sure that this is taken into account during the dosing. Either way, it's not like having to give myself shots or something, and if it saves this little speck of humanity and lets me not miscarry, then I will build a shrine to the lovely, lovely progesterone suppository. Although it would take me the whole 8 months to figure out what a progesterone-shrine should look like. I think I'd include incense--cones, not sticks.
I was kind of freaked out at first by the idea of. . . (brace yourselves, now!) vaginal suppositories. Especially when the pharmacy clerk said--ever so cheerfully and loudly--"Keep them in the refrigerator, hon, so that they'll be easier to insert!" Because I need everybody at the Giant supermarket to know that I have insertable medicine! Yes.
Now, I think that they are the funniest thing ever, because I'm mature like that. Hey, just because I might possibly be having a baby doesn't mean that I have to be all mature and everything all at once, right? Anways. If you can picture incense cones made of candle wax, then you know what I've got in my fridge. And actually, given my terrible track record with taking pills, I'm starting to think that ALL of my medications should be applied this way. It would keep me from the choking, gagging, throwing medicine back up... I kind of wish that my prenatal vitamins were suppositories as well. It would beat my current routine of cutting horse-pill-sized-vitamin into small bits, mixing with yogurt, and very carefully swallowing each bit. Kind of a pain in the ass, really.
On the other hand, the progesterone supplements seem to melt and, um, run back out. I don't know how effective that makes them, if more of the medicine seems to be in my pants than in my girl-parts, but Don is sure that this is taken into account during the dosing. Either way, it's not like having to give myself shots or something, and if it saves this little speck of humanity and lets me not miscarry, then I will build a shrine to the lovely, lovely progesterone suppository. Although it would take me the whole 8 months to figure out what a progesterone-shrine should look like. I think I'd include incense--cones, not sticks.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
So Far...
It's good.
The pregnancy.
So far, anyways.
HCG is good, at least.
Progesterone went down between the two tests (which is bad, for you novices), so I'm getting a supplement for that. It's something that can be fixed, ammended. It could explain what went wrong last time, which makes me sad. Sad, because with a miscarriage the odds are that the embryo was fatally flawed and couldn't develop but there's also a chance that it's the mother. I had thought that (statistically speaking) my little grain of rice was too damaged to live, but now I am thinking that perhaps it was perfect but my imperfect body smushed into nothingness.
The results reaffirm my decision to get these tests done ASAP-- ends justifying means etc. It makes me forgive the awful hospital nurse (or possibly someone masquerading in ugly scubs) who attacked my veins this morning and then blamed me for her inablity to find my veins. Peace, bad-nurse lady, I no longer care.
The pregnancy.
So far, anyways.
HCG is good, at least.
Progesterone went down between the two tests (which is bad, for you novices), so I'm getting a supplement for that. It's something that can be fixed, ammended. It could explain what went wrong last time, which makes me sad. Sad, because with a miscarriage the odds are that the embryo was fatally flawed and couldn't develop but there's also a chance that it's the mother. I had thought that (statistically speaking) my little grain of rice was too damaged to live, but now I am thinking that perhaps it was perfect but my imperfect body smushed into nothingness.
The results reaffirm my decision to get these tests done ASAP-- ends justifying means etc. It makes me forgive the awful hospital nurse (or possibly someone masquerading in ugly scubs) who attacked my veins this morning and then blamed me for her inablity to find my veins. Peace, bad-nurse lady, I no longer care.
Manners
A doctor's office should not call someone and leave a message that says nothing except,
They should always say WHY. Or whether it's important. Or something. Because even though I was diligently checking my phone every hour, I missed it and couldn't call back until after they closed.
Is it, "Please call back, everything is fine."? "Please call back, we need to get some information from you"? Or "Please call back, you're on the way to another miscarriage", or "Please call back, we have no idea why you think you're pregnant and are referring you to a psychiatrist instead"? Darn it, these people should know that I'm neurotic and fragile, and sitting here counting the minutes until they open back up for the morning. I think I know what it is, because they never asked for my date-of-first-day-of-last-monthly-period-- what I call the start-date-- and without that date, the quantitative numbers from the lab work won't mean a whole lot. But they could have mentioned that in the voicemail and saved me the trouble of staying up late at night, imagining all the different phone conversations we could be having shortly...
"Hi Mara, this is the such-and-such OB-GYN offices-- could you give us a call back at ___=____?"
They should always say WHY. Or whether it's important. Or something. Because even though I was diligently checking my phone every hour, I missed it and couldn't call back until after they closed.
Is it, "Please call back, everything is fine."? "Please call back, we need to get some information from you"? Or "Please call back, you're on the way to another miscarriage", or "Please call back, we have no idea why you think you're pregnant and are referring you to a psychiatrist instead"? Darn it, these people should know that I'm neurotic and fragile, and sitting here counting the minutes until they open back up for the morning. I think I know what it is, because they never asked for my date-of-first-day-of-last-monthly-period-- what I call the start-date-- and without that date, the quantitative numbers from the lab work won't mean a whole lot. But they could have mentioned that in the voicemail and saved me the trouble of staying up late at night, imagining all the different phone conversations we could be having shortly...
Monday, June 18, 2007
Speling
I think that if Google can automatically correct my spelling and ask me, "did you mean _____?" (Answer, "why yes, thank you, I did."), then any time I type" --,com", "--c.om", or" --c,om" it should automatically figure as "--.com". I mean, why ever not?
