My Bit of Earth

So, When Are You Having Another One?

I think someone first asked me this mere weeks, if not days, after the Kid was born.  The answer--which is the same now as it was then--is, we're not making any decisions for quite awhile.

"I don't know" is actually a concession for me.  For most of my life up until the Kid was born, I was firmly convinced that I would only have one child.  I love my brother and sisters, and can't imagine life without them.  Honestly, though, I've always been a little afraid that, if I had two, I would love one more than the other thus screwing them both up for life. 

Having the Kid has made me realize that fear is unfounded.  It's like, before, the scale of how much you could love someone went from 1-10.  Now it's from 1-100.  And that feeling?  Is so addictive.  I've had a taste and I want more.

I also think I would like to have the experience of pregnancy and birth again.  Yeah, it was uncomfortable at times.  Yeah, it hurt like hell.  But the strength I feel everytime I watch the Kid sleeping--"See that miracle there?  I f'ing did that!"--is, again, the best sort of high.  (The Yarn Harlot wrote a post a few days ago about childbirth that made me catch my breath--"After a trip like that, you would kill for that child, and you know you can.")

There's also a part of me that feels like I might be missing out if we don't have a daughter.  (All the knitting patterns...an excuse to play with Blythe dolls...picking a name from my huge "girl names" list...passing down my mitochondrial DNA.)  Even if we did decide to get pregnant again, I know there are no guarantees.  But I can't help but feel a little heart tug when I see other moms and daughters taking care of each other.  

Then again, there's another part of me that is terrified of having a girl.  ("Toddlers and Tiaras"..."16 and Pregnant"...let's take a pause while I get down on my knees and thank the heavens for giving me a baby boy....)  

Even another boy is a little scary, though.  

There are only 24 hours in a day.  Even with just the Kid, those hours feel mighty short these days.  While I love tickling baby belly and reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, I also want time to knit and garden and do all those other things we love to do.  

I also dream of someday sleeping for eight hours in a row again.

Not to mention that--for a reason I haven't quite put my finger on yet--I all of a sudden have this new fire to throw myself into practicing law.  (Which is convenient, since it's what pays the bills.)  With Sweet Husband also continually taking on new responsibilities at work, adding another person to take care of seems like the road to madness.

And for every one of the reasons people tell you that you "can't" have just one (some of which are overrated to begin with) there's a corresponding advantage.  I love being able to afford to send the Kid to a really great daycare, where I feel good dropping him off every day.  I like the idea of being able to travel with him when he gets a little older.  I want to be able to let him follow his interests down whatever rabbit hole they may take him without having to worry "What's the 'baby' going to do while you dig up worms for three hours?"  (OK, weird hypothetical, but you know what I mean.)

All this has been mashing around in my head lately--fueled both by people asking, and by some of the articles and books linked above--and I actually think I've finally come up with an answer that satisfies me.  Are you ready?

Before Sweet Husband and I got married, we were required to do one little "pre-marital counseling" session.  The minister who married us was one of those awesome basketball coach/algebra teacher kinds of guys you only read about in small town newspaper human interest columns.  As such, he offered very little "advice", but what he did say was gold.  On the subject of having kids, "Don't have them until you can't live without them."  It's the advice we relied on in deciding to have the Kid, and I think it will stand in good stead for the future as well.  

When are we having another one?  Well, that will happen when (and if) we can't live without one.

The Pregnant Year

Today is a sweet anniversary for me.  I didn't write about it at the time--it was a secret from everyone for a few days, and from all but our very dearest for a few months--but a year ago today I found out that I was pregnant.

I think I'll always remember the absolute...joy (there's no other word for it), that mounted all afternoon as I sat in my office waiting to be able to go home and take a test.  I know it's easy to say in hindsight, but I just had a feeling that everything had worked.  And in absence of proof to the contrary, I was floating.

I had come up with all sorts of cute ways to tell Sweet Husband, but in the end what happened was perfect.  About five seconds after the test showed a positive result, I heard Sweet Husband open the front door.  I met him half way up the stairs, and--because I still hadn't even had a moment to process it all myself--just blurted out, "We're having a baby!"

And then there were a few moments of hugging and happiness, followed by a few longer moments of "What do we do now?"  And then we did what we always do to celebrate good news--we went to dinner.

And the year that has followed...It almost makes me dizzy to look back on it all now.  There were times it felt so slow, of course, but really this past year was one of the fastest of my life so far.  Feeling icky last summer...waiting anxiously for his first tiny movements...finding out that we were indeed having a little boy...watching my belly grow bigger, and bigger, and bigger...knitting sweaters and getting his room ready...those last two looong weeks of waiting....  

It's a little mind blowing to think that my fifteen pound "chunky monkey" was no bigger than an appleseed the last time the Earth was in this place around the sun.  (And it's even more mind blowing to think where he'll be at this time next year--toddling around the garden, chasing chickens, getting dirty!)

Yes, yes...we've had quite a year.

There's a Placenta in My Freezer

Our last appointment at the Birth Center was today.  I am officially a healthy non-pregnant person.

