I did not mean to tell a lie on Thursday. I promise.
Apparently, it is possible to be in labor and not realize it until your water breaks.
33 1/2 hours later though? I totally knew it was labor. I'm a quick study.
And you know what else I am?
I'm a mommy.
Welcome to the world, Little Bird. We're going to call you Christopher.
Of course there's more to the story, but I've fallen asleep no less than 18 times before finishing this little smidgen. Thank you so much for all the love, prayers, and congratulations. You all are the best.
Monday, January 28, 2008
I did not mean to tell a lie on Thursday. I promise.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
If I have to have a category that I file posts under called, "Things I should keep to myself," perhaps I should do a better job of editing myself and find a better way to work out my feelings than this blog which has become a public place.
Pissy post has been deleted. I am now taking the advice of CGF and going to bake something. Step away from the computer. Thank you, CGF.
Sorry if you were subject to my onslaught of venom and frustration.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Tomorrow is the day.
I want nothing more than to get in my car and go sit with WonderDaddy tomorrow. Or stay at the house and play with the boys. Have a cup of coffee with the parents. Anything.
Just to be there.
All I can do though, is sit here and hold her hand virtually.
We've waited for this day for a long time now. Please go over and leave Susan a comment.
Better yet, I think it would be awesome if there were posts all over the blogosphere that wished her luck. All of them titled "Tomorrow."
Please? Just a quick post, link to her post, and title it "Tomorrow." Thanks.
Harmony In Motion
Two Is Now Three
Two Lines on a Stick
It's Not About That Anyway
Around the Island
A Mother's Musings
I Can Fly, Just Not Up
The Further Adventures of SpaceMom
House of H
What Works for Us
My Life As It Is
Live from the Wang of America
Mom 22 Teens
A Bead a Day
The Estrogen Files
The Farm House Kids
The Dairy Wife
The Dana Files
Playgroups Are No Place for Children
Sarah and the Goon Squad
Life with Our Little Ladies
Andria and Co.
"That" Psycho Family
Ladybug & Lizards
Mom, Ma'am, Me
I Can't Complain Anymore Than Usual
The Blogs of Life
Mommy to the Snugglebunnies
Hearts Wide Open
Sunrays and Saturdays
Chicken and Cheese
Her Bad Mother
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Friday, January 18, 2008
Guy and Lovely gave me a new mixer for Christmas. For 10 years, I have used my very basic Kitchen Aid 4 1/2 quart mixer for all my baking. I felt lucky to have a Kitchen Aid, but I knew that it was a little small for the amount and kind of baking I like to do.
There have been times that Guy has tried to talk me into buying the Professional 600 series mixer that I drooled over. The 6 quart one. Yum. But I just couldn't do it. I had a mixer that worked just fine. It seemed like such a frivolous purchase when I had something that already did the job.
Thank goodness for gifts. The new mixer is a power house, and I swear, I made the best pound cake I have ever made with it on its first run. The crust was absolutely perfect. The batter had room to breathe in that wonderful 6 quart bowl. I love it.
Since my old mixer didn't break, I couldn't see getting rid of it. It's a great mixer. So, we deemed it Lovely's mixer and set about teaching her how to bake.
Yesterday, I gave her a stack of cookbooks so she could pick out a cake to make.
She chose a Hot Milk Cake with Caramel Icing from the Jackson Junior League's Come On In cookbook.
Oh boy. I have never done caramel before.
We set our mixers up this morning and each made the cake. At the same time. Because I think the easiest way to learn it to get to do it yourself. We walked through the steps together and both had some really good looking batter to go into our respective ovens.
Tonight, we tackled the icing, but did it together instead of each doing a separate batch.
I am happy to report that it turned out beautifully. We were beyond proud of ourselves. We cut into Lovely's cake, that she made completely with her own two hands, and it was fantastic. My daddy would be in the kitchen with a fork, finishing off at least one of those cakes himself if he were here.
Now, if someone could just tell me how to clean caramelized sugar out of my cast iron skillet, I would be so thankful.
