Dear Frijole,
I knew you had changed positions in there but good lord, girl! Sideways? Really? You need to stop fooling around and arrange yourself head down, because this show's about to get on the road and you've got them talking C-sections. Although I am strongly advising you to consider taking up a different position, secretly I am proud of you. May there be many boundaries you are willing to transverse in your life. And please don't let my rules make up the bulk of them.
During the last few days you've been in this position, your little bottom has created a serious hump in one (off-centered) part of my stomach that goes up and down as you wiggle around in there. I find it rather hypnotic to watch and rub. Plus, to be honest, it's totally creepy and alien-like. I hope to see a foot or a hand pressing out soon.
I met our doula yesterday morning. She's helping with your birth and one of the first faces you will see when you make your grand entrance from some as of yet undetermined orafice on my body and into this world. She is a very nice, earth mothery type of lady who wants to help me have an empowering childbirth, so I'm trying to calm the eff down and follow her advice for both of our sakes.
Love,
Mama
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pregnancy. Show all posts
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
On doom
Dear Frijole,
One pleasant thing I've found through being pregnant is a small but significant and sensitive community of mothers/mothers-to-be and those who understand them. A group of women who remind each other that just because you don't feel miraculous and grateful for pregnancy and motherhood exactly 100% of the time doesn't mean you're wrong or not normal. Or that you are bad at it and shouldn't be doing it.
Awhile back, a long-distance friend (B.) mentioned that with each of her three pregnancies, she'd at some point felt a very real sense of doom about everything she'd ever hoped to accomplish. She wanted to reassure me that any and all mixtures of emotions I was feeling were valid. I have been finding myself grateful for B. and the other ladies who've shared their perspectives on these darker emotions that come with the territory of generating another life within your being.
The doom is kicking in a bit.
This morning I went to a pediatric clinic to interview a potential pediatrician for you at UCSF. She was absolutely wonderful and kind and supportive and concerned and I am proud to have her as your doctor. (Plus, I cried from a ridiculous overflow of emotions at least three different times during the appointment and she didn't seem the least bit fazed. Ahem.) As I was leaving, she said to me, "The next time I see you, you'll be with your baby!" Honestly, I felt faint.
I mean, it's no secret that you're in there and due to make an appearance soon, but...but it's getting to the point where it's...IMMINENT. And shit's getting REAL. Today I bought DIAPERS! I bought you sweet little striped sockies, too, but those diapers were like big, white smacks in the FACE! I can barely fathom B.'s aforementioned "things I want to accomplish in my life" because--at the moment, at least--I am wondering how I will ever manage to leave the house again let alone anything more complicated.
I find myself thinking weird things, too. Like with the tube of toothpaste I just bought for when our current one runs out. I find myself wondering, WILL THE BABY SEE THIS TOOTHPASTE?! And then the toothpaste becomes, like, this weird beacon announcing that this part of my life--this non-baby-having-allegedly-carefree-form I now inhabit--will be over within weeks. Of course, this week that has also happened with a bird cage, pack of razors, and a bottle of vanilla extract that I don't even own yet. But it's the last bottle of vanilla extract I will purchase as a non-parent! And surely that is momentous.
It's not just that kind of pressure, either. There is also a fair amount of expectation about when and how powerfully the maternal instinct kicks in that women have to reassure each other against constantly. And I appreciate it. Sometimes I hear dramatic things, like, "As soon as I lay eyes on my newborn son, I knew I would die for him."
Holy shit! Is there or has there ever been a person that I felt that way about? There have been a couple who were as close as it gets, I suppose, but if I'm honest...no. No, there has never been anyone for whom I would actually give up my life. But allegedly there will be soon! And how will I respond when put to the firing test? Will I look at the wrinkly, messy, squirming creature and feel that my life and its purpose have been affirmed? Or will I feel...something else? And how will the people around me think of me if I feel something else? How can one know how one will react to such a situation? Is it always so intense and predictable? It can't possibly be!
In the last week, my belly has really begun to pop out and, judging from the transformation taking place within my belly button, like a turkey I am done! I am washing your clothes and getting the last items I perceive that I need. Your daddy and I are spending our last days alone together. I am counting the days until I can have a glass of wine again. The home stretch is overwhelming. Sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not constantly a joyful, grateful earth mother. Which I'm definitely not. You should probably get used to that now.
Love,
Mama
One pleasant thing I've found through being pregnant is a small but significant and sensitive community of mothers/mothers-to-be and those who understand them. A group of women who remind each other that just because you don't feel miraculous and grateful for pregnancy and motherhood exactly 100% of the time doesn't mean you're wrong or not normal. Or that you are bad at it and shouldn't be doing it.
Awhile back, a long-distance friend (B.) mentioned that with each of her three pregnancies, she'd at some point felt a very real sense of doom about everything she'd ever hoped to accomplish. She wanted to reassure me that any and all mixtures of emotions I was feeling were valid. I have been finding myself grateful for B. and the other ladies who've shared their perspectives on these darker emotions that come with the territory of generating another life within your being.
The doom is kicking in a bit.
This morning I went to a pediatric clinic to interview a potential pediatrician for you at UCSF. She was absolutely wonderful and kind and supportive and concerned and I am proud to have her as your doctor. (Plus, I cried from a ridiculous overflow of emotions at least three different times during the appointment and she didn't seem the least bit fazed. Ahem.) As I was leaving, she said to me, "The next time I see you, you'll be with your baby!" Honestly, I felt faint.
I mean, it's no secret that you're in there and due to make an appearance soon, but...but it's getting to the point where it's...IMMINENT. And shit's getting REAL. Today I bought DIAPERS! I bought you sweet little striped sockies, too, but those diapers were like big, white smacks in the FACE! I can barely fathom B.'s aforementioned "things I want to accomplish in my life" because--at the moment, at least--I am wondering how I will ever manage to leave the house again let alone anything more complicated.
I find myself thinking weird things, too. Like with the tube of toothpaste I just bought for when our current one runs out. I find myself wondering, WILL THE BABY SEE THIS TOOTHPASTE?! And then the toothpaste becomes, like, this weird beacon announcing that this part of my life--this non-baby-having-allegedly-carefree-form I now inhabit--will be over within weeks. Of course, this week that has also happened with a bird cage, pack of razors, and a bottle of vanilla extract that I don't even own yet. But it's the last bottle of vanilla extract I will purchase as a non-parent! And surely that is momentous.
It's not just that kind of pressure, either. There is also a fair amount of expectation about when and how powerfully the maternal instinct kicks in that women have to reassure each other against constantly. And I appreciate it. Sometimes I hear dramatic things, like, "As soon as I lay eyes on my newborn son, I knew I would die for him."
Holy shit! Is there or has there ever been a person that I felt that way about? There have been a couple who were as close as it gets, I suppose, but if I'm honest...no. No, there has never been anyone for whom I would actually give up my life. But allegedly there will be soon! And how will I respond when put to the firing test? Will I look at the wrinkly, messy, squirming creature and feel that my life and its purpose have been affirmed? Or will I feel...something else? And how will the people around me think of me if I feel something else? How can one know how one will react to such a situation? Is it always so intense and predictable? It can't possibly be!