As we were saying our thank-yous and good-byes, Lovely Midwife asked, "Oh, by the way, did you still want your placenta?"

During our childbirth class, the teacher told us that one thing to think about was whether or not we wanted to save the placenta.  We laughed, but on the way home I got to thinking aloud to Sweet Husband, "You know, it seems like kind of a waste to just throw it away...I certainly don't want to eat it or encapsulate it or anything like that, but maybe we should compost it or something?"

We didn't discuss it any further until after the Kid was born.  I was in the throes of the new-baby-love-high and Sweet Husband was having post-birth-PTSD, so when Lovely Midwife asked if we wanted it, it made sense to just say yes.  It was fascinating to look at, and after all, we could always just get rid of it later.

But then somehow--in the craziness of remembering all of our clothes and toiletries and, oh I don't know, the baby--we ended up leaving it in the birthing room.  I assumed it had just been thrown away, until this morning when Lovely Midwife asked if we still wanted it.  

Of course, at that point I felt like we needed to take it.  They had nicely saved it for us for six weeks, so it seemed sort of ass-hat-y to just say "toss it".  Plus, I spent nine months bulking that puppy up with nutrients--the idea of wasting it was still sad to me.

So now it's in our freezer.  In that white lunch sack.  Next to the chocolate chips.  (Don't worry, it's triple bagged.)

I've thought of composting it, but I'm afraid the chickens will eat it.  We could use it as fertilizer to plant a bush or tree in the Kiddo's honor.  But where would we put it?  And then what if we kill the bush?  That seems like bad luck, and I kill way more plants than I keep alive.

I think maybe this is why our family convinced us to just serve the top of our wedding cake at the reception.  Because once you keep it, it becomes this thing.  Too imbibed with meaning to just get rid of, but what the hell do you do with it?  

It'll still be in the freezer when he graduates from college.  When his first date comes over, we can show it to her in lieu of baby pictures.  

Yeah...we've really got to figure out what to do with this thing soon.

My Tiny Valentine

Merlyn Knox (hereinafter, the Kid).

7 pounds, 11 ounces.

Born at 4:22 p.m. on the 13th of February.

Whole family's doing fine--full blow by blow once everyone gets a little more settled in....

What Else Is There To Say?

Sweet Husband: Your blog is a little sad this week.

Me: It's snowing.  It's cold.  And we haven't had a baby yet.  What else is there to say?

Sweet Husband:  *shrug*...Yeah.

I'm never late for anything, yet somehow here we are...absolutely positive about my dates, and 41 weeks and almost 3 days pregnant.

I could talk about being tired, but that gets, well, tiring.  

Or, I could talk about how I've got to be setting speed records between emotional highs and lows.  Like, in the space of five minutes my thoughts can go from the depths of despair....

• I'm going to be pregnant forever and then have 60 hours of excruciating labor and then the baby's going to choke on poop and die. (Yes, I'm aware it's technically not possible to both be pregnant forever and to have a baby.)
• My stupid cervix is broken.  How did I end up with this crappy cervix that won't get bigger?
• No, I don't want to go out or watch a movie or knit or eat or bathe.  I want to have a baby.  That is the only activity I am interested in.
• Planning activity so that it can be "inconveniently interrupted"?  Not. Working.  Observing that it would be wonderful/horrible for the baby to be born on "x" date because "x" was born/died/saw his shadow/danced a jig on that day?  Not. Working. 
• I'm going to punch the next person that talks to me.
• Do I roll over and risk tearing my hips in half?  Or stay laying on this side and cry?  
• Is it worth the shame of being a thirty-year-old bed-wetter to not have to get up and pee again?

....to some much more sunshiny places....

• I have friends that made me laugh for almost three hours straight the other night.
• Moe is just the perfect size and weight to lay against my back and make it feel better.
• People are really nice to you when you're obviously, hugely pregnant.  
• Like Soda Lady downstairs and Young Office Maintenance Man, neither of whom I'd really talked to much before, but both of whom have the politest, most non-intrusive way of asking how things are going.  
• Or Nice Co-Worker, who is getting awfully close to nine months along herself, but is still driving me to work in the mornings and offering curbside drop-off.  (I'm taking the stairs on the off-chance that it will start labor, but still, the offer is sweet.)  
• Or Random Stranger who unnecessarily stepped out into the, like, negative-10-degree street the other day to hold a door open for me.
• Or Nice Baker at our local breakfast spot who told me last Saturday, "This will be the day, I'm just sure of it."  (It wasn't, of course, but I appreciated his earnestness all the same.)
• Nice Office Secretary has nicknamed the baby Enriquez.  It's Spanish for "Henry", which I loved for a boy's name, but Sweet Husband vetoed.  She wanted to use the name for her baby boy too, but was similarly vetoed.  For some reason, I think this is a hilarious joke.
• Blueberry muffins.

