Inspiration

My daily commute on the T is such a great time to just stop and think. As the stations roll by and people get on and off I can let my thoughts ramble on. It was during one of these rides that I envisioned my next quilt.

My thought process went something like this: For Halloween I was planning to get a blonde wig and a cocktail glass and go as Britney Spears. That never quite materialized, but it was fun to have a costume that works specifically when you're pregnant. So I started thinking of who else I could have gone as and that brought me to Hester Prinn from the Scarlet Letter. Then that reminded me of a quilt block I once saw that incorporated Hester Prinn.

For those of you not as fascinated by the quilting world as I inexplicably am, let me introduce you to the "Sunbonnet Sue" block. Let me also explain why this block makes me nigh on violent. Although I can appreciate things that are well-made, or witty, or naturally beautiful, I have an aversion to things that are overly cutesy and sweet. Sunbonnet Sue just happens to fall into this latter category. She's not only impossibly boring, but sickeningly adorable. Usually her dress or bonnet or both are made of a floral pattern. I find a floral pattern I like about once every leap year. I know, that means I should find one this year but I'm kind of busy being pregnant. So anyway, when I come upon a Sunbonnet Sue quilt it makes me want to tear off my own arm just so I have something to throw at it. I feel the same way about Anne Geddes, Build-A-Bear, and Janice Kapp Perry music. *shudders* I just can't handle that kind of stuff. It rubs my cynical self the wrong way... the WAY wrong way. And no, it's not because I'm afraid to get in touch with my sensitive side.

So Hester Prinn and Sunbonnet Sue? you may be asking. Well, once upon a time my sister sent me a link to a website that shows various "bad" Sunbonnet Sue's and a Hester Prinn version was one of them (see http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Oaks/6813/badsue.html). My sister knew this was my kind of website. I love the Mob Sue, the Firing Squad Sue, the Sue shaving her cat! Once I made this connection with about 10 minutes to go on my train ride, my mind started spinning. I could make my OWN version of the bad Sunbonnet Sues! A whole quilt of them. I would delight in defaming this saccharine sweetheart and depicting her at her very worst. Sunbonnet Sue MUST have a bad side... everyone does! I could do a Word of Wisdom Sue whose smoking and drinking! A Road Rage Sue letting out a string of profanities with a raised fist! A Yankees Fan Sue!!!! That one would be the MOST fun to make! Of course I had to call my sister and tell her all about my epiphany and she was completely on board. Surprisingly, Brent wasn't so much. I think that's just because he likes Anne Geddes :). That's okay, I can make this one without his support. Now if only I could find the time...

Parenting Tip

I got this in a mass email from my Aunt Janet with the title "Why Waste a Temper Tantrum?". I love how even the dog is in on it.

Just Push?

I have to admit I've only read 2 pregnancy books. One is The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy which my friend Chelsea told me to read because it's just THAT funny. Long ago I was hanging out in Harvard Square and decided to stop by The Coop to glance through it. I found myself laughing out loud and decided to get it even though childbirth was so remote a possibility. The second book is Pregnancy Sucks For Him. I was in my first trimester when I spotted this one and a phrase on one of the pages caught my eye, "If she's finally able to sleep, don't wake her up. Ever." I decided to get it for Brent but ended up devouring it myself. Other than that, no obsessive reading, no gossiping with girlfriends, no watching A Baby Story. I just didn't want to freak myself out when it wouldn't do me any good. So it's with this limited knowledge that I went to our birthing class today.

Even though I knew this class would be a frank and honest discussion of what to expect, there were some surprises I wasn't entirely prepared for. So here's my Top 10 Things That Shocked My Socks Off About Labor:

10. Somehow I thought I'd have a small amount of sweat around my hairline, and my cheeks would be rosy with all the exertion. Brent could look down on his glowing wife and be proud of how she was such a trooper. Turns out that's not the case. We watched videos. I saw woman after woman looking like she'd been dragged out of the dumpster... in Hoboken. The looks of panic combined with the rolling eyes and moaning. Oi, not a pretty picture. My visions of retaining some shred of my beauty in this whole process melted. BTW- I haven't been that terrified of an instructional video since I took Driver's Ed.