In the last week, my belly has really begun to pop out and, judging from the transformation taking place within my belly button, like a turkey I am done! I am washing your clothes and getting the last items I perceive that I need. Your daddy and I are spending our last days alone together. I am counting the days until I can have a glass of wine again. The home stretch is overwhelming. Sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not constantly a joyful, grateful earth mother. Which I'm definitely not. You should probably get used to that now.
Love,
Mama
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Breathe
Dear Frijole,
33 1/2 weeks. Almost 8 1/2 months.
It is early in the morning and I am up for the third time tonight. Aside from sleeplessness due to being uncomfortable and achey, you are pressed up against both my stomach and diaphragm which makes for lots of indigestion and shortness of breath. When I sit up in bed for the millionth time, your sleepy daddy murmurs, "You ok?" and falls back asleep immediately. I let him sleep because he has to go to work and I get up again restlessly.
We just moved in with your aunty Natasha and cousin Lucas for the next 6 months. This move was meant to help us all save some money and so far is working very well. I felt very fortunate that I was able to hire ladies to help pack up our old apartment as well as movers and cleaners to make my labor during the move much, much easier. Plus your father worked very hard.
One of the women who came to clean our old apartment, Marada, was also in her eighth month of pregnancy. At first we congratulated each other and happily admired that we were both about to have little girls. But after she got to work, I watched her scrubbing my bathroom floor on her hands and knees amidst strong cleanser fumes. I felt guilty thast she was working to make things easier for me when she also needed to be getting off of her feet and resting, plus I couldn't believe she was able to get down on the floor when I can barely bend over.
"How are you able to do this?" I asked her.
With her scrub brush in hand, she sat back on her heels, blew the hair out of her eyes, and shrugged, "I have to." I felt so unhappy and over-privileged and...white. When she asked shyly if she could drink from a four year old bottle of water I was putting in the recycling bin, I felt worse.
I tipped Marada and her assistant well but I can't stop thinking about her and wishing I could help more. We don't have much money, but I am so grateful for what we do have.
At any rate, the best news is that the move is over and all I have to do now is get ready for you. Your grandma is poised to jump on an airplane to San Francisco as soon as I go into labor. I think she is as impatient for you to be born as I am. You know, you bring a lot of smiles to her face and mine and you're not even here yet. Already people are lining up to hug and kiss you. My sweet baby girl.
Love,
Mama
33 1/2 weeks. Almost 8 1/2 months.
It is early in the morning and I am up for the third time tonight. Aside from sleeplessness due to being uncomfortable and achey, you are pressed up against both my stomach and diaphragm which makes for lots of indigestion and shortness of breath. When I sit up in bed for the millionth time, your sleepy daddy murmurs, "You ok?" and falls back asleep immediately. I let him sleep because he has to go to work and I get up again restlessly.
We just moved in with your aunty Natasha and cousin Lucas for the next 6 months. This move was meant to help us all save some money and so far is working very well. I felt very fortunate that I was able to hire ladies to help pack up our old apartment as well as movers and cleaners to make my labor during the move much, much easier. Plus your father worked very hard.
One of the women who came to clean our old apartment, Marada, was also in her eighth month of pregnancy. At first we congratulated each other and happily admired that we were both about to have little girls. But after she got to work, I watched her scrubbing my bathroom floor on her hands and knees amidst strong cleanser fumes. I felt guilty thast she was working to make things easier for me when she also needed to be getting off of her feet and resting, plus I couldn't believe she was able to get down on the floor when I can barely bend over.
"How are you able to do this?" I asked her.
With her scrub brush in hand, she sat back on her heels, blew the hair out of her eyes, and shrugged, "I have to." I felt so unhappy and over-privileged and...white. When she asked shyly if she could drink from a four year old bottle of water I was putting in the recycling bin, I felt worse.
I tipped Marada and her assistant well but I can't stop thinking about her and wishing I could help more. We don't have much money, but I am so grateful for what we do have.
At any rate, the best news is that the move is over and all I have to do now is get ready for you. Your grandma is poised to jump on an airplane to San Francisco as soon as I go into labor. I think she is as impatient for you to be born as I am. You know, you bring a lot of smiles to her face and mine and you're not even here yet. Already people are lining up to hug and kiss you. My sweet baby girl.
Love,
Mama
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Third trimester impatience
Dear sweet Frijole,
You have been baking in my oven for nearly 31 weeks now--that's 7 1/2 months. You are already so big in there that my organs are squished up against the sides of me. I can't imagine what this will feel like in a few more weeks!
Twice now I have experienced Braxton Hicks contractions in the middle of the night and I must say they are no fun. Supposedly my body is practicing to push you out. Getting ready for the main event. It lets me know we're in the home stretch, though, and for this I am very happy.
Soon I (and by extension, you as well) will be meeting with our doula Meg to discuss giving birth to you and how she can help your daddy and I during this process. He felt a little nervous about this prospect at first because he wanted to be right there helping me during your delivery. I assured him that he still will be! But he will have some of the pressure taken off of him now and he can relax more and focus on holding my hand and helping me to feel less afraid.
Everything makes me cry still, Frijole: shows on the Discovery channel that show babies in the womb, the absence of my grandparents, shopping for bassinet sheets, solo acoustic performances of Jeff Mangum, running out of juice. Even talking to Meg on the phone tonight about when we would meet up made my eyes mist over.
You, on the other hand, seem pretty happy and active. Honestly, sometimes I think you're trying to break your way out down there. My friend Carrie just had her little girl and I absolutely crave pictures of her. I want to look at babies so much! I watch videos on YouTube of babies getting baths constantly because they are so precious.
I don't mean to rush you, though. You need to take your time and grow strong and healthy before you come out. I can't wait.
Love,
Mama
You have been baking in my oven for nearly 31 weeks now--that's 7 1/2 months. You are already so big in there that my organs are squished up against the sides of me. I can't imagine what this will feel like in a few more weeks!
Twice now I have experienced Braxton Hicks contractions in the middle of the night and I must say they are no fun. Supposedly my body is practicing to push you out. Getting ready for the main event. It lets me know we're in the home stretch, though, and for this I am very happy.
Soon I (and by extension, you as well) will be meeting with our doula Meg to discuss giving birth to you and how she can help your daddy and I during this process. He felt a little nervous about this prospect at first because he wanted to be right there helping me during your delivery. I assured him that he still will be! But he will have some of the pressure taken off of him now and he can relax more and focus on holding my hand and helping me to feel less afraid.
Everything makes me cry still, Frijole: shows on the Discovery channel that show babies in the womb, the absence of my grandparents, shopping for bassinet sheets, solo acoustic performances of Jeff Mangum, running out of juice. Even talking to Meg on the phone tonight about when we would meet up made my eyes mist over.
You, on the other hand, seem pretty happy and active. Honestly, sometimes I think you're trying to break your way out down there. My friend Carrie just had her little girl and I absolutely crave pictures of her. I want to look at babies so much! I watch videos on YouTube of babies getting baths constantly because they are so precious.
I don't mean to rush you, though. You need to take your time and grow strong and healthy before you come out. I can't wait.
Love,
Mama
Sunday, February 5, 2012
In which I forgo all attempts at complete paragraphs in order to complain more freely
Dear Frijole,
You are getting big. Very, very big.
I can't wait to meet you, but I am getting uncomfortable. Very, very uncomfortable.
I think you have a small marching band in there with you.
Turning over in bed is a challenge, bending over to do anything...well, forget it. Getting close to the sink or stove is impossible.
