A year ago at this time I was less than a week away from my wedding day. I was cutting calories (and carbs!), exercising, and thriving on stress. I was planning and preparing and struggling with sleepless nights trying to get everything done, both in my brain and in the real world. I'm so glad now that I blogged about the little mundane things, because they are lost in my memory banks somewhere far far away now.
And this year, this week is much the same in a very different way. I'm still frying food for the Mister and having to substitute for myself. But now instead of subbing a big salad and a bowl of fruit, I'm eating extra mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and ice cream or strawberry shortcake to make up for my inability to consume fried things :)
I'm still watching my waist line, but instead of measuring it daily to see if it's shrunk, I'm watching happily as it grows and becomes more round with each day. Rather than digging out my skinny jeans, I'm putting them away and opting for stretchy things (finally hehe).
Exercise? Well, I'm not running. I'm not even walking. But I waddle now and then :) Burning calories these days means climbing the stairs or taking the laundry to the laundry room.
Spending? It all goes to Target hehe. We needed lots and lots of baby things, and slowly but surely we have acquired at least the basic necessities. I'm not shelling out money for a beautiful dress or decorations. Now I'm buying diapers and blankies and everything in between.
Stress? Yes. But now I'm worrying about baby names and bedroom things rather than flowers and cake. Mmmm. Cake......
Oh and I'm a bit distractable ;)
It's funny how much can change in a year.
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
i waffle.
No, this isn't about some new kind of Apple breakfast gadget. Although, it is kind of catchy.
"Want me to make you breakfast? I'm just dying to use my new i-waffle." Hehe.
No.
The truth is, I waffle. Verb. As in, I can't make up my mind. I've always been horrible about this. I have a tendency sometimes to just shut-down and ignore something I don't know how to deal with, but lately it's been much worse.
For example, I still don't have baby bedding. It's not because I can't afford it, or because I haven't looked. I have looked. I have even bought a set and taken it back. I've looked at every store between here and the south side of Springfield. I've looked online. At everything. If you tell me what color scheme or theme you want to do in your nursery, I can probably tell you who has what you want for the best price. I KNOW what's out there.
But I can't decide.
It's been that way through this whole pregnancy. We save up some money and head to Springfield bound and determined to finish baby shopping, and then we get in the store and I waffle. I hem-haw as my granny would say. I like this, but I don't want to spend the money. I need this, but not right now, so maybe we should wait. We need bottles, but there are four hundred different kinds and I don't know which ones are best. I like this outfit, but does she need it? She might need more onesies, but maybe not. We'll just wait and see.
Wait and see.
Wait and see.
And usually, although I'm not good at making decisions, I'm a planner. I like to know what is happening and when and be prepared for it.
When I found out Chloe was a girl I already had her room ready. It was all done in Classic Pooh, with a perfect mix of baby blue, pink, green, and yellow, just waiting for extra touches of pink or blue, depending how the ultrasound went.
I didn't have firm names, but as soon as I found out she was a girl, I had named her within 24 hours. By the time I had my baby shower her name was hung on her wall and printed neatly in ink in various places. My shower cake had her name on it. I was ready. I knew what I wanted.
And now I'm so "eh," about everything.
Don't get me wrong. I can't WAIT until this baby gets here. I'm very excited about the arrival and about having a new member of our family. Babies are my FAVORITE and I think about her all the time. But right now I just can't seem to get it in gear. I want to. But I lack something. Motivation? Determination? First-time-mama-crazies? I don't know.
And instead of getting better, it's getting worse.
Much worse.
As in.
That name we picked?
I don't know anymore.
I have dreams that we change our minds and the nurses won't let us change her name.
Chloe or my mom calls the baby by her name and it makes me feel all.....weird.
And the Mister and I still call her bebe, or "the baby." We never refer to her by name. Ever.
I like the name we chose. And if we end up sticking with it, I won't be unhappy or disappointed, I don't think, but there's just something about it that doesn't feel final. I feel unsettled.
But the thought of going back and agreeing on another name is daunting. There's nothing else I necessarily prefer. I just can't seem to shake that feeling that there might be a better choice for her. For us. For me.
