How to handle the hormotional.

I might, on occasion, have a wee little freak out.

Maybe.

Here's what Andrew's done when, perhaps, I might have started crying, and maybe saying something like, "But you're not listening to me. I don't like it when you don't listen to me."

He leads me over to a chair, and tucks me up in a quilt (that Nicole made), and then he brings me these:

and then he leaves the room to get me a drink.

Last Monday. Maybe.

I've been planning on starting my maternity leave at the end of this week. At first, it was just a little gift to myself, based on my friends lamentations wishing they'd been able to take more time off before.

Now, though, it's become necessity. A day of teaching immobilizes me for the rest of the day--my back and pelvis feel like they are being ripped with every move. Getting up to pee, lying down in bed, anything at all hurts. Wheee!

And of course, now that it's become a virtual necessity, bureaucracy is rearing its ugly head. The personnel department of my school district is requiring a note from my doctor's office in order for me to take that time as my sick leave. Because, you see, I can't take sick leave unless I"m actually sick. Being thirty bijillion weeks pregnant apparently isn't enough of a reason because, as the darling personnel woman told me, "some people just want to take that week off to goof off."

Dude, I'm not even going to be able to goof off.

My doctor's office refuses to write me a note to get me on maternity leave because there's nothing in my file that puts me on bed rest. And they can't fit me in before Friday, THE DAY I WANT TO GO ON MATERNITY LEAVE, for me to even try to convince them that I really really need this.

When the nurse from the doctor's office called me on my cell phone to tell me this, I was limping around the grocery store, trying to pick up some necessities for school tomorrow. "I can't write a note for you until your C section," she said.

"I'm 38 weeks pre-e-e-e-gnant," I said, starting to snuffle. "I can't wa-wa-walk. I ju-ju-ju-just want to go on mater-er-ernity leave!" There I am, staring at dog food, trying not to cry and failing miserably. So miserably that a kind elderly woman with severe osteoperosis stopped me with concern to check if I was okay. When the hunched over old lady who can't see above the third shelf is asking me if I'm okay, I'm in a bad bad way.

Upshot is, I can't figure out how to satisfy the paperwork needs of my asshole personnel department, where I can't use my sick leave unless I'm actually sick (and being hugely pregnant is apparently not enough), and my doctor's office where they won't write me a note to get me on maternity leave unless I'm actually sick enough to require bed rest. So I've been spending most of the afternoon and evening crying at the injustice, although it doesn't seem to be helping a whole lot.

I'm very confused about the whole paperwork for maternity leave. This whole thing just sucks. Andrew said, worse comes to worst, I just don't show up on Monday. Fuck, at this rate, I may just not show up tomorrow.

PS: Just to cap the shit sandwich that today is, I just found out from my Daycare Of Choice that we probably won't get in next fall. We are waitlisted everywhere but Kinderkennel, and we've been looking basically since I was four months pregnant. What the hell, karma!!!!! This is SO NOT FUCKING FAIR!

Yes. It's huge. Trust me, I've been lugging it around forever. I KNOW.

So... I'm in the 95th percentile for babies' sizes. At 36 weeks.

At my "Holy crap you're huge!" ultrasound appointment last week, they estimated my baby's weight at 7 and a half pounds.

Gain half a pound a week...

carry the one...

this is one big bowling ball that's rumblin' around in there.

So everyone who's telling me how freaking huge I am? GOT IT. Can we all just move on?

But the award for creepy interaction of the week goes to the substitute working in the room next door.

As I passed by him on my way to lunch, a sixty-ish ex-coach-looking man with the "Guest Teacher" lanyard around the neck of his athletic jacket clutches my upper arm and leans in close to my ear. "Have they told you it's twins yet?" he croons into my ear.

No, you creeptastic grossinator. Now stop touching me.

Looking forward

At my baby shower yesterday (with some very cool women... I'm so grateful to my friends!) someone asked me, "What--besides, well, a baby--are you most looking forward to?"

And admittedly it wasn't hard to come up with a few things. Walking without pain? That. Yeah. Wearing shoes that don't slip on? And maybe burning the three pairs of shoes I've been wearing since Christmas? That. Definitely. Wearing my wedding rings again? That too.

But I started thinking about it another way. What am I going to miss?

"You said that when you got pregnant, you wouldn't complain," my sister pointed out last month. And yeah, when I wasn't pregnant, or was trying to get pregnant, I can't even tell you how very very much it pissed me off to hear how hard it was to be pregnant, and how much it sucked. How much a parasite that unborn baby was (oh, that one was tough to hear). I was definitely going to be a better pregnant woman and approach it with the gratitude appropriate for the situation. Right?

Ahem.

Now, clearly, I'm going to have to eat my words because I have clearly done a lot of complaining. So I will totally cop to the first part--being pregnant is hard. My body has not adjusted well to its altered center of balance, to the extra weight, to the stretching ligaments.

But you know what? As hard as it has been, as hard as it still is, pregnancy still doesn't suck.

I get to feel that baby rolling around. I get to rub my belly and feel like I could be petting my baby. I get to anticipate and share that anticipation with Andrew. I also? get to lie on the couch and ask my husband to bring me a soda. And he does. A friend on his darts team told me that she's never known a man to be as excited about his child as Andrew is. So I get to see that transformation, too. I get to see Andrew become the father he was meant to be.

That said? I can't wait to give all of that up, be mobile, and hold my baby. And see Andrew actually be the father he's become.


-----------------
Nine days of work left until my maternity leave starts. Wooo hooo!

Should we be worried?

 

What is weird about these directions?

Experiment

KitchMA2
Originally uploaded by karijean

This is your kitchen on drugs. Or rather, without cabinets, countertop, or chair rail. And in some cases, plaster.

Family

Up close
Originally uploaded by karijean

So, my sister has moved here.

Having her as a house guest while she does things like make sure her apartment has heat has been the easiest and funnest thing ever. First of all, she does dishes, which, let's be honest, don't get done that often around here. Second, she brings the most awesome toy with her. He's about two feet tall and has the best-smelling head ever.

We've been tooling around Portland trying to get her the necessities to set up a household with a wee little boything (you know, little things, like, a bed... and maybe a crib... girl travels light) and since it isn't my money, it's been tons of fun.

I'm generous that way.

There's no plot twist to this blog entry, no funky story, just... things are good.

Things to say

Things a pregnant woman might like to hear even if she is fairly certain it's a lie:

"No, let me get that for you." (as said by a random parent)

"You look like you do 'being pregnant' well." (as said by the nine-fingered [female] security guard at school)

"Wow, you look like you've gained hardly any weight! I can't believe those pants still fit you so well." (as said by Em)

"From the back, you hardly look pregnant, you just look nice." (as said by Andrew)

Things a pregnant woman doesn't want to hear, even if she is fairly certain it's the truth:

"Are you having twins? Is that why you're so big?" (as said by a school counselor)

"Are you sure you have four weeks left? You look huge." (as said by the office secretary)

"Oh, look, you're waddling!" (as said by a science teacher, the other office secretary, every other math teacher in the department, and several students and students' parents)

Hee. Why yes, apparently I am measuring big, per the doctor today. But, um, have you met me? I am 6'1". And not a delicate flower 6'1". I was a ten pound baby, y'all. Little Man? The sperms what made him were from a tall person too. A betting person would put him at "above average size".

In other news:

• I don't just nest, I renovate. The kitchen is going well. We had an awesome meeting with the woman who's going to be installing our IKEA cabs and there's a few issues to address, but I think we can do that. And the moldy leak might be okay. And the engineering problem that caused the sinking second floor is taken care of. So, you know, no big deal and no stress...
  
• IKEA did call and say my kitchen order was available for pickup. So I showed up at the store and said, "Do I LOOK like I would order a kitchen for pickup?" They fixed it.
  
• My sister arrives the day after tomorrow. Her car seat arrived today. I can't wait.
  
• I got my hair cut. I have my first new hairstyle since the Mistake of a Boy Shag disaster from 2002.
  

Peace out, ya'll. Next time I update, it'll be my spring break. W00t!

Homeful and hopeful

Basement door-no-more
Originally uploaded by karijean

Okay, only a mild freak-out yesterday. Today sucked, but I got through it. I only had to stay til 4:30.

I was able to meet with my sister's new landlord today. And as a further sign that Portland is the smallest big city--or the biggest small town--you've ever seen, I've met him before. In fact, five years ago, I interviewed with him for a job. Of course, he didn't remember me at all (giving some indication of how spectacularly I failed in that interview) but still. My sister is now not officially homeless. In fact, she's quite homeful.

And then I got home and--the workmen were still here! And there were changes! Huge changes! It's crazy how fast this is moving. See in that picture? that there's completely new subflooring? And the basement door opening that's already framed out? because they've already moved the basement door. (to the other side, just FYI--opening in the hallway) Here we are, one week into construction and one major move--done!