Tomorrow, we tackle some pajama pants with some cute pink flannel that her dad picked out for her. It's dadgum Home Economics 101 around here. From the woman who never considered herself very domestic. The woman who was going to be a rock star. Then the woman who was married to her job.
Y'all come by. I'll make you some biscuits. Things are different now.
Allowing for change
Allows you to find yourself
In comfortable skin.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Single digits. The counter on the left is in single digits. That doesn't mean a whole lot I suppose. It is only an estimated due date, after all. The fact that the word "February" came out of the doctor's mouth today did not slip past me. I heard it.
Someone else is in single digits. Whymommy, my dear Susan, is five days away from her surgery.
This has been floating around in my head all month, as I've been watching our respective countdowns. I thought there would be something poetic to say about it. Some sort of literary bit to compose.
But there isn't.
We just find ourselves both waiting.
And it does feel like we are both getting our second chances at the same time.
I'm a grump. You can imagine why. Bird is teasing me.
This morning though? I'm so easily annoyed that I'm bitching at our local news show. Just talking to it, telling them how stupid they are.
They were all over the Wintery Mix that we would have this morning. Last night, they went as far as to say that we would have about 2 inches of snow this morning. Granted, it would melt before lunchtime, but 2 inches of snow for a couple of hours is better than nothing.
Now, we have a muddy backyard, a very sad Lovely, and nothing but rain at 34 degrees.
And the weather people? Not apologizing. They are just covering their butts with pictures of some snow flurry that happened at 4:00 AM about an hour north of here.
They could just say they were wrong. It would be far less annoying.
Labels: Random Thoughts
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
We sat at the dinner table tonight with books and papers on labor and delivery. Seeing how Lovely may be with us during Little Bird's arrival, we wanted to help her understand the stages of labor and what would happen during delivery.
The basics were covered. The basics of labor and delivery and the basics of our plans. She asked a couple of questions, looked at a couple of the books with us, and we were done. If she thinks of anymore questions she said she would ask us later.
It was very cool to sit and discuss the beginning of life as a family. Birth. The arrival of Little Bird.
After the conversation, we cleaned up the kitchen and I took some laundry upstairs. Lovely was in her room changing the batteries in her Nintendo. I knocked on her door with some clean clothes for her to put away.
"I haven't checked the pig in a couple of mornings since you've been here. Is he doing okay?"
She said that she hadn't checked on him this morning either. We noticed his water was getting low, and I went over to get the bottle.
Hershey was laying in the back of his pen where his Timothy hay made both a bed and a feast for the fatso pig. His eyes were open, but he was very still.
A couple of days ago, Lovely and I had Hershey out for some guinea pig loving. I gently pointed out that the lump on the back of his neck had gotten significantly larger since the last time she was home. I said that I was worried Hershey wouldn't be with us much longer.
I didn't think that it was a matter of days.
Hershey is gone. He died in his favorite spot in his cavi condo. Guy said he had checked on him this morning and he was still with us. Sometime during the day, Hershey left this life. Only after eating 99% of the giant bed of hay though.
I cried more than anyone. I don't know why I loved that little pig. I've never been a rodent person. When he unexpectedly moved in here, from Lovely's mother's house, he squeaked his way right into my heart. He would rattle his cage and squeak at me as I worked on my sewing in the next room, as I changed Lovely's sheets, or put away towels in the linen closet.
"Get in here, woman, and give me some damn yogurt treats!"
He was a demanding little pig.
The setter loved him. Pupstar wanted to eat him. Gibson also drooled over him.
Lovely loved him. He was hers. He survived her parents' divorce with her and followed her into her new part-time home. Her father bought that pig for her, and she loved him.
I got a box, a funky hand towel with pom poms on the end of it, and Lovely suggested making a bed of hay for him. We did. Guy placed Hershey on his bed of hay one last time and wrapped the towel over him.
We said our words over Hershey's last resting place, wrote notes to him on the box, and said good bye.