Or, I could talk about how Sweet Husband is a rockstar.  Actually, that bears shouting:  SWEET HUSABND IS A ROCKSTAR.  Mostly, just for putting up with my crap...and not only putting up with it, but assuring me that it really isn't that bad.  But also for doing the laundry and the dishes and the cooking and keeping the dogs and chickens and ducks from starving to death.  And for picking up things that I drop on the floor.  And for helping me put my shoes and socks on in the morning.  And for spooning, even though he's not a spooner.  Oh, and for not even being ruffled at the words "vaginal exam" or the ensuing procedure.  (I mean, I figured he'd be fine, but that's not exactly a boundary we've crossed before....)

Or, I could talk about how, while he may be a stubborn little ass, the Kid is kicking like a champ and is apparently perfectly happy and healthy.  It's makes me laugh to watch him jumble around.  My whole belly wiggles.  

I'm completely less-than-thrilled about having him induced (which is where things are headed if he doesn't decide to make an appearance this weekend, 42 weeks being the limit for a number of reasons), but I am glad we've given him, and been encouraged to give him, these extra few weeks.  Everyone has different considerations, of course, but at that point--for me--I think I will feel like we've done everything we can to avoid interventions, and I can be at peace with whatever we have to do to get the Wee Man born.

Apparently, I did have something to say after all....

Learn to Bake, My Son

Some day, a long time from now, when the Kid is all grown up and calls to say, "Mom, you're going to be a Grandma," I will have very few bits of advice, but among them will be:

1. Sometimes you just need to give her a hug and not try to make sense of it.
2. Learn to bake.*

The first is probably self-explanatory to anyone who has been pregnant or spent significant time around a pregnant woman.  

The second is a more recently gleaned bit of wisdom.

I don't ordinarily crave baked goods.  I'm happy to sample them when they're offered or make them for a special occasion, but it's rare that we have a plate of cookies just hanging out around the house.  It's an out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing.  

Maybe it's the weather, or maybe I'm just trying to milk these last days of pregnant-super-metabolism, but lately there have been oh-so-many moments of, "You know what sounds so amazing right now...."  And, because he is an awesome husband who also happens to enjoy the precise nature of baking, Sweet Husband has been fabulous about catering to this new whim.

There's been an ongoing blueberry muffin phase.  (Without the crumb topping, thanks.)

An experiment with homemade orange rolls.  (I thought they tasted very good, but Sweet Husband warns that this recipe is not well-written and the icing could be improved upon.  Like I said, guy takes his baking seriously.)

Some wonderfully gooey brownies.

And this Saturday, in case you were not all aware, is the 5th Annual World Nutella Day.  It also so happens, that it's the day our new oven is being delivered.  I believe this is the universe shouting to me that we must inaugurate the oven with Nutella.  The only question is, which recipe shall we choose?

(*Of course, we'll teach the Kid to bake long before that, really.  How else will he get the girl in the first place?)

He's Holding Out For More Sweaters

I snuck in early for my 40 week midwife appointment this afternoon.  The good news is, it doesn't look like there's much fear we'll have to dash out to have a baby in the middle of this blizzard that's supposedly on the way.  And, as tedious as being 10 months pregnant is, I can't say I blame him for staying put a few more days.  (And, as further silver lining, I'm getting to hole up and hide-out too, so....)

I've got it figured out.  My child is a future clotheshorse.  He's been spying on us from his convenient spot in utero, and has realized that the longer he stays in, the more sweaters I will have time to knit for him.  Once he's out, I'll have to take time to take care of him, but as long as he hangs out inside, I have fairly unfettered knitting time.  Not even born yet, and the little bugger is already outsmarting me--but I can't say it's not good strategy....

A classic little blue pullover for next Fall.  (Details.)

An itsy-bitsy kimono, made from the leftovers from the first sweater.  It will literally fit for five seconds, but I had the yarn and the pattern was a freebie....and, well, tiny things are just cute!  (Details.)
The ongoing saga of the tomten sweater coat.  I started this with two skeins of yarn, and quickly realized it just wasn't going to get done (in a size fit to wear next Winter) without a third.  Now I'm down to just about two-thirds of the third skien, with only the sleeves to go.  

Can it be finished without ordering more yarn?  The suspense is killer!  (Details.)

A little green hoodie, again, for next year.  (Details.)  I'm trying to keep one "no-thought-required" project cast-on for early labor distraction purposes, and right now this is it.  The problem is that I'm blowing through the easy parts pretty fast.  At this rate, the Kid will be well-sweatered enough to please even the most extreme little fashionista.  

(D'ya hear that Kiddo?  There are lots of sweaters out here...maybe next weekend you could come check them out?)

Pursuits for Passing the Time

We are so very much in waiting mode here at the Hacienda del Hosta, trying to distract ourselves to make the time pass.  Aside from one little "maybe this is it" that quickly dissipated, and lots of kicks, all is quiet on the baby front.  And, although I believe Lovely Midwife when she says it's better for the baby to bake right up to 40 weeks, the planner in me can't help but wish this was all a bit more predictable.  The "it could be Valentine's day or it could be later today" is sweetly maddening.