Of course, it's just that much closer to having to have everything else lined up, but here we are. I can do this. I can do what needs to be done, and then be done and relax.

Crappity crap crap

I can't do it. I am letting everyone down. 150 students, other teachers, everyone. I can't do this. I spend every single day--EVERY SINGLE DAY--with too much to do and not enough time or energy to do it. Everything is clawing for my time and attention and I can't get it done. By the end of the day, I hurt--I HURT--and all I want is to go home and put on pajama pants and put my feet up to let my ankles drain and then not have to move until I go to bed and not think. And yet, there's still more that has to be done. I could work til six at school every day (that'd be an eleven hour day) and MAYBE get caught up, except I really truly can't physically work until six. That's imagining that mentally I could do it.

You know that pregnant brain thing they say happens? it does. I can't keep track of things, and so I let deadlines slip or forget to call video services to tell them that they can't interview my science students (and so they show up anyway, and oops! we can't do the interview, sorry!), or to copy my tests for Tuesday (so I have to find time to copy them on Monday and I JUST DON'T HAVE THE TIME) or arrange for a sub for Tuesday. And that's just shit I need to take care of tomorrow. Oh, I mean, over and above teaching. Which--I have no idea what I'm going to teach tomorrow.

And that's just in my work life. The other plates I'm juggling--friends, family, oh, that whole kitchen thing? I forget to make those calls too. And I just feel like more shit. I don't have wiggle room left for deadlines, personal or private, and I feel like I'm missing them all.

Updates and countdowns

Five weeks. That's the number of weeks from tomorrow until I start my maternity leave.

Maternity leave.

Heh.

I still can't believe it. Did we really make it this far? Really?

I still pinch myself regularly and maybe giggle to myself a wee bit. There's this teeny tiny thing that'll be part of our life in, like, oh, a month. It's hard not to feel his kicks and rolls and nuzzles against my belly as some kind of ultra private communication (although I did hold Becca's hand against his movements--at her request, I might add--and her subsequent agonized writhing still makes me laugh).

I also don't feel like I've ever had a time in my life when I've laughed as much as I have in the past three months. At Andrew, with Andrew, at Mateo, at Will being the cutest ever with Mateo... just at anything.

I wish these next five weeks could just go super fast, just speed by.

Of course, I'm exhausted. Not from all the laughing. But from lugging this GIANT BELLY everywhere. "Don't take this the wrong way," a coworker said today. "But are you sure you have five weeks left? You look like you're going to pop tomorrow."

I FEEL like I'm going to pop tomorrow. My maternity pants don't fit anymore, and my maternity shirts don't go down far enough (and the bare underbelly look--totally awesome at high school... I wear a Bella Band every day underneath my shirts and over my pants, to bridge the gap, as it were). The babe spends most of the day writhing back and forth, pushing against my bellybutton (which, surprisingly, kind of hurts). My ankles regularly swell to sizes larger than my knees. I feel like I'm continually letting a deadline slip (oy, the grading I haven't done) and letting someone down by not doing something that I should be doing.

Oh, and! I found my first stretch mark. Which I'm kind of, "eh" about. It's not like I'm pissed about it (because, let's face it--as Andrew has pointed out more than once, it's not like I had a taut belly before), but I'm also not all "It's a SYMBOL of my LOVE for my CHILD" all Earth Mother blah blah blah. Actually, the day I found it, I noticed that in a certain light it'd disappear. So I spent about five minutes swinging my belly back and forth in front of the mirror all, "Hey look, hon! Now you see it! Now you don't! Now you see it! Now you don't!"

Because I'm all classy like that.

But I can't believe we're on the last countdown. It's gotten to the point where scheduling comes up at work, and I look at the date of the next meeting or the next due date and I think, I won't be here for that, because I'll be on maternity leave!

Thirty nine days until everything changes. I can't believe we made it here.

Apartment hunting

Apartment hunting is totally way more funner when (a) landlords call you back right away, I mean, like, RIGHT AWAY, (b) you have more than one choice of apartment/house in your stated budget (c) the budget you're working with isn't your money but someone else's and (d) that someone else is totally used to renting in a crazy-expensive urban setting where they could get half the apartment for twice the price, so much so they don't even realize that they are actually looking at (virtually, at any rate) some pretty swank pads, even if they are "way out".

Saw two apartments today, have appointments for three more tomorrow. The two today--they'd do, but I totally think we could do better.

Yay apartment hunting!

No mo pouting!

Grin
Originally uploaded by karijean

Don't pout CNIU (cutest nephew in the universe!)! Your mama got a job! and you'll be back out here soon!

WOOO HOOO!

That's what I'd do, too

So. Um. What should one do if one were six weeks from welcoming a new, helpless and probably kind of needy new family member?

Start a kitchen remodel, of course!




Um. Can't go back now!

That's kinda how I feel, too.

Pout
Originally uploaded by karijean

They were here for a three days. And I loved it. I took about a thousand pictures of The Cutest Nephew In the Universe, culled it down to 272 for saving on my computer, and culled further, oh the culling! to flickr. And Lee and I stayed up way too late (like, till TEN!) watching trashy reality TV and didn't even GET to the Top Chef! And it was like we'd never lived nine time zones away from each other.

She, of course, was mildly freaked out by how nice Portlanders are, taking me back to those first months in Portland when the bagger at the grocery store really did seem to care about whether my afternoon had been going okay and how that freaked me, a verteran of Minnesota Nice. And then Lee took Portland by storm, rustling up interviews for every spare hour or four. So my fingers are way crossed for her.

And then, after a whirlwind where we didn't really do anything but then were never bored either, in the dark of Daylight Savings Time Morning, they were gone. And that kind of sucks.

You can practically hear the sympathy.

Um, Ms. Whole Nother Day, I don't think I want to take this test.

Well, uh... who ever wants to take a test, doll?

But Ms. Day, I'm not ready!

I'm really sorry to hear that. But I've been talking about the test all week.

But Ms. Day, I'm not caught up on the homework--I haven't done any of it.

Pause. Deep breaths..

Well, now, that I can't help you with. That was a choice you made.

I was absent!

Two weeks ago. For a day. You've had plenty of time to get caught up, come in for help, and get ready. Do what you can, I guess.

Yes, this actually really, word-for-word happened. She answered one question out of 27.

Conferences

ARG. I hate this time of year, and it comes twice a year. I always always dread it. I spend days obsessing about the terrible things parents are about to accuse me of. (of which they're about to accuse me?)

And it's not the parents (mostly) that turns out to be the horrible part. It's the long ass long ass long ass day, the talk talk talk for three hours straight, the having to shift gears every six minutes and know on a dime how little Tina or little Charlie are doing as soon as the parents sit down.

Worse is the parents who sit down and assume you remember which child they go with because they met you back in October. Because, yeah, I can totally do that. OR NOT.

This time, of course, I did get one set of parents who said it was my fault their daughter wasn't doing homework--because I was so straightforward with her. Yes, you read that correctly, because I was straightforward with the daughter ("I won't let you go to the library if you haven't done the homework") it was now MY FAULT that they're little angel wasn't doing her work. "I'm not saying you're wrong," the dad kept repeating, "but that's why she won't work. Because you were so direct. She won't do the work now."

At that point I decided to just keep nodding and smiling, because clearly, there was no more to communicate in that conference.

And I only had two more hours to go after that.

I called Emily as I was driving home. "Go home," she said. "Make someone bring you food." So I got a pizza delivered. My ankles are elevated (and LORDY are they swollen) and I'm in my pajamas.

Two more days til the weekend. 7 more weeks of pregnancy.

Anal glaucoma

A coworker calls it "anal glaucoma." As in, "I just don't see my ass at work tomorrow."

I called in sick. And I'm not. Sick, I mean. I'm going to sleep in tomorrow. I'm so bad!

Weekend

A little nod to my midwestern friends...
Originally uploaded by karijean

I'm getting more and more nervous about how long the rain will last, once it resumes because this weekend was gor-or-or-orgeous.

Whatta week

DSC_0033
Originally uploaded by karijean

In one week, my friends have gotten the all-clear on cancer, and two days later welcomed a new family member who is, despite the scariness at the time, healthy, strong, and sweet.

That's what you call a miracle week. Henry John is home from NICU now, and clearly okay with that.

Road signs.

I got hit on the other day. In the car. He asked for my phone number.

Like, at a stoplight?

No, on the freeway. Well, he didn't ask for my phone number so much as hold his hand up to his ear like he was pretending to talk on the phone, and waggle his eyebrows. I think of that as asking for my phone number.

...Or he was being held at gunpoint and he was asking you to call the cops.