Starting our night with birth. Ending our night with death.
It was a full evening.
We will miss you, fatso pig. You were much loved.
It's not that I'm ready for Bird to come. I'm not sure that I am. I kind of like having him right here with me all the time. I kind of like having him poking at me and squirming about. He is certainly easier to take care of now than he will be in a couple of weeks.
But I'm getting anxious that he is alright. I'm getting anxious that he is out of room. He doesn't move like he used to, and although I know that it is because he can't, I still worry. I still count his movements and give him a gentle rub to make sure he responds. He always does, but I still worry.
My Sil told me that the worry starts when you find out you are pregnant and just continues on forever.
My biggest worry now though, is that I won't know how to be a mom. What if I can't figure out how I'm supposed to love this little guy?
I've never been the nurturing type. The other day, one of my younger students, a sixth grader, was having a meltdown over her least favorite contest piece. Some days, I'll listen, offer a tissue, and try to be understanding. Last week? I just looked at her and told her she would have to wait until after her lesson to cry because we didn't have time to deal with it today. I told her I was sorry she was frustrated, but she just had to pull it together so we could get our work done.
Looking back, that was harsh. She did respond and pull it together, but I find that it is more in my nature to be very matter of fact with children and not at all coddle them. I have always been in the camp of children being little people, not just children.
I believe that the best thing I can teach a child is independence. How to do it themselves. I teach my students how to learn on their own, not how to play each piece. I teach them how to problem solve, not how to recite back a bunch of notes. I want them to grow up to be pianists and musicians who understand on their own what it is they are doing.
I also believe that in teaching a child how to do things for themselves, you instill in them confidence. By telling my students that I believe they can do it on their own, they start to believe it too. And then they can. They can accomplish things on their own simply because someone told them they could and gave them the tools to do it.
It doesn't feel like any of those beliefs or my natural instincts are maternal. It feels like the opposite. I'm anxious that I will expect too much from my child too soon.
He will be helpless.
I haven't dealt with helpless before. Not well, at least. And that makes me more than a little nervous.
I have good support though, and when I talked about this with Guy last night he said,
"You won't be alone taking care of the baby."
He's right. He will be here to help, and he knows what he's doing more than I do. That is a huge comfort.
Just hashing some things out here before they show up in my dreams again.
Last night, I dreamed I had the slipperiest baby ever and that it just slid right on out and I caught him myself.
It was a much shorter dream because I barely slept. Every time I would fall asleep I would immediately wake myself back up again by snoring like a gorilla.
And that makes me want for Little Bird to go ahead and come. Because I'm already exhausted.
Monday, January 14, 2008
There is this dream that I keep having lately. It has various details, but some of the basics are the same. The one I remember most vividly starts out with me going into labor at home.
When Guy arrives home, he isn't the Guy I know, but instead, he is a large Hispanic man who works as a janitor. It is still Guy, but it isn't. And I can't understand a word he says because all he speaks is Spanish.
From there, I wake up in the hospital to find that I had already had the baby. He looks like a blond haired, blue eyed Cabbage Patch doll and never blinks. He won't have anything to do with breastfeeding.
I can't remember any of the birth. When I ask Guy about it, he just continues to speak Spanish to me. Then, I realize that we had forgotten to call the doula when I went into labor. There is no one to tell me about my labor and delivery. When I get up from the bed, I find that I have an incision across the bottom of my belly that was most certainly from a c-section, but everyone insists that I didn't have one.
Things are a little sketchy after we leave the hospital. We have some errands to run, and I don't know what happened to the baby. All I know is that I thought I kept losing him, but it always turned out that someone else was just taking care of him for me. Whenever I tried to get him back, they would turn me away telling me that they had it covered and I should just go on and get done what I needed to get done. I just wanted them to give him back to me.
That's it. The recurring dream. I don't think it's hard to interpret.
I obviously have some anxiety that I haven't consciously worked through. Then again, I don't feel anxious during the day. I feel excited. I guess I should spend a little time though, on the glaringly obvious fears I still have.