Reassured
I called the nurse-practitioner as planned, panicked as predicted. She is very calming and I am going in for blood work tomorrow and Thursday. So that's all good I guess. Proactive at least. They can check my progesterone levels and supplement if it's low, and do a quantitative hgc-- you know, to make sure that I'm really preggers as opposed to completely delusional. Although it would be hard to illusion waking up at six in the morning absolutely starving. And simultaneously nauseous! Let the fun and games begin! Right now I feel that I'd rather be miserable than asymptomatic-- more symptoms= more hormones= better, right? Anyways.
Driving home from darts last night:
Don: Speed up, hon. You're going five miles under the speed limit now... We're going to get pulled over if you don't get up to speed.
Me: The car slows down when I'm tired. It understands me.
Don: Great. We're being passed by a scooter.
Me: Clearly a motorcycle. Not a scooter.
Don: Scooter
Me: Motorcycle!
Don: SCOOTER!
Me : MOTORCYCLE!
Repeat as needed until we come up behind the scooter at a red light. But you know, if he wants to drive home from the bar he's more than welcome to drink water like me...
Driving home from darts last night:
Don: Speed up, hon. You're going five miles under the speed limit now... We're going to get pulled over if you don't get up to speed.
Me: The car slows down when I'm tired. It understands me.
Don: Great. We're being passed by a scooter.
Me: Clearly a motorcycle. Not a scooter.
Don: Scooter
Me: Motorcycle!
Don: SCOOTER!
Me : MOTORCYCLE!
Repeat as needed until we come up behind the scooter at a red light. But you know, if he wants to drive home from the bar he's more than welcome to drink water like me...
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Brain Leakage
Well, aren't you all my fellow-geek-friends! Except the passage is not from The Two Towers but from Return of the King, when Eomer discovers that his sister is actually still alive, but gravely ill; he thought that she had died in battle. At once, he is full of hope but also the renewed fear that she might yet die.
Which is basically how I feel, being pregnant again: full of hope and fear. I have peed on four home test sticks and three of them agree-- the first was a dud. I want to get a clinical test done, to make sure 100% that it actually *is* pregnancy and not remnant hormones from the last go-round. But leftover hormones wouldn't explain the myriad indicators of pregnancy that I'm experiencing, which seem to be coming on sooner this time than last time. Is it because I know what to look for now, or because every pregnancy is different? I just can't feel the unalloyed joy and excitement that I felt in March; I'm too worried, too scared. Too experienced. I think that what I lost with the miscarriage was not just an embryo so much as it was my innocence and naivete.
Before, I was scared of miscarrying in a kind of vague, abstract way; I never really believed that it could happen to me. Who does? Who can? Now I know what can happen, and a successful pregnancy seems like such a theoretical concept. Not so much I'm pregnant-- there will be a baby in November! as, I'm pregnant again, I wonder if this one will pan out. The timing worked out perfectly in that I got to give Don the news on his birthday (I even bought the special tests with the digital readouts: PREGNANT or NOT PREGNANT, because last time he couldn't read the test), but it was a bit of, Honey we're pregnant again, but don't get your hopes up, OK?
One thing I learned afterwards was that everybody and their mama has had miscarriages. Anyone that found out about mine would make a point of telling me how normal it is. Apparently, almost everyone I work with has had one; my friends, even my mom. What seemed like an isolated event suddenly felt like a secret epidemic; I started to feel that miscarriage was at least as common as not. I know the old cliche that misery loves company, and women have told me that after a miscarriage the last thing they wanted to see was a pregnant woman, or a new mother with a tiny baby. For me it was the opposite; I needed to see them, to hear their stories and read their blogs. I didn't and don't want miscarriage stories, I wanted to see, read about, or hear about healthy, normal pregnancy. I want to reassure myself that most of the time, getting pregnant equals having baby. That the system really does work. That women all over the place are staying pregnant without a second thought about it. Tell me that you had a miscarriage, only if you promptly went on to have a baby. Give me hope, not sympathetic company.
Tomorrow I will call the nurse, to find out if there are tests that can be done at this point. I never did get my progesterone levels tested; the honeymoon got in the way. I have no idea if they can still test them in early pregnancy, or if it would even make a difference at that point. Would it be too late? I will leave a long, rambling, panicked voice mail for her, and she will call me back and (I hope) calm me down and straighten me out. She told me that women tend to be especially fertile right after a miscarriage, for the several months or so following. I think I'm proving her right.
Don is telling me, of course, not to worry and panic and obsess over what I can't control. And of course he's right. What am I trying to do with this worrying; prove to the universe how much I want to hang on to this baby? I don't think it works like that. I must borrow a page from AA and steal their Serenity Prayer:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can;and wisdom to know the difference.
...and adapt it a bit. I can control my diet, my exercise, how much sleep I get, and my state of mind (to a certain extent). I can take my vitamins; talk to my practitioner; eat the veggies that are overflowing the fridge; fill the freezer with nourishing meals; take Alice on a long, long walk; go cold-turkey on the coffee; make my house a clean and comfortable haven. I cannot control what happens with this pregnancy; I cannot control whether I miscarry again or go on to have a baby. I will focus on what I can do, wait and see on the rest, and stop with the worry and panic. (And if anyone that knows me believes that this is possible: hahahahahaha. But I will try.) And on that note, I should go walk the dog and do a load of laundry.
