Mary Makes Babies

Keeping It Simple in a World of Beeping, Light-Up Bull-Poopy

As we get closer to baby time, I've been considering how to handle the whole "stuff" issue. Of course, I know that babies require stuff, and as much as I'd like to raise my child on a magical island of minimalism that's just not how it's going to be. Kids need diapers, car seats, clothing, and an endless pile of gear and gizmos just to get through the first year, well before they are actually aware of the concept of posessions. 

I have visions of my house filled to the brim with singing plastic crap, and it makes my head spin. To give my fears a little back story, I grew up wanting for nothing. My parents were extremely generous when it came to gifts. On Christmases and birthdays my sisters and I were showered in toys, none of which we ever intended to give up. We became little tiny horders, piling up our posessions like buried treasure. I can see us in my memory, sleeping on mountains of toys, breathing smoke and brimstone at anyone who dared disturb our horde. 

But it was never enough, was it? There was always some toy we didn't get, some magical product that tortured us with its absence. It seems like no matter how much you give a child (or an adult for that matter) they will never really be satisfied with what they already have. In my adult life I've found that limiting my posessions has actually brought me more contentment and peace than a mountain of presents ever could. It's only natural for me to want to start this kid off on the path that I'm already on. 

Sounds simple enough. Just don't buy your kid a ton of stuff, right? Sure, that works for my husband and I, but what about all of the other people who will love and adore this child? Our kid is going to be blessed with a crowd of loving aunts, uncles, grandparents and best friends who I know will take great pleasure in granting their every wish. I don't want to take that away from anyone, but I do want to keep it under control. How do crunchy granola parents deal with this? 

The other half of my dilema comes from my own distaste for our whole disposable junk consumer culture. I know this makes me sound like a hippie psycopath, but all I can see when I look at a blinking, talking plastic toy is a pile of stripped down electronics giving cancer to some poor kid in a third-world country. I look at brand new cute clothes on their tiny little hangers, and I imagine people slaving away in a sweatshop somewhere with missing fingers and chemical burns.

I'm a real debbie-downer.

It boils down to this: there are things about this world that I know, and I can't un-know them. I can't look at a pile of brand new baby stuff and think "awwww", not with my whole heart. That "awww" is echoed with "ewww" and "oh no". 

Would it be totally weird and overbearing to ask people not to buy my kid electronic toys? How about asking for used clothes instead of new? Is that asking too much, or being inconsiderate of other people's fun? I know how much my Mom loves shopping for baby clothes, and I don't want to seem ungrateful or spoil her good time, but the truth is that new clothes and electronic toys kind of make my skin crawl. 

I started off by adding a note to my registry. Here's what it says:

"Thanks so much for your support! We are trying to gear up for the baby in the greenest way possible, so gifts of used gear and clothing are very much appreciated. We're also trying to limit the amount of plastic and electronics we'll be using. Of course, we'll be grateful for anything at all, so please feel free to use this list as a guide for hunting down used items or to buy new if you prefer. Thanks, and see you at the shower. Love, Mary and Scott"

Too much? Too bitchy? Too judgy? These are my fears, coming across as a pain in the ass to people who are just trying to help me out.

So, crunchy parents, minimalists, hippie-dippie rainbow people, how does one handle this dilema? I'd love to get some advice on this whole thing. 

30 Days With a Grateful Heart: Some Semblance of Sanity

Day 26/30: Common Sense 

For real? Belly casting? What would one do with this thing? Put it on display in your living room? Mail it to your Mother-In-Law? Make a planter?

It got me thinking, next year when I'm nursing I should just cast my nipples, paint them like snowmen and give them out as Christmas ornaments. That would be a nice momento. Don't you think?

P.S. This post is part of my 30 Days With a Grateful Heart series. You can see my other posts in this series on Mary Makes Dinner, Mary Makes Pretty, and here on Mary Makes Babies. Check out Bless Her Heart to find other bloggers participating in this series.