Plus, I am huge-mongous.  Each day I wake up thinking, "This has to be the day--he can't possibly get any bigger in there...."  And each day I find that, in fact, he has somehow made more room for himself.  It's kind of like when Moe sneakily inches between Sweet Husband and I in bed in the middle of the night.  I am more aware of where the wee man's bottom is than I am of my own.

*Sigh*

But anyway, some of our pursuits for passing the time....

....Capper's magazine.  At Thanksgiving, Sweet Husband's grandmother (famous in the family for her choices of magazine-subscriptions-as-Christmas-gifts), told me she was going to get us a subscription to Capper's magazine.  She said she remembered reading stories from the magazine aloud with her family when she was a child, and she thought we'd enjoy the bits about chickens and gardening and so forth.

The first issue arrived last week, and it's been a source of amusement every since.  In addition to the very useful stories about chickens and seed saving and mini-tractors (Sweet Husband is now obsessed with figuring out how we could justify owning a mini-tractor), the classified ads in the back are a hoot.

A sample:

TEN CLEAN JOKES $10.  Send $10 and Self Adress Stamped envelop to:  William Scheibmeir, 1336 North Walnut, Iola, KS 66749.

....Doodling out garden plans.  I found a fun piece of software for this here.  (30 day trial is free, after that it's $25 a year.)  I don't know if I will spend the money to keep it permanently, but it's nicer than a piece of scratch paper.  And when you're done planning, it gives you a shopping list to take to the nursery to buy seeds and plants.  (Apparently, some people actually make a shopping list and stick to it--who knew?)

....Baking bread.  We were out having breakfast Sunday morning, when Sweet Husband said words that made my heart go pitter-patter: "I think I might go home and bake some bread this afternoon."

And to encourage him in his endeavor, I fulfilled on a promise I made last Winter and made him a pair of bread bags in which to store said bread.  They're just drawstring bags made from tea towels (inspiration here), but they're supposed to be the bee's knees for keeping homemade bread yummy and fresh.

Whenever You're Ready, Sir

Yes, this could still go on for more than a month, but we're not going to talk about that today.  Because today, we officially have a full-term, 37 week-old, decorated, little fetus.  (Henna might be more traditional, but I think Crayola makers are the way to go!)

In addition to making it to that marker, I also got his bringing-home quilt finished.  Finally.

I started this one over two-and-a-half years ago, when Nice Mom-In-Law pulled out this old quilt to sit on for firework watching on the Fourth of July.  After fiddling with it for awhile, I finally got it into usable quilt blocks a year-and-half-ago.  

And then I stalled out.

The quilt sat in my upstairs cabinet with several other unfinished orphans, until this Fall when the project--which was always intended as something special for our kiddo, even though he was merely a glimmer in my eye when this all began--developed a little urgency.

I tried to quilt it myself, but got frustrated.  Plus, I thought it was going to make my little sewing machine blow up.  I ended up farming that step out to our local quilt shop, and just before New Year's I got a call that it was ready.  The only thing left to do was the binding.

After a perplexing night of making binding tape with Sweet Husband's help--during which I declared tiredly, "I think you're kind of better than other husbands"--and an afternoon of pinning and stitching....

....well, it has all sort of little flaws, but it's finished!

So, our "safe date" is passed and the quilt is finished.  Small man, you may now arrive anytime you would like.  

(And not to rush you--take all the time you need, of course--but if it's all the same, sooner would be really cool....)

And This Will Be His Room

Our formerly very spare, spare 'oom has been made over in anticipation of the small one's arrival.  

I went back and forth a lot on whether to do a "nursery" with all the "stuff" that entails.  We've really gotten a lot better about questioning purchases for ourselves, ("Do we really need that?  What isn't working about what we have now?") and, of course, that will go for the kiddo too.  

But when you're having a first baby it's hard to tell what you'll need and what you won't.  Thankfully, we got a lot of hand-me-downs from friends, but otherwise, I tried to choose carefully.  While different people have different opinions, of course, I couldn't see the need for a wipe warmer or a bottle rack or a swing or even a stroller, to start with.  (It will be February.  We have two slings.  And the stores will still be there in the Spring if we change our minds--or better yet, it will be garage sale season!)  In truth, the thought of getting all that stuff--and having to find places for it and clean around it and so on--stresses me out more than any possible convenience it could offer....at least, that's what I think right now, anyway.

One big item that we did decide to go ahead and buy is a crib.  We're going to give co-sleeping in our room a go, at least, but I wanted a) a place to put the baby down safely for naps, and b) to have everything set up for flexible sleeping arrangements depending on what our bub ends up preferring.  Now we have all sorts of options--the kiddo can sleep with us, we can move the crib into our room, we can let him sleep in his own room, he can sleep in the bathtub....I kid, but I do think it a good idea to be adaptable.  Parenting theories are fascinating, but where the rubber hits the road, we'll do what it takes to get him to sleep!

