Run in Circles and Carry a Big Stick?

About a week ago we had our first warm day of the year. My husband and I were driving around town and everywhere we looked, people were out enjoying the weather: jogging with their dogs, riding bikes, or taking walks with their families. I began to notice a pattern--all the little boys I saw were carrying big sticks.

I commented on this to my husband. He raised his eyebrow at me and said, "that's what little boys do."

"What do they do with them?"

"Hit trees. Or the side of the house. Or each other." He seemed so very matter-of-fact about it, and I felt a little silly for not previously realizing that little boys play with big sticks.

"Why?"

Husband went on to explain that the sticks were merely a starting point, and from there they moved on to things like pirate swords and light sabers. Now, pirate swords and light sabers I can see, and for a moment I lost myself in a mini-fantasy about bringing my son to Disney World and getting him a cute little Captain Jack Sparrow costume and letting him run amok in the Magic Kingdom. Grudgingly, I dragged myself out of what is not the first Disney-related daydream, and got back to the matter at hand. Sticks, hmmm. I thought about this for a few days, and asked all of the men I came across if they played with sticks when they were little. All of them answered with a resounding yes--and one even admitted to still finding himself a stick to carry around when he went to the park with his fiance.

This is not the first time I had thoughts about the differences in little boy and little girl playthings. Now, I know that it is important to be gender neutral and supply our son with a wide range of toys to play with. I've read the studies, the books, and the articles that talk about gender neutrality and the chemical differences between the male and female brain (I still don't know where I fall on all that, and it's another blog entirely). I do think (and this is a sweeping generalization) that overall, stereotypes are correct. When I taught preschool, I had a class that was completely divided: 6 boys and 6 girls. And if left to their own devices, girls would sit and color and boys would get the tonka trucks and run stuffed animals over. That was quite a class, remind me to tell you about it later.

My point is, I'm a girl. I know what little girls do. I don't think I ever picked up a stick for the sake of whacking something. I like arts and crafts. I like princess movies. I like playing tea party. What on earth am I going to do with a little boy?

Luckily, my husband is allllll over this. I am currently being trained in the fine art of transformers--decepticons vs. autobots, how to fit all those little parts together to make the monster robot turn into a bad ass truck, and I even have my own transformer. He transforms into a toaster. If I get annoyed with you, I will whip out my toaster and make him growl at you. Be very afraid.
I am fairly well versed in football, but heaven help me if my son decides he likes basketball or soccer. I still have a very girly reaction to those games--aren't they just running back and forth? I sorta know my pokemon characters, and I do a mean Bulbasaur impersonation. I still get the Star Wars movies mixed up with each other, and I don't think I'll ever truly understand the Matrix movies.

It is easy for me to get worked up about the myriad of boy things I want to learn before our son arrives. Then I think hey, why worry--I'll just find him a big stick and let his imagination take over.

Daddy's Little Running Back

We are starting to see a pattern with our son at ultrasounds: he lays where he is comfortable, and there is nothing myself or any nurse is going to do about it. Yesterday at our 19-week ultrasound, there was no amount of wiggling, jiggling, or moving myself around that was going to convince the little stinker to move out of his apparently cozy breech position.

While he wasn't interested in moving his whole body, he was punching and kicking up a storm. This was really fun to see, because previously we haven't seen any obvious movement through an ultrasound and I haven't felt anything that I can firmly say was the baby. His little legs were moving a mile a minute, and every now and then he would reach down and hang on to one of his feet with his hands. We could see individual fingers and toes, and of course the little spine that I've been watching since he was just a little baby blur.

I had been joking to my husband that the baby was sitting on my bladder, and the nurse confirmed it: baby boy had his rump directly on my bladder, and every now and then one of those kicks hit it square and center. I may not be able to feel him kick, but I can definitely tell when he relocates to resting on my bladder (which he usually chooses to do right as I get in the car or am drifting off the sleep).