9. Epidural. Good idea, right? Everyone's talked about it like it's the Taj Mahal of the birthing experience. Turns out anesthesia won't even consider doing one until you've had a bag of fluids via I.V. in you... no matter HOW hydrated you are. This brought up many fond memories of the last time I had to get a bag (or two) of fluids for dehydration. Oh, and it takes about 20 minutes for the entire procedure and another 20 for the whole thing to take effect. That's over an hour of dealing with the contractions unmedicated. Not to mention of all the epidural fans I've talked to, not one mentioned the requisite catheters (note, PLURAL) that go along with it.

8. Along those same lines, I found out the epidural can significantly slow down the labor process and eventually you may be headed for a Cesarean. I know many a woman who's a fan of the Cesarean. Not so much.

7. Brent has to breath WITH me. That's right, all that silly huffing and puffing you see belabored women doing? He's supposed to do it with me because supposedly I'll forget everything we learned today when I'm writhing in excruciating pain.

6. I really don't like stinky feet. I realized this near the end of the day when the woman to my right took off her slippers to relieve her swollen feet. While I sympathize with her, I almost choked on the fumes. Of course, I didn't say a word because her husband had a t-shirt that said, "Maine State Prison" on it. Besides, they were really nice people.

5. There's a variety of fluids that will be flinging out of my body while I'm in labor from vomit to blood to well, the baby I guess. Essentially my innards will become my outtards. There's no other way to put it... it's just plain gross.

4. Water helps to bring on labor. So my love of baths, warm showers and the like may just come in handy. Hooray, I feel like I've done something right!

3. Yoga, it makes more sense now. Our instructor talked about how we needed to breathe deeply so we'd stay "relaxed" during the intense pain. Reminds me of when I'd be in the down dog pose with my posterior in the air, all that weight pressing on my tiny little arms and wrists and my yogi would say, "Breath into the pose.... now relax... deeper." I thought those yoga instructors were just sado-masochists. Now I'm seeing their relation to the circle of life.

2. Somehow I was hoping all the unsolicited advice would stop once I had the baby. Turns out that just continues... for the rest of this child's life. Luckily I haven't had TOO much regarding labor and delivery. My favorite was the girl who told me to try and put off having my epidural for as long as possible because it would help me with the pushing. This is the girl who's planning on adopting because she's terrified of labor.

1. I was under the (false) impression that all the ugliness of labor and delivery would be erased once you saw that perfectly beautiful creature. Hmmm, I guess that's actually not QUITE what happens. The instructor showed us a variety of pictures of things that shouldn't throw us off when we finally meet our offspring. In one of the videos, the mother even commented about her newborn, "It doesn't even look like a baby!" Yeah, between the cone heads, vernix, swollen faces, slime, genitals, blood, purple hands and feet, rashes, "stork bites", peeling skin and other lovely normalcies, turns out that's not entirely the case. Soooo, ooohkay.

I guess I'll just take the advice of the birthing instructor and take things one contraction at a time.

Laughed So Hard, Almost Went Into Labor

Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

LAUGH, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of it's own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.


Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.


Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.


This link (below) is from a Japanese gameshow. To think how elaborate U.S. gameshows are and here they use nothing more than a rubber band and marshmellows on string which is FAR more entertaining. Come on 3 people who read my blog! This is an official invitation to laugh with me.

Go ahead, click it! I recommend watching all the way to the end because I think the red team's the best. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpg3xM-niVw

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

Our baby is going to be born in the ghetto. Not that we don't have good insurance, on the contrary we have fabulous insurance but since this is my first baby, we were picky about the doctor. Our doctor is fabulous. She's everything you'd want in your OB-GYN and I just love her. She's bright and funny yet straightforward and thoughtful when answering my millions of questions. She's just a doll. She also happens to work at Tufts New England Medical Center which is right by Chinatown... in the ghetto (formerly known as the combat zone).

Tonight I had a birthing class so I walked to the orange line stop after work. Brent wasn't going to make this one so I was on my own. The orange line isn't necessarily scary, especially during rush hour. Besides, the T policeman who stands there kind of provides a sense of security. The train was running behind and the crowd waiting at the stop got bigger and bigger. I was a little anxious about being late but the masses were making me nervous. Bostonians are brash, and when push comes to shove, they shove... and then some.

