Getting to know you...

They grow so fast, don't they? He's already asking if he can post his own entry. I told him I would type it for him.

Hi, my name is Hunter. I'm 18 weeks old. I feel like I should stop counting my age by weeks but my mom says I shouldn't be in a rush to be a big boy. I'm not really sure much I weigh these days but I'm guessing somewhere between 13.5 and 14 lbs. My dark hair is falling out but my mom tells me not to worry for 2 reasons: 1. I'm still cute with patchy baldness and 2. It will grow back. I believe her. I'm not sure how long I am but some of my footie pajamas are getting a little too tight. I can't tell if this makes my parents happy or sad. I think a little of both.

I'm awfully smiley these days and sometimes I'll even giggle. I actually find strangers funnier than my parent's. My mom says I'll probably always feel that way. I really like getting attacked by the kissing monster (who's not much of a monster). I also really like looking at my feet. My hands are cool too but staring at them is sooo last week. Now I just like putting my entire fist in my mouth. I don't understand why my mom can't do this. I also don't know why she's always trying to get me to poop. A couple of weeks ago she kept saying how all I do is poop and now she keeps telling me I should poop more. I think it's kinda fun to hold it all in for a few days and then just let it all out at once. It doesn't bother me. I get a bath afterward. She also tells me to eat so I grow big and strong but then tells me to stop getting so big and strong. love her but sometimes I get the feeling she doesn't know what she wants.

My parents kept talking about what a good sleeper I am so this week, I've been keeping things more interesting for them by waking up randomly during the night. Sometimes I just yell, sometimes I smile and coo, sometimes I thrash around and grunt a bit - it gives me a chance to see my mom and tell her I miss her. But she starting to wise up and realize I can't stay awake at those God awful hours for too long and let's me talk until I talk myself back to sleep. Now when I'm really hungry, I cry. This always brings her running in. And thank God. Imagine not eating for 5 hours!

A couple of my favorite things: hearing all the noises I can make - coughing, yelling, cooing, laughing; rolling around on my mat - I can almost make it from my back onto my stomach; eating my fingers; eating Mitch the Monkey; reaching for anything I think I can touch (and eventually put in my mouth); when someone helps me sit up (especially on the kitchen counter - don't worry, I'm very well supervised, sometimes too well); when someone helps me stand (this might be THE favorite thing of the week); getting naked; stretching; doing abs (someday I hope to be the youngest person to have a six pack); watching basketball.

A couple of my least favorite things: the two minutes before I fall asleep, burps that don't come up immediately, staying in the same position for too long, and shots. I'm pretty sure I have to get some more soon but my parent's haven't confirmed this yet. My friend Ella just got hers. Her mom gave her Tylenol before she went to the mean, nasty, brutish doctor. I hope her mom told my mom to do the same. I told my mom who needs shots anyway? But again, she said something about wanting me to have them but not wanting me to have to go through the pain of having them. Very confusing.

I know she doesn't mean to be confusing, but it's hard for me to know how to feel - especially about this thing called "day care." She tells me I should be excited because I'll be making new friends but then she says she's not too excited because she won't get to see me all day. I don't really understand and we don't talk about this much. She tells me to just enjoy every day and she'll worry about the tomorrows. And that's what we're doing.

She nagging me now to be cute for a photo shoot for Christmas cards. It's the least she can do since she didn't bother to send out a fancy announcement proclaiming my entrance into the world.

Ready or Not, Here He Is

9 weeks later - Prince Hunter has arrived.

There are certain things you can prepare for when you're expecting - just ask the nice lady at Babies R Us who insisted we needed over 100 items on our registry. And others you know you can't (no, I would not hold a baby to my boob and pretend as some books suggest). And then there's that tricky gray area - things you were sure you were prepared for but as it turns out, not so much.

I've changed diapers before. It's not rocket science. Or is it? Little did I know, Prince Hunter has the talent of choosing the exact moment - just after getting wiped up but before getting strapped into a clean diaper - to really let it go. Just because he already pooped in his diaper minutes earlier, does not mean his system is cleaned out. And for such a cute peanut, he really let's it rip. The explosiveness even frightens himself at times. I was wholly unprepared for washing poop off walls, floor and closet doors at 3 am. Lesson learned: diaper changing takes acute perception and skill, there's always more poop and unless you cover your entire house with tarping, things will get soiled.