Everything makes me feel suddently claustrophobic. Even (especially?) maternity pants.
I am trying to pack this apartment. We have very little room to begin with, and no room to put anything once it is packed and the cat is underfoot every single second and I start to cry at the drop of a hat because everything suddenly feels hard and overwhelming.
I haven't had many cravings with you, but lately all I want is sandwiches. So that is what we are having. Sandwiches of all types! Turkey, ham, BLTs, club sandwiches, egg salad sandwiches. I want them all the time. At least they are economical.
On the positive side, your grandma got us a camera so we can take lots of photos and videos from you. Your father thinks it is hilarious to tease me about taping your birth. I promise him it will be the last thing he ever does.
A cute two-bedroom apartment has opened up two blocks away from us. The bedrooms are a good size and it is in our price range and I want it so badly that I can barely think about it.
Once we get a rocking chair, you and I are going to spend some serious time in it. De-stressing. Maybe it's time for that prenatal massage from auntie TK.
Love,
Mama
You are getting big. Very, very big.
I can't wait to meet you, but I am getting uncomfortable. Very, very uncomfortable.
I think you have a small marching band in there with you.
Turning over in bed is a challenge, bending over to do anything...well, forget it. Getting close to the sink or stove is impossible.
Everything makes me feel suddently claustrophobic. Even (especially?) maternity pants.
I am trying to pack this apartment. We have very little room to begin with, and no room to put anything once it is packed and the cat is underfoot every single second and I start to cry at the drop of a hat because everything suddenly feels hard and overwhelming.
I haven't had many cravings with you, but lately all I want is sandwiches. So that is what we are having. Sandwiches of all types! Turkey, ham, BLTs, club sandwiches, egg salad sandwiches. I want them all the time. At least they are economical.
On the positive side, your grandma got us a camera so we can take lots of photos and videos from you. Your father thinks it is hilarious to tease me about taping your birth. I promise him it will be the last thing he ever does.
A cute two-bedroom apartment has opened up two blocks away from us. The bedrooms are a good size and it is in our price range and I want it so badly that I can barely think about it.
Once we get a rocking chair, you and I are going to spend some serious time in it. De-stressing. Maybe it's time for that prenatal massage from auntie TK.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Waiting
Dear Frijole,
I got to peek at you one last time by ultrasound yesterday--the last time I'll see you before you enter the world. You were a rowdy little thing in there; once again the technician had a hard time measuring you. At the moment I am 27 weeks pregnant with you and you are head up. This is no surprise to me because I feel both your feet kicking my bladder simultaneously nearly every day. Supposedly we don't have to worry about your position until 35 weeks, but I go ahead and worry a little now just for good measure.
At the time of the ultrasound you were laying on your stomach with your little legs crossed. Every time they would get a good view of all four chambers of your heart, you would seemingly purposefully push your arm at the camera to block the view. I laughed, but I was the only one in the room amused as the ultrasound ended up taking an hour and a half as a result of your antics.
Guess what? You are going to be one well-dressed girl. My lovely friend Diana has given us a virtual boat-load of clothes for you ranging from newborn sizes all the way up to 3T (though I can barely fathom you will ever be that big). You now officially own more shoes than I do.
A final piece of news: after much angst, discussion, and attempted (and failed) negotiations with our landlord, your daddy and I will be moving to another apartment March 1. I am anxious beyond belief about it all--especially the cost of the move--and terrified we won't be able to find a nice place in a decent neighborhood where you and I can take walks. Your daddy can take one look at my face and know when I am worrying about the move and he spends a great deal of time reassuring me. All I can do for now to ease my mind is to take care of the items I can control now, such as booking our movers. On Feb. 1 I will hit the ground running on the apartment search. It makes me tired just thinking about it.
Touching your soft pajamas and looking through your baby things makes me feel better. I can't wait until we are all settled in a new place and just waiting for you to make your grand entrance. I'm so excited to meet you.
Love,
Mama
I got to peek at you one last time by ultrasound yesterday--the last time I'll see you before you enter the world. You were a rowdy little thing in there; once again the technician had a hard time measuring you. At the moment I am 27 weeks pregnant with you and you are head up. This is no surprise to me because I feel both your feet kicking my bladder simultaneously nearly every day. Supposedly we don't have to worry about your position until 35 weeks, but I go ahead and worry a little now just for good measure.
At the time of the ultrasound you were laying on your stomach with your little legs crossed. Every time they would get a good view of all four chambers of your heart, you would seemingly purposefully push your arm at the camera to block the view. I laughed, but I was the only one in the room amused as the ultrasound ended up taking an hour and a half as a result of your antics.
Guess what? You are going to be one well-dressed girl. My lovely friend Diana has given us a virtual boat-load of clothes for you ranging from newborn sizes all the way up to 3T (though I can barely fathom you will ever be that big). You now officially own more shoes than I do.
A final piece of news: after much angst, discussion, and attempted (and failed) negotiations with our landlord, your daddy and I will be moving to another apartment March 1. I am anxious beyond belief about it all--especially the cost of the move--and terrified we won't be able to find a nice place in a decent neighborhood where you and I can take walks. Your daddy can take one look at my face and know when I am worrying about the move and he spends a great deal of time reassuring me. All I can do for now to ease my mind is to take care of the items I can control now, such as booking our movers. On Feb. 1 I will hit the ground running on the apartment search. It makes me tired just thinking about it.
Touching your soft pajamas and looking through your baby things makes me feel better. I can't wait until we are all settled in a new place and just waiting for you to make your grand entrance. I'm so excited to meet you.
Love,
Mama
Friday, January 6, 2012
On baby/mama cell exchange
During pregnancy, the mother and fetus exchange cells and some of those cells can live on forever in the two bodies after the child is born.
(all taken from kottke.org and direct quote from article by Jena Pincott "Our Selves, Other Cells.")
During pregnancy, cells sneak across the placenta in both directions. The fetus's cells enter his mother, and the mother's cells enter the fetus. A baby's cells are detectable in his mother's bloodstream as early as four weeks after conception, and a mother's cells are detectable in her fetus by week 13. In the first trimester, one out of every fifty thousand cells in her body are from her baby-to-be (this is how some noninvasive prenatal tests check for genetic disorders). In the second and third trimesters, the count is up to one out of every thousand maternal cells. At the end of the pregnancy, up to 6 percent of the DNA in a pregnant woman's blood plasma comes from the fetus. After birth, the mother's fetal cell count plummets, but some stick around for the long haul. Those lingerers create their own lineages. Imagine colonies in the motherland.Whoa.
Moms usually tolerate the invasion. This is why skin, organ, and bone marrow transplants between mother and child have a much higher success rate than between father and child.
(all taken from kottke.org and direct quote from article by Jena Pincott "Our Selves, Other Cells.")
Sunday, January 1, 2012
In the year of your birth
Dear Frijole,
It makes me very happy to tell you that I am almost 25 weeks pregnant with you--that's over 6 months! Just in the last couple of weeks I have started to feel you all the time, and you certainly make your presence known. You happily kick and punch in there, and I swear sometimes it feels like you're practicing gymnastics. I never get tired of feeling you, although you do protest if you don't like my sleeping position and we should probably work on that.