It's probably very wrong to be amused at myself for being so ridiculous and for having such transparent dreams. Makes me feel quite silly.
I'm officially ready for him to be here so I can start worrying about him in person. Face to face.
Friday, January 11, 2008
One for Bird . . .
I am so tired
Little Bird's not even here
Need to get some sleep.
One for Momma . . .
Momma's chemo works
Is down even more.
One for Lovely . . .
I love track out time
Hanging with my Lovely girl
Gonna learn to sew.
More haiku goodness over at Jennifer's place. Check them out. Even better yet, join in! 5-7-5 is a piece of cake.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I am so boring. Baby baby baby. If I could think about something else to write about, I would. Just when I think I have though, Bird gives me a good deep dig into my ribs and reminds me that I am supposed to be obsessed right about now.
Doctor visit today. Lost a pound and a half. Declined the cervix check again - would rather be surprised if something is happening now. Bird is still head down and squirmy. My lovely NMD ladies tell me that the weight loss is indicative of something about to happen. Interesting.
It at least inspired me to finish boxing up the Christmas stuff that had just made its way into the guest bedroom. I need a new tub. Even after all the stuff I got rid of this year, I still need a new tub. Dang.
Guy is singing the blues now. Not because he is blue though. Just because he got a new Robben Ford book. I love to listen to him.
Haven't heard back from the photographer yet. I emailed him today. Told him how disappointed I was, but that we would like to try again. Tried to be very diplomatic about it. We'll see.
Alright. Time to give Canape a little advice.
Papa wants to get Bird a cradle. We have a moses basket, so I'm wondering if all we really need is a stand for it. Papa really wants Bird to have Guy's cradle, but that's a whole other ridiculous story. I feel sure that Guy will have the things back from his childhood one day anyway, but it's not worth the trouble right now. So he has come up with this idea of buying a new cradle.
The thing is, I don't want him to think we don't appreciate what he wants to do for the baby. I just don't want him spending a bunch of money on something we don't really need. On the other hand, if it's what he wants to do, who am I to stop him from doing it?
There is a balance I think in letting people do something for you because it makes them feel good, and stopping them from doing something because it is not necessary. I don't know what that balance is. Is the gift to make him happy? Or do we let him know that we appreciate it but don't really need it?
Thoughts? Opinions? Weigh in here for me. What would you do? Let him buy an expensive cradle or ask him to just get a stand for the moses basket?
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Guy and I had some pictures done in mid December. Couple shots and maternity shots. We didn't have a wedding, so there are no wedding pictures. We wanted some good pictures, so we hired this guy to take some.
It was a gamble. His work is really quite good, but he had never done maternity shots before. We didn't want the heart around the belly button shot anyway, so we opted to go with him for his portraiture.
When he asked if we needed the pictures before the holidays, we said "no." What I didn't figure into that was him waiting until now to actually take said pictures off the memory card and try to load them.
Email tonight said this:
"I'm afraid I've got some bad news about the photos..."
They are ruined. Something about the memory card and noise and whatnot. There are no pictures. He wants to come and reshoot them this weekend.
Here's where the not hiring a maternity photographer is coming back to bite me in my ever expanding ass. There is a HUGE difference between a 34 week pregnant woman and a 38 week pregnant woman. I am enormous. Shirts don't cover my belly. My face is starting to swell. I don't glow anymore, I just flat out sweat. I'm no longer in the mood to cuddle up to Guy and smile for a camera.
And by the time I am in that mood again? I won't be pregnant anymore, and I will have missed my chance at having maternity shots of this pregnancy with Little Bird.
My friends have told me tonight to let him come back. Get the pictures. That I will regret it if I don't. I know they are right. But something just doesn't feel authentic about it.
It was such a good day. We had just brought Gibson home. The house was all decorated for Christmas. Guy and I had snuggled in that morning and skipped church to get ready for the photographer. The light was right. The mood was light.