I prefer to think I got hit on.

Sure. Rather than, "I just killed a man."

Wherein I whine like a big whiny thing.

Today has been a rough day.

Warning: TMI may follow.

Don't get me wrong--every day I'm pregnant has been miraculous and shiny and angels regularly fly out of my butt to sprinkle me with starshine and licorice. Yay, pregnant. We wanted to be here so bad, we cried so often about not being here, so we are really happy dammit to be here dammit yes happy!

But in the meantime, between angel-rectal interaction, I hurt. Walking, standing up, sitting down, going up stairs, putting on underwear, rolling over in bed, did I mention walking? and whenever I move, I feel like a wee tiny knife the size of a meat cleaver is stabbing me in my clitoral region. Which is just as fun as it sounds.

It comes and it goes, and some days are better than others. I talked to my doctor about it and Dr. Cutey McSporty referred me to physical therapy. I've started doing that twice a week in the therapy pool which dear heavens why did no one tell me the beautiful majesty of getting in a pool???? For that half-hour, I am pregnant without pain. The downside is the slloooow climb out of the pool, and that one step where The Belly must emerge and reacquaint itself with that pesky gravity shit. But in the meantime, I don't feel like a beached whale that will never walk again, so it's rejeuvenating.

I've also found this real angel (not one of my butt angels) who specializes in pre-natal massage, and for that french-lavendar-scented hour, my mind can wander along white sandy beaches to the tunes of Enya. The loose-limbed feeling even lasts for a couple days.

But then, inevitably, it comes back. The other teachers at school--for some odd torturous reason--get great glee in pointing out that I waddle, and in fact, they've been pointing it out since Christmas which is beyond awesome. And yes, I do waddle. That is because most days, from my boobs downward, I am a tightly wound solid muscle of pain.

It comes and it goes, this knife-to-the-hoo-ha fun. Today, though--today's been a bad day.

Things I don't get or: Modern Education

So, our boys team reached state. Which, of course, necessitated a whole school assembly with much cheering and hooting and light show and band shenanigans. Oh, and! You could get excused from school today to go watch the team play! At 10:30 a.m.! Because clearly, they are students first and athletes second! And how better to show these athletes that! First, by scheduling the game at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning, then by excusing half the student body!

JV team--well, yeah, gotta go. Band? Gotta go! Support them boys! Dance team? Gotta go! Cheerleaders, of course! And then--boosters! Gotta go!

Call me old-fashioned, but I really really think that if you are failing any classes at all, you should absolutely not be excused from school to go watch. I told my AP class that they are welcome to figure out their own priorities--that's what growing up is all about--but I wasn't going to slow class down any at all just because they wanted to go watch basketball and homework was still due Thursday, period, full stop, end of story. Because that's how college works, too. But I feel the same way about my sophomores too.

I don't get these parents who are all, sure, go! to Seattle! With 100 other unchaperoned teenagers! GREAT IDEA!

Yep, I'm gonna be one of those parents.

Watching the Oscars

Look, it's just like that movie we watched.

What movie?

You know, the one with the girl from Poltergeist.

The girl from Poltergeist?

No, wait. The girl from the alien movie.

Sigorney Weaver?

No, the little girl.

ET? Drew Barrymore?

Yeah! Where she takes the old man to the Oscars!

Where she...? WHAT? No. We've never seen a movie like that.

Oh, oh, I'll wait. I'll wait until you remember it and then tell me I'm right.

I swear, hon, we've never seen a movie like that.

You know, you know, the one where she goes on vacation?

...you mean The Vacation?

Ah ha! You see? Now come on, say it...

What, that you're right?

Ah ha! You see?

Well, except that Drew Barrymore's not in it, and there's no Oscars, but yes, you're right, there IS a blond girl who walks with an old man... but other than that...

Drew Barrymore's not in it?

No.

Then who is?

Kate Winslet and Cameron Diaz.

Not Drew Barrymore?

No.

And they don't go to the Oscar's?

Not really, no.

Um, oh.

But other than that, hon, you were totally right.

Ah ha!

Flickr update

Gutter bird
Originally uploaded by karijean

Updated pics on Flickr, yo.

A few are marked private, for friends and family only, so if you are one of those two groups and I haven't marked you as friend or family, drop me a note and I'll fix that.

In this Flickr update--I got a brand spankin' new camera for my birthday and it is sweet. So I'm just taking pictures of, y'know, stuff. And the lunar eclipse.

Be warned--there's also belly pics on there. I'm not posting them here, because for years, belly pics just made me kind of want to cry a little bit, no matter how happy I was for someone. So I guess I didn't want to, y'know, surprise anyone with that. But I also don't want this to go undocumented. And there've been requests. So. Yeah.

I'm feeling strangely vulnerable...

And you mean...

Him: So... how'd your doc's appointment go, babe?

Me: Oh, it was good. It was good.

Set your date yet?

Next time, next appointment.

How about your blood tests?

Oh! Yeah, so you remember how tired I've been? And I started taking the iron supplements? Even with the supplements and my prenatals, I had an iron level of 34.2. Apparently, 34 is the borderline of anemic. So, you know, no wonder I was so tired!

So maybe that would explain your attitude!

And I... what?

Um... nothing?

My attitude? What...?

I'll just be down here doing the laundry!

Baby Crazy

Juno: loved it, loved it, loved it.

But not, I think, why everyone else loved it. Yes, Ellen Page? Total cutie, and I would have totall wanted to be her friend in high school but would have been way to shy to think that I could be amusing enough to hang with her. And I love JK Simmons and Allison Janney.

But what grabbed me was Jennifer Garner and Justin Bateman as the would-be adoptive parents.

Shocker, I know. I hope you were sitting down on that one.

There was a review that I had read that talked about them and the words from the review that stuck with me--I can't even remember the context now, but they had called them "immature". But I never got that feeling. And I can't tell you how relieved I am about that.

The childless couple--the baby-crazy would-be mama--is really easy to parody, to have a pre-made image in your head about what they are going to be like. For instance, Tina Fey's new movie, Baby Mama. Which might make me throw up a little in my mouth. But my friends and family have done it, too. One asked me last summer, "So, are you, like, totally baby crazy, now?" And I've never thought of myself that way. And yet, I still answered yes. Not because I'm baby crazy--I wasn't buying baby clothes in preparation (and, oddly enough, I'm still not) or yplanning baby things or even trying on imaginary baby names--but just because I wanted one, constantly. Like a constant soundtrack in a movie, that desire was just always there. But I couldn't explain that at the time, in the noisy bar we were in, how that is, but it isn't, baby crazy.

The Jennifer Garner character reminded me of that. Of that really delicate balance you try to maintain, that game face that's almost always on, that doesn't deny your desire but also can't really let the full impact of it show. But how it sneaks out, at times. And how that's mistaken for blindness/baby crazy/immaturity. I was well impressed with the movie, how the sort of complexity of her desire wasn't simplified to snark or slapstick or pathos.

I've been thinking about it a lot because recently I've been sort of backhandedly(really, not so backhandedly) called "crazy" for the path we took to expand our family and I can't shake it. I can't shake how much it hurt to have months of agonizing about decisions, each new decision a new path of "Should we do this?" soul searching between me and Andrew, reduced to "crazy". I guess I'd not be surprised by that comment from a stranger who hadn't ever talked to me, but that's not the case here. I feel like a movie had more empathy for how unfriendly conception can be, and how personal the process is, than a friend.

In the end, I guess, it's a mindframe no one understand unless they are open to it. Blessed are they who try.

It's like a far-away jail for clothes that are bad--they just need to learn their lesson before they are bailed out

Hello, is this Kari?

Yes, this is she...

Hi, this is the dry cleaners down the street. We have some of your clothes.

You do? Thinking furiously about when the hell was the last time I tool anything in to be dry cleaned???

Yes. Pause. From August 2006.

There's the answer to that question, then... I can just come get it then?

That would be good.

My husband will be right there.

From the back of the house He most certainly will not!

Thanks. We'll have them waiting. They're already paid for, if that helps.

Thanks for calling.

Turns out, it was two things of Andrew's. But I guess I still can't blame this on pregnancy brain.
----------
Sent from my Verizon Wireless LGVX9900 device.

How I know he loves me

What's more, how I know he knows me. Behold, a surprise valentine's day gift.

After, I might point out, we had agreed not to spend any money on Valentine's day. One day, I'll actually remember that whenever Andrew makes me promise that, he's totally lying.

This, from a counselor.

Are you having twins, is that why you're so huge?

How lazy am I?