The bed, which we did not want to get rid of as it's our only guest accommodation, got some extra pillows and a new set of mostly Meryl-made coverings to turn it into a more couch-like-object.  (Thanks again to Lovely Amazing Sewing Friend who helped out with the finishing bits of the duvet cover when I got achy and frustrated.)
[Blankets galore, and books down at small person level.]  

And speaking of the handmade parts, can I just say, I'm reveling in the fact that I have such crafty friends.  It's like karma is wrapping me up in a fluffy quilt, handing me a cup of cocoa, and kissing me on the forehead.  Beautifully made blankets and burp clothes, little outfits, and even a nice stack of handmade diapers....it makes me all warm just thinking about it.  I know I'm repeating myself, but to me a knitted blanket is like a thousand good wishes made tangible--it's nice to have them directed my way.

Also--and maybe there is some correlation with above--the books!  While some are my treasured childhood favorites, we've gotten so many from friends and family too.  One friend even very wisely got the Peapod his own copy of "Beedle the Bard", so he wouldn't have to fight me for mine.  (The kid is welcome to my life's blood, but the Harry Potter books we may have to negotiate....)  
[Our diaper changing spot and the current winning candidate for "homecoming outfit".]

I wanted to use the top of the dresser (painted here) as a changing table, but there was not enough room for a changing pad and the necessary diapering bits (diaper cream, a bottle for wetting wipes, etc.).  So--a touch of IKEA--I hung a towel rail from the wall and added some baskets and hooks for holding things.  I was a little worried that the baskets would swing too much to be secure, but it's actually all quite sturdy.  

The diapers are in the top drawer of the dresser for easy access, and our wipes fit perfectly in an old CD crate I found at the flea market.

[A rocking chair, and old and new friends, all ready to roll.]

The rocking chair was an awesome freebie from Nice Also-Pregnant Friend who did not want to use it in her own nursery.  I've already spent a decent amount of time testing it out, and, with the soft throw and pillow on the seat, it's comfortable enough to linger in.

And tucked in the crib (for now) are a couple of little friends.  The bunny is a new pal, knitted by Dear Friend.  Sleepy Time (the puppy) is getting ready to become "real" (in the words of the Skin Horse) for a third generation now--quite the pedigree.  I keep intending to help him out with a little new stuffing one of these days, but he's charming as-is too, so it hasn't been top priority.

And a little mobile for fun.

The paper cranes came from the little flock I made last Fall.  The stick came from the back yard.  And the buttons came from our first shower, at which I specifically requested that everyone bring a button or bead as a "good wish" for the baby.  Some people brought vintage-y buttons, some more symbolic.  (The frog, for example, was from Nice Cousin, who explained that it was meant to be a memento of Sweet Husband's and her grandfather who was an avid frog collector.)  I think the combination of it all ended up quite pleasing, if I'm allowed to say so myself.

Not pictured?  A closet full of clothes, which, thanks to a spurt of industriousness last week are all washed and ready to go.  I know this will hurt my tough-as-nails reputation (har-har), but every few days I have to go in, open the closet door, and just look at them all.  Despite the frequent head-butts to my girlie parts--I believe he may actually be trying to tunnel out--it's still a little hard to believe that there will be a that-sized person here soon.

Resolutely Making No Plans

I like New Year's resolutions.  I always try to think of at least a few.  It's a good time to look back and take stock, and a good time to look forward and make plans. 

But this year...goodness, I don't even know where to start.  I feel a little like I'm going to be entering an alien world.  I can try and guess what might be useful to have or to know, but until the spaceship actually lands it's anyone's guess what conditions may be like on the ground.  I think just experiencing it all will be plenty!

I hope for a few months of cocooning, and maybe a little gardening and some knitting...but beyond that, this year, I'm sort of vowing to be open to go wherever the winds want to take me.

Anyone else making resolutions they'd like to share?

Thoughts on Home (With More Showering)

It's an odd journey, making a new town into "home".  Our first few years in Lawrence it was definitely not home.  "Home" was the town we both grew up in.  The place we went back to every other weekend.  The place where all our friends and family were.  Our apartment in Lawrence was more of a weekday sleeping place.

But suddenly it seems we've been here seven years, bought a house, put out all sorts of roots by way of friendships and traditions and learning the best places to go for this-and-that...basically all the things that make a place home.

This all hit me a little forcefully this weekend because some friends threw a little baby shower for us.  Such a thing would have been impossible five years ago--or, at least, a party of a half-dozen people at most.  But again, it seems, almost without realizing it was happening, we've made a whole little world up here.  Our living room was packed to the gills.

And the kiddo?  Well, he may eventually lack for something in life, but for at least his first year I can't think of what it could be.  It may be that I am underestimating how much bodily fluid one baby can produce, but it feels like we have enough outfits and diapers and blankets and toys and books for at least a set of twins...which, based on the way my ribs are getting kicked these days may be a possibility!  

(Kidding!  I saw the sonogram, and there is definitely only one baby in there--thank goodness!)