It feels momentous to me that it is now the year in which you will be born. I try to pay attention to things more now--the price of gas, the cost of bread, what I do to fill a whole day by myself--because I want to remember what I was like before you will have arrived in my life. I know and welcome the fact that I will never be the same again. I'm not sure I will ever get another good night's sleep knowing that you are in the world and away from my body and might need my protection.
I think about you constantly: what I want for you, what I want to teach and show you, what mistakes I'll probably have to let you make on your own. Your daddy and I talk to your big brother about you and he is very excited to meet you. I fold and refold the clothes I have for you so far, and I stroke the soft blankets and sniff the lotion I will rub on you after I give you a bath. I dream about you at night. We talk about you as if you are a separate person in the room already. "What do you and Sophie Minophie want for breakfast?" your daddy might aske me. That is his special nickname for you. You will probably have many.
For now I try to be patient. I budget money and purchase the items you will need when you come home. I try to memorize what it is like to feel you moving in me, because soon we will never have this time together again. I get tired and take a lot of naps, but I wouldn't trade carrying you in me for the world.
Love,
Mama
It makes me very happy to tell you that I am almost 25 weeks pregnant with you--that's over 6 months! Just in the last couple of weeks I have started to feel you all the time, and you certainly make your presence known. You happily kick and punch in there, and I swear sometimes it feels like you're practicing gymnastics. I never get tired of feeling you, although you do protest if you don't like my sleeping position and we should probably work on that.
It feels momentous to me that it is now the year in which you will be born. I try to pay attention to things more now--the price of gas, the cost of bread, what I do to fill a whole day by myself--because I want to remember what I was like before you will have arrived in my life. I know and welcome the fact that I will never be the same again. I'm not sure I will ever get another good night's sleep knowing that you are in the world and away from my body and might need my protection.
I think about you constantly: what I want for you, what I want to teach and show you, what mistakes I'll probably have to let you make on your own. Your daddy and I talk to your big brother about you and he is very excited to meet you. I fold and refold the clothes I have for you so far, and I stroke the soft blankets and sniff the lotion I will rub on you after I give you a bath. I dream about you at night. We talk about you as if you are a separate person in the room already. "What do you and Sophie Minophie want for breakfast?" your daddy might aske me. That is his special nickname for you. You will probably have many.
For now I try to be patient. I budget money and purchase the items you will need when you come home. I try to memorize what it is like to feel you moving in me, because soon we will never have this time together again. I get tired and take a lot of naps, but I wouldn't trade carrying you in me for the world.
Love,
Mama
Friday, December 2, 2011
On not worrying
Dear Frijole,
Your father and I had a conversation today that I want you to know about. We'll talk about this again many years down the road if you should ever decide to have a child. Mentioning injury and pain to the penis is the key, I think.
Ivan: You don't have to worry. I will be at the hospital with you as long as it takes. And I'll count for you and help you breathe and everything.
Amie: I don't know anything about all that. I'll learn when I take my class.
I: Class?
A: Yeah. A childbirth class.
I: (scoffs) You don't need a class. You have hundreds of generations of women's instincts to rely on.
A: If you had a person immimently being pushed out of your penis and you wanted to know more about it, you'd get more information. Talk to me then.
I: Well-played, well-played.
Love,
Mama
Your father and I had a conversation today that I want you to know about. We'll talk about this again many years down the road if you should ever decide to have a child. Mentioning injury and pain to the penis is the key, I think.
Ivan: You don't have to worry. I will be at the hospital with you as long as it takes. And I'll count for you and help you breathe and everything.
Amie: I don't know anything about all that. I'll learn when I take my class.
I: Class?
A: Yeah. A childbirth class.
I: (scoffs) You don't need a class. You have hundreds of generations of women's instincts to rely on.
A: If you had a person immimently being pushed out of your penis and you wanted to know more about it, you'd get more information. Talk to me then.
I: Well-played, well-played.
Love,
Mama
"You are my face."
Dear Frijole,
Your daddy and I went to my ultrasound yesterday and were so excited to find out that YOU ARE A GIRL! I cried happy tears on the table when they told me. Your daddy is very happy, too, although he is already nervous for you to start dating.
Unfortunately, we weren't able to get good pictures of your face because of your position. But just like last time, you kept crossing your legs and waving your arms around. I suggested that maybe one day you'll be a conductor of some sort. You are an active little thing in there.
We have decided that your name will be Sophia Ruth Pesic. Ruth was one of my beloved grandmothers. Juanita was the other, but sadly I feel like using her name and calling you Sophia Juanita makes you sound like a Latina porn star.
I chose the name Sophia for you in 2001. I was sitting in a cafe in Hollywoood, CA when I declared it out loud and made it official. When I met your daddy, he had already chosen this name for you, too, even before he met me. So, even though the name has become very popular in the last couple of years, we felt there was only one thing we could call you. But you'll always be my little Frijole.
Love,
Mama
Your daddy and I went to my ultrasound yesterday and were so excited to find out that YOU ARE A GIRL! I cried happy tears on the table when they told me. Your daddy is very happy, too, although he is already nervous for you to start dating.
Unfortunately, we weren't able to get good pictures of your face because of your position. But just like last time, you kept crossing your legs and waving your arms around. I suggested that maybe one day you'll be a conductor of some sort. You are an active little thing in there.
We have decided that your name will be Sophia Ruth Pesic. Ruth was one of my beloved grandmothers. Juanita was the other, but sadly I feel like using her name and calling you Sophia Juanita makes you sound like a Latina porn star.
I chose the name Sophia for you in 2001. I was sitting in a cafe in Hollywoood, CA when I declared it out loud and made it official. When I met your daddy, he had already chosen this name for you, too, even before he met me. So, even though the name has become very popular in the last couple of years, we felt there was only one thing we could call you. But you'll always be my little Frijole.
Love,
Mama
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Progress
Dear Frijole,
Things are really starting to happen now.
This week, I am 20 weeks pregnant with you--5 months! My belly is changing all the time as you grow, and apparently you are currently the size of a cantaloupe. On Monday I felt you move for the first time, and I was so happy. The feeling was very subtle, like swishy little flutters. I told your daddy, grandma, and auntie right away because I was so excited to finally, finally feel you in there.
While I feel pretty good overall, two things are a bit inconvenient. First, my face is breaking out like crazy just in the last few days. It's like puberty all over again and certainly doesn't do much to make me feel pretty. There is also the groin pain that makes me feel like I've ridden a horse across a desert. I'm not sure if he had a name or not. Everything I read says this is normal as things are "stretching out and loosening up" down there. Your grandma said it was my pelvis bones spreading apart.
Oh, dear god.
That's the other thing. I'm having a bit of anxiety about how and where you are going to come out. Every week I happily read how big you're getting and then I immediately feel trepidation. There's no turning back, my little cantaloupe! I got upset with your daddy the other night when I mentioned this to him and he joked, "Yeah, she's going to break you off in a couple of months." I can't tell you how not funny I found this statement.
Tomorrow I have another ultrasound and--assuming you uncross your legs this time and cooperate--we will find out if you are a Frijolito or a Frijolita. I've made no secret about the fact that I want you to be a little girl. I know that I will adore you no matter which one your are (even if it's somewhere in between), but it's just that I've spent an awful lot of time taking care of little boys in my life and would really like the chance to buy you little sundresses. I am very nervous for tomorrow to come. The waiting has been killing me.