I just don't know that it can be recreated. I certainly don't trust him anymore.
He should have checked those pictures that day. Even if he didn't clean them up and get them to me until now, that would have been fine. But he should have checked them that very day. Stuff happens. Things break. Equipment malfunctions. Fine. But to have waited this long to find out? For all he knows, I've already had this baby. I should email him and tell him I have and see what he says.
I've at least decided not to email him back tonight. I tried, but I couldn't keep myself from typing things that I shouldn't say. Especially if I decide to have him come back. Having him come back after calling him all sorts of adjectives that might come before moron probably isn't a great idea.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Remember this little guy? Of course, how could you forget. He seems to be all I talk or think about these days.
I've been a little too gunshy to start a baby pool yet. Seeing as though he could come at any point now, I thought it might be fun.
Just click on the picture of Little Bird, and you will be taken to the location of the gamble.
We know he is a boy. My due date is January 25, and I'm a first time mom. That's all the hinting you get.
There will be an awesome prize for the winner. Don't ask what it is. I don't know.
I'll attempt to move this to the sidebar too, for those who come along later and want to play.
Go on and have a guess!
Guy decided that I should not return to my yoga class until after the baby is born. I protested until he reminded me that I had tripped over the same dog bowl three times in less than five minutes.
And he reminded me that I have to pull up onto the bed with help from him or one of the four posts.
And then he reminded me of the 12 pencils that he picked up off of the floor when he cleaned up the music studio last week. Because I dropped them and just left them there. Because it was easier than bending over to pick them up.
I suppose he has a point or two.
Monday, January 07, 2008
I've been trying to figure out what to write all day. There was this post that I was going to write on Saturday about my friend, my hairdresser, Trish. The post, in my head, was going to be about how this time last year, I would go see Trish at least one a week. Her chair at the salon was my safe haven.
I was so depressed. So very sad. With Trish, I could show up as real as I needed to. She would trim, color, and wax my woes away for the morning. She would make it all better for the time being, and gave me so much support after we lost the baby. I leaned on her and leaned hard.
Friday, I went in for some color, and thought about these things. Thought about how grateful I am to have Trish. Thought about this post that I was going to write.
Then she goes and outdoes herself.
There was this conversation we had about a baby shower. I told her about the amazing group of women that had thrown me a shower from the corners of the country. Still, to this day, I can't find the words to express how incredible that felt. I just couldn't believe it.
It is hard to describe, but after my divorce, there was a definite pruning of friends. Not necessarily by my choice, but most certainly for the best. As Guy has so delicately put it, "You're not so great at making friends." No. No, I'm not always the best judge of a healthy friendship.
In short, there just wasn't really anyone that was going to throw a baby shower out of my remaining few IRL friends. There were good reasons, and having pruned the friendship tree of all the rotten apples a couple of years ago, I knew not to take it personally. The timing and circumstances were just so.
But Trish. After all she already had done for me. All that leaning she put up with, she just did the unbelievable.
A shower. A surprise. At her salon, the very place which had been my sanctuary this time last year. Spouses were included, which was very cool. Even Gibson got to come along. There were lasting friends, who Trish pulled together and had pitch in to give Bird a welcoming party. Everyone brought something. They got there early to help her decorate. They stayed and helped clean up. It was a very cool group effort (like my NMD darlings), and Guy and I felt very very loved.
Again, I find myself at a loss for how to accurately describe how lovely it was. How good it felt to be surrounded by my favorite people here in this city I've made my home. How important it was to have those who have chosen to stand by me, be there to welcome the child that I had almost given up on.
When we were all leaving, my dear friend Dr. L said to me with tears in her eyes, how happy she was that this was happening. I smiled back and said that it had been a long time coming, hadn't it? She smiled back and said yes, it had.
See, the ones that stuck around - those friends who decided I hadn't lost my mind when I blew up my life and started piecing it back together again - they see the difference. The ones that didn't just judge me, they are the ones who know how indescribably lucky I am to have been given this chance. Granted this life. The ones who knew me before know what could have been.
