The girls in Trace prepared these undies for the BCI students to examine for physical evidence: 35 pair of huge $1 granny panties from the dollar store. There are several bodily fluids on the panties. Relax though. The stains are hot fudge from the lab's fridge. I know it looks gross, but we laughed our asses off that day.
4.28.2008
The Girls at Melissa's Wedding
Clockwise from the top left, also known as the bride, is Melissa, me, Kristen, and Jen at Melissa and Pete's wedding, April 3, 2008
Don’t Breathe on Me
Random List of Ways I’ve Gone a Little Crazy with the Hormones: Part 4
I can’t say I’ve had many cravings or aversions since getting pregnant, especially not in terms of the usual: food items. I did have one odd aversion though. I could not stand to feel air on my face. Under normal circumstances, I’m not wild about it. I shut off the blower vent over my airplane seat, and I turn the vents in the car in whichever direction that prevents air from hitting my face. I love FRESH air in my face, in my hair, blowing on me when I sleep. But I definitely went through a phase in which foreign stale air went from moderately irritating to instantly nauseating.
It started one night after Aaron got home from the bar and had had a few beers. I hate the smell of beer anyway, but the smell of beer on him that night the room spin. I made him go brush his teeth again and it still didn’t help. Not that he didn’t smell minty fresh after another scrubbing, but the damage was done. I couldn’t handle his air anywhere near me.
So let’s say we were sound asleep facing the same way, and he’d roll over. The first exhalation in my direction would cause me to have to roll over immediately. It got so bad that one night the cat got too close to my face and started breathing on me. I had to kick him out of bed.
The kicker was a couple weeks ago. I was lying in bed and had closed my eyes. Aaron leaned over to kiss me, but I didn’t sense him until I felt hot air near my face. It startled me and I instinctively swatted at the source of it, not realizing it was my darlin’ come over for a little sugar. He was obviously shocked that I HIT HIM, and I of course was mortified. He got some mileage out of teasing me about it until I threatened to cry.
For the record, it’s better now. I still don’t like air in my face, but it doesn’t provoke nausea and pugilism any longer.
I can’t say I’ve had many cravings or aversions since getting pregnant, especially not in terms of the usual: food items. I did have one odd aversion though. I could not stand to feel air on my face. Under normal circumstances, I’m not wild about it. I shut off the blower vent over my airplane seat, and I turn the vents in the car in whichever direction that prevents air from hitting my face. I love FRESH air in my face, in my hair, blowing on me when I sleep. But I definitely went through a phase in which foreign stale air went from moderately irritating to instantly nauseating.
It started one night after Aaron got home from the bar and had had a few beers. I hate the smell of beer anyway, but the smell of beer on him that night the room spin. I made him go brush his teeth again and it still didn’t help. Not that he didn’t smell minty fresh after another scrubbing, but the damage was done. I couldn’t handle his air anywhere near me.
So let’s say we were sound asleep facing the same way, and he’d roll over. The first exhalation in my direction would cause me to have to roll over immediately. It got so bad that one night the cat got too close to my face and started breathing on me. I had to kick him out of bed.
The kicker was a couple weeks ago. I was lying in bed and had closed my eyes. Aaron leaned over to kiss me, but I didn’t sense him until I felt hot air near my face. It startled me and I instinctively swatted at the source of it, not realizing it was my darlin’ come over for a little sugar. He was obviously shocked that I HIT HIM, and I of course was mortified. He got some mileage out of teasing me about it until I threatened to cry.
For the record, it’s better now. I still don’t like air in my face, but it doesn’t provoke nausea and pugilism any longer.
Crooked Mouldings
Random List of Ways I’ve Gone a Little Crazy with the Hormones: Part 3
I kid you not, and you can ask Aaron about this since he was there, the mouldings on the windows made me nauseous one night during the first trimester.
Most people talk about morning sickness being associated with pregnancy, but I had it worse as soon as I’d lay down at night. Sometimes I’d feel it in the morning, but waking up always makes me feel ill, knocked-up or not.
One evening Aaron and I lay down on his bed, but for some reason we were at the opposite end, so our heads were where our feet would normally be. We weren’t sleeping, just laying there talking. That’s when I noticed the mouldings.
There are three windows in a curved shape at the front of the bedroom, with a soffit over them. The soffit hangs lower than the height of the mouldings around the top of the windows, so the contractors chopped them down. The result is that the top mouldings were cropped, compared to the ones along the sides.