Oh, and speaking of God:
Which is basically how I feel, being pregnant again: full of hope and fear. I have peed on four home test sticks and three of them agree-- the first was a dud. I want to get a clinical test done, to make sure 100% that it actually *is* pregnancy and not remnant hormones from the last go-round. But leftover hormones wouldn't explain the myriad indicators of pregnancy that I'm experiencing, which seem to be coming on sooner this time than last time. Is it because I know what to look for now, or because every pregnancy is different? I just can't feel the unalloyed joy and excitement that I felt in March; I'm too worried, too scared. Too experienced. I think that what I lost with the miscarriage was not just an embryo so much as it was my innocence and naivete.
Before, I was scared of miscarrying in a kind of vague, abstract way; I never really believed that it could happen to me. Who does? Who can? Now I know what can happen, and a successful pregnancy seems like such a theoretical concept. Not so much I'm pregnant-- there will be a baby in November! as, I'm pregnant again, I wonder if this one will pan out. The timing worked out perfectly in that I got to give Don the news on his birthday (I even bought the special tests with the digital readouts: PREGNANT or NOT PREGNANT, because last time he couldn't read the test), but it was a bit of, Honey we're pregnant again, but don't get your hopes up, OK?
One thing I learned afterwards was that everybody and their mama has had miscarriages. Anyone that found out about mine would make a point of telling me how normal it is. Apparently, almost everyone I work with has had one; my friends, even my mom. What seemed like an isolated event suddenly felt like a secret epidemic; I started to feel that miscarriage was at least as common as not. I know the old cliche that misery loves company, and women have told me that after a miscarriage the last thing they wanted to see was a pregnant woman, or a new mother with a tiny baby. For me it was the opposite; I needed to see them, to hear their stories and read their blogs. I didn't and don't want miscarriage stories, I wanted to see, read about, or hear about healthy, normal pregnancy. I want to reassure myself that most of the time, getting pregnant equals having baby. That the system really does work. That women all over the place are staying pregnant without a second thought about it. Tell me that you had a miscarriage, only if you promptly went on to have a baby. Give me hope, not sympathetic company.
Tomorrow I will call the nurse, to find out if there are tests that can be done at this point. I never did get my progesterone levels tested; the honeymoon got in the way. I have no idea if they can still test them in early pregnancy, or if it would even make a difference at that point. Would it be too late? I will leave a long, rambling, panicked voice mail for her, and she will call me back and (I hope) calm me down and straighten me out. She told me that women tend to be especially fertile right after a miscarriage, for the several months or so following. I think I'm proving her right.
Don is telling me, of course, not to worry and panic and obsess over what I can't control. And of course he's right. What am I trying to do with this worrying; prove to the universe how much I want to hang on to this baby? I don't think it works like that. I must borrow a page from AA and steal their Serenity Prayer:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can;and wisdom to know the difference.
...and adapt it a bit. I can control my diet, my exercise, how much sleep I get, and my state of mind (to a certain extent). I can take my vitamins; talk to my practitioner; eat the veggies that are overflowing the fridge; fill the freezer with nourishing meals; take Alice on a long, long walk; go cold-turkey on the coffee; make my house a clean and comfortable haven. I cannot control what happens with this pregnancy; I cannot control whether I miscarry again or go on to have a baby. I will focus on what I can do, wait and see on the rest, and stop with the worry and panic. (And if anyone that knows me believes that this is possible: hahahahahaha. But I will try.) And on that note, I should go walk the dog and do a load of laundry.
Oh, and speaking of God:
 |
Which is the right religion for you? (new version)
created with QuizFarm.com
Haha, you win, Amanda-- I am more pagan than Jewish! What an interesting state of affairs. But I guess that as the product of a Jew-turned-Atheist and a Catholic-turned-Jew it does make sense in a way.
Learned yesterday: If you hike up to a well-known swimming hole in the mountains and discover that you have the place to yourself, it's probably because the water (which is mostly snow run-off) is still icy-cold and will turn you numb in about ten seconds, to the point where even an hour later you are still cold. But it's still a great way to spend someone's birthday.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Hope and Fear
"Then hope unlooked-for came so suddenly to Eomer's heart, and with it the bite of care and fear renewed, that he said no more, but turned and went swiftly from the hall."
10 Geekpoints for naming the source of the above.
20 Friendpoints for guessing the reference.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Vegatables Attack!
Several months ago I mentioned here joining a CSA. I've been eagerly waiting for the first delivery, for our first box o'produce. Deliveries actually started while Don and I were honeymooning, so we got our first box Friday. I think I'm in over my head.