Sigh.
Seven weeks and five days.
But who's counting?
Not me. I'm too busy waffling.
"Want me to make you breakfast? I'm just dying to use my new i-waffle." Hehe.
No.
The truth is, I waffle. Verb. As in, I can't make up my mind. I've always been horrible about this. I have a tendency sometimes to just shut-down and ignore something I don't know how to deal with, but lately it's been much worse.
For example, I still don't have baby bedding. It's not because I can't afford it, or because I haven't looked. I have looked. I have even bought a set and taken it back. I've looked at every store between here and the south side of Springfield. I've looked online. At everything. If you tell me what color scheme or theme you want to do in your nursery, I can probably tell you who has what you want for the best price. I KNOW what's out there.
But I can't decide.
It's been that way through this whole pregnancy. We save up some money and head to Springfield bound and determined to finish baby shopping, and then we get in the store and I waffle. I hem-haw as my granny would say. I like this, but I don't want to spend the money. I need this, but not right now, so maybe we should wait. We need bottles, but there are four hundred different kinds and I don't know which ones are best. I like this outfit, but does she need it? She might need more onesies, but maybe not. We'll just wait and see.
Wait and see.
Wait and see.
And usually, although I'm not good at making decisions, I'm a planner. I like to know what is happening and when and be prepared for it.
When I found out Chloe was a girl I already had her room ready. It was all done in Classic Pooh, with a perfect mix of baby blue, pink, green, and yellow, just waiting for extra touches of pink or blue, depending how the ultrasound went.
I didn't have firm names, but as soon as I found out she was a girl, I had named her within 24 hours. By the time I had my baby shower her name was hung on her wall and printed neatly in ink in various places. My shower cake had her name on it. I was ready. I knew what I wanted.
And now I'm so "eh," about everything.
Don't get me wrong. I can't WAIT until this baby gets here. I'm very excited about the arrival and about having a new member of our family. Babies are my FAVORITE and I think about her all the time. But right now I just can't seem to get it in gear. I want to. But I lack something. Motivation? Determination? First-time-mama-crazies? I don't know.
And instead of getting better, it's getting worse.
Much worse.
As in.
That name we picked?
I don't know anymore.
I have dreams that we change our minds and the nurses won't let us change her name.
Chloe or my mom calls the baby by her name and it makes me feel all.....weird.
And the Mister and I still call her bebe, or "the baby." We never refer to her by name. Ever.
I like the name we chose. And if we end up sticking with it, I won't be unhappy or disappointed, I don't think, but there's just something about it that doesn't feel final. I feel unsettled.
But the thought of going back and agreeing on another name is daunting. There's nothing else I necessarily prefer. I just can't seem to shake that feeling that there might be a better choice for her. For us. For me.
Sigh.
Seven weeks and five days.
But who's counting?
Not me. I'm too busy waffling.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Marks of Love
"Mom, why can't I have macaroni and cheese every day?" Chloe asked me the other evening.
"Well, it's not very good for you," I explained. "It's just a lot of fat and fillers. It's ok now and then, but you don't want to eat it a lot," I told her. She pondered what I had said.
"You don't want me to be chubby like Suzie, do ya?" she concluded.
Stop. I had to stop and contemplate what I would say to her. This was a prime time to discuss body image, and I didn't want to give her the wrong idea. How did I tell her that no, I don't WANT her to be "chubby," as she put it, but that if she IS chubby, she should love herself anyway and not be obsessed with skinny. I have a hard time embracing my own body, how can I teach HER to do it?
"I want you to be healthy, but I don't care what you look like as long as you are healthy," I told her.
"Ahhh!" she said, as if having had a EUREKA moment. "I see. So you let me have mac and cheese SOMETIMES even 'doh it has fat, because I need to grow my curves."
"Huh?"
"Girls shouldn't be straight like a boy. Day need ta grow dere curves so dey will be pretty like a lady," she told me. I smiled.