I stared at those windows a little too long, and sure enough, the damned mouldings really began to bother me. Why didn’t they account for that when the built the place? Before long, the room was spinning like I’d hit the bottom of a bottle of Monkey Bay Pinot Grigio. I needed to get up, crawl to the head of the bed, and squeeze my eyes shut until the nausea passed.
In truth, the nausea never passed with night sickness. I usually just feel asleep.
I kid you not, and you can ask Aaron about this since he was there, the mouldings on the windows made me nauseous one night during the first trimester.
Most people talk about morning sickness being associated with pregnancy, but I had it worse as soon as I’d lay down at night. Sometimes I’d feel it in the morning, but waking up always makes me feel ill, knocked-up or not.
One evening Aaron and I lay down on his bed, but for some reason we were at the opposite end, so our heads were where our feet would normally be. We weren’t sleeping, just laying there talking. That’s when I noticed the mouldings.
There are three windows in a curved shape at the front of the bedroom, with a soffit over them. The soffit hangs lower than the height of the mouldings around the top of the windows, so the contractors chopped them down. The result is that the top mouldings were cropped, compared to the ones along the sides.
I stared at those windows a little too long, and sure enough, the damned mouldings really began to bother me. Why didn’t they account for that when the built the place? Before long, the room was spinning like I’d hit the bottom of a bottle of Monkey Bay Pinot Grigio. I needed to get up, crawl to the head of the bed, and squeeze my eyes shut until the nausea passed.
In truth, the nausea never passed with night sickness. I usually just feel asleep.
Fluorescent Vampire
Random List of Ways I’ve Gone a Little Crazy with the Hormones: Part 2
My first day at Gilbane was Monday, March 17. St. Patrick’s Day. Auspicious for girl of mostly-Irish descent at a company founded by guys mostly of Irish descent. We kick off each working week at Gilbane University (as my department is called) with a staff meeting on Monday mornings. We each take turns bringing in breakfast, and it’s great to frame the week with what you plan to do. We bookend the Monday morning meetings with a Friday afternoon email to our supervisors, listing our Accomplishments for the week. The idea of responsibility and accountability in the corporate workplace is something foreign to me in previous experiences, and something for which I deeply longed when it was missing.
Anyway, I had decided to keep the pregnancy under my proverbial hat until I was a few weeks in and a few more weeks along. Yeah, not so much. I found myself blurting out, just moments into my first day at Gilbane, that I was, in fact, with child.
Of course, the response was immediately positive, supportive, and congratulatory. My immediate supervisor has a 16-month old daughter who is just acclimating to day-care and requires him to have a flexible schedule. Another one of my co-workers is working full-time from home on a flexible-hours schedule while she cares for her 5-month old. The VP at GU is a woman who has broken through many a corporate glass ceiling as she’s moved through the ranks, and is extraordinarily supportive of our work-life balances — given the utter lack of the same support while she was breaking through those ceilings.
It turned out to be a good thing that I said something so soon, because I started that job around the 8th week of my pregnancy. I didn’t know this at the time, but a call to my doctor during my second week at work revealed it all. During an early-morning meeting with my boss, I had such blurry vision and dizziness I had to take a moment and call the doctor. It was then that he revealed to me that “I had picked the WORST possible week to start a new full-time job.” FAN-TASTIC! It turns out that weeks 8-12 are the worst in terms of the dreaded first trimester symptoms. There’s a laundry list of them, but my nemeses were nausea, migraines, and light sensitivity.
The light sensitivity turned out to be most vicious at work. My new office (with a real door! My return to the corporate world was to a proper office, not a cubicle) had fluorescent lights in it. Four long throbbing blue tubes. Being that I hadn’t worked in a proper office in a year and a half, and I’ve never been all that good in fluorescent lights anyway, the effects were swift and total. The moment I flipped that switch, my head would pound, my vision would blur, and my stomach would lurch.
So, I worked in the dark. Just me and the computer monitor. Coworkers kept forgetting I was there, or worse, kept getting startled by the bluish computer light and slight rustlings from what had long been a vacant room prior to my arrival. EVERYONE came by to see why I was sitting in the dark, and I had to pathetically explain that the fluorescent lights made me sick. My co-worker Jo summoned the Facilities Guy to come and take out two of the bulbs, and Drew from down the hall gave me his lamp. Brenda pilfered a desk lamp from Don’s office that we’re pretty sure he forgot he had, and I had a workable lighting situation.
Now, I’m happy to report, I can have my half-fluorescent lights on, and I still use the two lamps. Nowadays we joke about my vampire-like sensitivity to light. Brenda confessed the other day that had she not known I was pregnant, she’d have thought I was out of my mind.
