The Show Must Go On

Hi Girls!

Apologies for the lack of a post last week.  In reality, I had one all ready to go, but upon further reflection and some advice from Zandar, I decided to scrap the whole thing and start over.  You see, it was a pretty disgusting post- mostly about the embarrassing functions of a pregnant body.  It did include a disclaimer, but upon hearing Zandar's grossed out reaction to my dramatic reading of it, I decided that if she couldn't take it, then my mom would definitely not be happy, so it was back to square one.  Just for fun, though, and to give you some insight into what you would have been in for, I've included an excerpt from last week's "Post That Never Was":

Now let's talk about down there.  You know where I mean.  The truth is, I don't have the slightest clue what's going on down there.  What I do know is that I was squatting to pee at work last week, and by some (miraculous?) force of anti-gravity, I managed to pee UP.  That's right:  urine literally running upstream- over my rounded belly and headed towards the pool of my belly button.  Leaving me to gasp in self-disgust and scramble for extra toilet paper.  What is that even about?  I have not had the courage to do any investigating on what could have possibly caused this phenomenon, I have just resigned myself to the fact that I truly am a mess and extra precautions need to be taken in the future.

So you are probably now sighing in relief that you don't have to read a whole post about things of that nature and about how I have to play the piano extra loud in my classes now because of unanticipated bursts of gas.
:( Sorry, that's it, I promise!  I just needed to vent for a moment (no pun intended!)

So speaking of my classes, tonight is my Winter Concert, or to be more accurate, Possibly My Last Concert for Awhile.  Now, I usually am emotional during my last performance with any group of graduating 8th graders, but with the hormones raging, who knows what we will be in for considering it is possibly my last performance with any of these kids, or even at this school.  Truth be told, I might be catatonic about it at this point, if not for some things that have happened over the last few weeks which have made me think that a break might be just the ticket right around now!

First, I cried in front of my entire 7th and 8th grade choir during a rehearsal last week.  The kids were just being jerks and I was so angry with them and I took their bad behavior as a personal affront, which I know that I shouldn't.  I also know that it is not a good idea to cry in front of your students, but as I tried to explain how disappointed I was in them, I couldn't get the words out without breaking down.  As a veteran teacher, I have learned to not take things too personally, but emotions got the better of me that day and I regressed to the sensitive first year teacher I was nine years ago.  Both of my parents scolded me for showing weakness to my students (thanks, Mom and Dad!) and as though I didn't feel foolish enough for letting my exhaustion and feelings get the better of me, several teachers and the principal came up to me to "see if I was okay" because the kids told them that they had made me cry.  Just great.

Next, without getting into too many details here, because who really knows the legal or moral implications of blogging about work stuff, a parent has threatened to "go to the newspapers" about the fact that I won't let his daughter, who has been to one third of the required after school rehearsals and doesn't take chorus as a class (just comes to after school), sing in the concert.  I'm sorry.  Your child didn't sufficiently learn the music in the 2 hours and 15 minutes total that she has spent with me, and she is in violation of the policy.  While I don't think any newspaper is going to be intrigued enough to pursue this at any level (as Cecelia quipped, "Oh great! We were looking for a front page story!") wouldn't that just be a lovely legacy to leave?  Luckily, my wonderful administration is supporting me.

Also, and this has absolutely nothing to do with school, but more to do with wanting to hibernate and not deal with people of any kind for a several month stretch, someone came up to me the other day while I was eating a cookie and said, "That's not very healthy for the baby."  And I slapped her.  No I didn't.  I wanted to.  Instead, I stammered some response about trying to be good during the week, but this time of year there is an abundance of cookies and it's hard... seriously trying to defend myself to this person, when all I could really think was, "You think this little cookie is bad?  You should have seen what I ate yesterday!"  I mean, that whole story puts the NERVE in unnerving.

So, the moral of the story is, I am going to try my best to not over-romanticize tonight.  While I adore my students (most days) and truly love my job, a thirty-one-year-old woman sobbing in front of an audience of adolescents and their parents is never cute, and not the image that I want to leave in people's minds.  Instead, I will try to soak up the experience with gratitude for the blessings I have received in my career, and in anticipation of the blessings of the family I am starting.  I am having my own child now, instead of "borrowing" other people's.  I have to remember that this job has some very high "ups" but very low "downs" as well, and although motherhood may be the same, at least those ups and downs will be on my terms- not decided by outside forces.