Finally, I'm starting to gradually buy things to get ready for you. I ordered you a bathtub, health and grooming supplies, and baby toiletries. It feels momentous because these are the first baby things I've bought myself despite the fact that I've gazed longingly at these items since I was about 24 years old. Your grandma is sending a car seat and stroller for you and I'm excited to get them. I saw them online and they are lovely. Plus, your daddy and I picked out the crib we want to buy in a couple of months.
We're getting there, Frijole, and I can't wait to meet you.
Love,
Mama
Things are really starting to happen now.
This week, I am 20 weeks pregnant with you--5 months! My belly is changing all the time as you grow, and apparently you are currently the size of a cantaloupe. On Monday I felt you move for the first time, and I was so happy. The feeling was very subtle, like swishy little flutters. I told your daddy, grandma, and auntie right away because I was so excited to finally, finally feel you in there.
While I feel pretty good overall, two things are a bit inconvenient. First, my face is breaking out like crazy just in the last few days. It's like puberty all over again and certainly doesn't do much to make me feel pretty. There is also the groin pain that makes me feel like I've ridden a horse across a desert. I'm not sure if he had a name or not. Everything I read says this is normal as things are "stretching out and loosening up" down there. Your grandma said it was my pelvis bones spreading apart.
Oh, dear god.
That's the other thing. I'm having a bit of anxiety about how and where you are going to come out. Every week I happily read how big you're getting and then I immediately feel trepidation. There's no turning back, my little cantaloupe! I got upset with your daddy the other night when I mentioned this to him and he joked, "Yeah, she's going to break you off in a couple of months." I can't tell you how not funny I found this statement.
Tomorrow I have another ultrasound and--assuming you uncross your legs this time and cooperate--we will find out if you are a Frijolito or a Frijolita. I've made no secret about the fact that I want you to be a little girl. I know that I will adore you no matter which one your are (even if it's somewhere in between), but it's just that I've spent an awful lot of time taking care of little boys in my life and would really like the chance to buy you little sundresses. I am very nervous for tomorrow to come. The waiting has been killing me.
Finally, I'm starting to gradually buy things to get ready for you. I ordered you a bathtub, health and grooming supplies, and baby toiletries. It feels momentous because these are the first baby things I've bought myself despite the fact that I've gazed longingly at these items since I was about 24 years old. Your grandma is sending a car seat and stroller for you and I'm excited to get them. I saw them online and they are lovely. Plus, your daddy and I picked out the crib we want to buy in a couple of months.
We're getting there, Frijole, and I can't wait to meet you.
Love,
Mama
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Know your onion
Dear Frijole,
I haven't written much here. Actually, I haven't written anywhere at all. Even though my head is filled with words constantly, I don't seem to have the energy to put them into anything bigger than a text message. It's not your fault. It's the rest of the world's fault. It's my fault.
I am 17 weeks pregnant with you and, honestly, there isn't a moment when I don't think about you. I never quite know what to say when people ask, "How is the baby?" You're so quiet in there! I THINK you're okay. I'm not having any problems. Our ultrasound and bloodwork have all come back showing that you are healthy and busy developing. You SEEM to be okay. I just wish I could feel you move. I keep hearing and reading that this should happen any time now, and I keep waiting and waiting. Sometimes I feel an uneasiness within me. It's hard to explain--like a restlessness that does not originate with me. At those times I feel certain you must be moving around in there but I just cannot feel it yet. I am told it will happen all too soon and that, at times, I will want to go to sleep and wish you would STOP moving. It's hard for me to imagine what that must be like.
I'm struggling to make the right decisions for us, Frijole. My psychiatrist and I butt heads over what is right for me, for you. She is strongly advocating that I undergo electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) to treat my severe and endless depression. After learning more about it, I don't think that I can take the risk involved. And so I struggle to find other ways to take care of myself. Of both of us.
Most of the time I feel so far away and alone, and the obstacles between here and there seem insurmountable. It is still true that not very many people know about you, and I feel very strongly that it has to stay that way until you are born. There's plenty of other people's criticisms of my life and my decisions to go around, and I feel like I will lose my mind if they criticize the existence of you, too.
You. My one little light.
In three weeks we will have another ultrasound and I should be able to find out if you are a Frijolita or a Frijolito. I can't wait to see you again. In the meantime, I will keep plodding along, doing my very best.
All my love,
Mama
I haven't written much here. Actually, I haven't written anywhere at all. Even though my head is filled with words constantly, I don't seem to have the energy to put them into anything bigger than a text message. It's not your fault. It's the rest of the world's fault. It's my fault.
I am 17 weeks pregnant with you and, honestly, there isn't a moment when I don't think about you. I never quite know what to say when people ask, "How is the baby?" You're so quiet in there! I THINK you're okay. I'm not having any problems. Our ultrasound and bloodwork have all come back showing that you are healthy and busy developing. You SEEM to be okay. I just wish I could feel you move. I keep hearing and reading that this should happen any time now, and I keep waiting and waiting. Sometimes I feel an uneasiness within me. It's hard to explain--like a restlessness that does not originate with me. At those times I feel certain you must be moving around in there but I just cannot feel it yet. I am told it will happen all too soon and that, at times, I will want to go to sleep and wish you would STOP moving. It's hard for me to imagine what that must be like.
I'm struggling to make the right decisions for us, Frijole. My psychiatrist and I butt heads over what is right for me, for you. She is strongly advocating that I undergo electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) to treat my severe and endless depression. After learning more about it, I don't think that I can take the risk involved. And so I struggle to find other ways to take care of myself. Of both of us.
Most of the time I feel so far away and alone, and the obstacles between here and there seem insurmountable. It is still true that not very many people know about you, and I feel very strongly that it has to stay that way until you are born. There's plenty of other people's criticisms of my life and my decisions to go around, and I feel like I will lose my mind if they criticize the existence of you, too.
You. My one little light.
In three weeks we will have another ultrasound and I should be able to find out if you are a Frijolita or a Frijolito. I can't wait to see you again. In the meantime, I will keep plodding along, doing my very best.
All my love,
Mama
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Your first pictures
Dear Frijole,
On Friday, I got to peek at you during an ultrasound.
I was so scared. The last time I had an ultrasound, it was bad news. Plus, I get worried sometimes that you aren't even in there--I can't tell! I was afraid somebody was going to tell me you were gone.
You are the most amazing sight I have ever seen.
You were also very active! You crossed your tiny little legs at the ankles and waved your hands in the air like you just didn't care. You rolled over. When the lady tried to coax you into the position she needed to take your measurements, you wanted no part of it.
You're like your mama already.
Even though things at home are not very happy right now, the knowledge that you are healthy and wiggling around in me makes me very, very happy. And I am doing my best to arrange things so that you come into a happy home. More on that soon.
On Friday, I got to peek at you during an ultrasound.
I was so scared. The last time I had an ultrasound, it was bad news. Plus, I get worried sometimes that you aren't even in there--I can't tell! I was afraid somebody was going to tell me you were gone.
You are the most amazing sight I have ever seen.
You were also very active! You crossed your tiny little legs at the ankles and waved your hands in the air like you just didn't care. You rolled over. When the lady tried to coax you into the position she needed to take your measurements, you wanted no part of it.
You're like your mama already.