Onion 1
Originally uploaded by karijean

So, that cooking thing? Hasn't gone so well this week. Last weekend was full, wall to wall. Then Monday I had to work late, Tuesday I was in training until 4 and then went to class; Wednesday I had a geek squad meet (they won, natch!) that WE hosted so I didn't leave school until almost 7, so by Thursday I was almost paralyzed with pain. Walking--don't make me laugh, I might spit up. Standing made me feel like I was going to split apart in a viscerally painful way.

So, yeah, we've had to cancel the hippie box until further notice. I can buy our fresh veggies as needed.

lazy post

Dude. My favorite ad. I stop to watch it whenever I'm fast-forwarding on my DVR.



And then, part two.



Love them. Love them both.

Teachering Indignation

Thursday: Last day for students to get help before finals. Thirty two students decide they need help THAT DAY. Twenty eight of them for the first time all semester. One of them stays to ask one question about something from chapter 2 (covered in October), and when I don't sit down with her one on one for a private tutoring session, gets up and leaves. Ten minutes later I get a call from her mom.

"Haley* said she tried to get help but couldn't get help."

"There are over two dozen other students in here right now, so I couldn't sit down with her, but she was welcome to stay."

"Well then, what should she do?"

Options running through my head: (a) invent a time machine and go back to Wake The Fuck Up Day (b) suck it up and actually do the homework that had been assigned back in the day, or, even, y'know, yesterday (c) find someone else to ask.

I went with option c. "Maybe she could ask her math teacher from last year? Or she could come back."

But seriously, dude.

Because not an hour later there was an all-user email from one of the counselors. "Math teachers--are any of you doing study sessions for finals? Because I've had a lot of students crying in my office."

First of all: did that REALLY need to be sent to all the teachers and staff at school? I guess those social studies teachers really needed to know that us math teachers were SLACKING. Second of all: um, YEAH. Because you know when I read that email? AT SIX-THIRTY, when I STILL hadn't left school because I'd been helping students until after four.

(Okay, many people from not-education maybe be saying, four? POOR BABY. Except that I'd been there, helping teenagers since before seven, with only twenty minutes where I was talking to adults during lunch. I was done. BEYOND done.)

And might I add? ONE of those students with a sudden need to talk exponents? Was the counselor's own daughter.

---
*Not her real name. Not to say that it couldn't be her name, but it wasn't. No, I swear! It wasn't!

holiday madnesses

holiday madnesses
Originally uploaded by karijean

See all those stockings? Pretty impressive. Especially considering that two of them are over thirty years old, and three of them are under a year old.

There was also a surprise: inside my stocking, a wee little red-and-white baby bootie, adorned with our baby's name on it. Get it? Because he's still inside me? So his stocking is inside mine?

My mom, dad and sister had been giggling to themselves for three days about that before I was told to look in my stocking.

Also note the menorah on the mantel (which totally sounds like a cheesy holiday album: Menorah on the Mantle: Seasonal Songs for Your Mixed Family). Gail held eight-week-old Ellie up to it and said, "Look, sweetie! that's for the Jew in you!"

Click on the picture for more.

short story

Getting ready to go out:

Him: "Hey, why don't you wear that giant shirt your mom gave you for Christmas?"

Me: "Giant?"

Him: "You know, I heard that coming out of my mouth and thought, who's editing this stuff?"

Me: "Giant?"

Him: "Very attractive and long maternity shirt."

Me: "GIANT?"

Things they never tell you about teachering and pregnancy

• Teenagers, assuming they like you, will at some point get comfortable enough that they will ask you very personal questions. Not the ones you are mildly prepared to be "surprised" by, but ones that you will have no prepared answer for. "Do you have kids?" "Why not?" "Do you want them?" "When will you have them?" And countless variations that there's just no preparing for. And no amount of saying, "That's a very personal question, and none of your business" will suffice, because that's only one period's worth of teenagers. You have five periods a day, and then there's a whole new semester's worth coming in January.
  
• Once you get pregnant, teenagers get very upset if you don't tell them personally. If, say, you tell one class and you don't tell another. (How do you "announce" your pregnancy to a room full of 30 hormonally challenged young adults, anyway?) I'm just saying.
  
• Teenagers also think you will instantly be giving birth. When you tell them that you won't be gone until say, April (and late April at that!) they are shocked and surprised. Apparently they expected you to be on maternity leave in the next four weeks.
  
• You know how pregnant women get swollen ankles? Try teachering. Oh dear heaven.
  
• It's really hard to convince yourself to sit more and still be a teacher.
  
• Perhaps not surprising, but still not something that had occurred to me: the prospect of naming is very important to students. They will offer suggestions almost daily, usually suggestions that are very very very close to their own name. And the weirdness of the suggestion of naming your child after a student will completely escape them.
  
• If you start to experience SPD, teaching will suuuuck. Every, every day.
  
• After all of that, you will be surprised every day with how much these teenagers care. Not really surprising, maybe, given how concerned they are with other, more earthy aspects of reproduction, but at the same time, there will be moments of absolute charm. Some of these kids will delight in your progress. Some, girls especially, will privately and timidly ask if they can touch your belly. They will take paramount interest in if you are having a boy or a girl. Some, that you don't have in class at all, and haven't for two years, will hear from someone who heard from someone that you are pregnant and will come by just to say how happy they are for you.
  
  And then they'll ask you to name the baby after them.
  

With much stamping of feet, and rending of garments

I'm not ready.

I'm not reeeeaddy.

Don't send me back there!

This past week has been a week of decadence. I have watched more football than I thought possible (go blue!). Apparently, getting a big fat ol hdtv television (thank you, Oregon, for your very bizarre kicker check law...) makes you watch more sports than you ever have in the rest of your life put together. There's only a few HDTV channels on our cable but the sports! Dear heaven, the sports! It's like being able to see every single blade of grass! Sometimes, I like just watching the little ESPN ticker tape that goes along the bottom because the clarity gives me chills.

Of course, as a result, I know all about the Dolphins coach getting the axe and how surprised the Ravens coach was to get fired, I'm know the results of pretty much every single college bowl game, and I'm following the basketball schedules of several different cities across the country. I'm not proud, I'm just addicted.

I guess.

Another way to look at it: I've been battling a severe case of fatigue. For a while. I was tired in the first trimester, but rumor has it, that's normal. Everyone told me that, hey after the first trimester, it all gets much easier! And it hasn't. It just hasn't. I feel like I've been walking around in a fog for the past six months--not sleeping well, but never actually awake. Or if I am awake, it's not for long, and then I'm back to monosyllables and looking for an activity that involves a lot of couch sitting. Holding conversations becomes a heavy task.

So I had my 5month appointment last week (a couple weeks late) and talked to my doctor about it, and I've taken some tests and have some new supplements and hopefully that will help.

In the meantime, my lovely lovely lovely winter break is just a few hours from being over, and I'm getting the shakes because I'm really not ready.

You can't make me go! You can't maaaaaake me!

Goodbye and Hello

Dear 2007,

I've been writing this letter in my head to you for a while now, but it gets all jumbled about halfway through, so pardon me if this gets a little confusing.

2007, it's time for us to part ways. I've been thinking about a way to salvage our relationship and you know what? It's not worth it. Yeah, you've had your moments, but let's be honest here, some last-minute good deeds from you really can't make up for the craptastic way you've treated me and mine.

Put it this way: it's not me, it's you.

In so many ways, 2007, you really deserve to be taken into a dark alley and have the crap kicked out of you.

Yeah, you've delivered some good news--happy healthy babies (Maisie, Zoe, Elspeth, Teo, Lewis, Adam, Ellie)--but note those were to other people. You promised me a whole lot right up front, 2007, and then totally reneged in the worst way possible. Don't try to say this is made up for now, because it's not and it won't be. 2008 is totally gonna get credit for this--knock wood--so don't even try it.

You, 2007, are responsible for so much crap that it's a wonder you even dare show your calendar pages. And what you've done to my friends? No. The damage is irreperable.

So don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.

Sincerely, oh, so very sincerely,
me.


Dear 2008,

The bar was set pretty low for you. Just be better than 2007, and you'll be, like, the best year ever.

Bring some cancer-free days for my friend, some anxiety-free days for my grandmother, some care-free days for my mother, and you're off to a great start. And there might be one or two special deliveries this spring that you could bring to make me your biggest fan ever.

Pretty please? Because after this past year? Totally deserve it.

Thanks,
me.

The verdict is in.

So... what do you think? Boy or girl?

---

When I got pregnant--and stayed pregnant--I swore this time I'd pick a good doctor. Not a doctor, who, upon hearing you were bleeding, sticks a dildo cam in you and then, making eye contact with the ultrasound screen, says, "Well, it's empty all right." For example. No, I was going to pick a good doctor.