I signed up for a "half-share" on the strength that our household has only two people, neither one a vegetarian. It's the smaller-share option, half the veggies for half the price. Except that our "half-share" was a bushel of green. A bushel! Actually more than that, according to the box. With the exception of half-dozen eggs, it was all vegetables. Writing this from memory, we received:
Cauliflower (a huge head)
Broccoli (same)
Cabbage (same)
Swiss chard
Spinach-- except that it's actually "tatsoi"
Onions
Peas
Asparagus
Herbs-- basil, parsley
Completely overwhelming. I had no way to store it all-- no extra plastic bags, no muslin or anything. I ended up just stuffing it all into the fridge while trying to figure out what to do with so many leafy greens-- more vegetables in a week than Don and I eat in a month! OK, two months. Well, that was Friday. I've eaten most of the Swiss chard scrambled in eggs with onion. I've made a gratin with the cauliflower and broccoli, a quiche with the tatsoi and asparagus, and tonight will be a colcannon soup with the cabbage. I'm going to get some muslin and some plastic bags, research more recipes. On the good side, none of the veg will go to waste before Friday, when it will be time for another box (!!), but. BUT.
One of the major reasons that I decided to do this was to get more healthy veggie stuff into our diets, and as a culinary adventure-- new recipes!, yay. But so far I'm burying the goods in cheese, eggs, and bacon. With the exception of obvious "side-dish" veggies cooked up plain like the peas and asparagus I don't know what to do with vegetables. I am used to serving them on the side of something meaty or putting them in rich dishes, like casseroles and quiche, which defeats the point-- our diet is already rich in dairy and egg, thank you. I need to learn how to serve veggies in healthy ways. As main dishes, in salads, in stir-fries. Because there will be a bushel-box of fresh, organic produce every week and I have to be on top of it! We can't be eating a quiche every week, or cream soups. My primary motivation this week was panic-- don't let the good veg rot! But if I don't figure out what I'm doing, the whole project is for naught.
In other news.
My face is terribly broken-out.
I woke up very early this morning, needing to pee.
My dreams are crazy-vivid.
I feel thirsty all the time.
I'm tired during the day but alert at night.
I could be pregnant again. Or I could still be a little jet-lagged and living on vacation-time. And could be getting a urinary-tract infection. Or, just living in my head; psychologically manifesting the symptoms of my last pregnancy now that I know what it feels like. Really, it's hard to say and too soon to tell. But it sure is fun driving myself crazy with hope, fear, exitement, and panic in the meantimes! What a great way to pass the time until my period is due. Today's emotion is panic, brought to you by the letter B!
I signed up for a "half-share" on the strength that our household has only two people, neither one a vegetarian. It's the smaller-share option, half the veggies for half the price. Except that our "half-share" was a bushel of green. A bushel! Actually more than that, according to the box. With the exception of half-dozen eggs, it was all vegetables. Writing this from memory, we received:
Cauliflower (a huge head)
Broccoli (same)
Cabbage (same)
Swiss chard
Spinach-- except that it's actually "tatsoi"
Onions
Peas
Asparagus
Herbs-- basil, parsley
Completely overwhelming. I had no way to store it all-- no extra plastic bags, no muslin or anything. I ended up just stuffing it all into the fridge while trying to figure out what to do with so many leafy greens-- more vegetables in a week than Don and I eat in a month! OK, two months. Well, that was Friday. I've eaten most of the Swiss chard scrambled in eggs with onion. I've made a gratin with the cauliflower and broccoli, a quiche with the tatsoi and asparagus, and tonight will be a colcannon soup with the cabbage. I'm going to get some muslin and some plastic bags, research more recipes. On the good side, none of the veg will go to waste before Friday, when it will be time for another box (!!), but. BUT.
One of the major reasons that I decided to do this was to get more healthy veggie stuff into our diets, and as a culinary adventure-- new recipes!, yay. But so far I'm burying the goods in cheese, eggs, and bacon. With the exception of obvious "side-dish" veggies cooked up plain like the peas and asparagus I don't know what to do with vegetables. I am used to serving them on the side of something meaty or putting them in rich dishes, like casseroles and quiche, which defeats the point-- our diet is already rich in dairy and egg, thank you. I need to learn how to serve veggies in healthy ways. As main dishes, in salads, in stir-fries. Because there will be a bushel-box of fresh, organic produce every week and I have to be on top of it! We can't be eating a quiche every week, or cream soups. My primary motivation this week was panic-- don't let the good veg rot! But if I don't figure out what I'm doing, the whole project is for naught.
In other news.
My face is terribly broken-out.
I woke up very early this morning, needing to pee.
My dreams are crazy-vivid.
I feel thirsty all the time.
I'm tired during the day but alert at night.
I could be pregnant again. Or I could still be a little jet-lagged and living on vacation-time. And could be getting a urinary-tract infection. Or, just living in my head; psychologically manifesting the symptoms of my last pregnancy now that I know what it feels like. Really, it's hard to say and too soon to tell. But it sure is fun driving myself crazy with hope, fear, exitement, and panic in the meantimes! What a great way to pass the time until my period is due. Today's emotion is panic, brought to you by the letter B!
Thursday, June 07, 2007
The Wedding Trip, Part Two
First, what is up with Blogger? I tried to lay my previous post out neatly, photos and text aligned, enough white space to make sense. It worked for the first part but by the end, it looked as though I had just thrown everything together. Nothing worked as it should have. I'm hoping this goes better...
After the wedding we stuck around Angel Fire a few days, to spend time with our families; especially Don's parents, whom he doesn't see so often and whom I'd never met until now. Then: in reverse! Drove back to Santa Fe, back to Albuequerque... Decided then and there not to rent a car in Seattle but to walk or take public transport. Enough driving for one week already. Flew from Albuequerque to Phoenix to Seattle. On the second flight we couldn't sit together due to the rather last-minute booking, (Hurry! Only 3 seats left on this flight! None of which are together, of course.) but were across the aisle from one another instead. Which would have been fine, except that the two seats next to me were occupied by not two but THREE people: man, woman, 18-month-old child.