I cried happy tears as I watched you moving. I got to see and hear your heart beating (151 bpm!), to see the umbilical cord that connects us. I saw your brain and your little bones. To be honest, Frijole, seeing your skeleton--and your skull in profile below--was a little freaky.
The lady told me you don't have all the fat yet that will make you cute--that doesn't come until the end. Believe me, Frijole, you can have some of mine.
Even though things at home are not very happy right now, the knowledge that you are healthy and wiggling around in me makes me very, very happy. And I am doing my best to arrange things so that you come into a happy home. More on that soon.
Love,
Mama
Friday, September 30, 2011
In which I threaten to embarrass you completely (the first of many)
Dear Frijole,
I am now 10 weeks pregnant with you and apparently you are the size of a prune. Your body size is supposed to nearly double in the next three weeks! I read that you are getting hair and fingernails and beginning to swallow and kick. I hope to feel your first flutters very soon. I was lucky enough to feel your sister a couple of times, and now when I lie quietly I focus attention on my belly and on searching for your movement.
I am feeling strangely guilty. To be honest, other than feeling tired it would be easy to forget that I am pregnant. I've still not felt sick or nauseous a single time, my boobs don't hurt and aren't any bigger, my feet aren't swollen. I don't feel nearly as weepy as I did last time. My belly is beginning to firm up a bit which lets me know you are growing, and I feel occasional aches and pains in my belly and groin area which let me know my body is stretching and growing to make room for you. Otherwise, that's about it. I feel embarrassed to tell this to friends who are currently pregnant or have recently delivered who experienced much more discomfort. It's like I haven't begun to pay my pregnancy dues yet.
I certainly don't mean to complain. And I hope you aren't planning on pulling any nasty tricks like giving me a really easy pregnancy and then being a screaming, collicky baby. Mamas have really long memories, and to get my revenge I will take tons of embarrassing naked pictures of you in all sorts of ridiculous situations and show them to all your future dates.
Love,
Mama
I am now 10 weeks pregnant with you and apparently you are the size of a prune. Your body size is supposed to nearly double in the next three weeks! I read that you are getting hair and fingernails and beginning to swallow and kick. I hope to feel your first flutters very soon. I was lucky enough to feel your sister a couple of times, and now when I lie quietly I focus attention on my belly and on searching for your movement.
I am feeling strangely guilty. To be honest, other than feeling tired it would be easy to forget that I am pregnant. I've still not felt sick or nauseous a single time, my boobs don't hurt and aren't any bigger, my feet aren't swollen. I don't feel nearly as weepy as I did last time. My belly is beginning to firm up a bit which lets me know you are growing, and I feel occasional aches and pains in my belly and groin area which let me know my body is stretching and growing to make room for you. Otherwise, that's about it. I feel embarrassed to tell this to friends who are currently pregnant or have recently delivered who experienced much more discomfort. It's like I haven't begun to pay my pregnancy dues yet.
I certainly don't mean to complain. And I hope you aren't planning on pulling any nasty tricks like giving me a really easy pregnancy and then being a screaming, collicky baby. Mamas have really long memories, and to get my revenge I will take tons of embarrassing naked pictures of you in all sorts of ridiculous situations and show them to all your future dates.
Love,
Mama
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monster socks
Oh, holy mother of God, Frijole. I want you to own a pair of these monster socks.
(These feets belong to my friend Nick's baby Alice.)
(These feets belong to my friend Nick's baby Alice.)
Melon Collie
Dear Frijole,
Most of the time I am trying not to think too far ahead of where you are right now. I just have to do it that way for my own sanity. But once in awhile my mind wanders and I wonder what you will be like. What will your personality be? Will you be impatient and stubborn and moody and melancholy like me? I think things will be easier for you if not, but maybe I will understand you better if so.When I let myself imagine far enough into the future to picture you as a full-on kid, I find myself thinking often about one of my earliest memories.
My mom and I lived in a white trailer with light blue trim on Willis Ave. in Bridgeport, WV. We were right behind the car wash and T&L Hot Dog. It wasn't a particularly scenic area, but to my delight we were next to a creek and an apple tree where I often played. I must have been four going on five years old during the time of this memory, because we didn't live there that long.
One morning, I woke up before my mom and I climbed up onto our couch in the living room to look out the window. It was grey and raining, and the raindrops pounded and streamed down the window, blurring my view. I was still in the time period of my life where I adored my mother--she was the most beautiful, wonderful, intelligent woman in the world. I worshipped her. She worked midnight shifts at the post office in Clarksburg and slept during the day, so I spent a lot of time with other family members and babysitters. I craved her attention and soaked up any bit of it I could get--a laugh or a smile or a back rub or a hug nestled into her warm, perfumed chest. My god, I ate it up.
Because I didn't get to see her very much, I was terrified that she would forget that she had a little girl. She was only 22 at that time, you see, and still very much wanted to go out with friends and boyfriends when she had free time. When I was around her, I tried to be the best girl I could be. I tried not to whine or cry or complain. I tried to listen and do what I was told. I tried to be very, very polite. I constantly drew her pictures so she could see just how much I loved her.
In my free time, I tried to ease my anxiety about my mom forgetting about me. At my babysitter Carolyn's and at my papaw and grandmother's houses, I would "bop" on the couch endlessly and chant to myself repetitively:
My mommy loves me
She's coming to get me
My mommy loves me
She won't forget me
It always felt like I was waiting for her to come.
Anyway, on that particular rainy morning in the trailer, I gazed out the window and worried about my mom dying. My calico cat Cookie had recently gotten hit and killed by a car, and this brush with mortality and new, uncomfortable awareness of death had given me a whole host of new things to agonize over.
What if my mom died and left me alone? That possibility was too terrible to fathom, so I assured myself that I would just have to die and be buried with her because I could never, ever be alone. For a moment I can distinctly remember being comforted by this solution until a new and terrible question dawned on me. What if my mom and I didn't die at the same time so that we could be buried together? The choices I felt I was left with seemed awful: I could either be left alone without her or be buried alive with her. I pictured the two of us in a hole in the ground, me clinging to my mother, while dirt was thrown on us to cover us up as it had been thrown on my cat when she was buried. How terrifying! But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced this was the only option to keep from being left behind. I started to cry with resignation and fear.
My mom shuffled sleepily into the living room in her silky, rose-colored bathrobe, took one look at me sobbing on the back of the couch, and said, "Why are you crying?"
I raised my face--by now both my eyes and nose were streaming--and blurted out, "I don't want to be buried alive with you!"
For the life of me I cannot recall her response, and I cannot fathom what my own response would be to such an axious, gloomy child.
I hope that you are carefree, Frijole. I hope that you are always secure in my love for you, and I hope your mind is never darkened with such melancholy. For now, I can only drink my milk and take my vitamins and promise myself that you will only know love and safety so that your imagination is free to dance in sunnier ways.
Love,
Mama
Most of the time I am trying not to think too far ahead of where you are right now. I just have to do it that way for my own sanity. But once in awhile my mind wanders and I wonder what you will be like. What will your personality be? Will you be impatient and stubborn and moody and melancholy like me? I think things will be easier for you if not, but maybe I will understand you better if so.When I let myself imagine far enough into the future to picture you as a full-on kid, I find myself thinking often about one of my earliest memories.