So you see, sometimes letting the cat out of the bag isn’t the worst idea. At least my new co-workers aren’t worried about me being a total nutter. Or Nosferatu.
My first day at Gilbane was Monday, March 17. St. Patrick’s Day. Auspicious for girl of mostly-Irish descent at a company founded by guys mostly of Irish descent. We kick off each working week at Gilbane University (as my department is called) with a staff meeting on Monday mornings. We each take turns bringing in breakfast, and it’s great to frame the week with what you plan to do. We bookend the Monday morning meetings with a Friday afternoon email to our supervisors, listing our Accomplishments for the week. The idea of responsibility and accountability in the corporate workplace is something foreign to me in previous experiences, and something for which I deeply longed when it was missing.
Anyway, I had decided to keep the pregnancy under my proverbial hat until I was a few weeks in and a few more weeks along. Yeah, not so much. I found myself blurting out, just moments into my first day at Gilbane, that I was, in fact, with child.
Of course, the response was immediately positive, supportive, and congratulatory. My immediate supervisor has a 16-month old daughter who is just acclimating to day-care and requires him to have a flexible schedule. Another one of my co-workers is working full-time from home on a flexible-hours schedule while she cares for her 5-month old. The VP at GU is a woman who has broken through many a corporate glass ceiling as she’s moved through the ranks, and is extraordinarily supportive of our work-life balances — given the utter lack of the same support while she was breaking through those ceilings.
It turned out to be a good thing that I said something so soon, because I started that job around the 8th week of my pregnancy. I didn’t know this at the time, but a call to my doctor during my second week at work revealed it all. During an early-morning meeting with my boss, I had such blurry vision and dizziness I had to take a moment and call the doctor. It was then that he revealed to me that “I had picked the WORST possible week to start a new full-time job.” FAN-TASTIC! It turns out that weeks 8-12 are the worst in terms of the dreaded first trimester symptoms. There’s a laundry list of them, but my nemeses were nausea, migraines, and light sensitivity.
The light sensitivity turned out to be most vicious at work. My new office (with a real door! My return to the corporate world was to a proper office, not a cubicle) had fluorescent lights in it. Four long throbbing blue tubes. Being that I hadn’t worked in a proper office in a year and a half, and I’ve never been all that good in fluorescent lights anyway, the effects were swift and total. The moment I flipped that switch, my head would pound, my vision would blur, and my stomach would lurch.
So, I worked in the dark. Just me and the computer monitor. Coworkers kept forgetting I was there, or worse, kept getting startled by the bluish computer light and slight rustlings from what had long been a vacant room prior to my arrival. EVERYONE came by to see why I was sitting in the dark, and I had to pathetically explain that the fluorescent lights made me sick. My co-worker Jo summoned the Facilities Guy to come and take out two of the bulbs, and Drew from down the hall gave me his lamp. Brenda pilfered a desk lamp from Don’s office that we’re pretty sure he forgot he had, and I had a workable lighting situation.
Now, I’m happy to report, I can have my half-fluorescent lights on, and I still use the two lamps. Nowadays we joke about my vampire-like sensitivity to light. Brenda confessed the other day that had she not known I was pregnant, she’d have thought I was out of my mind.
So you see, sometimes letting the cat out of the bag isn’t the worst idea. At least my new co-workers aren’t worried about me being a total nutter. Or Nosferatu.
Don't Get Between Mama and Her Food
Random List of Ways I’ve Gone a Little Crazy with the Hormones: Part 1
Aaron learned this the hard way when I stayed on the phone too long with Kristen and failed to eat in a timely manner. I sat in the parking lot of KFC chatting and smelling the fried chicken. In the meantime, my blood sugar tanked. It has a habit of doing that anyway, but since getting pregnant it happens even faster. I go from fine to feral in under 60 seconds.
So I got the extra crispy, headed back home and devoured it. Now, Aaron wasn’t supposed to be home, having had plans to watch a Premier League Soccer game with the guys. But one of them forgot to DVR it, and he had, so the party moved to our house. The guys hadn’t arrived yet, and Aaron made the rookie mistake of hoping for me to share. Yeah, not in this lifetime.
I told him I’d try to save him some, but I ate every last finger-lickin’ bite of that chicken. At one point, I set down the breast to scarf some mashed potatoes and green beans. He reached for the chicken. I slapped his hand.