30 Days With a Grateful Heart: The Third Trimester

Photo by Boo Lee via Flickr

Day 23: The Next 21 Weeks

I think I expected myself to be in a hurry throughout this pregnancy, but mostly I just feel like the whole thing has flown by. Can you believe that next week I'll be twenty weeks along? That's half-way through. I know that plenty for plenty of pregnant women this point is one of the hardest. It's super common to feel tired of being pregnant, to have a desire for your own body back, or to simply get impatient for the day when you'll finally meet your baby.

I'm surprised that I don't feel this way, not at all. I still feel like I just GOT pregnant. What's more, as much as I am looking forward to meeting my baby, I know that right now I am woefully unprepared for that to happen. I'm thanking the heavens for twenty more weeks to prepare. We have baby things to buy, birth classes to take, and most importantly, our heads to get in order. 

Plus, I'm kind of savoring my last few months of pre-baby life. I feel like its the end of an era. I am more than ready for it to end, but before it does I want to stop and look around a bit. I want to lay in bed in the morning without any reason to hurry to my feet. I want to goof off with my friends until late hours of the night, and hop in the car whenever I please, and forget to do the dishes for a day or two. 

Life is going to change in May. It's a good thing, no, it's a wonderful thing. For now, I'm content to be pregnant. The baby will get here soon enough. 

P.S. This post is part of my 30 Days With a Grateful Heart series. You can see my other posts in this series on Mary Makes Dinner, Mary Makes Pretty, and here on Mary Makes Babies. Check out Bless Her Heart to find other bloggers participating in this series.

30 Days With a Grateful Heart: I Think I Just Peed a Little

Day 22: Bladder Control

I guess I knew this time might eventually come, the time when the size and pressure of a growing human being might just be a little too much for my ever-full bladder. I guess I knew that, theoretically, but then there seems to be a pattern going on here where things I know theoretically still somehow baffle my poor, slow moving brain when they actually happen. 

Yesterday I coughed and then pee came out. 

What the? Boy, that was weird. Guess I really had to go! That'll teach me to procrastinate. 

Then I coughed again an hour or so later. 

Oh god! It happened again! What's going on here?

By the end of the day, with the help of seasonal allergies and drinking my usual 128 - 164 ounces of water, I finally realized that this was my new thing. Now I pee when I cough. Aw jeez.

So I tell Bobleo, who naturally finds this hilarious. 

"I guess you'd better get some Depends.", he says.

"Ugh.", says me. "I can't wear those kinds of things. The plastic gives me a rash."

"Well maybe you could make your own."

"Yeah, I suppose..."

"Just cut up some old towels." 

"Hmmf."

Then I told my sister about it, who asked my baby nephew if he'd be willing to share his diapers with Auntie Mary. 

OK EVERYBODY, LAUGH IT UP. 

If you need me, I'll be changing my underpants.

P.S. This post is part of my 30 Days With a Grateful Heart series. You can see my other posts in this series on Mary Makes Dinner, Mary Makes Pretty, and here on Mary Makes Babies. Check out Bless Her Heart to find other bloggers participating in this series.

30 Days With a Grateful Heart: Oh Dear God

Day 20/30: Not Being a Kangaroo

Thank god...

• this baby doesn't have hooves, claws, or paw pads.
• for kegal exercises.
• for prenatal perineim massage.
• and in the worst case scenario, for sutures.

I mean, geez. Look at that thing! 

<shudder>

P.S. This post is part of my 30 Days With a Grateful Heart series. You can see my other posts in this series on Mary Makes Dinner, Mary Makes Pretty, and here on Mary Makes Babies. Check out Bless Her Heart to find other bloggers participating in this series.

30 Days With a Grateful Heart: Huff! Two Three Four...

Day 19/30: Motivation

Have you ever heard the comparison between natural childbirth and running a marathon? The midwives gave all of us Mamas-to-be this handout on Monday that goes through the many similarities and subtle differences between running a marathon and experiencing natural childbirth. A quick search of the internets confirms that as clever as my midwives might be, they weren't the first to draw this conclusion. 