She was right. I find myself struggling so often with weight and body image, and from the mouth of a five year-old comes a nugget of wisdom. Here I was trying to teach HER a lesson, and she was teaching me one.
But the kicker came just a few nights ago.
Every night after we have both taken a bath, we sit together and put on our lotion. She struggles with eczema, so I have to keep her hydrated, and it's no secret she loves getting her back and belly rubbed every night. She, in turn, likes to put my belly balm on my belly, being sure to get IN my belly button so that the baby can have some, too ;)
As she was putting it on the other night, she asked me why I just put it on my belly.
"To keep it from getting too dry," I replied. "When my skin is dry, it gets really tight, and with the baby growing and pulling my skin, it will stretch easier if it's not so dry," I went on to explain.
"Did you use it wif me?" she asked? I told her I did. She put some more on her little finger and rubbed it just below my belly button.
"Here. Let me put some on your stretch marks. I was a big girl, wasn't I? To make dose."
I was quiet. There are one or two things I'm super-sensitive about, and those scars of motherhood are definitely one of them. "I don't want to talk about those," I told her quietly.
"Why? Dere so beautiful," she said with a smile.
I know she picked up on my tone and my mood. I know she knew it bothered me and was just trying to make me feel better.
"I don't think so," I said.
"Day are. Day make your skin look like it's got pretty lace on it. Like your weddin' dress. See my belly? My skin is just (scrunchy face) all plain and boring. You have a lacey belly. I hope when I have a baby I get a lacey belly," She said with a smile.
And while I KNOW they're not pretty and they DON'T look like lace, the fact that she went to such great lenghts to try and CHANGE my perception amazes me. Now every time I see them, instead of ugly scars, I see wedding lace. And I feel love. And now it's more than just the mark of becoming a mother. It's a mark of love.
The biggest thing I learned? Teaching her about body image may not be as important as SHOWING her how to love your body. A lesson that SHE taught ME.
"Well, it's not very good for you," I explained. "It's just a lot of fat and fillers. It's ok now and then, but you don't want to eat it a lot," I told her. She pondered what I had said.
"You don't want me to be chubby like Suzie, do ya?" she concluded.
Stop. I had to stop and contemplate what I would say to her. This was a prime time to discuss body image, and I didn't want to give her the wrong idea. How did I tell her that no, I don't WANT her to be "chubby," as she put it, but that if she IS chubby, she should love herself anyway and not be obsessed with skinny. I have a hard time embracing my own body, how can I teach HER to do it?
"I want you to be healthy, but I don't care what you look like as long as you are healthy," I told her.
"Ahhh!" she said, as if having had a EUREKA moment. "I see. So you let me have mac and cheese SOMETIMES even 'doh it has fat, because I need to grow my curves."
"Huh?"
"Girls shouldn't be straight like a boy. Day need ta grow dere curves so dey will be pretty like a lady," she told me. I smiled.
She was right. I find myself struggling so often with weight and body image, and from the mouth of a five year-old comes a nugget of wisdom. Here I was trying to teach HER a lesson, and she was teaching me one.
But the kicker came just a few nights ago.
Every night after we have both taken a bath, we sit together and put on our lotion. She struggles with eczema, so I have to keep her hydrated, and it's no secret she loves getting her back and belly rubbed every night. She, in turn, likes to put my belly balm on my belly, being sure to get IN my belly button so that the baby can have some, too ;)
As she was putting it on the other night, she asked me why I just put it on my belly.
"To keep it from getting too dry," I replied. "When my skin is dry, it gets really tight, and with the baby growing and pulling my skin, it will stretch easier if it's not so dry," I went on to explain.
"Did you use it wif me?" she asked? I told her I did. She put some more on her little finger and rubbed it just below my belly button.
"Here. Let me put some on your stretch marks. I was a big girl, wasn't I? To make dose."
I was quiet. There are one or two things I'm super-sensitive about, and those scars of motherhood are definitely one of them. "I don't want to talk about those," I told her quietly.
"Why? Dere so beautiful," she said with a smile.
I know she picked up on my tone and my mood. I know she knew it bothered me and was just trying to make me feel better.