Finally the train arrived and it stopped with the door just to my right. It's common protocol to let passengers off before rushing in. Once everyone was off, the black youth standing right in front of the door, the one with the oversized baseball cap, long gold chain and baggy pants put out his arms to block everyone from entering and loudly announced, "NOPE! Let this lady on first." Everyone looked at me and seeing I was clearly pregnant, stood aside so I could get on the train first. In other circumstances I would have dismissed this boy, but this afternoon he became my hero.

All I can say is his momma taught him right!

RABBITS!

Among the curious and strange traditions of my family is that of rabbits. On the first day of the month, whoever yells "Rabbits!" first has luck for the rest of the month and is entitled to a little treat. Since I grew up in a large family, that meant there were just that many more people vying to get rabbits. The teenagers rarely got it (you had to be an early riser) and there was a time when Dad would sneak into everyone's room, turn up the intercom full-blast and then yell it at the top of his lungs from the main control. It's not that my Dad's immature you see, it just that... well he had a... it's complica... it's INVOLVED. Dad had an interesting sense of fun.

But I digress. When I married I passed this particular tradition along. At first Brent wasn't too keen. He'd look at me like, well, like I'd just joyously yelled out the name of a furry mammal for no apparent reason. "Remind me again, why do you do that?" So I'd explain it all over. After a few months I think his competitive edge caught up with him. Eventually when I got rabbits he'd nod and say, "Oh yeah, that's right!" Then came the day when he gave me a steely stare and said, "Uh FERRET! Or um CHICKEN!" You meant rabbits? He was excited that he'd finally remembered even if he didn't get it perfectly right. Ever since then, he's been beating me to the punch... at my OWN game!

This year Februrary 1 just happened to fall on a Friday which just happens to be the day I have an 8:30 AM meeting and we just happened to be running behind. We decided to drive into work and between being late and Boston traffic, rabbits was the last thing on our minds. I didn't get out of my meeting until 10 and I already had a message. All of my clients are in the Central time zone so it's rare to get a call before 10. I listened to the message and it was my love... victoriously ripping the rabbits rug out from under me... again. My fingers nimbly dialed his work number. I was determined to pretend I hadn't heard the message or at least argue you can't leave a rabbits voicemail. He answered and immediately sang out "RAB-BITS!" Crap, he knows me too well. Okay, so he gets all the luck this month, it's just a game after all.

Gratitude

My darling little girl discovered my kidney the other day. She gave it a swift kick when I was in the middle of a meeting and I very nearly yelped out loud. I thought that was rather annoying until she discovered this spot under my left rib and jammed herself in there. No lie, I did everything I could think of to get her to move: massaged the area, put an ice cube on the opposite end of my belly (usually that gets her moving to kick it off), a piece of chocolate, a talking to from Brent, and nothing. I'm no wimp, but this really hurt. At at about 3AM she finally moved off my left rib like a little pod detaching from a spaceship. She rolled and swirled and gently kicked until she finally settled... under my RIGHT rib. Sooo I'm forcing myself to blog this one before I become one of those women who does nothing but complain about her pregnancy. I'm desperate to be a cheerful mother-to-be who can only say that I wish I could be pregnant forever.

Top 10 Things I LOVE About Being Pregnant

10. I can eat anything I want. Well, anything aside from cold-cut sandwiches, egg-nog, sushi, raw cookie dough, caffeine and heroin. But those things are overrated, right?

9. I now always get a seat on the T. Always. Even the old ladies are giving up their seats for me now. I guess I now qualify as someone "anciana o invalida"

8. There is a secret hierarchy of questions a pregnant woman receives that goes something like this: When are you due? Do you know what you're having? Have you thought of any names? Are you planning to work after she's born? Right now I pretty much get the last two and I've had a lot of fun coming up with different answers to entertain myself. Over Christmas I told my in-laws we wanted our children to have an appreciation of all cultures so we were thinking of Hoolihay Wang. Originally we had considered Hoolihay Wong but we didn't want her to feel like there was anything "wong" with her.

7. Brent has found so very many friends among other husbands who's wives are expecting. After a talk with one of these gentleman, he seems so happy. Kind of like finding out that rash you have is an epidemic and everyone is going through it, it's just that no one talks about it. So I'm glad he's doing the manly bonding.

6. I can magically make myself pass out by trying to tie my shoes. Apparently bending over cuts off the circulation to my brain so I play this little game with myself. I try to pick up things off the floor until I see spots. Never could do that before. Maybe that's why pregnant women "glow". The excessive gas could also be the culprit for the "glow".