Check it out:

• Midwife uses marathon running principles to coach women through childbirth | WLKY.com
• Natural Childbirth vs. Marathon Running | Teach mom Run
• So you want a natural childbirth? It's a lot like running a marathon | Clinical Advisor
• 5 Ways Natural Childbirth is Like Running a Marathon. And 5 Ways It’s Not. | Motherhood Miscellany
• Preparing For Birth Is Like Preparing For A Marathon | Fitabulous Moms

So, what exactly makes the two things similar? Well, the major factors that need to be trained for in both situations are endurance and mental focus. The midwives keep talking about how much physical stamina we'll need to get through what could potentially be a long, hard labor. In prenatal yoga, our instructor is constantly putting us through exercises that are meant to help us learn how to focus past pain and discomfort. 

Look at this girl, glowing with athleticism, her feet pounding the pavement, every step bringing her closer to her goal. This lady is an icon of determination. This lady is a phenom. This lady IS NOT ME. This is my sister, Heather, running the Austin Marathon.

My sister, Heather, is a marathon runner, and I've heard her talk about both of these factors in spades. She runs on a strict schedule, training her body and her mind to take on a 26.2 mile run than generally lasts in the neighborhood of five hours. When was the last time you tried to do anything for five hours straight, let alone something so demanding on your body? 

Then there's me. I get bored during a two hour movie, and "strict" is the last word I would dream of using to describe my own workout schedule. I wasn't super concerned until now. I guess I just sort of figured if I took decent care of myself and didn't go CRAZY with food, I'd be good. But then Tuesday night, the day after I read all about marathon comparisons, I went through an especially difficult exercise at Prenatal yoga, and everything changed.

Our instructor asked us to kneel down, sit up very straight, raise our arms to shoulder height, then bend our elbows to touch our hands over the tops of our heads, all while flexing our middle fingers in and out, and breathing quick, shallow breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. The pace was rapid, and it wasn't long before I ran out steam. In fact, my arms were ready to rip off of my shoulders, but the group just kept going, faster and faster. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. I finally dropped my arms, rubbing them protectively against the aching pain and discomfort. I tried going at it again after that, but I was burned out, plain and simple. 

When she finally called a stop to the torture she smiled, and asked "So how did that feel?" 

Crickets.

She just waited patiently for someone to respond as we all sat staring awkwardly at one another. Finally, one of the bolder mamas admitted "That was kind of awful." 

It was a relief to know that I wasn't the only one struggling through that manouver, but it was also really shocking to find out that the entire thing had only lasted two minutes. She explained to us, gently but gravely, that we needed to prepare ourselves for getting through much worse, for much longer. Childbirth would make that little exercise feel like a walk in the park.

That's when I had my "oh shit" moment. I have to admit that this revelation really freaked me out. I'm a wimp! A pansy! A weak muscled fatty who runs out of breath climbing the stairs. In other words, boy, am I in trouble.

So the very next evening, after I finished work at 8:00 pm, I threw on some sweat pants and I drove my sorry ass to the gym. I have just about twenty two weeks to get myself in shape. The last thing I want is to have to be driven to the hospital and shell out an extra (insert ungodly amount of money here) to give birth there because I was just too out of shape to keep up with a natural birth.

Medical emergencies, breech babies, and unforseen complications are one thing. If I have to leave the birthing center for one of those reasons, so be it. But I don't want to end up there because I was too lazy to build up stamina or too weak to give up junk food. From now on, I am determined to get myself into the best possible shape for this birth I can. Dammit.  

P.S. This post is part of my 30 Days With a Grateful Heart series. You can see my other posts in this series on Mary Makes Dinner, Mary Makes Pretty, and here on Mary Makes Babies. Check out Bless Her Heart to find other bloggers participating in this series.

30 Days With a Grateful Heart: Little Kicks

Day 18/30: Itty Bitty Flutters

I've been getting some action down below. Well, not THAT far down below. Apparently baby bumps do not a sex goddess make, but oh well. While I'm starting to wonder how Babe-leo made it in there in the first place, I am thankful for the teensy-weensy reminders that he or she is in fact in there. 

I guess it's a little silly to swoon over the tiny kicks and flutters I'm feeling lately, but man, it is pretty cool. I'm incredibly thick-headed, so every time I feel something it serves as a much needed reminder that I am actually going to have a baby. I'm going to give birth to a real, live, kicking, screaming human being. 

I don't know about you, but that sort of blows my mind.

