Monster is not impressed.

Monster is not impressed.

I’ve shared this picture on pretty much every social media site I’m on, but I love it so hard. Monster by Cutesy but Not Cutesy, picked up at this year’s Crafty Bastards.

Crafty Bastards always holds a special place in my heart – I sold at the very first one in 2003 with some friends as a way to make money. I was brand new to DC, making $800 a month as an intern at Arena Stage, living with my aunt and crazily, crazily obsessed with knitting. I was (and still am) a gregarious introvert… which means that I talk a lot, but I have no idea how to interact with people offline, so I found a few friends from LiveJournal (remember livejournal?!) who were local and had similar obsessions. They were paying for a booth to sell yarn and some hats and I figured I’d knit some fun fur scarves and make some cash. That was the beginning of a very, very brief craft fair career, which thankfully died a quiet death.

Anyway, this is all completely irrelevant except to say that I still go to Crafty Bastards annually, except when I’m lazy and/or out of state. Someone gifted us the fancy pants baby swing from the registry, so I figured I’d send the giver a picture and I’d pull out the new Monster we got for the baby to chew on once she’s big enough.

I left Monster in the swing and started generally tidying… then I had to pull it out of the dog’s mouth 5 minutes later. Baby is going to have to learn pretty quick that if she doesn’t want the dog to have it, she can’t throw it on the ground.

OMG, Friday

My due date is Friday. There is every expectation that I’m going to be late, first time mom and all. But seriously, any time now. Any time. OMG.

Regardless of baby, I also stop working after Friday, and honestly, I am so relieved. Things are super busy, I’m training my replacement and I don’t have enough hours in the day right now. I’m cleaning major tasks off my plate, but it’s a lot. The idea of being able to be home, sleep 10 hours, walk the dog whenever, take a nap, make more burritos (… we may have dipped into the freezer stash a bit…), god damn, it’s a relief.

Baby’s room is nearly done, though the crib is more storage than anything else. I’ve told the wife I won’t go into labor until the room is finished. I’ll post pictures when it is. The wife has done some serious work on it and it’s beautiful (she thinks it’s the best decorated room in the house… and she might be right!). She probably won’t even sleep there for the first 3 months (we have a bassinet I’m keeping next to our bed, the closest compromise we have for co-sleeping), but knowing that it’s done, that I can duck in there at 3am and feed the baby while rocking on the glider… it’s going to be a huge relief.

So, basically, right now, I am Jessie Spano.

But, you know, without the need to go to rehab. And if I wasn’t a little scared, frankly, I should be. We’re bringing a people into the world. There’s no takebacks, no undo button, no reset. This is huge (but also she’s going to be very tiny!). I can’t wait and I’m terrified I’m going to screw it up tremendously. You know, the way every new parent feels, except for the part where I am an incredibly unique individual and my experiences are different from everyone else’s.

Yesterday in Food

The past week, it seems like I am never, ever eating enough and everything results in low blood sugar nausea. As a result, I am eating constantly. Here, I made you a list:

8:15 – granola bar #1, small glass mango smoothie, iron pill

9:15 – almond butter (yes, from the jar, don’t you judge me), apple #1, coffee

10:15 – granola bar #2

11:45 – (large) handful chocolate covered almonds

1:30 – lunch! chicken apple sausage, arugula salad with chili lime almonds & brie, apple #2, more coffee, prenatal vitamin, DHA

3:45 – brie & crackers (no more sugar!)

4:15 – granola bar #3

5:30 – graze nut box (yes, even with a 6:30 dinner date) (referral link)

6:45 – far more than I care to admit of a tater tot appetizer

7:15 – dinner! cheeseburger & salad. and maybe some more tots.

9:15 – oatmeal cookie

11pm – granola bar #4

And then the burger or tots gave me horrible stomach troubles at 3am last night that have still not resolved themselves. So that was fun.

Moral of the story is I’m giving birth to a granola bar.

How do I do this?

39 weeks. It’s so close, even though the midwife tells me, statistically, I’ll be late. Midwives allayed my unfounded worries that there’s something secretly wrong with the baby.

Today, I find my anxiety shifting. How am I going to be a parent? How am I going to figure out breastfeeding a newborn and going to grad school one night a week? How am I going to do my capstone with a two month old? How do I transition from school and baby to work, school and baby? How will I handle pumping? My request to work remotely one day a week just got denied, so that’s fun.

I think I can handle it. I’m deliberately keeping my class load light, I can drop out if I need to, I’m not the only person with kids in my program.

I just… It’s getting so close. So much to juggle, but it’s all relatively straightforward. How will I cope?

38 Weeks

They don’t tell you that you’re going to go from having to pee 2-3 times a night to every 60-90 minutes.

They don’t tell you that getting out of bed will require you to use the nightstand for leverage.

They don’t tell you that kneeling for an hour to put together furniture for an hour will result in a day of sore knees and glutes.

They don’t tell you that you will be constantly ravenous but your stomach won’t be able to hold much food.

They don’t tell you that the insomnia will hit again, causing you to wake 60-90 minutes before your alarm so you can just stare at it until it’s time to get up.

They don’t tell you that you’ll finally hit the pregnant lady waddle or how enormous you’ll look.

They don’t tell you that raspberry leaf tea takes like disgusting green water or how big the evening primrose capsules are to swallow.

I am beginning to understand why some women are like ‘GET IT OUT’ around this time. I’m not that uncomfortable and I would still like her to keep cooking (if for no other reason than my favorite midwives are on call the weekend she’s due), but… I’m starting to get it.

Good Intentions

Tell me I’m going to deliver early. Tell me I can’t have the baby yet. Tell me that the full moon means she’ll come that week. TELL ME ONE MORE THING ABOUT MY BODY AND WHAT’S APPROPRIATE FOR IT TO DO.

Your good intentions are killing me inside. Seriously.

Because they mean so. freaking. well. They (and it’s 9/10 times women with adult children) just want to share! It’s not going to be like you expect. All of these things will happen. Your plans will never last longer than a second. Cloth diapering is cumbersome (not these days! cloth diapers are made of genius and magic and will probably still be a giant pain, yet). You’re not going to want to come back to work. Blah blah blah.

First, I find it SO FRUSTRATING at the “you’re not going to want to go back to work.” Because I don’t think you realize how much of a fucking privilege it is to have a parent stay at home with a child. I am sure I am going to spend the first week back in the office crying about how much I miss the baby. But I don’t have a choice, as I have repeatedly stated. If this baby wants health insurance, I will be at work. Also, we will be having a parent at home with the baby. It’s just not going to be me. And you know, if I realize I’d much rather be at work than home with the baby, hey, thanks for making me feel bad about that choice!

I can’t feel mad at people for wanting to help and offering what they perceive to be well meaning advice. But it continues to feel like people are trying to dictate what my body should do, how I should feel and how I should react to that. It’s beyond frustrating and it’s almost condescending. Yes, it is Monday and I am back at work! My due date isn’t until next Friday and I didn’t tell you I went into labor! Don’t be surprised!

I’m not having this baby until Halloween just to spite everyone.