I was prepared for labor and delivery. It is labor. It will be difficult and painful. I read all about the "amazing" transformations my body will go through to push the little lovey out. I read about how you simply have to breath through the pain and visualize yourself on a sunny, deserted beach. Or you just get the epidural and know he can't stay in there forever. For 40 weeks, you try to anticipate what it will be like the moment you actually see him for the first time. But you know that moment is not something you can ever really be prepared for. What never even entered my mind was the pain and discomfort that lingers after delivery. At that point, I thought the stork takes away all your pain when he drops off his bundle. Like the founding fathers trading with the native Americans- totally fair. It's not that people didn't warn me I wouldn't feel like running a marathon afterward, I just assumed I would be different. I would take a week and then be ready. Oh me, silly new mother.

But what I really wasn't prepared for was the worry. I knew I would worry about my child but I didn't realize it's like the appearance of wrinkles. They suddenly appear as if it were always there and you know, you just instinctively know, they're only going to get worse. One week you worry if he's eating enough. Then you realize he is gaining weight and growing out of his newborn clothes. You no longer focus on his eating (but you know the move to solid foods, allergies, finickiness, is all still to come). Now you think that maybe he's sleeping too much or too little. And you worry. Maybe he's over tired? Maybe he's lethargic because of some vitamin deficiency? It's like you no longer focus on your crows feet because now you've noticed tiny lines on your forehead.

Suddenly you're six weeks into parenthood and read in one of the books you know you shouldn't open, that by six weeks, your little prince should be smiling. And there he is - looking very serious. And you make silly faces and say things in a voice you used to make other fun of other mother's for using, and nothing. No mouth movement whatsoever. You can't even get him to look at you. (In retrospect, it's probably your first taste of the embarrassment your child will have for you. "Mom, PLEASE, stop using baby talk with me! I'm six weeks old already!") You desperately try to get him to make eye contact and then you wonder when was the last time he has really focused his eyes on something. And you were grinding coffee beans earlier and he didn't even look to see what the noise was. Next thing you know, you're Googling "autism and six weeks old." For a day and a half you read all about the early signs of autism and frantically try to remember, which is so easy in your sleep deprived state, which of the symptoms your child shows. You know he's probably fine, but there is that .1% of doubt that takes over and takes advantage of your still delicate hormone levels. And then, you hear him, sitting in his swing. You swear he said, "get off your computer and play with me." So you hover over him and looks you in the eye and smiles.

Ok, it didn't happen exactly that way but I started to see he was making better eye contact and got assurances from other mothers that they don't really smile until 8 weeks or even later - especially boys. And you relax because you know in your heart he is six weeks old and totally normal. But if anyone knows the Botox equivalent of child-rearing, I'm all ears.

11 Days to Go

I can't decide if 9/10 months is entirely too long, entirely too short, or just the right amount of time to grow a person. Today it's feeling too long. First, there is the misnomer of a nine month gestation period. Everyone knows a full term baby takes 40 weeks. Granted, I'm not so good at math but even I can convert weeks to months. Secondly, there is the fact that you get more uncomfortable as you go. I guess this makes sense but had we done this a month earlier, I would have missed the heat wave and swollen feet which now just seem to be mocking me. As if m body were saying, "that's what you get for saying "pregnancy is easy." And, "I'm not bothered by the heat. i love the summer." And, "I feel great." I am enjoying the special treatment. Pregnant ladies can get away with alot. We can lie around and ask other people to do things for us. We can park in "stork parking" spaces (which I've only taken advantage of once). We can forget things and cry "pregnancy brain." So, I guess it's not all bad.

And of course you do need the nine months to come up with a name. A nurse at my doctor's office was appalled that I have 2 weeks left and haven't entirely decided on a name. With an air of superiority, she was quick to point out that she had her children's names picked out way before she was even pregnant. Veronica and another name I didn't really like and can no longer remember. (Oops, pregnancy brain!) She has two girls and she is done but if, by some fateful action from God, she were to have another it would be Zachary Michael. After a failed attempt at sucking my blood through a needle and with another needle posed above my delicate veins, I told her Zachary was a lovely name. She went on an on listing various names and was not shy about those she liked and those she did not. Nor did she stop when she said, "I hate the name Andrew" and I said, "that's my nephew's name." She took that to mean it was ok to bash her own nephew's names. She has three Tylers which she hates. I didn't get into how three cousins in the same family all ended up with the same name but I wasn't about to ask. She pushed for names we were considering, trying, with the same subtlety of a pack of lions, to get me to give her some names. So I made some up: Hank, Buddy, Skip...I find people get offended when you don't really share the names you are considering. They say they can respect that but they say it as convincingly as telling someone their new awful haircut is "nice." (Or worse, the name you love is "interesting.")