Other stats from our visit:

• Little man measures about 6 inches from head to rear end, 9 inches if you measure down to his toes (that's the size of a mango for you foodies out there).
• He weighs about half a pound. By the end of my fifth month (3 more weeks) he'll be up to a whole pound.
• His heart rate continues to be strong and on the higher end--150 bpm.
• I've gained another six pounds, bringing the grand total up to 11 so far. My blood pressure is still great.

We have another ultrasound and doctor appointment in two weeks, and by then I should be feeling the little guy all the time. People keep telling me to enjoy the peace while I can, but I still can't wait to be poked back. And I really can't wait for my husband to feel his little running back in action.

Destination Maternity

Today I went into my first maternity clothing store to buy pants. I have been able to put this off up until now because of a very dear friend who has not only offered me advice and support but an entire wardrobe of maternity clothes. However, I'm having the same problem with maternity pants that I have with regular pants: they are always too short. So I hunted down a store that carried maternity pants for tall people and off I went this morning.

At our mall, all of the maternity shops are gathered into one shop and aptly called Destination Maternity. The person in charge of store location in our mall must have a cruel and twisted sense of humor, because Destination Maternity was located right next store to Victoria Secret.

The moment I walked inside, I was shocked to see that the sales people were not pregnant ladies. The moment after I had that thought I realized what a bizarre and irrational expectation that was. Of course the store was not staffed by pregnant people--can you imagine the hormonal cat fights that would ensue in a store where only pregnant women worked? Or the scheduling nightmare, working around doctor appointments and morning sickness?

The sales woman that noticed me first was small, skinny and slightly smug looking. She cornered me immediately and overwhelmed me with whatever perfume she was wearing. I answered her questions as best I could without inhaling too often: I was in my fifth month, first pregnancy, looking for pants, having a boy. No, I wasn't currently working so I didn't need to look at suits, skirts, or anything tweed. Just the pants, please.

Skinny and Smug led me around the store, starting with the $350 pair of designer pregnancy jeans (who pays that kind of money for pants you can wear for four months, tops?) and we eventually got to a section of the store where the clothes were a little more reasonably priced. I picked out a few pairs of pants and was led to a dressing room, closed the curtain quickly and took a deep breath of fresh air.

Despite the fact that I had said (over and over) that I was only looking for pants, several tops, dresses and even a bathing suit had been slipped into my room. I had just gotten on a pair of pants when she-who-swims-in-perfume burst in with a pillow contraption. She told me that I was sooo tiny for five months along that she wanted me to see what I would look like later. She strapped the imitation pregnant belly around my waist, snapped the paneling of the maternity pants, and yanked my t-shirt down over it.

"This is our seven month size," she said, then left me to stare at the bulging mound she had created for me. Seven months? That is only a month and a half away, and the fake belly made me HUGE. When would I have time to gain all that weight? Does it happen suddenly, like the first 5-10 pounds? Am I just going to wake up one day and look like I'm shoplifting a watermelon under my shirt?

Suddenly my hyperventilating was not caused by the fact that the sales lady smelled like she lived at the cosmetic counter at Macy's. I yanked off the fake belly and patted the significantly smaller bulge that is baby boy, and told him mentally that he should grow at whatever rate he wanted, and mommy promises not to freak out again if he needed to put on all his weight in a 24-hour period. I explained to him that seeing the fake belly stuffed under my normal sized t-shirt was exciting but extremely overwhelming, and since his daddy was not around to calm mommy down and she had to drive home by herself, it was better that we didn't get too worked up.

I made quick work of the other clothes I wanted to try on, even with the interruptions from the staff, and escaped out to my car with two new pairs of pants that will fit through the rest of my pregnancy, no matter when (or at what speed) our little guy decides to grow.

Thankful

I just have to take a minute and say how thankful I am for my husband.