I don't take a single stitch of it for granted.
Today, I especially don't take Trish for granted. Or anyone else who was involved in helping us welcome Little Bird yesterday. He's a lucky little dude to have such good aunties and uncles.
Friday, January 04, 2008
I was a bad girl and skipped haiku-ing over the holidays. You all kept up so well, and I enjoyed reading them. Now, I will join you again.
Gibson, you poor boy
We are always coming back
You are safe at home.
Isn't really helping you
Gibson, you sweet boy
You're in your forever home
I wish you knew that.
Poor big love. Gibson has severe separation anxiety. He has to stay in his crate when we are gone. We can't trust him in the house, and supposedly, he is "crate trained." We don't know what the foster family thought that meant.
But when we leave him, he panics. Shelter nightmares? Fear of family leaving him forever? I don't know, but I wish we could make it go away.
We are trying. Safe word to put him in the crate. Leave for only 10 minutes. Come back and let him out only if he's quiet. Don't make a big deal out of leaving or returning. But in the meantime, we still have to leave him sometimes. Guy has to work. I have errands to run. And poor Gibson doesn't think we are ever coming back.
For more Haiku, go follow this link. For a haiku that will make you cry, go visit Labugga. She wrote a very special haiku for me today.
For me and Bird.
Because today, we are at term.
Thank you, LA.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Yesterday I had my first of the weekly doctor's visits. Saw my least favorite doctor. Declined the cervix check (dude, it is closed tight, and Bird is hanging way up there, I don't need your jelly fingers to tell me that). Had only one question for him.
After he palpated my tummy and told me that Bird was head down and would most likely stay that way I asked, "Can you tell which direction he is facing?"
"That's not important right now."
This is the same guy who when I asked a couple of months ago about eating and drinking during early labor and wearing my own clothes instead of a hospital gown replied,
"You aren't going to want to do that."
Um. I know you're a doctor and all, and that's great. But could you please answer my stinking questions? I can respect you and your knowledge a whole lot easier if you stop acting like a pompous ass.
You see, it is this attitude that annoys me most at the doctor's office. My OB, the one that I normally see, doesn't do this. She answers the question. I appreciate that.
The doctor I saw last week was in a huge hurry, which considering it was the day after Christmas and she was most likely the only one there, is understandable. We took in our birth plan that day and showed it to her. Asked if there was anything that she saw that sent up a red flag where the hospital policy was concerned. The only thing was the IV. Even though the birth plan passed out by the OB's office says that IV's will be given on an individual basis and that not everyone will need one, she said that I at least need to have an access point.
That's fine. I understand. I mean the whole reason for going to the hospital is for the "what if something happens" idea. And if something happens, they are going to want to have IV access ready and waiting. I get it, and I'll budge on that one.
When she got down to the infant care section though, she said that they would need to take the baby and put him under the warmer instead of leaving him with me and letting the nurses do the APGAR right on my chest.
I explained to her that I was incredibly keen on immediate skin-to-skin contact and immediate breast feeding. Before any of the other was to happen.
Then she told me that he had to go to the warmer. So I asked her why, thinking maybe there was some medical something I didn't know about that I needed more information on.
Not so much.
She told me, "You aren't warm enough. The baby needs the warmer."
I calmly (and hopefully respectfully) explained to her that I was plenty warm, and that babies were born and survived without warmers all over the world.
She disagreed, and I smiled and told her that I heard what she was saying, but that a mother's chest is absolutely warm enough for her newborn. We left it at that. Agreeing to disagree.
What gets my goat is that she couldn't just say, "Gee, it's so much easier for the nurses if you will just let him go to the warmer for 90 seconds, get weighed and measured, and then get him right back. They are used to that routine." I would be almost willing to budge just because they asked nicely.
But trying to give me some crap about babies having to be in a warmer for survival? Please.
And herein lies what I think is the final dilemma about the birthing process for me.