It's as delicate a subject as giving advice. People have a seemingly intrinsic need to share advice about pregnancy, labor, delivery, parenthood...but without actually saying they are giving advice. It starts with the "Trust me, your going to want...you should...you must..." and then they catch themselves and backtrack. "Well, I'm not giving you advice. Everyone will want to give you advice. But I will tell you what worked for me/us..." But really, isn't that the same thing? You are telling me what worked for you with the understanding that if I'm smart, I'll do the same. Somewhere in all these books and magazines, there must be a chapter about what to say after you been through the trenches. "Never, never, never, try to give other new parents advice, simply tell them what worked for you." But why is giving advice so offensive? Having never been through it, I'll listen to any and all advice. If we're all clear that I may not follow any of it what's the harm in sharing helpful (or not so helpful) hints?

There are far greater things people should feel is offensive but don't. A short list:

• "How are you feeling? I was gassy. All the time. I couldn't stop passing gas."
• "I pushed and pushed for 12 hours. Finally after I had torn everything down there, they had to cut the little one out. But it was all worth it."
• "Do you have some nursing pads. I remember once, I leaked at work and had to spend the whole day with my coat on."
• "I was 5 centimeters dilated for two weeks. What you really have to wait for is the bloody show."

Giving me advice and me not sharing a name are offensive but telling me about leaking bodily fluids and intimate bodily functions is ok? I think someone needs to write a better pregnancy/new parenthood book.

April Sunshine Brings...

Where did March go? It's the longest month of the year and yet it came and went this year without a single post. I guess that's ok. I heard from one of my three readers that it was getting to "baby centric." So to my brother I say, that's what happens when your cooking a person. It kind of consumes your thoughts.

Except, of course, when you try to enjoy a Spring afternoon filled with sunshine and a refreshing breeze. I laced up my Asics and headed outside hoping my belly would allow more jogging than walking It seems to be touch and go these days. Some days I still feel like a runner. On other days, like yesterday, I feel like someone else has taken up residency in my body and prefers a slower pace. So, in the end, I was walking more than running which isn't so bad. It's actually kind of nice sometimes to slow down the pace and really think about how your muscles move with every step. And when you slow down, you tend to notice more - like the garbage. You see, today's rant is not about babies or the benefits of exercise and pregnancy. It's about slobs. Litter bugs. Trash enthusiasts.

We live next to a wildlife preserve. It's a big expanse of land left to the wilds of nature. It's particularly pretty now that a green hue blankets the area. In the distance, you can still see the sun shine through the branches but the green and yellow buds are just visible enough to spot the landscape with dots of freshness. But as you look closer to the trees and shrubs that hug the road, you see all sort of other colors: Styrofoam white, Dunkin' Donuts pink, Miller Lite blue. You can almost hear the leaves breathing a heavy sigh under the weight of dirty litter.

What's particularly troubling to me is, why? Why litter? At what point does the coffee cup become too much to bear? What goes through people's head? "Oh my God, I finished my Hazelnut latte at least five minutes ago and I'll be at my destination in another five minutes but good God, if I have to look at that mug for one more second, I'm going to lose it!" And out the window it goes. Where are people going that they are sure they won't come across an actual garbage can? At any shopping center they might be traveling to, there is bound to be at least one garbage can outside. I can almost guarantee with absolute certainty, there places of work have garbage cans. And if all else fails, whatever house they might be going to, whether theirs or a friends, I find it hard to believe there wouldn't be a garbage can where they could throw out there cup. So why? Why can't you wait that extra couple of miles to throw out your trash? Even if you are on a road trip, would it kill you to look at an empty coffee cup for a few hours?

Coffee cups and beer cans/bottles seem to be the worst offenders (according to my less than precise observations). The alcohol, I guess I can see better see why it might be more appealing to hurl the empties out the window as opposed to keeping them in your vehicle. First, there's the whole, it's kind of illegal to drink and drive. I'm sure there are some, but I would venture to guess, the majority of adults in the greater Bethel area, could wait until they arrive at their destination to start pounding beers. So I'm willing to bet the worst offenders here are the underage. I'm told there's not much else for kids to do around here. No teenager wants to be caught by the police or there parents with empty beer cans in their cars but again, why can't you just either wait until you reach your destination to start drinking or pull over and use public trash cans?

They recently (like last week, I think) found a new massive, swirling, pile of garbage in the middle of the Atlantic. They had already found one in the Pacific and hoped that was it. Now they are thinking, there must be more floating piles of trash. We're eventually going to be consumed by our waste. So next time your driving and your blood pressure is rising with every sideways glance at your empty coffee cup, remember; even if it's not your neighborhood, or city, or state, eventually it all becomes your country, your ocean, your world so why not help each other out and at least put your non-biodegradable Styrofoam cup in the garbage where it can go to a landfill and sit for all eternity?