Quick aside: I DON'T CARE that the airlines let you "carry on" any child younger than two. A big, rambunctious toddler needs his own seat. Period. This is not a small, sleepy infant that wants just to cuddle and nurse the whole flight. No, he wants to throw his sippy cup at the homicidal stranger in the third seat (me). He hit me in the head TWICE with his damn sippy cup, in addition to the expected screeching, screaming, maniacal laughter, and random sobs that come from a kid that age. I swear on this blog that when we have kids and travel, they will have their OWN seats, no matter how much it sets us back. So that I never have to simperingly apologize to strangers that my kid has just beaned in the head. Who happen to be on their honeymoon.
Don and I agreed to have many drinks ASAP after getting off the plane.
In addition to my brand-new husband, I am now IN LOVE WITH the following:
Seattle. The good news is that it is a wonderful city, everything that we expected and then some. The scenery is lovely; all blue waters, green trees, Mount Ranier hovering like a hologram in the distance. The people seemed so friendly, the nicest we've ever come across. Of course we were dealing mostly with service people-- hotel front desk clerks, bartenders, waiters--people that are paid to be friendly. Then again, there's no reason that they still couldn't serve as some kind of barometer for the whole city really. The food. Oh, my goodness. That deserves its own sub-header. The bad news is that now, we want to live there. Well, what's one more cross-country move, right?
Our Hotel. It was so cute in a rustic, welcome-to-the-Northwest kinda way. Totally touristy, totally kitch, but adorable and so comfy. It was walking distance (at least for us) to everywhere, and we could see the Space Needle from our balcony. The staff was so friendly; kind, even. Really, how can you not love a hotel that has a fireplace in every room and puts teddy bears on the bed? 
Pike Place Market. Seattle's iconic marketplace lives up to the hype. There is a local law preventing any chain or franchise from opening a store here, so every storefront is unique: restaurants, specialty stores, coffee shops, bars. But the best part is the farmers' market; the produce, the flowers, the seafood...oh man. I have never seen seafood that looked like that. A foodie could go there every day and never tire of it. These huge bouquets of the freshest flowers, and they sell for ten dollars. When at the grocery store here they cost twenty, are half the size, and flown in from South America or somewheres. We walked from our hotel to the Market every morning for breakfast: a latte here, a piroshky there, a half-pint of raspberries. The original, very first Starbucks is here as well.
Pike Place Market. Seattle's iconic marketplace lives up to the hype. There is a local law preventing any chain or franchise from opening a store here, so every storefront is unique: restaurants, specialty stores, coffee shops, bars. But the best part is the farmers' market; the produce, the flowers, the seafood...oh man. I have never seen seafood that looked like that. A foodie could go there every day and never tire of it. These huge bouquets of the freshest flowers, and they sell for ten dollars. When at the grocery store here they cost twenty, are half the size, and flown in from South America or somewheres. We walked from our hotel to the Market every morning for breakfast: a latte here, a piroshky there, a half-pint of raspberries. The original, very first Starbucks is here as well.
Elliott Bay Book Company. When Don and I walked into this bookstore, he turned to me to say, "Sweetie, the mothership has called you home." From the outside it looks small, or at least normal-sized, like a typical Barnes&Noble or Borders. But inside, it just goes on and on. Doorways lead to more rooms, staircases to lofts (the gardening/pets/ecology section had its own little loft); a result of expanding through the building over decades. Even the bathroom grafitti is hilarious: seemingly ongoing exchanges and conversations. It is without doubt the most wonderful bookstore I have ever seen-- and as Don said, that's really saying something. I wonder if the staff would notice if I moved in and set up camp in a corner somewhere.
Over the years we have changed each other's idea of vacation. He never used to consider bookstore-exploration as an integral part of a trip whereas I can point to at least one book from every vacation. I have adapted to the bar-hopping that he considers essential and am better off for it...
...and I try to appreciate things like drawbridges and big phallic monuments. (He never agrees that they're phallic, but it is so obvious.) We mastered Seattle's public transit system and got out to the outer neighborhoods like Fremont and the University Distric. Note to fellow poor travellers: that's where all the cheap food is! As well as the Troll. We took the Underground Tour in Pioneer Square, which explains more of Seattle's history than any of the guidebooks that I read, and even found a Lush, which is sorely lacking here in Virginia. The worst way to find a store, by the way, is to pass it on a bus and try to find it again the next day on foot.
Random observations: So many gardens. Gardens everywhere! Love the lovely gardens. Fruit. Fruit seems to grow willy-nilly all over the city. I saw strawberries on traffic islands; apple and cherry trees all over; raspberry and blackberry brambles that seemed to be growing wild. It's as though the area is so fertile that it will grow produce unless actually restrained. Tip jars. They all had clever captions or jokes.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
The Wedding Trip, Part One
The problem with having a blog and taking a vacation--especially a trip like this one-- is that in the time it takes to get home I forget half of what I wanted to write about. I know that there are scenes, events, moments to describe that have already slipped away. I will try to go in order, use the photos my brother took. Start with the wedding before going to the honeymoon. Still, half of the trip seems hazy already. In the course of twelve days Don and I took 6 flights, drove over 500 miles, took a train, multiple taxis, and walked maybe 15 miles. If you charted our journey on a map, it would look like something from a cartoon, with dotted lines running everywhere... But we never have been resort-hotel kind of people.