"I don't think so," I said.
"Day are. Day make your skin look like it's got pretty lace on it. Like your weddin' dress. See my belly? My skin is just (scrunchy face) all plain and boring. You have a lacey belly. I hope when I have a baby I get a lacey belly," She said with a smile.
And while I KNOW they're not pretty and they DON'T look like lace, the fact that she went to such great lenghts to try and CHANGE my perception amazes me. Now every time I see them, instead of ugly scars, I see wedding lace. And I feel love. And now it's more than just the mark of becoming a mother. It's a mark of love.
The biggest thing I learned? Teaching her about body image may not be as important as SHOWING her how to love your body. A lesson that SHE taught ME.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Birthday Blahs
"Hey, Mom, whatcha wanna do fun for your birffday?" Chloe asked me just a day or two ago. It's less than a week until the "big" day, and I have to say I'm not feeling it this year. At all.
"I'm one of those unlucky January birthday people, Chlo. There's nothing fun to do on a January birthday. Can't go to the beach or have a pool party. Can't go to the park. Half the time it snows." I said, kind of sadly.
I was worried about turning 30 last year, but ended up taking it like a champ. Turns out it's being OVER 30 that bugs me. And I mean bugs me. I'm just really dreading this birthday.
Like I told Chloe, it's January. I just got the tree down. No more glow of the twinkly lights or smell of sugar cookies. The post-Christmas let-down makes it even tougher to get excited. We're expecting a baby, and have so much to buy and do before May. So shopping or anything of the sort will only cause guilt over money spent that needs to be saved.
And baby on the way means I won't even get to enjoy my two Long Island Iced Teas during my birthday dinner at Applebee's.
Sigh.
So what's left for a pregnant 31-year old to do on her January birthday? Sit on the couch and eat cake, I suppose. Two pieces. ;) I don't mean to be melodramatic, I just think this might be yet another birthday meltdown year =/ Cheers.
"I'm one of those unlucky January birthday people, Chlo. There's nothing fun to do on a January birthday. Can't go to the beach or have a pool party. Can't go to the park. Half the time it snows." I said, kind of sadly.
I was worried about turning 30 last year, but ended up taking it like a champ. Turns out it's being OVER 30 that bugs me. And I mean bugs me. I'm just really dreading this birthday.
Like I told Chloe, it's January. I just got the tree down. No more glow of the twinkly lights or smell of sugar cookies. The post-Christmas let-down makes it even tougher to get excited. We're expecting a baby, and have so much to buy and do before May. So shopping or anything of the sort will only cause guilt over money spent that needs to be saved.
And baby on the way means I won't even get to enjoy my two Long Island Iced Teas during my birthday dinner at Applebee's.
Sigh.
So what's left for a pregnant 31-year old to do on her January birthday? Sit on the couch and eat cake, I suppose. Two pieces. ;) I don't mean to be melodramatic, I just think this might be yet another birthday meltdown year =/ Cheers.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Step 1: Admit you have hormones
I forgot how crazy raging pregnancy hormones can make a woman.
Some would argue that I'm borderline as it is, so throw this hormonal rampage in the mix, and you've got something scary on your hands!
Sometimes I *know* I'm being hormonal, and other times I feel I have completely just reasons for my rage/anger/uncontrollable crying/elation. Then a few days later I look back and laugh at how wrong I really was in believing it was anything BUT my hormones.
Let me walk you through myhormonal rampage day:
7:15am I'm puking. And probably crying, or seething, depending on which side of the bed I woke up on.
8:15am Breakfast time. Watch a little tv. The Pampers commercials have me bawling like a baby. So happily anticipating the arrival of my wee one.
9:00am Roll into work. Some olddoucher man has a smart-ass comment to make about me being "late," (like he sets my schedule) or about something I should be doing.
9:01am Olddoucher man gets his head snapped off, as does anyone else who crosses me between now and lunch.
12:00pm LUNCH time. I'm either happily eating, or puking from the smell of the boys' lunch. I feel better either way, and enjoy visiting with my hubby for a while. Happy happy mommy.