5. Finding the caveat to the fashion rule that black is slimming. I tried wearing all black the other day and I looked like a licorice jelly bean. By the end of the day I actually craved licorice jelly beans.

4. Seeing yet again how freaking fantabulous my husband is as he massages my back, gets me cold water, wipes away my tears when I'm having a "moment"... okay "day" and does his darndest to find strawberry cake mix at the store. Why is that so hard to find anyway? Go to any fast food chain and they have shakes in chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. Go to the store and the cake mixes come in chocolate, vanilla and carrot. I seriously don't get it. Aren't there more people out there who would like a strawberry cupcake with buttercream frosting? Am I reaching for the stars here?

3. My recent nesting stage has been a perfect excuse to get Brent to throw out his stuff. Uhm, I mean, "organize" his "memorabilia". In all seriousness, he's done a fantastic job so far and I'm impressed with how much he's scaled down.

2. Gymboree. This one just about makes number 1 so it's a CLOSE second. I love Gymboree. I can fantasize for hours about what my little girl will look like in their Holland line, their Rainy Day line, their pajamas and shoes and coordinating hats (oh my!).

1. For the first time in my life, my thuttocks look small and petite. The reason is twofold: My huge belly makes Mount Krakatoa look small and it casts a shadow so anything south of my belt is harder to see. Then again, that may just be from my perspective but still, it's NICE to not look down and just hate my body. Now I look down and observe the Orville Redenbacher action happening in my mid-section and don't even have to worry about my back side. Out of sight, out of mind. Hooray!

There it is, I LOVE being pregnant!

The Amazing Race

"Hey, that's the Sorensons!" my husband said as the SUV pulled into the street behind us. On Sundays it suddenly becomes much easier to spot the Mormons in town because they 1- are usually in a MAV (Mormon Assault Vehicle such as a minivan or SUV) full of kids and 2- are dressed in Sunday clothes. We stopped at an intersection and the Sorensons pulled to the side to make a right-hand turn.

There are 2 basic ways to get to church. The first option is to drive up the hill to where the rich people live. It's also where the private school is and the road is a tad windy. You cross over the highway and continue on the frontage road after which you cross back under the highway and voila, you're there. The other option goes a little bit out of the way, but takes the windy roads out of the equation. Take a right at the intersection so you head down to the closest freeway entrance. Then take advantage of the speed and get off at the appropriate off-ramp, cross under the freeway and voila, you're there. We typically take the first and on this fateful morning, the Sorensons took the second.

Brent was suddenly very alert. "Why are they going THAT way? This way's much faster... isn't it?" Hmmm, well I think that depends on the lights. Both ways have 2 sets of lights and if you get to them at the wrong time, you can be significantly delayed. As we headed up the hill he shook his head, "They're going to beat us" even as he pressed on the accelerator a bit more than usual. We hit the first red light. Clearly despondent Brent sighed, "Yeah, they're going to beat us." The light changed and we breezed through the second light. Brent brightened as he watched the cars coming off the freeway. "That's not them... that's not them... THAT'S not them... THERE THEY ARE!!!" he gleefully shouted as they merged just behind us. "Yeah! YEAH! Oh yeah baby!!!" He high-fived me. Even as we parked the car he continued to glory in our triumph. I never knew the joy that could come from beating another family to church. After all, Mormons tend to be late.

Even though we've been married for over a year, sometimes he still surprises me... and he still always makes me smile :)

The Magic Belly

When I was on my mission Dad’s job had him traveling a lot. I often received letters that were written while he was waiting in various airports or delayed on a tarmac somewhere. After the mission and college when I started traveling for my job it became a bonding point for us both. Even now I feel like Dad’s the only one I can truly talk to who understands the ins and outs of business travel. It’s a funny juxtaposition now that I’ve recently made Platinum status on American Airlines and he’s now the missionary. He’s slogging it out in the mission field while I have people “powdering my butt” as he used to say. On my flight today from Dallas to Boston I had a lovely lunch which began with hot towels and warm nuts. The salad was good and I had to choose between the BBQ sandwich or the pizza. I declined the wine of course but warm cookies were on their way to make up for it. My glass of water (note: GLASS, not plastic cup) was not less than half empty the whole flight. They called me Ms. Wuehler… and they made sure to pronounce it right.