P.S. This post is part of my 30 Days With a Grateful Heart series. You can see my other posts in this series on Mary Makes Dinner, Mary Makes Pretty, and here on Mary Makes Babies. Check out Bless Her Heart to find other bloggers participating in this series.

40 Weeks of Fun (Plus Twenty Advantages of Being Pregnant)

Day 12/30: Being Preggy 

It's not all bad! I've thought about this, and there are some SERIOUS advantages to spending 40 weeks knocked up. Check it out.

1. You don't have to buy tampons for almost a year.

2. The bigger you get, the better people tell you you look.

3. Never worry about leftover pickles again. 

4. Moments of stupidity and or irrational behavior are easily excused on account of "the hormones". 

5. When you accidentally fart, you can blame it on the baby. (I imagine this as a continued benefit of motherhood.)

6. Extra hair that insulates you from extreme temperatures. (And not just on your head, you lucky thing.) 

7. Extra loose joints and ligaments, perfect for circus performances. 

8. Explore a fresh culinary perspective with exciting new food cravings and aversions. (Maybe I'll write The Ketchup Cookbook.)

9. Random and often inappropriate flashes of sexual attraction. (Ooo, Mr. Belvedere, you are looking FINE.)

10. Great excuse to go clothes shopping.

11. Lower stress level thanks to a randomly selective memory. (Bills? What bills?)

12. Kiss fishing for small talk goodbye. You now have a solid and inexhaustible topic for LIFE. (Noone ever gets tired of hearing about your diapering/breast feeding/college tuition strategies, right?)

13. Once your bump gets big enough you can sit things on it, like cats and cups of coffee. How convenient! 

14. Mysogonists will now view you with more quantifiable value. (That is, until you pop the kid out, then you'll go back to being a nameless sexy vessel.)

15. Have some laughs making your non-child bearing friends uncomfortable with gory details. (It's called cervical mucus.)

16. Enjoy the new-found feeling of smug superiority that comes with being a parent. (Psshhtt. I'm a MOTHER.)

17. An all-access pass to ditch anyone and everyone in order to nap. (Your REAL friends will understand, jeez.)

18. If you don't feel like lifting something heavy, just put a hand on your belly and sigh while gazing sadly at the nearest non-pregnant individual. 

19. Unlimited free water at bars and restaurants! (Luckily, free toilet breaks are also included.)

20. And here's the big one, you get your very own baby at the end! (Yours to keep, no refunds or exchanges.)

But seriously, I'm very grateful to be pregnant. I felt the little onion (he/she's an onion this week) flash dancing in there yesterday. Those are some zippy little legs!

P.S. This post is part of my 30 Days With a Grateful Heart series. You can see my other posts in this series on Mary Makes Dinner, Mary Makes Pretty, and here on Mary Makes Babies. Check out Bless Her Heart to find other bloggers participating in this series.

30 Days With a Grateful Heart: She Who Doesn't Bend, Breaks

Day 09/30: Adaptation 

It's amazing what a woman can get used to. With a pinch of surrender, and a hefty dose of acceptance, I find myself to be an exceptionally adaptable person, and for that I am thankful. It's an especially nice blessing to have right now, considering that my body is on a wild ride with only the mysteries of hormones and DNA behind the wheel.

When it comes to adaptability, I don't have much to prove to myself. I am pretty confident in this particular talent. After all, I lived in a warehouse on the outskirts of Beijing once upon a time. I spent months pushing through zombie-like crowds, eating donkey meat sandwiches, and navigating squatty potties. One day I was a vagabond, and the next a kindergarten teacher. I learned to speak without the luxury of common language, and how to close my eyes and swallow without wondering too much what type of meat might be topping my noodles. 

Strangely enough, adapting back to the USA was a lot more shocking. I remember going to Taco Bell and thinking about how I really would eat off of the floor there. I spent my first night back in North America drinking water straight from the tap, bathing in a tub full of clean water, and nibbling on fresh lettuce and toasted bread. It wasn't as easy to sink back into luxury as it had been to reconcile myself to the unknown.

Through the many changes in my life I've tried to hold tight to a taoist ideal that the best thing to do was pick a good wave and right it wherever it may lead. As for where that's landed me, I can't complain. For better or worse, I was meant to be me, and I was meant to be here.