3:15pm Chloe gets off the bus. So happy to see her. Hugs and love.
4:00pm Chloe is bored and driving me nuts. A newdoucher man comes in and teases her. Mama bear comes out. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
5:00pm Time to go home, YAY! A quick surge of energy as I gather our things and head home. I quickly do some dishes and start dinner. Happy mama.
6:00pm I'm exhausted. The day has more than caught up with me and all I want to do is lie down. But there are more dishes to do. Chloe is out of jeans, so I have to do laundry. The supper needs cleaned up. Chlo needs a bath. I need a bath. And I just want to sleep.
Instead I cry.
Or seeth. Depending on which side of the bed I woke up on today.
7:00pm Puking resumes. More tears.
8:00pm Chloe is getting out of the tub. I'm mustetring up the strength to get off the couch. Hubby has the nerve to mention something I FORGOT to clean/do. I seeth.
8:30 I'm tucking her in. Reading a book. Her soft little cheeks are so kissable. I'm suddenly sorry that I felt irritated earlier, that I am so tired, and that I didn't want to play Polly Pockets with her. It makes me feel even more guilty that she is so understanding and loving. I hide tears as I tuck her into bed and squeeze her tight. So much love.
9:00 I can finally go to bed. Relief washes over me. I want to visit with my hubby. Snuggle and love. But instead I mumble, "I love you," as my head hits the pillow and my eyes fall shut. And somehow he knows that means I'm sorry for my hormones. I wasn't really mad, and even though I don't feel like doing anything but sleeping, I still love him more than anything.
9:05 He closes his eyes and prays I wake up on the right side of the bed :)
Some would argue that I'm borderline as it is, so throw this hormonal rampage in the mix, and you've got something scary on your hands!
Sometimes I *know* I'm being hormonal, and other times I feel I have completely just reasons for my rage/anger/uncontrollable crying/elation. Then a few days later I look back and laugh at how wrong I really was in believing it was anything BUT my hormones.
Let me walk you through my
7:15am I'm puking. And probably crying, or seething, depending on which side of the bed I woke up on.
8:15am Breakfast time. Watch a little tv. The Pampers commercials have me bawling like a baby. So happily anticipating the arrival of my wee one.
9:00am Roll into work. Some old
9:01am Old
12:00pm LUNCH time. I'm either happily eating, or puking from the smell of the boys' lunch. I feel better either way, and enjoy visiting with my hubby for a while. Happy happy mommy.
3:15pm Chloe gets off the bus. So happy to see her. Hugs and love.
4:00pm Chloe is bored and driving me nuts. A new
5:00pm Time to go home, YAY! A quick surge of energy as I gather our things and head home. I quickly do some dishes and start dinner. Happy mama.
6:00pm I'm exhausted. The day has more than caught up with me and all I want to do is lie down. But there are more dishes to do. Chloe is out of jeans, so I have to do laundry. The supper needs cleaned up. Chlo needs a bath. I need a bath. And I just want to sleep.
Instead I cry.
Or seeth. Depending on which side of the bed I woke up on today.
7:00pm Puking resumes. More tears.
8:00pm Chloe is getting out of the tub. I'm mustetring up the strength to get off the couch. Hubby has the nerve to mention something I FORGOT to clean/do. I seeth.
8:30 I'm tucking her in. Reading a book. Her soft little cheeks are so kissable. I'm suddenly sorry that I felt irritated earlier, that I am so tired, and that I didn't want to play Polly Pockets with her. It makes me feel even more guilty that she is so understanding and loving. I hide tears as I tuck her into bed and squeeze her tight. So much love.
9:00 I can finally go to bed. Relief washes over me. I want to visit with my hubby. Snuggle and love. But instead I mumble, "I love you," as my head hits the pillow and my eyes fall shut. And somehow he knows that means I'm sorry for my hormones. I wasn't really mad, and even though I don't feel like doing anything but sleeping, I still love him more than anything.
9:05 He closes his eyes and prays I wake up on the right side of the bed :)
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