Travel Stage One was flying from Virginia to Albuquerque, New Mexico; driving from there to Santa Fe to pick up Don's parents, and getting to Angel Fire, location of my parents' new house and the wedding. This took the better part of two days. Angel Fire, New Mexico, looks like this, with mountains, pine forests, ski slopes. We saw deer and a coyote there.
***********************************************************************************
My sister was a lifesaver with the whole girly getting-ready thing. She did my hair, my nails, my makeup. Brought me wine (white, of course, just in case) when I was upstairs alone, waiting. Here we are, grooming: helping me with eyeliner I believe. Shortly after this shot, she will demand that the photographer (I mean brother) leave the upstairs to girls only, and leave us to these private ministrations. When guests started to arrive she helped to mingle everybody, especially Don's parents as they were meeting our family for the first time.
***********************************************************************************
The judge that married us was so very judge-like. As one of my uncles said, he looked straight from central casting. Distinguished mien, silver hair, billowing black robes. The ceremony took place on the back deck of the house and was quite informal; no procession, no 'aisle'. We just all stood up together, with Don, my father (who was "giving me away" although I've been living with Don for 6 years now, haha), and me before the judge. Dad actually didn't quite get the hint to step back until Mom kind of pulled him away a bit, so most of the ceremony pictures look like that one. In his defense, though, he was to read a Shakespearean sonnet afterwards and didn't want to get lost in the shuffle. I have no idea where my brother stood to get this picture-- in a tree? From the railing of the deck? We look so far away. It gives a good idea of the scenery though, and explains why there are trees growing out of people's heads in any given close-up. As soon as we stepped outside, everyone started fussing that I must be freezing-- strapless dress, chilly evening in the mountains. I wasn't, though; I was warm, flushed even, all night. Maybe from the dressing-room wine, or just from sheer nerves.
The reception, of course, was inside the house. This is the part that gets fuzzy: I remember champagne toasts; that the food was really good; us cutting the cake. There was just so much happening throughout the evening that it blurs together. I loved having the party at the cabin; it made everything so comfortable and homey. A fire in the fireplace, wine, talking, laughing, eating. It felt more like a cross between a family reunion and a dinner party than a wedding reception, at least to me. One of my cousins has a baby, the first new baby in the family for a long time. She was, quite definitely, the hit of the evening-- but who could be jealous? Even a bride can't compete with such perfect adorableness. In every picture I seem to be kissing her sweet little head. Our obvious infatuation with my baby cousin brought the inevitable questions about starting a family; (none of the relatives outside my parents/sister/brother know about the miscarriage) but we fielded them pretty well. Just knowing that we were trying again now made it easier to feel happy and hopeful; a few weeks ago I probably would have cried. Here it looks as though Don is just talking to her, but he is actually pretending to eat her fingers. She loved him, of course.
Travel Stage One was flying from Virginia to Albuquerque, New Mexico; driving from there to Santa Fe to pick up Don's parents, and getting to Angel Fire, location of my parents' new house and the wedding. This took the better part of two days. Angel Fire, New Mexico, looks like this, with mountains, pine forests, ski slopes. We saw deer and a coyote there.***********************************************************************************
My sister was a lifesaver with the whole girly getting-ready thing. She did my hair, my nails, my makeup. Brought me wine (white, of course, just in case) when I was upstairs alone, waiting. Here we are, grooming: helping me with eyeliner I believe. Shortly after this shot, she will demand that the photographer (I mean brother) leave the upstairs to girls only, and leave us to these private ministrations. When guests started to arrive she helped to mingle everybody, especially Don's parents as they were meeting our family for the first time.***********************************************************************************
The judge that married us was so very judge-like. As one of my uncles said, he looked straight from central casting. Distinguished mien, silver hair, billowing black robes. The ceremony took place on the back deck of the house and was quite informal; no procession, no 'aisle'. We just all stood up together, with Don, my father (who was "giving me away" although I've been living with Don for 6 years now, haha), and me before the judge. Dad actually didn't quite get the hint to step back until Mom kind of pulled him away a bit, so most of the ceremony pictures look like that one. In his defense, though, he was to read a Shakespearean sonnet afterwards and didn't want to get lost in the shuffle. I have no idea where my brother stood to get this picture-- in a tree? From the railing of the deck? We look so far away. It gives a good idea of the scenery though, and explains why there are trees growing out of people's heads in any given close-up. As soon as we stepped outside, everyone started fussing that I must be freezing-- strapless dress, chilly evening in the mountains. I wasn't, though; I was warm, flushed even, all night. Maybe from the dressing-room wine, or just from sheer nerves.