It wasn’t all bad though. I only made it through one of the two apple turnovers, so I gave him the other one. I wasn’t trying to be stingy, but I swear I had de-evolved as a result of my now-dangerous low blood sugar. Vicki Iovine talks in “The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy” about how she and her husband had to establish a when she was “Rational Vicki” and “Feral Vicki”. After I read that, I laughed out lout and told Aaron about it, promising him that when “Feral Jessica” takes over, he’ll get fair warning. I also advised him to plan on getting his own damn chicken for the duration of this pregnancy.
Aaron learned this the hard way when I stayed on the phone too long with Kristen and failed to eat in a timely manner. I sat in the parking lot of KFC chatting and smelling the fried chicken. In the meantime, my blood sugar tanked. It has a habit of doing that anyway, but since getting pregnant it happens even faster. I go from fine to feral in under 60 seconds.
So I got the extra crispy, headed back home and devoured it. Now, Aaron wasn’t supposed to be home, having had plans to watch a Premier League Soccer game with the guys. But one of them forgot to DVR it, and he had, so the party moved to our house. The guys hadn’t arrived yet, and Aaron made the rookie mistake of hoping for me to share. Yeah, not in this lifetime.
I told him I’d try to save him some, but I ate every last finger-lickin’ bite of that chicken. At one point, I set down the breast to scarf some mashed potatoes and green beans. He reached for the chicken. I slapped his hand.
It wasn’t all bad though. I only made it through one of the two apple turnovers, so I gave him the other one. I wasn’t trying to be stingy, but I swear I had de-evolved as a result of my now-dangerous low blood sugar. Vicki Iovine talks in “The Girlfriends Guide to Pregnancy” about how she and her husband had to establish a when she was “Rational Vicki” and “Feral Vicki”. After I read that, I laughed out lout and told Aaron about it, promising him that when “Feral Jessica” takes over, he’ll get fair warning. I also advised him to plan on getting his own damn chicken for the duration of this pregnancy.
Timelines
In case anyone needs a map:
February 28: Offered Instructional Designer job at Gilbane
March 6: Find out I’m pregnant
March 7: Decide to get married
April 20: Put Aaron’s place on the market
June 7: Wedding Day
June 29-July 6: Honeymoon
Summer: Buy house. Move
November 7: Due Date.
February 28: Offered Instructional Designer job at Gilbane
March 6: Find out I’m pregnant
March 7: Decide to get married
April 20: Put Aaron’s place on the market
June 7: Wedding Day
June 29-July 6: Honeymoon
Summer: Buy house. Move
November 7: Due Date.
And Selling the House?
So now that you’re a few posts into my catch-up chronicle, I’m sure it’s starting to become clear as to why you’ve not heard much out of me in the past several weeks. We know about the new job, the baby, the wedding. We’ve also put Aaron’s townhouse on the market. Because really, we needed one more thing.
Actually, we need more space. His place is great, but it’s 2 bedrooms, 1.5 baths, and not nearly big enough for both he and I, forget the bambino. We found a house we loved but it went under contract before we were able to put in an offer on it, so we’re back to looking. The preparations for actually putting the place on the market took weeks of weekends, and a ton of work on my beloved’s part, to get it all together.
But we’re on the market now, and even had our first showing today. According to the realtor, it went well. Unfortunately, I think I might have inadvertently closed the basement door, where the cat’s litter box resides. The realtor said there was a big pile o’ surprises on the bathroom rug upstairs. D’oh! God bless her, she cleaned it up and stashed the rug downstairs. I’d been hoping to replace that rug anyway, and good ol’ Ichiban seems to have kept his micturating to one location.
In addition to this first guy, we also have a neighbor who’s interested, so I’m hopeful we’ll get the place sold and be able to move after the wedding. We have some appointments set up to look at a couple more houses on Wednesday evening. I’m terrified that I’m going to be 8 months pregnant and we won’t have found a place and won’t have the nursery set up and I’ll be a nervous wreck. I already can’t do much heavy lifting — correction, I’m not ALLOWED to do any heavy lifting, so we’ll be hiring movers. There’s still all the unpacking to do though.
*sigh* One thing at a time.
Actually, we need more space. His place is great, but it’s 2 bedrooms, 1.5 baths, and not nearly big enough for both he and I, forget the bambino. We found a house we loved but it went under contract before we were able to put in an offer on it, so we’re back to looking. The preparations for actually putting the place on the market took weeks of weekends, and a ton of work on my beloved’s part, to get it all together.