My mom and I lived in a white trailer with light blue trim on Willis Ave. in Bridgeport, WV. We were right behind the car wash and T&L Hot Dog. It wasn't a particularly scenic area, but to my delight we were next to a creek and an apple tree where I often played. I must have been four going on five years old during the time of this memory, because we didn't live there that long.
One morning, I woke up before my mom and I climbed up onto our couch in the living room to look out the window. It was grey and raining, and the raindrops pounded and streamed down the window, blurring my view. I was still in the time period of my life where I adored my mother--she was the most beautiful, wonderful, intelligent woman in the world. I worshipped her. She worked midnight shifts at the post office in Clarksburg and slept during the day, so I spent a lot of time with other family members and babysitters. I craved her attention and soaked up any bit of it I could get--a laugh or a smile or a back rub or a hug nestled into her warm, perfumed chest. My god, I ate it up.
Because I didn't get to see her very much, I was terrified that she would forget that she had a little girl. She was only 22 at that time, you see, and still very much wanted to go out with friends and boyfriends when she had free time. When I was around her, I tried to be the best girl I could be. I tried not to whine or cry or complain. I tried to listen and do what I was told. I tried to be very, very polite. I constantly drew her pictures so she could see just how much I loved her.
In my free time, I tried to ease my anxiety about my mom forgetting about me. At my babysitter Carolyn's and at my papaw and grandmother's houses, I would "bop" on the couch endlessly and chant to myself repetitively:
My mommy loves me
She's coming to get me
My mommy loves me
She won't forget me
It always felt like I was waiting for her to come.
Anyway, on that particular rainy morning in the trailer, I gazed out the window and worried about my mom dying. My calico cat Cookie had recently gotten hit and killed by a car, and this brush with mortality and new, uncomfortable awareness of death had given me a whole host of new things to agonize over.
What if my mom died and left me alone? That possibility was too terrible to fathom, so I assured myself that I would just have to die and be buried with her because I could never, ever be alone. For a moment I can distinctly remember being comforted by this solution until a new and terrible question dawned on me. What if my mom and I didn't die at the same time so that we could be buried together? The choices I felt I was left with seemed awful: I could either be left alone without her or be buried alive with her. I pictured the two of us in a hole in the ground, me clinging to my mother, while dirt was thrown on us to cover us up as it had been thrown on my cat when she was buried. How terrifying! But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced this was the only option to keep from being left behind. I started to cry with resignation and fear.
My mom shuffled sleepily into the living room in her silky, rose-colored bathrobe, took one look at me sobbing on the back of the couch, and said, "Why are you crying?"
I raised my face--by now both my eyes and nose were streaming--and blurted out, "I don't want to be buried alive with you!"
For the life of me I cannot recall her response, and I cannot fathom what my own response would be to such an axious, gloomy child.
I hope that you are carefree, Frijole. I hope that you are always secure in my love for you, and I hope your mind is never darkened with such melancholy. For now, I can only drink my milk and take my vitamins and promise myself that you will only know love and safety so that your imagination is free to dance in sunnier ways.
Love,
Mama
Saturday, September 17, 2011
I will pay you a million dollars. Right now.
Dear Frijole,
My god, to have some chocolate milk right now would make me the happiest girl alive. Not the powder or syrup that you stir into milk. I want the kind you buy at the store pre-made. The kind that is thick and creamy and smooth.
This craving started slow--just as a passing thought of, "Oh, that sounds good." But it has begun to grow. When I placed my grocery order to be delivered today, I put some on the list. The groceries were two hours late this afternoon, and I agonized and waited and watched the clock. When the guy arrived, I could barely contain myself. He handed me the receipt and I signed for the delivery and he said very casually, "Oh, we were out of the chocolate milk so that wasn't included."
I wanted to smack him all the way back to his delivery truck. Didn't he understand!? I need chocolate milk! My baby needs chocolate milk! (Sorry: sometimes it's convenient to blame things on you.)
I suppose I could have trekked myself to the store after that, but I was exhausted and cranky and my head hurt and I lay down instead.
And now I am one sorry chica.
My god, to have some chocolate milk right now would make me the happiest girl alive. Not the powder or syrup that you stir into milk. I want the kind you buy at the store pre-made. The kind that is thick and creamy and smooth.
This craving started slow--just as a passing thought of, "Oh, that sounds good." But it has begun to grow. When I placed my grocery order to be delivered today, I put some on the list. The groceries were two hours late this afternoon, and I agonized and waited and watched the clock. When the guy arrived, I could barely contain myself. He handed me the receipt and I signed for the delivery and he said very casually, "Oh, we were out of the chocolate milk so that wasn't included."
I wanted to smack him all the way back to his delivery truck. Didn't he understand!? I need chocolate milk! My baby needs chocolate milk! (Sorry: sometimes it's convenient to blame things on you.)
I suppose I could have trekked myself to the store after that, but I was exhausted and cranky and my head hurt and I lay down instead.
And now I am one sorry chica.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Green
Dear Frijole,
I can't be pretend to be a broccoli martyr anymore and I admit it: I am a picky eater. To be honest, I mostly blame your grandma. The woman couldn't cook vegetables to save her soul. Growing up, I was regularly served pale, mushy, limp vegetables that had been boiled to hell and back. Who wants to eat that? Unfortunately, your grandma was also in the school of parents who insisted that one would not leave the table unless one ate everything on the plate. When you get two stubborn ladies like us together, you get a lot of still-sitting-at-the-dinner-table-at-midnight battles.
Ingest this cold, sodden cauliflower or sit right here in the kitchen in the dark? Well, I have all the time in the world, thank you very much.
(Frijole, I solemnly vow never to do this to you. I will insist that you taste at least one bite of everything, but I refuse to leave you with the deep scars that midnight cauliflower leaves.)
So, in a nutshell, I am having trouble eating the vegetables you need and deserve. Hell, I need and deserve them. Thus! I have purchased a blender that I believe will be a great assistance. I can make lovely fruit smoothies and sneak some of the scary vegetables in! People on the internets swear you can get a fair amount of broccoli in there before you can taste it, so it must be true. Soon I will make the first experimental smoothie and find out.
I also enlisted the help of my friend Nicole--a chef who knows a thing or two about preparing these hideous things. She gave me two recipes for kale that I can't wait to try. They're quite simple so I'll put her recipes and instructions here:
*****************
Raw Kale Salad
Peel kale from stems. Toss with rice wine or red wine vinegar and salt. Massage with hands. Leave in fridge for a day so leaves are softened. When ready to serve, toss in sunflower seeds, crumbled bacon, cut up apple, a can of cannellini beans, canned tuna, or anything else your heart desires.
*****************
Kale "Chips"
Preheat overn to 400 degrees. Take kale off stems and rinse leaves. Put on cookie sheet in single layer, and drizzle with olive oil and garlic salt. Put in oven for 12-15 minutes. (Can also do with sesame oil and sesame seeds.)
*****************
While I can't yet personally vouch for them yet, I trust Nicole and feel optimistic that the previously-never-tried-and-always-mysterious-resident-of-the-leafy-green-vegetable-aisle may be a much more regular item on my grocery list.
In other related news, Frijole, your first official prenatal appointment is on Tuesday morning. While I am incredibly pleased about being able to receive your prenatal care at UCSF, I approach it with trepidation. I'm scared of getting my hopes up, and scared of being scheduled for an ultrasound because I have never seen a living baby inside of me. The image of your very still sister on that black and white screen still haunts me, and the hope that it can be different seems more than I can hold at this moment.