*********************************************************************************
The reception, of course, was inside the house. This is the part that gets fuzzy: I remember champagne toasts; that the food was really good; us cutting the cake. There was just so much happening throughout the evening that it blurs together. I loved having the party at the cabin; it made everything so comfortable and homey. A fire in the fireplace, wine, talking, laughing, eating. It felt more like a cross between a family reunion and a dinner party than a wedding reception, at least to me. One of my cousins has a baby, the first new baby in the family for a long time. She was, quite definitely, the hit of the evening-- but who could be jealous? Even a bride can't compete with such perfect adorableness. In every picture I seem to be kissing her sweet little head. Our obvious infatuation with my baby cousin brought the inevitable questions about starting a family; (none of the relatives outside my parents/sister/brother know about the miscarriage) but we fielded them pretty well. Just knowing that we were trying again now made it easier to feel happy and hopeful; a few weeks ago I probably would have cried. Here it looks as though Don is just talking to her, but he is actually pretending to eat her fingers. She loved him, of course.
The Cake. Inside all the innocent-looking butter cream frosting is a deep chocolate cake, with a chocolate and raspberry filling. It came from the catering company rather than a fancy wedding-cake bakery, which is why it looks more homemade and less formal than most wedding cakes, and why it tasted divine-- not the usual wedding cardboard. As per tradition, we saved the top layer for our first anniversary and I'm looking forward to it. In addition, we held a big brunch the next morning and the rest of the cake made a reappearance then, by popular demand.
I love this photo, taken shortly after everyone left. To me it represents the entire evening better than any other. In the background you can see my mom and sister in the kitchen, tidying up. I am not trashed, merely exhausted and blissed out. Having it finally having happened, after all the anticipation and planning. Having the entire evening come off without a hitch anywhere. Having everything just as I had hoped, and then even better. That is what this picture is.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Consummate
tr.v. con·sum·mat·ed, con·sum·mat·ing, con·sum·mates
1.
a. To bring to completion or fruition; conclude: consummate a business transaction.
b. To realize or achieve; fulfill
1.
a. To bring to completion or fruition; conclude: consummate a business transaction.
b. To realize or achieve; fulfill
2.
a. To complete (a marriage) with the first act of sexual intercourse after the ceremony.
b. To fulfill (a sexual desire or attraction) especially by intercourse.
a. To complete (a marriage) with the first act of sexual intercourse after the ceremony.
b. To fulfill (a sexual desire or attraction) especially by intercourse.
adj. (kn-smt, kns-mt)
1. Complete or perfect in every respect: consummate happiness. See Synonyms at perfect.
2. Supremely accomplished or skilled
3. Complete; utter
Word of the Day brought to you by the newly married, illustration by same.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Too Much Information?
Heh, it's my blog and I'll over-share if I want to!
Anyway, we have ACHIEVED PERIOD, people! That's right, the strange limbo-stage between miscarriage and next period is over, we are back to Day One! I have never actually been thrilled to get a period before, it's a strange emotion. But not only does it put us back on track to trying to concieve, again, it means that by the WEDDING on Saturday, it will be all over and done with-- no horrible combination of bleeding w/ satiny white wedding dress and dozen relatives/ in laws to consider. Nice. So, um, welcome to my inner-most thoughts, ya'll.
Everything else is ticking along nicely for the trip. We bought the rings-- mine is just a very simple, plain band that accentuates the engagement ring. Don's is a much more interesting hunk of metal. Almost industrial-looking. It's hard to describe so I'll take a picture when we get them. I love the jewelry store where we got them, it is the kind of place that I can imagine coming back to over the years. The collection is unique, hand-made; the people working there amazingly knowledgable.
Doing laundry and packing tonight and tomorrow. Cleaning the house. Updating Cathy's shots. Grooming: wax eyebrows, legs, get nails done. Hey, I'm only planning on doing this whole wedding-thang once.
As far as waxing, though: (to fit the theme of sharing way too much...) Having had it done once before, a few weeks ago, my initial reaction was that PAYING someone to cause this kind of pain was simply masochistic. But the results are... worth it. Especially for someone as lazy as me, who would go hairy as a yetti before shaving every darn day. And while Don couldn't care less about the leg-fuzz (urbane European-habiting hobbit that he is) I would like to be able to wear shorts and skirts without checking for stubble. And, I've been told that it gets better over time, the waxing. So, I'll do my legs again for the honeymoon, so that I can wear pretty skirts with no stubble; and then if I don't want to, I'll just never do it again.
Although the skirts probably won't get worn, seeing that we're going first to New Mexico and then to Seattle. Even in late May/ early June, there will most likely be a lot of cool weather, cold nights, and rain between the two... we're probably the only honeymooners next week who'll be in denim, flannel, fleece, and Timberlands instead of bathing suits and shorts. I can't wait!
Anyway, we have ACHIEVED PERIOD, people! That's right, the strange limbo-stage between miscarriage and next period is over, we are back to Day One! I have never actually been thrilled to get a period before, it's a strange emotion. But not only does it put us back on track to trying to concieve, again, it means that by the WEDDING on Saturday, it will be all over and done with-- no horrible combination of bleeding w/ satiny white wedding dress and dozen relatives/ in laws to consider. Nice. So, um, welcome to my inner-most thoughts, ya'll.
Everything else is ticking along nicely for the trip. We bought the rings-- mine is just a very simple, plain band that accentuates the engagement ring. Don's is a much more interesting hunk of metal. Almost industrial-looking. It's hard to describe so I'll take a picture when we get them. I love the jewelry store where we got them, it is the kind of place that I can imagine coming back to over the years. The collection is unique, hand-made; the people working there amazingly knowledgable.