But it's nice to know that--in addition to being loved by his family and all set in worldly goods--our small fella will have such a lovely group of honorary aunties and uncles to love him too!

Two Tiny Sweaters

I set my limit at two.  Only two knitted sweaters in newborn sizes for the kiddo.

It had to be a hard and fast limit, as it would be easy to get carried away and make fifty.  Because of their size, newborn sweaters are just a little more time consuming than your average stocking cap.  I could probably churn out one or two a week, if I really got with it.  

But, even though he'll be born in Winter, it'll be Spring and Summer oh-so quickly, and he really won't need a dozen tiny wool sweaters.  I'll make many more in one-year sizes for next Winter, of course, but this year I was ruthless.  

Two.  Just two.

One of the two had to be a February Baby Sweater.  This is the second of these I've made, but the first one was lacy enough that I decided to gift it to Nice Co-Worker (expecting a baby girl), rather than keeping it myself.  For the boy, I traded the lace pattern and ribbon for a basic stockinette stitch with sturdy wooden buttons.  And, yes, that is a TON of buttons!  Next time I may follow that part of the pattern a bit less literally.  (Full details.)

For sweater number two, I went with this Wyatt pattern.  It ended up a little on the small size--to be fair to the designer, I knew my gauge was off when I started--but, unless the Wee Man comes out, well, Not-So-Wee, it should fit for the first few months at least.  And after that, as previously mentioned, wool sweaters will become unnecessary anyway, so.  (Details.)

I've Got Friends With Skills

Many moons ago, in high school, I had an older friend named Libby.  She graduated a few years before me, and we lost touch.  But--through the power of Facebook--we recently met up again, and it seems as if we have just a bit in common these days--both mamas (or soon-to-be-mama, in my case) of little boys, both attempting to go the earthy-crunchy, but still practical-and-sane parenting route, and I'm sure more besides.  

Via her Facebook feed, she kept touting the wonderfulness of HootHootBaby diapers.  I had pulled these diapers out and played dress-up with the test doll carefully examined these diapers at our local chi-chi baby store, so I asked, "I take it you like these diapers?"  Her response made me giggle, "Like them?  I make them!"  

You can guess what happened next, right?

 Well, of course, I had to order some!  

Most of the suggestions I've read about cloth diapering say to get just a few of lots of different kinds of diapers to see what fits your kiddo the best, so that's what we're doing.  But--while none have been put to the poop test yet--I have to say, these are freaking adorable.

And, best of all, they came personally delivered with a lovely evening of catching up!

Everything I Know About Obstetrics, I Learned From the Tudors

Somewhere along early-to-mid pregnancy, I got a call from our midwife, "Your blood test results are back--did you know that you're rh negative?"

"Huh," I thought, "Just like Anne Boleyn."

Quick and dirty explanation for those of you unfamiliar with blood typing and Tudor history.  "Rh negative" means you have a negative blood type.  This can cause problems in pregnancy if your Baby Daddy has a positive blood type that gets passed on to the baby, because, if ever your blood and the baby's should mix (in amniocentesis, a car accident, or--commonly--during delivery) your blood will make antibodies to fight the baby's blood.  Bad stuff!  

Most of the time it doesn't effect the first baby--if the blood doesn't mix until delivery, he's already out before it's a problem.  But, in subsequent pregnancies it can lead to pretty horrific complications and miscarriage.

Fortunately, modern medicine has come up with a shot (Rhogam) to prevent the formation of antibodies.  However, blood types weren't even discovered until sometime around 1900, so back in the 1500's women would have a healthy, normal first pregnancy and then nasty miscarriages from there on out.  

Which brings us back to Anne Boleyn.  One theory about her healthy first baby (Elizabeth I) and subsequent miscarriages, is that she was rh negative and Henry VIII was positive.

All of this got me thinking about how completely different Anne's life may have been if just a few of our modern practices had been available to her.  For example, in addition to the unavailability of Rhogam, she had to wait until her baby was born to find out its sex.  How would it have changed history if she could have gone in for an ultrasound at 20 weeks and ended the suspense early?

Or, since we're talking about Henry VIII's wives, what about poor, sweet Jane Seymour, who died of infection after spending three days in labor with Edward VII.  Say what you will about the over-abundance of c-sections in this country, but, again, how would history be different if one had been available to Jane?

And let's not even get into fertility treatments and older women having babies.  If IVF had existed, we may not even know the names of Henry's second and third wives, because he may have been able to conceive later with his first wife, Katherine of Aragon.  England's break with the Catholic church totally may not have occurred if Katherine could've had a healthy boy.  

Makes you grateful for modern medicine, for sure, but thinking about it all also makes me feel a sort of oneness with them.  Granted there's no danger that Sweet Husband will arrange for my murder if the Peapod surprises us and turns out to be a lady, but still.  It's neat to think of the univeral-ness of it all.  Jane most likely felt the fetal Edward kicking her in the ribs.  Anne reputedly shared my craving for apples.  Katherine lovingly hand-sewed bits of baby clothes....