The World Through Pink and Blue Colored Glasses

One thing they don't tell you when you join the club is that you don't really have to wait nine months to start seeing the world a little differently. I suppose it's all part of the "nesting" process and I'm guessing gets more pronounced as more time passes. It was two specific events that made me aware of this change.

The first happened while I was out. Like a good teacher, I went to a school play last Friday night. One of my favorite students was in the play. (Yes, I have favorites. This now worries me too...what if I have favorite children? This can do serious damage to a child's self-esteem. Ask my sister.) But anyway, when I came home from the play, DH tells me:
"About 20 minutes ago, some guy came to our door. He was swaying and slurring a bit and launched into some story about how his girlfriend got into some fight and needed $60 to give to the police or something. He said he was our neighbor from Codfish Hill Road. So he asked if he could borrow $60. I told him I was sorry for his troubles but didn't have any cash on me. The guy says he understands but what if he drove me to an ATM so I could get money. He said he would leave his license with me - like as a form of collateral."

So I start with twenty questions. Was he drunk? How did he get here? Was he belligerent? Do you think he was alone?

Apparently he clearly had been drinking but was very understanding when George said no. He came in a car but George couldn't see if he drove himself or there was a driver.

Now, normally, I would think this story is weird and slightly creepy but would chalk it up to a good story to blog about. But with Baby Avery on the way, it was weird, very creepy and made me think of every bad horror movie plot line I could come up with. He was a mass murder and just looking to case the joint. He was a robber and wanted to get the layout of the house. He was some child predator and wanted to see if we had any kids. Who knows? But I can't be having random strangers attempting to get access to the estate. So, after careful debate: Are we over-reacting? Are we under-reacting? Are we going to be alive in the morning? We called the police.

You gotta love small towns. George calls the police and explains the story. The officer asks him what the guy looked like and as George is describing him, the cop says, "I think I know the guy you are talking about. I'll tell my patrolmen to have a talk with him if they see him." So, we felt more comfortable going to sleep but now I think we have to start looking into alarm systems. Who knows what can happen in these rural areas?

The second incident deals with a slightly different clientele: the First Family. Michelle Obama was recently criticized for saying that she put her children on a diet after a visit to the doctor. This was at some talk where she was addressing childhood obesity. She went on to say that she was changing her children's diet to be more healthy, more natural and less processed. Eating disorder spokespeople were outraged. What message does this send to tween girls? I get that eating disorders are a serious and growing problem. I work at a high school. But the issue was childhood obesity which is just as big of a problem. And kids - Americans in general - have terrible eating habits. Regardless of which end of the spectrum you see this from, the anorexic or the obese, clearly we need to talk about our relationship with food - whether you're the First lady, a future parent or a nutritionist. People need to stop being so critical.

But again, none of this would have been all that noteworthy to me a few months ago but now, I have Baby Avery to think of.

All of these pregnancy magazines and websites have countless pages devoted to nutrition. I like to be healthy. I eat well. But what I eat has never been something I really spend a ton of time thinking about. I operated on the idea that fruits, vegetables and fish are good and fat and sugars are bad. Now, I find myself thinking about everything I put in my mouth. I don't know if this is good or bad. But it's different. What if baby isn't get enough Omega-3s? What if I have too much iron? Did I eat enough protein? Can I eat this? I'm certain my mother did not ask these questions and I turned out fine. But I don't want to have to put my baby on a diet or worry that they are developing an eating disorder. Are we doing more harm by obsessing about food or more good? For every website that tells you to eat up, there is another to tell you you're not really eating for two. Veteran club members don't seem to worry about it too much so I'm hoping this is just new member worries and goes away. After all, all this worry can't be good for junior.

Part of the Club

So I'm officially part of the club. It's not a very exclusive club. Nor is there anything secretive about it's membership requirements. Almost anyone can join. There are really only two: you must be female and you must be expecting. Since I now meet both requirements, like thousands before me, I'm an automatic member. But still, not everyone can so it feels like an accomplishment; like there is something exclusive about it.

Maybe it's because for two fairly simple requirements, it's not that simple to meet both of them. The first requirement excludes half the population. The second, isn't always as easy as people would hope. For something that has become so scientific, getting pregnant really is just some inexplicable miracle. People can spend years trying using perfect timing and millions of dollars in "foolproof" medicine only to realize that all the perfect science still doesn't guarantee anything. And then of course, there are those who specifically try avoiding the club entirely only to find that the science of avoidance has eluded them just as easily.

So in the end, I guess because there are only two requirements, it's that last bit of dumb luck that makes this membership extra special.