I did research. I knew I wanted to be at a place near my home. There's a big ginormous hospital that's twenty blocks from our home, and I knew I wanted to be there. So I searched and searched for any recomendations of any office that did work there. And I got a name and a rec for an office there, where people said, "Get Dr. X, but if you can't, their whole office is great." So I called the office, just on the off chance they were accepting new patients. And not only where they, but when I asked which doctor I'd be seeing, the receptionist said, "Dr. X!" I said, "Reeeeally?" and the receptionist said, "Yeah, she actually has an opening, so I thought I'd slot you in there. And since you're a teacher--" we'd been talking for quite a while at this point, we were buds, almost... "since you're a teacher, why don't I just schedule you out as far as I can so that we can grab those afternoon slots for you? You can always cancel them later."

So this doctor, Dr. X, with her sporty self, has been my dream doctor. Her office, my dream office. Dreamy dreamy dreamy.

---

I was in for my 3rd monthly appointment, just like a regular prego. I got to see what the non-expensive way to hear the baby was like--like a wee transistor radio! with a microphone! that's CRAZY! and see the inanity of the first few months appointments. You mean... I come in, pee in a cup, get weighed (actually, annoyingly enough: it's usually the other way around), get my blood pressure taken and then as a reward hear the heartbeat... and that's IT? No blood, no prescription, no internal ultrasound or dyes or tests or... I can leave my pants ON? (except, of course, while peeing)

Weird.

Anyway. So Dr. X is going over how the appointments work... "...and then you'll come in and we'll do a first ultrasound." "Actually, it'll be like my fifth." "Well, yeah, there's that, but it'll be the first one here." "That's where we find out if it's a boy or girl?!?!" "Um, usually we use it to look at, you know, is the heart working properly and there's two ARMS and two LEGS, is there a BRAIN AT ALL... nothing very IMPORTANT." "Yeah, yeah, yeah, AND THEN WE FIND OUT THE GENDER!"

Pause.

Completely, deadpan: "So, I take it you'll want to know then."

I heart her, very very much.

---

The ultrasound tech is a hyped up whippet thin woman who is in constant motion. She wields the roll-on-deodorant-like magic thingy with the assured hand of someone who's done this twenty times a day for ten years. Swooping left and right, up and down, curving and winding in to get the best view, she whips through a tour of our baking baby. "See that? Kidneys... and here... that's the stomach, full of fluid. And that grey line... right... there that's the diaphragm..." Andrew and I look at each other and grin. "if you say so!" I say. "I keep making this stuff up and no one's caught me yet," she grins.

We wander through our baby's anatomy. Spine, ghostly ribs, faint but rhythmic heart, like a fist clenching and unclenching faster than I could imagine. And then: the money shot.

"You sure you want to know?"

"Definitely."

So are your bets in? What do you think?

...

We spent the last ten minutes of the appointment just watching our baby, at rest and then in motion. Arching spine one minute, faintly swimming the next, striking an American Idol pose the next. The foot, she said, measures one and a half inches. Are you doing what I did? Have you lifted your hand to put your thumb and finger an inch and a half apart? Are you imagining a tiny little foot, with tiny little toes, stretching between your fingers?

---

He's gonna have big feet. :)

Thankful.

We settled down to watch a movie (a really really boring one, as it turned out), Andrew had started a fire in the fireplace, the Christmas lights were on the front porch, and the room smelled like fire smoke and cinnamon.

"We have a pretty good life," Andrew said, a little dreamily.

We pretty much do.

---

I was sitting at my computer when suddenly a sharp pain knifed through my right side. A few quick ripples, like aftershocks, then it was gone as if it had never been. Andrew's head whipped around at my gasp, at the ready to do whatever I needed--bandaids! call 911! catch me as I fainted!--but all I could do was tilt my head, my hand at my side.

I think--I think I just felt the baby!

He couldn't have come over faster than if I had actually fainted. Really? he wanted to know. Where? What did it feel like?

I put my hand up his sweatshirt, palm facing out, and then fluttered my fingertips against the fleecy inside of his shirt, three, four times. A little like that. He put his hands against my abdomen, a little below my ribcage. Is this normal? A little early, I told him. And now I may not feel anything for days. But I did. I felt it.

After a while, he went back to what he'd been working on before, I returned to my blogroll. And just then I gasped again, as that flutter punch came back.

His head whipped around again, worried, until he saw me smiling like a goof.

Stop gasping like that, it scares me!

You try being punched from the inside and see how you gasp.

He looked at me and smiled. Good point.

---

I haven't written for days because I'm not sure where I am. After so long having identy as Can't Get (or Rather, Stay) Pregnant, I haven't yet grown into Pregnant. Pregnant is still other people.

School is one long maddening hell right now. I don't know what it is this year--different kids, more tired, whatever--I'm just not enjoying it at all. We're twelve weeks into the year, 24 more weeks to go, and I feel like I will never be caught up. For type A little ol me, that's a big fat recipe for stress dreams (wherein it's been discovered that a clerical error means I don't have credit for high school geometry and must take it to retain my college degree and the teacher I'm taking it from refuses to teach me and all the kids say, "See? this is why we don't like YOU as a teacher either!") and heartburn.

And I'm in a weird stage. I can't go out and get a glass of wine (or even faux-wine) with friends or even really stay out late anymore (I'm wiped by 10:30), but also I'm not yet a mother and so still open to the "Just wait and see!" that well-meaning already-parenting friends and family like to pour. Just wait and see... how tiring the first three months are ... how hard it is to leave your child and go to work ... how much weight you gain. I know they mean well--or at least, most do.

Oddly enough, though, the "Just wait and see!" game is never about happy things.

I had one teacher come up to me, out of nowhere, and tell me, "Oh, don't worry hon, before I was done, I weighed 197 pounds!" I was refilling my water bottle in the staff workroom at the time. Note that I was NOT talking to anyone about pregnancy, weight, or pregnancy weight. Plus--"Oh, hon, I weighed more than 197 pounds before I got pregnant, so I'm pretty sure I'll be more." And then I left the room.

There's still a weird chasm between those who have kids and me, where with rare exception (*cough*Em*cough*Leah*cough*) communication feels really one-sided. And I'm worried about losing touch with the friends who don't have kids. And plus, I just feel really uninteresting right now. My world is eating, sleeping, and grading. Who enjoys that?

---

Despite my bitching--because what else is a blog for?--we are really happy. This past week, we made a tour of daycare centers in Portland. Yes, I'm not even five months pregnant, and we were touring daycare centers. Note that of the three we went to, only one could guarantee us a spot for next fall. Staying home, at this time, isn't really a great choice for our family unit and as much as I know it'll suck and I'll cry and feel like a horrible person and probably reexamine how much I really want to teach, we want to be prepared with daycare. And we've got one place for sure, and will likely get into the much better place as well. Just a few checks (the first of many, I know, but after the major bucks we've spent to get this far, really, we laugh! we laugh at these puny checks!) and we've guaranteed our spots on the waiting lists.

Andrew is over the moon about everything, and likes nothing more than to chart the daily progress of my belly, my bellybutton, my breasts. At Thanksgiving, at our annual Go Around of What Are You Thankful For (that almost everybody, mostly guys, moan and groan about, but I think everyone secretly really likes), we all got to be thankful. Andrew summed it up nicely. "I'm thankful for all my friends and family. I'm thankful for maternity pants. And larger bras."

I'm thankful too. I'm thankful for the smell of fire smoke and cinnamon, and for maternity pants and larger bras. I'm thankful for friends who get the weird netherworld I'm in at the moment and meet halfway. I'm thankful that Christmas break is three weeks away. I'm thankful for the first communication from our little mystery package. I'm beyond thankful that I get to struggle to find my place in this identity at all.

Pictures

We Are Family 2
Originally uploaded by karijean

Yes, I finally did it. My pictures from September and October are on Flickr. Click for some Teo Goodness, family madness, and Andrew cuteness.

Help--I'm drowning in CSA

What a... nice Thanksgiving gift!

We got home today and our hippie box was on our front porch, all full of organic goodness. And there was a note.

"Your bin was packed as a Large, at no extra charge. Happy Thanksgiving!"

What a great idea! Now, if only we didn't have trouble using all our crap from our usual small box, it's be perfect!

Seriously, we are having true troubles using everything up before its all limp and liquidy. And I'm not talking about the rootabegas and the leeks. I'm talking average stuff. Carrots. Organic carrots get really limp and... well, limp if you don't eat them fast enough. And the onions! Dear GOD does anyone want organic onions? We get two to three a week, use one or two, so they build and build and build so we had like ten (after giving away a bunch last week) and NOW we get FIVE MORE! FIVE more ONIONS! Is there a way to make, like, onion pasta with a side of onions? (my students, they would looooove it! and andrew's coworkers! Ooooo, and his darts team! we'd be suuuper popular!)