But we’re on the market now, and even had our first showing today. According to the realtor, it went well. Unfortunately, I think I might have inadvertently closed the basement door, where the cat’s litter box resides. The realtor said there was a big pile o’ surprises on the bathroom rug upstairs. D’oh! God bless her, she cleaned it up and stashed the rug downstairs. I’d been hoping to replace that rug anyway, and good ol’ Ichiban seems to have kept his micturating to one location.
In addition to this first guy, we also have a neighbor who’s interested, so I’m hopeful we’ll get the place sold and be able to move after the wedding. We have some appointments set up to look at a couple more houses on Wednesday evening. I’m terrified that I’m going to be 8 months pregnant and we won’t have found a place and won’t have the nursery set up and I’ll be a nervous wreck. I already can’t do much heavy lifting — correction, I’m not ALLOWED to do any heavy lifting, so we’ll be hiring movers. There’s still all the unpacking to do though.
*sigh* One thing at a time.
Did I Mention the Wedding?
Another reason I’ve been at sixes and sevens, and utterly absent from the blogosphere, is that Aaron and I are getting married on June 7. That’s just 89 days from the day we announced it via email to the friends and family we’ve invited to what we’re trying to keep as a small affair. And as of this post, it’s 41 days away. Yeah, 6 weeks. My bridal shower is Saturday, May 3, the same weekend Aaron is set to go camping with the guys for his bachelor party.
Fortunately, we just need to figure out flowers, the DJ, the marriage license, and the details of the bowling party we’re having by way of a rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. Amity’s picked out her bridesmaid’s dress; it just needs to be ordered. We still haven’t figured out the ceremony or vows, but we’re both procrastinators who work best under pressure. So we should be alright as long as we have that sorted before, say, June 1.
We are making considerable progress, but experience of planning a wedding has been a draw. Parts are a drag. For instance, making our own invitations sounded like a really good idea, until we put over 20 hours into doing them over last weekend and by Sunday night weren’t even halfway done and I was on the verge of tears. Aaron, not wanting to see me cry, finally had to enlist Vickie and Rob as reinforcements to come over and help get them done on Monday night before we all left town for Cincinnati for BotCon, the weekend’s Transformers convention.
Probably the worst part of planning a wedding, for me, was shopping for my wedding dress. Now, I’m not the cheesecake poofy white princess dress kind of gal anyway. Combine my sassiness with being nearly 30, pregnant, and tattooed; and I’m not going to be making the cover of “Brides” Magazine any time soon. I felt old, fat, ridiculous, out-of-place, and like I wanted to call off the whole wedding and just elope somewhere that didn’t involve white dresses, veils, tiaras, foundation garments, and saleswomen. I’m more interested in being married to the man I love than I am in starring in a cotillion wedding. The whole experience, in which I was surrounded by flouncy 20-somethings playing dress-up, made me disgusted by all those silly girls who want to be brides, and have no idea about being a wife.
Truly, I began to understand why women today who get pregnant a little early usually just wait until after the baby is born before putting themselves through a wedding. But I found a dress, it’s fine, and I don’t want to think any more about it. I swore I’d never set foot in David’s Bridal, but after several attempts at shabby local “boutiques” my mother wore me down. That and I was in the throes of the first trimester fatigue, and after hours of shopping I was so brain dead that would have joined the Bader Meinhoff if she’d suggested it. What won me over is that they carry every dress in their catalog in every size, so I could actually zip them up and see how bad it was. And if I expand any more between now and the wedding, I can trade up for the next size without any difficulty.
However, the parts where we’ve gotten to make this event personal, and therefore special, have made it more worthwhile. The cake toppers will NOT be some hokey bride clubbing a groom over the head (an idea I find offensive at best), but rather something custom-made that will remain a surprise until I have a photo to upload here. I’ve already told half the wedding guests anyway, but I’m saving the visual for y’all on the interwebs here. The music selections have been fun too. The best part though is looking forward to gathering our friends and family from across the country (and even a couple from around the world) to share the weekend with us, and to be there as we officially kick off our new family.
Fortunately, we just need to figure out flowers, the DJ, the marriage license, and the details of the bowling party we’re having by way of a rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. Amity’s picked out her bridesmaid’s dress; it just needs to be ordered. We still haven’t figured out the ceremony or vows, but we’re both procrastinators who work best under pressure. So we should be alright as long as we have that sorted before, say, June 1.