It's fascinating to me to think about how I have those things in common with women who lived so long ago.  

Drug-Induced Ranting?

A little rant I've been saving up--can we talk about the pregnancy food and drug "rules"?

Here's the deal, I do actually trust my midwives--I really, really do--but they've also been very clear from the get go that they are not all-knowing gods, and I should feel free to educate myself and come to them with questions.  And the more you read about taking medication during pregnancy, the more I feel like no one has a clue.

Just so you know where I'm coming from, I haven't been a martyr for the past seven months.  Although I did abstain for the first trimester, I have indulged in the very occasional glass of wine since then.  I've also eaten sushi, lunch meat, soft cheeses, undercooked eggs, coffee...oh, and, yes, we're still drinking raw milk.  

I've done these things, not because I'm a weak-willed ninny who can't stand to go nine months without a drink and will probably dangle my baby over balconies and let him ride in open truck beds, but because I've looked at the risks and I find them unconvincing.  In short, a McDonald's cheeseburger scares me more than the immaculately prepared sushi at our local sushi spot.  Driving to work on the interstate every morning is riskier than the pristine milk coming from our favorite local farmer.  I make no judgements on people who view those risks differently, but that's been my conclusion for myself.

But the medication thing has been a hang up.  As the pregnancy books will tell you, the FDA rates drugs (for pregnancy purposes) on a scale of A, B, C, D, or X.  A is more or less safe, D and X are bad-bad-no-nos, B and C are the fuzzy area.  

For B: "Either animal-reproduction studies have not demonstrated a fetal risk but there are no controlled studies in pregnant women, or animal-reproduction studies have shown an adverse effect (other than a decrease in fertility) that was not confirmed in controlled studies in women in the first trimester (and there is no evidence of a risk in later trimesters)."

For C: "Either studies in animals have revealed adverse effects on the fetus (teratogenic or embryocidal or other) and there are no controlled studies in women, or studies in women and animals are not available. Drugs should be given only if the potential benefit justifies the potential risk to the fetus."

To paraphrase, this might be OK...or it might not.  We really just don't know!

I understand the difficulty testing this stuff--no pregnant woman wants her child to be a guinea pig--but it makes it hard to decide what to take drugs for and what to suffer through.  The Zyrtec I take for allergies (a B)?  Is OK...as far as we know.  The Sudafed I'm currently on for this monster head cold (a C)?  Dicier, but (after consultation with the midwives) probably better for the baby than me being miserable for days on end, or letting things go and ending up really, really sick.

But even the darned Sudafed is not helping me sleep much, which--scientifically provable or not--I'm willing to bet is the real cause of my ranty-ness.

I've Been Showered

Tee-hee...and not 'cause I'm stinky.

Incredible Sister-In-Law and Fabulous Auntie hosted a baby shower for me this weekend in our hometown.  

It was such a nice gathering.  So many times when we head "home" we're only there for a weekend, so just seeing immediate family is all we have time for.  It was great to see some old friends and extended family that I hadn't gotten to visit with in awhile.

And, of course, the Wee Man's trousseau was increased.  I'm not quite ready to show it off here yet, but--with the shower additions--his room is coming along well.  

(P.S. Thanks to Nice Cousin and Sweet Sister for taking the pictures!)

At the Beginning of the Third Trimester

There is apparently lots of disagreement on when the third trimester super-technically starts, but given that all calculation methods--give or take a few days--put me close to November 1st--a nice remember-a-ble date--I decided several months ago to just go with that.  (Also, while we're talking pregnancy math, the 40 weeks that a normal pregnancy takes?  Does not equal nine months.  They should start a public service ad campaign about that.)

So here we are--in the last lap now.  

All in all (knock-on-wood) I've had a pretty easy time of it, really.  A lot of tired, but only a little digestive stuff (nausea, heartburn), a little emotional stuff....nothing unbearable or scary.  Nonetheless, there's a lot that's been surprising to me.

I'm surprised at how much the baby is already here.  So much so that it almost feels silly to talk about "when the baby comes" in a future tense.  Yes, yes, a lot of it is just me imagining and attributing things to him, but I already feel like he's communicating sometimes.  

He kicks when it's been too long since the last meal or when he's getting squished because I'm sitting too close to my desk at work.  He practically swims laps in the mornings, as if to perkily say, "Good Morning Mama!"  (Lord help us, our kid is going to be a morning person!)  He kicks when I sing to him in the car--we like "Two of Us" by the Beatles and some Avett Brothers.  I can't decide if that kicking is supposed to be applause?  Or if it's a less flattering commentary on my singing voice?  Maybe I don't want to know.

I'm also a little surprised at how unafraid I am of actually having him, even given our choice to go with a basically med-free birth center.  It's not that I'm being brave.  I'm actually less afraid because we're not doing the hospital birth--just a wee phobia of mine.  Also I think having been in the room for Sweet Sister's birth, and knowing what to expect a bit, is helping a lot.  (She rolls her pretty tween-age eyes every time I re-tell the story, but I cut the cord!)