I get that kale and chard are staples, so I'm prepared for those, but I think I need to reassess my approach to this whole thing.

I will say: I've never eaten so healthy in my entire damn life.

Anyone want an organic onion? Or two?

And then, in BIZARRO land..

One kid in my 4th period class, upon learning that I was pregnant:

"Is there something they can give the baby so that it, you know, grows really fast?"

"...um? What do you mean?"

"You know, like, make it grow so fast that it would, like, explode out of you?"

"Well, just... I. Can't tell you. But I'm not likely to find out."

Out from under.

I don't know what it is right now. I thought it would be nine months of awesome, but instead it's turning into a slow and painful slog. I'm exhausted all the time and constantly worried that I'm just failing.

What? No, I meant the school year.

I honestly don't know what it is this year. I really thought I was sitting pretty. For my first year as a teacher, I had no new classes--everything was something I'd taught before. I had lesson plans drawn up and the year charted out. I knew what needed to be tweaked and what was pretty good looking.

Okay, yeah, the year got off to a bad start, and then I'm missing a few (ha!) days here and there for some (totally stupid, irrelevant, and time-sucking) training. But still. I've had that before too.

My students say I can blame The Pregnant for it, but I don't like to do that. I just honestly haven't felt caught up yet this year. And I feel like I've NEVER felt this un-caught up.

And today? Veteran's Day, a sacred holiday when we remember touching stories about all sorts of war-ish stuff (or anyway, that's how the school treats it)? It's not so much a holiday as a completely full day of grading--just, unpaid.

And I'm still not caught up.

I'm not worried, though. There's Thanksgiving, four completely unpaid days in a row, right around the corner.

Ah, the glamorous life of teaching.

And now I'm going to bed.

I'm hitting a milestone of sorts, the first of many (I hope). Week fifteen tomorrow. I can't believe it, still. I can't believe it's really true and I'm really pregnant. With each appointment, I hear a voice in the back of my head that says, "This is where you find out it's all been a horrible lie and something is very wrong." But each time where we still hear a baby's heartbeat I build a little more faith, one doppler at a time.

And damn, I don't know how any 2nd children are ever born without the first one dying of neglect. I get up, go to work, come home and sleep. I get up for dinner, and then go back to sleep. I'm behind on emails, phone calls, uploading pictures, cleaning, cooking, laundry, shopping, everything. We have a half-finished closet in the bedroom (put together just enough to put my shoes away, of course) and I have four generations of family photos spread across the basement and I have framed pictures waiting to be hung and I have a new niece to welcome and make gifts for. If Andrew weren't the superstarrest of superstars, I'd be naked, starving, and asleep.

And all I do--ALL I do--is sleep. I must calmly sleep now. And sleep for a few more days.

I haven't had any other symptoms, really. I have a wee tiny belly, and I've felt some stretching, but no real morning sickness or nausea. I told Emily I would gladly take a little nausea for more energy. She looked at me like I was eight kinds of crazy, but then she's had the Nausea From Hell with her pregnancy, so perhaps she's excused. She'd probably gladly give me her nausea. So I guess I can't believe I've been this lucky, that Extreme Tiredness Extraordinaire has been my only real symptom. Or would it be called a side effect? Anyway.

I'm told this ends, although estimates vary. Some say by week fifteen (excellent!) and others say, for sure by the time they go to college.

My dad says not even then.

Timeline

Eight years and three days ago we had our second first date. Technically, it was our first second date, but we don't really think of it that way, we think of it as our second first date. On our first first date, we really didn't like each other. He thought I was a flake. I thought all he did was talk about his car. Plus, he looked a little...dorky.

That date ended abruptly.

But then I changed jobs, and I emailed all my email contacts that I was changing offices, and surprise! I was going to be working next door to him! We should meet for drinks!

Having nothing else to do on a Monday night, and never one to turn down drinks, I agreed to meet him. As I rode down the escalator to our designated meeting point, I saw this tall, broad-shouldered kinda-hottie there, obviously waiting. Was that him? It didn't match at all with my memories of the car-obsessesed suburban guy. (Discussing it later: he'd gotten new glasses... and a better haircut. Apparently that made all the difference.)

So, eight years and three days ago we had our second first date. That led to our first second date. And so on.

Six years and a day ago, we got married, in the best party I've ever thrown in my life. I felt gorgeous, my friends were all gorgeous, my new husband was absolutely delicious.

Five years and a day ago, I dropped him, our dog, a suitcase, a small box of essentials and our Civic off in Portland after a marathon day-and-a-half drive out from Chicago. We left downtown Chicago at 5:30 on a Friday and for the next twenty-four hours, only stopped to refuel and pee (both us and the dog). We finally fell into a bed in Coeur d'Alene on Saturday night. We woke up, hopped in the car, and met our new apartment in Northeast Portland on our first anniversary. After six hours together, I got on a plane that night to go back to Chicago for two months: wrap up my job, sell the condo, and find a job in Portland.

A day ago, we went out to dinner. The waitress brought our food, and tentatively asked, "Are you guys celebrating anything?" He cocked his head and thought, "Well, she's pregnant, and my book just came out, but..." He smiled. "It's our sixth anniversary." "Congratulations!" she said. She comped our dessert.

Happy anniversary, hon.

The TV is my companion.

I miss him already.

Andrew's off to California for some training in some platform that has something to do with computers and the internet(gah, you'd never know, when I write like this, that I'm actually pretty bright and even used to work in computers once--I really did used to know what my husband did, once upon a time).

A week.

It kind of sucks.

Not that I've been awake much for the past few weeks, but still. It was nice to share pizza with someone (even if he did only leave me once piece). And he's been a super star with getting stuff done around the house lately. And I miss someone asking me at the end of each day, "How was school?" (even though I haven't had a school day without him yet--he just left this morning.)

Now, as a side note, I haven't exactly been following this fire crap, other than a, "yeah, so sad, burned houses" kind of way. But suddently I'm much more interested. I found some cool thermal sattelite images, but then I remember I have no idea about California geography. Is San Jose near San Diego? Why does everything start with San? And the answer is, thankfully, no, San Jose isn't anywhere near San Diego.

Anyway, I'm home, alone, for probably the last really nice weekend of the fall. There's nothing but crappy football on TV (c.f. any game with the Miami Dolphins or St. Louis Rams; also, guess what? Patriots win! snooooze... sometimes football from the West Coast really blows). Six days till he comes back.

Andrew, if your book comes before you get back, I may just open it before you get here. So hurry back.

Ya, Sure, You betcha

Finally, the Minnesota in my accent (an odd amalgamation of Tennessee, Chicago and Minnesota, which leads me to say things that come out like, "Y'all need to talk to dose guys over dere, ya knoooow?") comes to good use.

I am taking Norwegian class. It's awesome. I can say all those funny vowels, like the a-with-a-halo (å). Basically, all I have to do is pull out the Minnesotan in my voice, mix it with a little Swedish Chef, and I'm good. For instance, å is like saying a super Minnesotan "Minnesoooota", only leave out the "t". That last vowelly bit, after the s? That's å.

So, "jaså" (a sort of, "oh, really?" interjection) ends up sounding reeeeally Minnesotan, in both tone and meaning.

Of course, there's also a few million other ways to say o and u, and they're all slightly different, and then there's the other "extra" vowels, like æ (a really really flat a sound) and ø (sort of like a cow with heartburn) but I'm working on them, and they're coming pretty naturally.

I don't know if you've noticed my name here before, but it's Kari. Not your typical every day American spelling. Atypical enough, in fact, that whenever anyone else could find a personalized keychain, license plate or stuffed animal, I had nothing.

It is, however, a fairly typical Norwegian spelling. So Norwegian, in fact, that every other dialogue involves some poor girl named Kari. "Is her name Kari? No, her name is not Kari. Her name is Anne." "Is your name Kari? Yes, my name is Kari. How do you spell it? I spell it K-A-R-I." "Is Kari a student? Yes, she goes to University. What does she study? Kari studies biology and chemistry."

Yes, it's not exactly rocket science (clearly. Who's ever heard of a Norwegian rocket scientist?) but it certainly keeps me paying attention in class.

What I like best, though, is that if you go by the vocabulary we've learned so far, Norwegians are THE politest people on the planet. For instance, at the end of a conversation, instead of saying something like, "See you later!" we've learned that you say, "Takk for nå," meaning, literally, "Thanks for now." Like, "Thanks for this most recent time we've spent together, chatting." It's like the ultimate way to live in the moment, you know?

Or our professor ends every class with "Takk for i dag," meaning, Thanks for today. Us! Thanking us, the students! I love it.

I have class tomorrow, and I've already done my homework, written my flash cards, and practiced my dialogues. I'm such a geek.

A note before I leave.