We are making considerable progress, but experience of planning a wedding has been a draw. Parts are a drag. For instance, making our own invitations sounded like a really good idea, until we put over 20 hours into doing them over last weekend and by Sunday night weren’t even halfway done and I was on the verge of tears. Aaron, not wanting to see me cry, finally had to enlist Vickie and Rob as reinforcements to come over and help get them done on Monday night before we all left town for Cincinnati for BotCon, the weekend’s Transformers convention.
Probably the worst part of planning a wedding, for me, was shopping for my wedding dress. Now, I’m not the cheesecake poofy white princess dress kind of gal anyway. Combine my sassiness with being nearly 30, pregnant, and tattooed; and I’m not going to be making the cover of “Brides” Magazine any time soon. I felt old, fat, ridiculous, out-of-place, and like I wanted to call off the whole wedding and just elope somewhere that didn’t involve white dresses, veils, tiaras, foundation garments, and saleswomen. I’m more interested in being married to the man I love than I am in starring in a cotillion wedding. The whole experience, in which I was surrounded by flouncy 20-somethings playing dress-up, made me disgusted by all those silly girls who want to be brides, and have no idea about being a wife.
Truly, I began to understand why women today who get pregnant a little early usually just wait until after the baby is born before putting themselves through a wedding. But I found a dress, it’s fine, and I don’t want to think any more about it. I swore I’d never set foot in David’s Bridal, but after several attempts at shabby local “boutiques” my mother wore me down. That and I was in the throes of the first trimester fatigue, and after hours of shopping I was so brain dead that would have joined the Bader Meinhoff if she’d suggested it. What won me over is that they carry every dress in their catalog in every size, so I could actually zip them up and see how bad it was. And if I expand any more between now and the wedding, I can trade up for the next size without any difficulty.
However, the parts where we’ve gotten to make this event personal, and therefore special, have made it more worthwhile. The cake toppers will NOT be some hokey bride clubbing a groom over the head (an idea I find offensive at best), but rather something custom-made that will remain a surprise until I have a photo to upload here. I’ve already told half the wedding guests anyway, but I’m saving the visual for y’all on the interwebs here. The music selections have been fun too. The best part though is looking forward to gathering our friends and family from across the country (and even a couple from around the world) to share the weekend with us, and to be there as we officially kick off our new family.
Do Your Homework
Coping with pregnancy and motherhood comes back to being prepared. I didn’t struggle with infertility for years. I didn’t spend thousands or tens of thousands of dollars to conceive. In truth, we weren’t trying to have a baby. And in fairness, we weren’t NOT trying, either. The extent of our family planning was to follow a clearly-inaccurate online fertility calculator and AVOIDING the fertile days, rather than targeting them. Even with 21st century technology assisting us, the rhythm method is still clearly a bogus method of birth control, fyi. We did plan to have a family, some time next year after we got married later this year. It seems the baby just had other ideas as to when it would like to arrive.
But had I been prepared, I probably wouldn’t have been so thunderstruck. A few days after hearing the big news, I got on Target.com and looked at car seats. When over 150 items returned, I started to cry and closed the computer. Why did I need 150 car seat choices? And would I have to wade through as many strollers, diaper bags, cribs, changing tables, baby monitors, high chairs, and other accoutrements? I had NO idea where to start, and here all of a sudden was this mountain of information. I didn’t know the first thing about taking the first step toward conquering it, and didn’t know if I had the energy for the ascent.
I’m happy to report that at the start of my fourth month, it’s getting better. I’ve gotten some books (more about those later) and joined a prenatal yoga class (more about that later as well). Getting informed, asking questions, and finding others who have been through pregnancy, labor, delivery, and motherhood have made me feel a lot less alone, and a lot more prepared. I can actually shop for baby gear now without crying. I consider that progress.
But had I been prepared, I probably wouldn’t have been so thunderstruck. A few days after hearing the big news, I got on Target.com and looked at car seats. When over 150 items returned, I started to cry and closed the computer. Why did I need 150 car seat choices? And would I have to wade through as many strollers, diaper bags, cribs, changing tables, baby monitors, high chairs, and other accoutrements? I had NO idea where to start, and here all of a sudden was this mountain of information. I didn’t know the first thing about taking the first step toward conquering it, and didn’t know if I had the energy for the ascent.
I’m happy to report that at the start of my fourth month, it’s getting better. I’ve gotten some books (more about those later) and joined a prenatal yoga class (more about that later as well). Getting informed, asking questions, and finding others who have been through pregnancy, labor, delivery, and motherhood have made me feel a lot less alone, and a lot more prepared. I can actually shop for baby gear now without crying. I consider that progress.
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