And I know that ignorance of the pain is bliss, but let me stay in my bubble, please.  First of all, it's not a bad thing.  Second, even if it is going to be excruciating, there's not much to do about it at this point but get through it--the kid can't live in my belly until he's 18.  It's a little late for fretting about it now.

(OK, that last paragraph there--see what I mean about surprising myself?  Every word is true, but it's also so out of character for me.  I worry about things I can't change all the time....)

I'm also surprised at how the dynamic of our marriage has changed just a bit.  

I'm not at all surprised that Sweet Husband has been wonderful and uncomplaining about picking up the slack around the house.  I married a good guy and I know it.  (I'm grateful for it every day, but it doesn't "surprise" me anymore.)  

It's just that, we had been very 50/50 before I got pregnant, and I don't think I quite foresaw how that would change.  I imagined myself going on very much like I had before--the same energy, the same ability to "do it all"--just with a little basketball tummy along for the ride.  I never thought that I would need someone to carry the laundry down the stairs of death because I've become so clumsy that it's frightening, or tackle home improvement projects alone, or feed me and tell me it's all going to be OK when my blood sugar gets low and the world seems to be caving in...and all for so very little, besides the occasional "You know I really, really do love you, right?"  Which is all to say, I never really understood how hard it would be for me to just lay back and let myself be taken care of for awhile, without the ability to ever really give back anything in exchange....

And now I'm getting all teary and sentimental--another little pregnancy side effect that I thought would never apply to me!

Oh, but, just because I still find it fascinating--the little guy is the size of a head of cauliflower this week!  Again, in an effort to be seasonal we're going to the squashes for comparisons, but thank goodness he's not really as big as this pumpkin!

 

Road Trip!

We took a little road trip to Dallas this weekend.  Our two-purpose mission?

Number 1:  To meet this small cousin (previously mentioned as Mr. #4), who has been in the world a disgracefully long time without having made our acquaintance.  (As in, it's disgraceful that we haven't made it to see him in six months!)

Number 2:  To visit the local IKEA, where we went on a massive shopping spree of Swedish designed baby goods.

Bonus:  A Halloween party, to which Nice Cousin's Hubby and Sweet Husband went as a famous Saturday Night Live pair (Hint: They're here to PUMP you UP!).  Nice Cousin and I went as audience members.  

(There was also some yarn purchasing and about sixteen hours of car-knitting done along the way, but more about that later!)

All in all it was missions accomplished and a very nice time had!

Phew! We Have a Plan

So, I think we have a childcare plan.  And by that I mean, we have chosen where we'd like the Small Man to go for daycare and applied and sent them money and all of that.  Which means we're at least more committed than we were yesterday.

I was surprised at how much making this decision stressed me out.  Like, crying-my-eyes-out stress.  It's actually about the most illogical emotion I've ever had in my life, and it was made all the more stressful because I couldn't (and can't) identify where it's coming from.  

Even setting the tricky financial bits that would ensue aside, it's not like I don't want to go back to work after the baby is born.  I can't imagine not doing this job.  Even on crappy days, I love the feeling of being able to help people who so badly need it, and I don't have any inkling of giving that up.  Plus, I'd be the world's crappiest stay-at-home mom--I'd never get out of my pj's and Sweet Husband would have to remind me to take showers.

And it's not like I'm afraid of daycares.  I've read more than my fair share of child-abuse-at-daycare cases, but I've also worked in childcare a bit too.  Although everyone has good days and bad days, I truly believe most people are basically well-intentioned and want the children in their charge to be safe and happy.  (And frankly, even if the kid stayed home with one of us full-time, we have good days and bad days too--no one can be sunshine and light all the time.)

And it's not that I didn't like the places we looked at.  Of course, there were a few that "felt" better than others, but there wasn't one where I was afraid our kiddo wouldn't be safe and well taken care of.

Really, if I had to nail it down, I guess it just felt like an overwhelmingly important decision.  Just really big.  

But--after logically talking it through many, many times--it all came down to two pretty clear paths we could take.  

Choice A was a beautiful, but expensive, Montessori daycare.  Literally, I got warm fuzzies walking into the place, but it was going to cost more than our mortgage.  

Choice B--which was the ultimate winner--was less warm-fuzzy, but still well within the realm of acceptable.  It had a place for even the babies to go outside on nice days.  The director was professional, yet warm enough that she didn't intimidate me.  (As opposed to sweet-but-flaky, or--on the other end of the spectrum--scary-business-like.)  And the people in the baby room were also both nice and experienced.  (Can you tell it's making me feel better to list this all out?)  Also, the lower price tag meant that Sweet Husband and I would get to spend significantly more time with the kiddo ourselves....which ended up being the major tipping point.  'Cause really, what's the point in having a kid if you never get to see him, yes?

I can't say that I'm not still a little...fragile...about it all.  (Perhaps the real culprit behind all of this angst is raging pregnancy hormones.)  But it does feel a lot better to have at least decided.

Now, on to more fun choices...like, do we need this for the wall in the baby's room?