He works two jobs and has countless projects going on, yet where was he at 3 AM Tuesday morning? Retrieving sprite and cheerios for me, and sitting up in bed watching "Friends" with me and trying to distract me from this disgusting second trimester sickness that just won't seem to go away. I can't remember the last time he had a full night of sleep, and yet he's always cheerful and never loses his patience with me. On days when I feel frustrated with myself that I don't even have the energy to get off the couch and take a shower or make the bed, he reminds me that I am growing a person and that's all I need to focus on. I'm a spoiled, lucky girl and I'm so thankful that he is my partner. If our son turns out to be half the man he is, I'll consider that a success.

Cats and Babies, volume 2

This post actually has very little to do with babies, and a lot to do with how far I can be pushed before I give in.

Our cat loves the bathtub. I don't know why. Sometimes he licks the water out of it, and sometimes he just sits in it. We decided several months ago to keep him out of the bathroom, because when he hangs out in the tub I have to clean it out every couple of days. Cleaning out the tub is not something I love to do, pregnant or not. I also worry that he'll lick up some soap residue or something and get sick, and then I'll have to clean up more than just the tub. Blech.

Over the past few days he has become more and more insistent about getting into the bathroom--he'll lean against the door when one of us is in there, and then when the door opens he bolts in and careens towards the tub. This is especially not amusing when it's 2:30 in the morning and he darts under my legs in the dark, threatening my already precarious sense of balance.

The battle for the bathtub came to a head last night. It started around midnight. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Over and over again. When that got no response, the cat let out a delightful half meow half howl that made me bolt out of bed to make sure he wasn't hurt, stuck somewhere, or dying (because, despite all the complaining I do, I really do love that animal). No, he was just sitting outside the bathroom door with huge kitty eyes that usually mean he's in a fightin' mood. I told him no, and went back to bed.

This went on all night. Eventually I had to use the bathroom, and while I was in there, he stuck his paws under the door and howled. When the door opened, under my feet he went and I had to drag him back out. Apparently, I didn't shut the door all the way because a few minutes later, when I was back in bed and just falling asleep, I hear thud thud thud creeeak. Sure enough, the cat had thrown his body weight against the door, gotten it open, and had his head in the drain by the time I stumbled in there. After I pulled him out, I checked his food, gave him fresh water in his bowl, and went back to bed.

This only angered the beast. We spent the rest of the night in this routine, only he mixed it up by coming to my side of the bed occasionally to howl.

After this overnight test of will, it got me thinking: should I just let the cat into the bathroom? I mean really, whats the big deal--other than the fact I've been telling him no for months now? He obviously understands. I feel like if I give in now, I will be a kitty enabler. If I'm such a pushover with the cat, what am I going to do when my son pushes my buttons? When I put him in his crib at night, and he screams and screams only to grin at me when I finally go in, am I going to let him get up/sleep with mommy and daddy/have a cookie or whatever it is he wants? Maybe that doesn't seem like such a big deal, but what about when he gets older and he's used to Mommy being a pushover?

I have no good answer. I guess it's just one of those things that we'll handle on a case-by-case basis. But I will say this: it is now past noon on the day after the epic bathroom skirmish, and I am still in my pajamas, hair unbrushed, trying to find the energy to start packing up our apartment. And the cat? He's sound asleep, in the middle of our bed, with a smug look on his face.

Beats and Kicks

Today was our 16 week check-up, and everything looks great. All of the blood work from the previous appointment came back with no red flags, I've gained weight (5 pounds, and I'm convinced I gained it all in the past three days) and my uterus is measuring exactly where it should at this point in the pregnancy. Not only did we get to hear the heart beat today (153 beats per minute), but we could hear him moving around and kicking. The doctor said he was being a very active baby, and all signs point to a healthy and thriving little boy.

Almost Halfway There...

The beginning of week 17 brought on the startling realization that we are almost halfway there. In a little more than the time we've known we're expecting, our little man cub will be here.

Several other things happened this weekend--over night, I went from looking like I'd been eating too many cheeseburgers to looking...well, pregnant. Then on Sunday, my normal jeans (which I've been able to wear up until this point) refused to button. I am officially in maternity clothes territory.