This whole "coming clean" thing is hard. I don't want to be all, Lookit Me I'm Pregnant! to every person I see--or even to most of them--but, uh... well... it's starting to get obvious. And now I don't know if there's people I should be like, "Hey, how's it going Sally? Cute new shoes today. Oh, and I'm pregnant." Like the secretaries in the main office, who are totally awesome and if you're smart you make them your best friends in the whole school because they can save your butt. Do I tell them? Or is it just too... too? Or my students. "...and that's how we solve a system of equations. And, I'm pregnant, due in May, so don't worry, I'll be here most of the year." It's just odd.

It's great that I have this to worry over!

I leave or a ginormous Family Wedding Event, or as ginourmous as our family gets. It'll be the first time I meet my new nephew which I'm positively delighted about. Everyone at school agrees that he is quite possibly the cutest baby since cameras were invented, but I need to test this hypothesis in person.

Moreover, it'll be good to get away and just be for a couple days. We have no obligations past a dinner on Thursday and a wedding on Saturday. I don't know what I'm going to do with all this time!

Out of the closet...

I've been psyching myself up for this, so here goes.

I'm pregnant.

It's official. It's real. Woo hoo!

Yeah, that birthday party? You got me: I wasn't drinking because I was pregnant. That wedding? Every glass of wine I had got left, full, somewhere. Often next to my partner in crime, who was able to finish it for me (a noble, noble sacrifice). You were right, I was totally pregnant. And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, for not asking me or bringing it up with me and waiting until I did (Ahem, ladies, I'm looking at YOU). You guys are the BEST.

And mostly, I just don't want to talk about it. Which is a weird thing to say at the beginning of a (em, rather long) blog entry that's pretty much destined to be all about being pregnant, but let me try to explain.

First, there's the hormone thing. Apparently progesterone is really really important to staying pregnant. "Pro", as in "in favor of" and "gesterone", as in "gestation". I'm pretty pro-gestation myself, intellectually speaking. Apparently my uterus wasn't on board. The tests I had six weeks ago found that I was low on progesterone. Now, it hasn't been confirmed, but I suspect that this is why I miscarried last time. The timing fits: if you aren't making enough progesterone, you aren't making enough placenta, and then when the little egg-baby has to switch from it's egg-baby-yolk to the baby-making placenta for nutrition, there just isn't enough healthy placenta to get fed and, well, the end result is pretty obvious. And that's at about, oh, 8 to 10 weeks. Which would be the right timing for my miscarriage.

So, about six weeks ago, apparently this was happening to me. Those were the tests I referred to, earlier.

The treatment for low progesterone is a progesterone supplement, but apparently the mouth is too far away from the uterus to take it orally and for it to be effective. So... Yes, my friends, I have had really nasty ladybits for the past six weeks. It's been great. And it's been great twice a day. And the worst part about the treatment is, the only way you'd know it was working is that you didn't miscarry.

So it hasn't exactly been a relaxing six weeks. So there's that.

One thing you don't really know until you're doing this infertility treatment stuff is that you'll never go to the bathroom the same again. Every time you get in there in the morning, you wonder if you're supposed to be peeing on something. Is it ovulation time? Pee on a stick! or maybe, could I be, pregnant? I know, Pee on a Stick! The thought nags you, because if you forget to pee on a stick with that FMU (first morning urine! I love the infertility TLA's...remind me to share some sometime), well, it's a while till you have enough pee again to pee on the stick properly, and even then, no pee is more concentrated than your FMU, so there's always the chance that it should be giving you the stripe/plus/smileyface but you just had pee that was too watery....

See? It's a whole thing.

But worse is the blood. Because when you're not peeing on sticks, you're expecting blood. And dreading it. Or cursing it.

I had thought when I got pregnant last winter, that's it! No more having to do something when I pee. And then the blood started, which shocked the shit outta me.

And we all know how that turned out.

So now, here I am pregnant again, and I'm dreading the blood. I can't even imagine those NPP (normal pregnant people) who just take it on faith that they're pregnant and will stay pregnant. I can't even imagine that kind of security. A sureness that for that next X weeks, you don't need to fear going to the bathroom. That you don't fear your underpants. Which, by the way, is the name of my punk band when I get one together.

Don't, I beg you, tell me "it'll be fine." Last time I'd had all the markers of being fine: heartbeat, images, measurements on track. And it still ended. It wasn't like I'd just found out I was pregnant--I'd had images, little fuzzy images. That was supposed to be the signal.

So now, I don't trust the signals. And I don't really trust anyone else to tell me "it'll be fine."

Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled as hell to be pregnant. It's just I'm also really still scared that this won't stick either. It's really really really hard to tell people, and harder still to talk about it. It feels like I'm jinxing everything. My mom is thrilled for me, which yay, but it also makes me feel really super uncomfortable to get emails from my aunt and my cousins and my mom's friends (none of whom *I* told, and I had no idea that my mom was going to tell everyone) about how happy my mom is, and congratulations! Andrew is adorably excited, but when I went to his work party Wednesday night, the first word out of every single one of his coworkers' mouths was "Congratulations!" Including his boss. And his boss's wife. And his boss's boss. I'm sure if his boss's boss had a wife (or a girlfriend, or for that matter, a date) I would have heard it from her too. (Did he announce it at a company meeting? An "all users" email? it was really odd.) It was a little intimdating and a lot uncomfortable. Not because of anything they did, because everyone was genuinely nice about, but just because.

I know people do this because they care. Maybe it was just the volume of people that I didn't know knew, all at once, one after the other, congratulating me.

I don't know if this is making sense. I suspect that the friends I've had that have seen me through this year understand. I suspect others may think I'm being ungrateful. And my response to that is: I'm not ungrateful, but I'm not grateful. Yet.

But I know I have friends and family who are genuinely caring and interested, and I know you're probably chomping at the bit for the details.

So here's the scoop. I'm 11 weeks today. We've seen the wee niblet's heart--twice--and heard it three times, and we've seen it's brain; we watched it dance, a little like this, and apparently my uterus decided to get on board with this whole "in favor of gestation" thing because I know way more about my placenta and umbilical cord than probably most pregnant ladies. And they're both there and fine and healthy. Yes, we're going to find out the sex of the baby (and yes, I think people who wait are a little weird). I'm due May 4th, although I'll have to have a Caesarian; due to my surgery last summer, I'm at a high risk of uterine rupture and rumor has it that's a wee bit uncomfortable (in the DEAD kind of way). So I'll probably be wheeled in about a week before I'm due. And yes, it's totally awesome timing, speaking as a teacher. No natural childbirth for me--it's drugs for SURE! No midwives, water births, hypnosis, or "eee-eee" breathing. And no annoying debates about the relative merits of any of it (or how you just have to do it this way or that way because otherwise you're not really giving birth), because I really don't have a choice*, which is sort of the silver lining, because I have an instant "Shut the fuck up" card to play when that discussion starts. Yes, I'm going back to work next year, mostly because I'm not crazy now, but staying home all the time, I sure would be soon.

Did I miss any questions?

So, yay! I'm pregnant. And yes, I'm a little prickly about it. I'm scared absolutely shitless that I'll get this far and lose it next week. Hopefully, eventually, I'll relax into the thing and be able to enjoy it. Probably around, oh, week 35 or so.

But definitely, tell me to "just relax and enjoy being pregnant." That'll totally help.

_______
*Please don't say VBAC, since I'm not eligible--it hasn't been long enough. See? still not an option. Yay for no options!

Why is it...

... that no matter how many times I've gone to a doctor who's going to look up my lady bits, no matter what instrument is in use (speculum? dildo-cam? scope of some other type?) or the purpose (oh, the myriad and many reasons I've had a doctor in that region)...

...I still feel the need to hide my underwear after I get undressed?

The Fun Never Stops 'Round Here

You know what's fun?

I'll tell you what's fun!

Parent-teacher conferences! They're fun!

Dad in fatigues and combat boots getting down on his daughter for her test anxiety! That's fun!

Mother of difficult son explaining that said son "just doesn't learn well from women teachers" and that's why he's doing poorly, not because he sits in class with his book closed and his paper put away! That's funner!

Mother of stubborn son explaining that he's not doing well in class because he's "mad at" me and that's why he failed the test and then crumpled it up and threw it at me! Almost the funnest!

But the funnest is whizzing through forty parents in three hours--so, let's see, that is, hmmm, carry the one,... less that five minutes per conference and in the middle of that, being pulled aside by an administrator and told that someone asked her to tell me to move it a long a little faster! That's the absolute funnest!

Actually, I hadn't done the math at the time (there may be some irony in that statement) but now that I have, I'm dwelling on it and getting pisseder and pisseder at her. I saw 40 parents. I talked for three hours straight. They can't honestly expect me to have spoken LESS than five minutes with those parents. As it was I was ending conversations quickly. How much faster should I have gone?