Perhaps I might feel differently had I never visited a "trying to conceive" website. There are entire communities of women (and I suppose some men though not surprisingly, they don't make themselves known) who share the intimate details of their personal lives in a desperate attempt to have a child. And some of these women are truly desperate. So much so, they've abbreviated as many words as possible so they can get right back to the baby making process I suppose. It's somewhat frustrating when you first find yourself on one of these pages because you can hardly understand what they are saying.

"Hello ladies! DH and I have been TTC for 1 yr. I'm 8 dpo and keeping my fingers crossed. The 2WW is SOOO hard though!!! My BBT has been elevated but I feel like AF is right around the corner. I felt this way last month though and BFN! :( My CM is really milky now. Is that normal? Oh well, we'll BD again tonight JIC!!! Wish me luck. Baby dust to u all!" (Translation will follow.)

I consider myself very lucky that we did not have to try and try. But since it also didn't happen on the first try, I can understand the need for these websites. These poor women grasp at any ray of hope and obsess over the slightest twitch or pain or feeling wondering if the miracle will touch them. Another month seems like an eternity and makes even the spiritual-less throw prayers to the heavens. They offer support to the unlucky and genuinely seem happy for the lucky. I don't know that I could be so gracious but I suppose if I had spent some more time in that club, I'd feel differently. When you are trying to get pregnant, the entire world seems pregnant except for you (which doesn't go away when you are pregnant. I think it's just part of the initiation period). So while I do poke fun at their lingo, I do hope the baby dust works. As one of the newest members, I'd gladly welcome them to this club. The exclusive one.


TRANSLATION:
"Hello ladies! DEAR HUSBAND and I have been TRYING TO CONCEIVE for 1 yr. I'm 8 DAYS PAST OVULATION and keeping my fingers crossed. The 2 WEEK WAIT (FROM THE DAY YOU OVULATE UNTIL THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR MISSED PERIOD IS ABOUT 2 WEEKS) is SOOO hard though!!! My BASAL BODY TEMP has been elevated but I feel like AUNT FLO is right around the corner. I felt this way last month though and BIG FAT NEGATIVE (PREGNANCY TEST)! :( My CERVICAL MUCUS is really milky now. Is that normal? Oh well, we'll BABY DANCE (SEX) again tonight JUST IN CASE!!! Wish me luck. Baby dust to u all!"

His Cheating Heart

I feel bad about Tiger. I know I shouldn't. He's an adulterer. But still, he's Tiger. He showed us that world-class athletes could be classy. He showed us that if you just believe in yourself, you can win even with a broken knee (or whatever is broken making you think you should quit). He showed us that hard work pays off. For as unreal and tough as he seemed on the golf course, he seemed genuine and kind off the course. I liked him. I still want to like him. But now he's gone and ruined it for both of us.

Maybe it's that I feel bad for knowing he's an adulterer. Does it really matter if he was a family man or a sex addict? Because either way, he's still really, REALLY, good at golf. The best. So why do I care? I suppose because like it or not, I know that he had a pretty wife. He had two small kids. I've seen pictures of them laughing and looking like a regular, normal family, only blessed with good looks and lots of talent. Now, I could blame this on the media. They put those pictures in front of my face and forced me to look. But that's not exactly true.

I was interested in his personal life. I wanted to see the pictures of his kids. I liked when they showed his wife and kids at tournaments. It made me like him more. Despite all that raw talent, he was also a normal guy. Uncertain of his celebrity status but gracious in the acceptance of his life. If I feel betrayed now, imagine what Elin must be feeling.

And now, like with all train wrecks, I can't not look. It's like Jon and Kate. How can you not be just at least a little bit interested? Once the wheels come off the track, I get why people watch. What I still don't get though, is why I care about his personal life in the first place. Why do I care about any celebrities personal life? Clearly, with the ever-expanding tabloid business, I'm not the only one.

Why do we get so obsessed with other peoples lives? Is it that we are projecting? For some people, I think yes. I think many people wish they were constantly in the spotlight. They wish the world was watching their every move and people spent hours reading about and looking at pictures of their latest vacation in People magazine. I cite reality TV and Facebook as irrefutable evidence of such people.

But then there are those of us who don't quite fit that profile, but still enjoy a gossip magazine or two. So what about us? And why do I feel like I should apologize for this? I know Tiger thinks we should have the courtesy to give him his privacy but how can he think we wouldn't want to know more about the strange stories that seem to be emerging daily about the accident, the endless stream of "classy" women, the mother-in-law, the pills...He's been in my living room for years now. Wouldn't it be more strange if I didn't care?