I have to tell you there is a certain power in being pregnant when it comes to travel. You may have noticed that before they board a flight there’s a small group of well-heeled men standing near the gate. They try to look surreptitious but they watch that gate like Ed McMahon is about to come out any minute and declare them the winner of Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. There’s a reason for this you see, every one of those business men has a laptop bag and rollerboard. Although First Class has many amenities, there is simply not much room in the overhead compartment, especially if EVERYONE has a rollerboard which pretty much everyone does. Much of the space is taken up by FAA required first aid and emergency supplies. So it’s a dog eat dog world there in First Class.

I sat back and watched them; thoroughly entertained by the way they try to edge up on one another. Clearly they're competitive people who are used to mapping out strategies for success. To put it plainly, they’re used to winning. Just before the announcement is made to board, I headed over to the group and soundly destroy their plans to race onto the jet bridge first. Who is going to be the jerk who tries to shove past the pregnant lady? That’s right, no one. The cost of doing so would be to have everyone stare you down for being utterly uncouth. They all must give me deference and it is I who makes it onto the plane first. Even the guy who eyes my belly as if he’s thinking, “She looks healthy enough, I could get ahead of her” ends up standing aside. If I choose to waddle a little slower, they must wait. In this scenario, it is I alone who sets the pace.

Once on board it doesn’t stop there because who’s going to be the jerk who makes the pregnant lady put her rollerboard into the overhead compartment? Again, they must bow to me. It’s women and children first and at the moment, I cover BOTH those categories. I trump their every advantage. They may be CEO's or high-powered salesman, but I am expecting which is something they will never have. Perhaps it’s not breaking the glass ceiling, but it is domination, even if only for the duration of a flight. Veni, Vidi, Vici.

Happy New Year

I've come to realize that when a lot of women say they just want to be a wife and mother, it sounds a lot simpler than it really is. That's the case with me anyway. Yesterday I ended up in the hospital with a nasty bug. Even though it wasn't all that serious, the doctor on call wanted me to come in just to make sure I wasn't going into preterm labor.

We got to bypass the emergency room and go straight to labor and delivery. I was told they're actually terrified of pregnant women in the emergency room. They asked Brent to wait outside while I changed into the paper-thin gown. While he waited, the nurse asked me about domestic abuse. I know this is standard but it caught me off guard. I almost blurted out, "Did you SEE him?" My sweet blond-haired, blue-eyed doll of a husband? Anyhoo, I gave her a negative response along with the questions about STD's and drug use. Ahhhh I love being a Mormon.

They hooked me up to a baby monitor and hearing my girl made me feel so much better. At one point the nurse stopped mid-sentence and said, "Someone's playing with their umbilical cord." That's one I haven't heard before. "She is?" The nurse told us she was squeezing it and then she scratched my belly to distract her and get her to stop. At that point our girl started kicking and the nurse smiled at us and said she was getting her back.

Just for good measure they took a urine sample and found I was dehydrated. The doctor showed me the little print out and pointed at one line in particular. "See that? That's a measure of your ketones... there should be no pluses." Yeah... I had four of them. Soooo I had no choice but to get an IV.

I have a fear of needles. Not pain, NEEDLES. So when someone says something like, "This one doesn't hurt" I kind of want to tear my own arm off just so I have something to throw at them. I thought shots and blood draws were bad but an IV is infinitely worse because you have to have it in for much longer. She tried my left side but apparently when I'm dehydrated I have jumpy veins and she had to take it out and try my right side. Stupid vein. I did two liters of liquids but the second one wasn't going as quickly so they pumped it into me. Not fun. It hurt all the way down the vein into my elbow and made my whole arm cold. After all that, they found there was no change. Since I was doing so much better symptomatically they let me go home with a directive to drink half/half Gatorade and water and start solids when I felt I was ready.

Remember my sweet blond-haired, blue-eyed doll of a husband? Rather than watching the Rose Bowl he sat by the hospital bed (I use this term loosely, that thing was about as comfortable as a Pilate's table), he stroked my hair and massaged my back. He told me stories to make the time pass and ran to find a nurse whenever I needed something. When we got home he unloaded the car while I soaked in a hot tub to loosen up my back and he did laundry while I blissfully floated off to sleep in our bed.

So like I said, I didn't really think all about what being a wife and mother would entail. In some ways it's hard but in others it's so very, very wonderful.