"HiyourkidhasaCheneedstostudymorekthnxbieeee"??????

She can bite me.

I'm going to go to bed now, and dream sweet sweet dreams of staying very very quiet and not talking to anyone for three, maybe four days. Ahhhh...

Coming out from under

I've been sick this week. It started off with a "No, I'll be fine... soon..." and ended with a whimper. I finally called in sick on Thursday. And then I slept till noon. And went back to bed at eight. Apparently I'd been sicker than I thought.

I'm still not 100%, but I'd say I'm about 98%. Anyway, that is both my excuse and my reason for not posting this week. Excuse, because "I've been siiiiick", but also reason because: well, I've been sick, so really, very little interesting has made it past the concrete in my head to make much of an impression.

This next week is the Week O' Appointments. One on Wednesday, one on Friday--probably. As these things go. And the only time the Friday one could be scheduled was midday, so I'm burning more sick time then. Life would be so much easier if I were a lady of leisure. I'd be batshit crazy by now, but I wouldn't have to worry about using up sick days and making sub plans and rearranging lesson plans for doctor's appointments.

And while I'm at it: we're paying these dudes enough, really--couldn't they have appointment times AFTER, oh, 3:30? I'm just saying.

These are kind of high-stakes appointments, so I'm kind of trying not to think about them for right now. Kind of. Denial! Operation Distracts-a-Lot: go get makeovers with Emily! Go car shopping and test drive new cars! Go to the convention center and see the Home Remodelers Show! Watch a lot of netflix! Cook! Gah, even grading was a good distraction for a couple hours today.

And of course, while wandering these hallowed halls of American consumerism, I manage to run into my fertile collegues with spousal units in tow. One, Miss I Need MILK for My HEARTBURN, while she was coming out of Motherhood Maternity (not awkward! not awkward at ALL!), and the other at the convention center, wrangling her boys and her little girl.

Because sometimes, apparently the Powers That Be don't want me distracted.

Congratulations! You've Had a Baby! 1940s-style.

Part of the Paperwork Onslaught from Operation Granparents included a book the hospital gave my grandmother when my mom was born.

It's a gem. Now, as we all know, I don't have kids. So while I can't attest to the hilarity that this might induce, I do want everyone to know what the world perpetrated on mothers in the 1940's.

First, you open the book to great, creep-tastic Wartime ads.







No pressure, there, sport.














Then there are "articles":

Do's and Don'ts (my comments are next to the text)

Do: Keep your baby on an exact time schedule as far as possible.
Do: Bathe your baby every day. In hot weather, he should also be sponged two or three times a day. (really? two to three times a day? who does this?)
Do: Be sure the baby gets at least sixteen hours sleep a day the first year and from twenty to twenty-two hours sleep the first month. (I hear the hooting from here.)
Do: Give the baby complete quiet at feeding and sleeping hours. (It's like early Scientology!)
Don't: If you feed your baby out of a silver mug, be careful that the cup is not too hot.
Don't: give the baby tea, coffee, beer or wine of any kind, fried foods, pickles (?!), pie, lollypops, candy of any kind, nuts, pancakes, berries, ice cream cones (???), rich cakes, puddings, or meat gravies. (also: don't pound them in the head with hammer, feed them rancid meat, or let them eat out of the kitty litter box. Also: no radishes. But raw yolk is okay (see next article))
Don't rock or jounce your baby unncessarily. (DAMN that unnecessary jouncing.)
Don't let nayone kiss your baby if you can avoid it but if you cannot, let the kissing be done on the back of the baby's neck. (No, no wait! don't do that! Here, let me turn him over first: NOW you can kiss him!)
Though he cries, don't pick up your baby if he is well. A good lusty cry is excellent exercise. (Because I'm sure that's what'll run through your head: At least this is good exercise...)
Don't wash out your baby's mouth unless your doctor tells you to. (Whew! And to think: I was about to wash out my baby's mouth! WITH VODKA!)
Don't leave safety pins open. (I especially like the last one, because NORMALLY I think it's a good idea to leave safety pins open and about. However, once you have a baby, that's a bad idea. Only then.)

"This is How We Spend Our Day"
This is how the schedule starts:

5:55 a.m.: Diaper and night gown changed so that breakfast be better enjoyed.
(My friend Leah: "I don't think I dressed my kid for the first month. Or me.")
6:00 a.m.: Breakfast served--a la breast or via bottle
6:25 a.m.: Diaper replacement due.
6:30 a.m.: Back to bed for a snooze (we hope)
8:50 a.m.: (if awake) Orange juice. If sleeping, of course, do not disturb.
9:10 a.m.: Clothes off--all save the diaper-and into his crip or onto the top of his bathtub, safely strapped, for setting-up exercises of his choosing ("I'd really prefer the pilates today, mother."). Cod liver oil served "in the nude" saves spotting of clothing and is acceptable just before being dressed. (AFTER being dressed, however, it's worse than wearing white shoes after Labor Day.)

And so it goes... "10:30 a.m.: Nap, preferably out of doors." Um, really?

"2:00 p.m.: Refreshments; milk of course; egg yolk and other solids." Apparently, they didn't have that pesky salmonella back then.

And so on, until "10:00 p.m: Liquid refreshments--if infant and doctor insist. Diaper changing and back to sleep until 5:50 a.m."

Heh heh. That's exactly how I've heard of it working.

Now, this, of course, is predicated on the "6-to-6" schedule, but if you prefer, you can train your baby to the "8-to-8" schedule "if you're persistant."

"We guarantee it will sound fine to the man of the house who will not be awakened daily before break of dawn."

"His eating at 12 noon, would leave you free to keep your 1 p.m. luncheon engagements." Because I know those luncheon engagements (where does baby go? with you? I didn't know there was a baby-keeping place at luncheons) are of utmost importance to new mama's. Over, say, dressing. Or showering. Or maybe napping.

Also included in the book: all the updates from my mother's pediatrician appointments.

When Mom left the hospital, she was eight days old. And included on the "Instructions for Mothers" is
--The baby should nurse for not longer than twenty minutes
--Offer warm, b oiled water between feedings when the baby is awake.
--The formula recipe is: Carnation milk, 5 ounces, boiled water, 9 ounces, and Dark Karo CORN SYRUP, 1 and 1/2 tablespoons.

One month later:
--You can discontinue the nursing now.
--Make a formula using One large can of Carnation milk, 23 oz of water, 3.5 tbls. of Karo
--Offer 4 1/2-5 oz of this formula every 4 hours, 5 times daily
--After feedings occasionally, offer 1-2 eas. of water, to keep the mouth rinsed out.
--Give 3 drops of the Percomorphum oil twice daily. Drop this on the back of her tongue.
--At the same times that you give the oild rops, give 1/2 oz of strained orange juice diluted in 1/2 oz of water. Sweeten if necessary (sweeten????).

But really, it's in the back, where the ads get really good.





Look! It's the essentials for your baby! That include: strapping your baby in bed! Because that's totally safe! Safer than letting them ROLL AROUND LIKE COMMUNISTS! And also! a stuffed animal absolutely COVERED in chewable bite-sized buttons! BY DESIGN! It's even CALLED the "Button Buddy!" Your child's choking hazards should be portable! Now, they're conveniently attached to a dog-shaped...thing!







No, really, rub your baby's head with this bottle of... uh... stuff... seriously, we make chocolate, and that's good and tasty, right? And babies with curly hair are cute! so... no, there's no chocolate in this, but you trust us, right? And it's only a dollar!








You can't think about toilet training too early, so this ad, in this magazine given to you JUST AFTER YOU'VE GIVEN BIRTH, before you've probably pooped in a toilet yourself, is perfectly placed! But moreover, checck out our extra super special detail: yes, about half-way down, it's the TOIDEYETTE: "tall plastic shield and deflector".... Even better, strapping your child into a training potty WILL NOT GIVE THEM A TOILET COMPLEX IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER, WE SWEAR.








Apparently they were really into strapping those kidlets down at every available opportunity. Look at this ad, from a seemingly innocent Qtips:





Yay! Qtips and a baby! It's cute! Look, it even says, "It's Fun!" "There's a cotton tip at each end of the stick to save you time." (Uh, I added that emphasis.) But all is not so innocent--no! Take another look at that Mama and happy baby:











Scary Mommy! Scary Mommy, threatening Giganto Baby with Pointy Thing! Giganto Baby, strapped in, can't escape!












I think this explains a lot about our parents, don't you?

Um...

Just a quick note. That test I was talking about? WAS NOT a pregnancy test. The results of said test probably explain why I miscarried last winter, that's what I was trying to get across. I'll talk more about it soon. But right now, the treatment kind of sucks.