Doing laundry and packing tonight and tomorrow. Cleaning the house. Updating Cathy's shots. Grooming: wax eyebrows, legs, get nails done. Hey, I'm only planning on doing this whole wedding-thang once.
As far as waxing, though: (to fit the theme of sharing way too much...) Having had it done once before, a few weeks ago, my initial reaction was that PAYING someone to cause this kind of pain was simply masochistic. But the results are... worth it. Especially for someone as lazy as me, who would go hairy as a yetti before shaving every darn day. And while Don couldn't care less about the leg-fuzz (urbane European-habiting hobbit that he is) I would like to be able to wear shorts and skirts without checking for stubble. And, I've been told that it gets better over time, the waxing. So, I'll do my legs again for the honeymoon, so that I can wear pretty skirts with no stubble; and then if I don't want to, I'll just never do it again.
Although the skirts probably won't get worn, seeing that we're going first to New Mexico and then to Seattle. Even in late May/ early June, there will most likely be a lot of cool weather, cold nights, and rain between the two... we're probably the only honeymooners next week who'll be in denim, flannel, fleece, and Timberlands instead of bathing suits and shorts. I can't wait!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Getting Closer
Everything is falling into place, finally, for the wedding. Daily emails from both my mom and my dad, photos and documents sent back and forth. How did we get by prior to Internet? Menus chosen, outfits decided, problems worked out-- for the most part. Don is in charge of both picking out and obtaining the wedding bands. He keeps asking if I trust his taste, keeps reminding me that we both prefer the unusual, the not-quite-traditional. I have a feeling that whatever the rings are, they are not the plain, white-gold bands that I envisioned. But I do trust his judgement and his taste jewelry. I love my engagement ring, and the necklace that he gave me for my birthday in January. I know that the rings are from the same place as the necklace: a small, independent jewelry store on Main Street that showcases the work of individual artists. Kay's, it isn't. I think that Don has an appreciation for fine, unique, and beautiful things that doesn't have a chance to express itself often.
The animals will stay at a kennel, for the first time in the six years that they've been with us. This is the only dark spot for us: knowing that while we hang out with relatives, tie the knot, and tour Seattle, Alice will be boarded, without even her blanket for comfort. We've only ever left her once before, and that was at the house with friends coming over to take care of her. Looking back, this may be one reason why we don't take a lot of vacations; Don says it's like having a kid but I say it's worse; airlines, hotels, everything will let you bring a kid with you-- not so much if it's a dog. There's no way in hell that I'd put her in a carrier to go into an airplane's hold with the rest of the luggage. Pets die down there, occasionally. It's not even climate-controlled. If a suitcase can get "lost" and sent to the wrong city, then so can a dog. I wouldn't put her through all that for the selfish reason of having her with us on vacation. So we usually go camping and take her along. At least we know she'll be well-cared for. It seems like a very nice place, as far as "places that look just like the POUND" go.
Don's afraid that it will give her animal-shelter-flashbacks-- the concrete floors, barking dogs... I try to reassure him (and myself) that we tend to attribute more emotional depth to dogs than what they really (most likely) have. That as long as she's warm and well-fed, walked three times a day and talked to a bit, she'll be fine-- and that once we come to pick her up, she won't be able to recollect it at all. He reminds me that when I leave town, she usually doesn't eat for the first three days. I guess we won't know how bad it will be until afterwards, when we can interview the keepers. There's just nobody here that would keep her in their house, and having people promise to stop by twice a day is just too risky. Too easy to forget one morning, or one evening, and then there's Alice with no food and no bathroom. Cathy, I'm not too worried about, because she's so much more independent. I guess most cats are.
The animals will stay at a kennel, for the first time in the six years that they've been with us. This is the only dark spot for us: knowing that while we hang out with relatives, tie the knot, and tour Seattle, Alice will be boarded, without even her blanket for comfort. We've only ever left her once before, and that was at the house with friends coming over to take care of her. Looking back, this may be one reason why we don't take a lot of vacations; Don says it's like having a kid but I say it's worse; airlines, hotels, everything will let you bring a kid with you-- not so much if it's a dog. There's no way in hell that I'd put her in a carrier to go into an airplane's hold with the rest of the luggage. Pets die down there, occasionally. It's not even climate-controlled. If a suitcase can get "lost" and sent to the wrong city, then so can a dog. I wouldn't put her through all that for the selfish reason of having her with us on vacation. So we usually go camping and take her along. At least we know she'll be well-cared for. It seems like a very nice place, as far as "places that look just like the POUND" go.
Don's afraid that it will give her animal-shelter-flashbacks-- the concrete floors, barking dogs... I try to reassure him (and myself) that we tend to attribute more emotional depth to dogs than what they really (most likely) have. That as long as she's warm and well-fed, walked three times a day and talked to a bit, she'll be fine-- and that once we come to pick her up, she won't be able to recollect it at all. He reminds me that when I leave town, she usually doesn't eat for the first three days. I guess we won't know how bad it will be until afterwards, when we can interview the keepers. There's just nobody here that would keep her in their house, and having people promise to stop by twice a day is just too risky. Too easy to forget one morning, or one evening, and then there's Alice with no food and no bathroom. Cathy, I'm not too worried about, because she's so much more independent. I guess most cats are.
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