I have to say, though, that so far you have been incredibly easy on me. My feet and ankles are not swollen. I'm not sick, and I'm not even unusually tired so far. You love orange juice, and you want to eat breakfast IMMEDIATELY after I wake up, but at this time I can't complain. Physically I feel good. I'm sure this will change soon enough, so for now I am relishing it. If future nausea and fatigue and discomfort mean that I will get to hold and nuzzle you, then I will bear it.
Love,
Mama
I can't be pretend to be a broccoli martyr anymore and I admit it: I am a picky eater. To be honest, I mostly blame your grandma. The woman couldn't cook vegetables to save her soul. Growing up, I was regularly served pale, mushy, limp vegetables that had been boiled to hell and back. Who wants to eat that? Unfortunately, your grandma was also in the school of parents who insisted that one would not leave the table unless one ate everything on the plate. When you get two stubborn ladies like us together, you get a lot of still-sitting-at-the-dinner-table-at-midnight battles.
Ingest this cold, sodden cauliflower or sit right here in the kitchen in the dark? Well, I have all the time in the world, thank you very much.
(Frijole, I solemnly vow never to do this to you. I will insist that you taste at least one bite of everything, but I refuse to leave you with the deep scars that midnight cauliflower leaves.)
So, in a nutshell, I am having trouble eating the vegetables you need and deserve. Hell, I need and deserve them. Thus! I have purchased a blender that I believe will be a great assistance. I can make lovely fruit smoothies and sneak some of the scary vegetables in! People on the internets swear you can get a fair amount of broccoli in there before you can taste it, so it must be true. Soon I will make the first experimental smoothie and find out.
I also enlisted the help of my friend Nicole--a chef who knows a thing or two about preparing these hideous things. She gave me two recipes for kale that I can't wait to try. They're quite simple so I'll put her recipes and instructions here:
*****************
Raw Kale Salad
Peel kale from stems. Toss with rice wine or red wine vinegar and salt. Massage with hands. Leave in fridge for a day so leaves are softened. When ready to serve, toss in sunflower seeds, crumbled bacon, cut up apple, a can of cannellini beans, canned tuna, or anything else your heart desires.
*****************
Kale "Chips"
Preheat overn to 400 degrees. Take kale off stems and rinse leaves. Put on cookie sheet in single layer, and drizzle with olive oil and garlic salt. Put in oven for 12-15 minutes. (Can also do with sesame oil and sesame seeds.)
*****************
While I can't yet personally vouch for them yet, I trust Nicole and feel optimistic that the previously-never-tried-and-always-mysterious-resident-of-the-leafy-green-vegetable-aisle may be a much more regular item on my grocery list.
In other related news, Frijole, your first official prenatal appointment is on Tuesday morning. While I am incredibly pleased about being able to receive your prenatal care at UCSF, I approach it with trepidation. I'm scared of getting my hopes up, and scared of being scheduled for an ultrasound because I have never seen a living baby inside of me. The image of your very still sister on that black and white screen still haunts me, and the hope that it can be different seems more than I can hold at this moment.
I have to say, though, that so far you have been incredibly easy on me. My feet and ankles are not swollen. I'm not sick, and I'm not even unusually tired so far. You love orange juice, and you want to eat breakfast IMMEDIATELY after I wake up, but at this time I can't complain. Physically I feel good. I'm sure this will change soon enough, so for now I am relishing it. If future nausea and fatigue and discomfort mean that I will get to hold and nuzzle you, then I will bear it.
Love,
Mama
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
You're official.
Dear Frijole,
I have had my first two doctor appointments related to you now. To begin with, you are official. I peed in the cup in the doctor's office and everything. I am estimated to be approximately 5 weeks pregnant with you. You are just a tiny little thing right now, but these first weeks are the most important. I am eating tons of fruits and vegetables, taking my vitamins, and drinking lots of water and milk to make sure you are strong and healthy. But one thing I really need more of is sleep.
Today I met with my psychiatrist about you, and we butted heads a bit about what, if anything, I would take while you are growing in me. She doesn't want me to take anything. The last time I was pregnant I was on board with that decision, but not this time. I feel very, very strongly that in order for you to be healthy, I need psychotropic medication in order to be able to rest and relax. The second day I knew I was pregnant with you, I had a gut-wrenching panic attack that left me sobbing on the floor of the bathroom--much like the first time I was pregnant. I felt hysterical and alone and terrified. I will not go through that again. And I will not let you go through that. The doctor and I eventually settled on a prescription we could both agree on and I feel very happy about that.
While I am doing my very best to take good care of you, I am still struggling with the idea of you a bit. I feel very scared to get attached to you, for example, because I am so very afraid of being left alone and wanting and hollow again. I feel guilty about this, but I am confident that in time this fear will begin letting up.
I do find myself singing to you when we are alone. Actually, your daddy and I sing a lot, in general. That's one of the things I like best about him--well, that and when he busts into one of his little dances in his boxers. Our voices aren't so great and we botch the words a lot, but by the time you emerge into this world you should have a thorough knowledge of pop music from about 1982-2002. And, if I have anything to do with it, you'll have a decent knowlege of indie rock as well. And the Beatles.
Love,
Mama
I have had my first two doctor appointments related to you now. To begin with, you are official. I peed in the cup in the doctor's office and everything. I am estimated to be approximately 5 weeks pregnant with you. You are just a tiny little thing right now, but these first weeks are the most important. I am eating tons of fruits and vegetables, taking my vitamins, and drinking lots of water and milk to make sure you are strong and healthy. But one thing I really need more of is sleep.
Today I met with my psychiatrist about you, and we butted heads a bit about what, if anything, I would take while you are growing in me. She doesn't want me to take anything. The last time I was pregnant I was on board with that decision, but not this time. I feel very, very strongly that in order for you to be healthy, I need psychotropic medication in order to be able to rest and relax. The second day I knew I was pregnant with you, I had a gut-wrenching panic attack that left me sobbing on the floor of the bathroom--much like the first time I was pregnant. I felt hysterical and alone and terrified. I will not go through that again. And I will not let you go through that. The doctor and I eventually settled on a prescription we could both agree on and I feel very happy about that.
While I am doing my very best to take good care of you, I am still struggling with the idea of you a bit. I feel very scared to get attached to you, for example, because I am so very afraid of being left alone and wanting and hollow again. I feel guilty about this, but I am confident that in time this fear will begin letting up.
I do find myself singing to you when we are alone. Actually, your daddy and I sing a lot, in general. That's one of the things I like best about him--well, that and when he busts into one of his little dances in his boxers. Our voices aren't so great and we botch the words a lot, but by the time you emerge into this world you should have a thorough knowledge of pop music from about 1982-2002. And, if I have anything to do with it, you'll have a decent knowlege of indie rock as well. And the Beatles.
Love,
Mama
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Well, it figures.
I chose a nickname for you that your father is unable to remember how to pronounce. I call you "Frijole" (pronounced free-HOLE-ay) because it is Spanish for "bean" and I thought it was sweet. Now he is constantly asking me, "What is it again? Felipo? Fajito?" and I sigh. If I chose a Slavic word to call you it would be easier for him but then I would be constantly confused--too many damn consonants.
We are off to a fantastic start here!
We are off to a fantastic start here!
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