I respect the doctors and nurses. They have been through countless hours of school and training to do what they do. Their goal is to have a healthy mother and baby at the end of the day. I think they deserve the utmost of respect.
On the other hand, they will also be looking after countless other women that day. Countless other patients. And they will be on a schedule and in a routine. It is likely that they will want me to just behave and do everything like everyone else does. And there are some things I would like to do differently. Things that are important to me, but will not fit into their routine exactly.
The dilemma is then, how do you let them know that you aren't trying to disrespect them or second guess everything they are doing, but that for at least an hour after he is born, assuming that everything has gone smoothly and as planned, that I want him on me. On my skin. Before a full bath. Before anything. One hour. Our hour. I think it is that important.
I suppose a mountain of baked goods for the nurses station isn't out of the question. And there will be Guy and the doula.
Really though, if you get down to the heart of it, it is a mutual respect thing. I want to show respect to the doctors and nurses, but you know what?
It would be damn nice if they showed some respect to me as well. Straight answers. Respecting a decision that hasn't been made without lots of learning. Understanding that although I am a first time mom, I am not an idiot.
Our hospital boasts delivering 7,000 babies a year. Surely I can't be the only mother who has some definite opinions about certain things.
This next paragraph is taken from the latest weekly email newsletter sent out by the hospital where we will be going:
If your birth is uncomplicated, plan to spend a quiet hour or more holding and getting to know your new baby skin-to-skin, on your chest, with a light blanket over both of you for warmth. Research suggests newborns allowed 70 to 80 minutes of undisturbed skin-to-skin contact with their mothers right after birth sleep more, cry less, and are less stressed than infants who are held briefly (for 15 to 20 minutes), then separated for washing and dressing. If you plan to breastfeed, nursing your baby during this time will help you to get the best start possible.
So as I was saying . . .
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
I'm not a resolution maker. However, having finally caught up on my blog reading even if I had to skim some, I would like to stay more up to date with things and the people I care about in this community.
That includes answering memes and awards in a timely fashion. I've been a rude blogger lately, and that is going to change.
I don't promise though, that I won't cheat and do two memes in one post. Heh.
Emily, the fantabulous editor of Props and Pans and author of Fenicle, tagged me for a seven random facts meme. I've been tagged for this before, but we know what happened there. I was just rude. Sorry about that.
1. I have expensive tastes and a tight wallet. The two contradict each other all the time. Consequently, I would rather have one pair of expensive jeans that fit really well than 5 pairs of cheapo's that don't. On the other hand, nothing gets me more stoked than a good bargain.
2. I have never liked the way I look more than I do now while I'm pregnant.
3. Dogs like me.
4. Cameras don't.
5. I would rather have a bare wall than hang something on it that wasn't made by an artist. Preferably one I have met.
6. There's an unworn wedding dress hanging in my guest bedroom.
7. I love whole milk.
I'm tagging, well, I think most everyone I know has been tagged for this, but I can't remember. I'll tag, and if you've done it, don't feel like you have to repeat it. Kimmie, because she needs a distraction. Amy, because she doesn't need a distraction, but I figure she has learned a lot about herself lately. How about another fellow preggo at The Vessel? It's not seven, but it's the best I can do right now. If you ladies care to play along, just link back to here, list your 7 random things, and then tag seven additional bloggers. Let them know by leaving them a comment. Or cheat and just tag three.
The next meme is from Imstell. Here are the rules:
- Share 5 random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog. or
- Share the 5 top places on your "want to see or want to see again" list. or
- Share 5 things you never pictured being in your future when your were 25 years old.
Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
The tagees have a choice of which they want to do.
1. Being pregnant.
2. Being a part-time stay at home mom.
3. Being married to a man who lights my fire.
4. Never pictured my daddy as someone who would need such care so early in his life.
5. Wouldn't have thought the recording and performing I do would be in the new age genre rather than the rock genre.
For this, I tag Whymommy, Girl, Bubblewench, the most awesome Hat Maker ever, and Tara.
Amen. Thus endeth the memes.