Lastly, I've been reading for several weeks now that I shouldn't be laying flat on my back for extended periods. I haven't had much of a problem with that, since I'm not a back sleeper. Last night I was badly propped up in bed on my back, and my legs started to tingle and fall asleep. I guess they weren't kidding when they said the uterus pressed on important nerves. Yikes.

If you open your palm and look at the space from the tip of your pinky to the tip of your thumb, you'll see how big baby boy is this week. Or, for those of you enjoying the trip down the grocery aisle, the size of an onion. His fingers, which have been moving for a little while, now have his individual fingerprints on them. Now he's officially one of a kind.

Children of Shoe Makers and Doctors

I have spent most of my professional career and volunteer time working with children. I love working with kids, and I'm good at it. I'd much rather be put in charge of a room full of noisy toddlers than have to give a power point presentation in a board room. I'm good at soothing, and it's not uncommon for people I do not know well to hand their over children to me. I never mind. My husband says I have a way with kids, and I like that. I've potty trained multiple children, I can make a toddler friendly recipe out of whatever is in your fridge, and I can talk mom lingo with the best of them--the best baby friendly shows, tactics on getting a little one to sleep, and the pros and cons about huggies vs. pampers. I'm not stressed out about registering for our baby boy, because I already have experience and opinions about most baby products. But still...

There's a saying that shoe maker's children always go without shoes, and doctor's children are always sick. So what does that mean for my kid?

I have tried to express this fear to a couple of people, and I always get immediately brushed off: "oh, stop. You're going to be a great mother!" And I appreciate that sentiment. But it doesn't stop me from wondering--how am I going to handle it when, at the end of the day, there's no parent to pick up the baby and give me a break because the baby belongs to me?

Of course, I have a secret weapon that most mommies-to-be don't have, and that is super-husband. I know that when I reach the end of my rope, he'll be there to catch me. And we'll have help, I know, from the very excited grandparents, aunts, uncles and godparents. This little boy already has a posse of people who love him like crazy.

But at 2 AM when I can't sleep and these irrational fears creep up on me, I worry: what will I do with this little man when we're one-on-one? Will I have the same touch with my son when he's been screaming for hours that I do with the children I've cared for in the past? One of the things that has always frustrated me about being a nanny was that I had to uphold the rules (or lack thereof) the parents had set down. But now I see that was actually an easy out--it's much simpler to tell a four-year-old she can't have a cookie because those are mommy's rules when you're not mommy.

I could go on forever about my fears of parenthood. However, I found a little poem tonight that made me smile, and feel a little better about bringing a new life into the world. Here's to making mistakes that my son won't even notice:

Relax, my dear. Your little elf
Is just an amateur himself.
So if your hands, so newly filled
With tasks, seem somewhat less than skilled,
Relax. Your babe will never know
That you are learning as you go
Or that you're new to Mother lore.
He's never had a mom before.

Some Things Never Change

There are some things that not even pregnancy can mess with. And one of those things is that there is nothing--no amount of stress or anxiety or impatience--a large order of french fries from McDonalds can't fix.

Yum.

Sweet Sixteen

The second trimester has been a little on the rough side. It seems that things are going to be a little switched around for me--the second trimester has actually brought on the morning sickness and food aversions, and I'm sleeping more than I was during the first three months (trust me, I didn't think it was possible either). The doctors assure me it's all perfectly normal, which makes it easier when my head is in the toilet. The panic that something was wrong with baby boy was far more disconcerting than anything else, so knowing that this is just another part of pregnancy actually has a very calming effect.
We're at week 16 now, and baby boy is nearly 3 grams in weight and about 4.5 inches long. His eyes are starting to move--What to Expect When You're Expecting says if I shine a flashlight on my belly, baby will move away from the "bright" light. I think that's a little mean. His ears are now fully formed, so he can hear what's going on--soon he'll be able to recognize my voice and his father's voice, and probably the voices of all the characters on Friends. Lastly, the book says I should start feeling movement soon--any time between now and 20 weeks. I am very anxious for this, but no such luck yet.