I'm finding myself again in an unknown place, this time it's not a different country, but a different body that I inhabit. With my growing belly I can't move quite the way I used to. Much that should seem familiar feels different, like laying on my side to take a nap, or bending over to tie my shoes. The most alarming change is to do with my senses. I've always had a strong nose, but now my sense of taste and smell has turned from super-power to kryptonite.

Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING tastes funny, and for the most part funny = horrendous. I am quickly reverting to my six year old self, a creature who refused to eat pretty much anything. When my sisters chowed down on green salad, I would only eat sliced cucumbers (peeled and sliced) or carrot sticks (in water). I despised any toppings on my pizza, refused to have anything to do with sauces that didn't originate from a tomato, and loathed nearly all cooked fruits and vegetables. 

I've taken to dipping the most offensive things I have to eat in ketchup. I'm pretty sure the midwives would be less than keen on this practice, but I'm telling you I don't know what else to do. Getting protein every day is a serious challenge when the taste of beans and the smell of meat utterly repulses you. 

Still, the baby and I must eat, so I'm learning to live without enjoying my dinner. I'm also keeping my eye out (or my nose out) for things that I won't mind eating quite so much. Let's just hope that my taste buds take a break after Babe-leo arrives.

This line of thought reminds me of another that I had last week during my yoga class. My fellow mamas were commiserating over the loss of ownership over their bodies. While I can't say for certain that I won't eventually feel this way too, I couldn't help but realize that my body has never been my own. I own my body just about as much as I own the air in my lungs or the light on my face.

I appreciate this body that carries me around, and now carries my child too, but it isn't me, not really. So if it changes, so be it. Like the baby I am about to bring into the world, all I can do is help it along, and hope to protect it as best I can.

(And feed it ketchup when it feels like being unreasonable.)

P.S. This post is part of my 30 Days With a Grateful Heart series. You can see my other posts in this series on Mary Makes Dinner, Mary Makes Pretty, and here on Mary Makes Babies. Check out Bless Her Heart to find other bloggers participating in this series.

To Selfie or Not to Selfie?

Bob (father-in-law): "Are you showing? Ooh! You'll have to send us a picture."

Me: "Umm..."

Bob: "Come on! We want to see our grandchild!"

Me: "Well... you'll see him when he comes out, right?" 

I've never been one for full body selfies. I have a tendency to be pretty hard on myself when it comes to photos. When I look in the mirror I am totally cool with what I see, but photos always seem to capture a range of imperfections (not to mention a layer or two of blubber) that I am normally pretty adept at glossing over. 

My sister was adorable throughout her pregnancy, taking cute photos every week to share with friends and family, and on her blog. I suggested having Scott pose for a similar series instead of me, but he wasn't into it. During the past few weeks I've gone back and re-visited Sarah's photos several times, comparing the growth of my own bump with hers, wondering if it's really as enormous as it feels. After sufficient scrutiny I have not come to a conclusion. 

Maybe I'm being a stick-in-the-mud, but I just don't feel like the model of prenatal beauty. I feel OK, and for that I'm grateful, and my hair is awfully thick, which is... interesting. (It was already quite the carpet, now it's like a wool hat.) I've been steadily losing weight (much to the midwive's delight) which is a really REALLY odd thing to comprehend while you are simultaneously growing larger.

But I haven't lost so much weight that I feel any more confident regarding my overall body type. I'm still a chunky gal, and now my waist has pretty much abandoned me. With a belly that dwarfs my jugs, and a healthy pair of love handles erupting on each side, I feel more like a garden gnome than a maternal goddess.

I'm not all that caught up in the vanity, mind you. I'm actually pretty at peace with the whole surrendering my body thing, and like I said, when I look in the mirror I feel fine. So why am I such a grinch about photos? I suppose I'm worried that if I'm confronted with a bunch of pictures of my body I might sudddenly NOT be OK with how it is changing, and that's a pretty useless headache to give myself. 

Then again, perhaps taking self portraits would be a good way to help celebrate the changes, and find the beauty that I haven't been taking the time to look for. 

Damned if I know. Either way, Bob will see me and the bump in person next month, so I guess there's not much to worry about.