I know that there will be more concerts in my future, whether it be next year or in a few years, or a little while down the road.  This is the only one that Baby H will do with me though, and someday I'll show him or her a picture of tonight and ask, "Do you remember when we conducted the Winter Concert together?  You were about the size of a spaghetti squash!"  He or she may look at me like I'm nuts, but I will forever be grateful to this child for helping me get through this night with grace.

So wish me luck, everyone... this is my 10th Winter Concert in this school and at least my 60th total performance as a teacher, and I still get a little nervous.  But tonight is a night to hold my head high with pride for my career accomplishments and with anticipation of the new challenges motherhood will bring.  I am filled with gratitude and excitement about both.

A Sneak Peek!

Monday morning, Ivan and I drove to the OBGYN for our much anticipated 20 week ultrasound.  My spirits were absolutely buzzing as we waited for my name to be called, mostly from the excitement, and partially from the latte I had for breakfast (decaf, but those trace amounts are really getting to me from these days of teetotal-ing!).  I wanted so badly to know that our baby was safe and doing well.  You see, I hadn't actually felt the baby move in over a week, and along with missing his or her dance routines, I was starting to become a Nervous Nelly.  Again.

As my mom says, it's starting to become my job to worry, and it doesn't help anything at all.  During the car ride to the doctor, Ivan told me that it's of absolutely no use to be nervous about the baby because we literally have ZERO control over the situation.  He said that we will have plenty of opportunities to worry about this child and there may even be things we could have done differently, but this was not one of those times- it is completely in God's hands.  This is all logical, but I am much more emotion-centered than logic-centered on a normal day, let alone when I have the hormonal equivalent of a nuclear bomb going off inside of me, so worry I did.

We got settled in the same room where we had our first ultrasound and had seen the tiny flicker of the blueberry-sized baby's heartbeat.  I laid on the table, pulled my top up and pushed my maternity-banded jeans down to give plenty of space for the warm goo to go.  Almost instantaneously upon placing the "wand" on my belly, the image of our baby flashed on the screen in front of us.  He or she was curled up, face down, towards my back and WIGGLING!  Immediately tears sprang from my eyes and cascaded down my cheeks.  Our little baby- now banana-sized, can you believe it?- was right there for us to see, to spy on!  How incredible!

We saw all of the tiny vertebrae in the spine, we saw the little butt, the fingers and toes.  The technician checked on the vital organs and Ivan was enthralled- "You can see the four chambers of the heart!" he exclaimed, which, admittedly, is amazing but I was just waiting for the technician to go back to something cute.  And cuteness abounded.  I had to lay on my side for awhile to get the baby to flip over, and when he or she did, we saw what we are convinced is the cutest little face in the world.  Tiny lips, a little nose, ears!  We painstakingly looked away while the technician checked on the gender.

Throughout the entire process, the baby NEVER stopped moving.  The technician explained that the placenta is towards my front, so it would be a few weeks until I started feeling the baby regularly- calm for my nerves! :)  Our little guy or girl is constantly turning, kicking, swatting- it was nothing short of MIRACULOUS to behold.  Ivan and I were in complete awe of the baby, who was absolutely brimming with life inside of me.  Neither of us could contain our smiles as we gazed at the photos in our hands of our little one, waiting for the doctor to come and talk to us.  When he did, he informed us that everything looks perfect, which only turned up the wattage on our smiles.  (By the way, this doctor actually delivered Zandar 25 years ago.  He says he remembers, but I guess any doctor would remember a baby being hatched from an egg that was found on the side of a road.  Just kidding- sorry Zandar!)

With our baby's little face as our new desktop backgrounds and the wallpaper on our phones, Ivan and I are truly the proud parents.  I find myself talking to the image on my phone, sharing anything and everything that comes to mind.  (What am I going to get your aunt for Christmas?  This rain is a pain in the neck, isn't it?  Daddy's a little crazy).  Ivan prefers to talk through my belly (What do YOU want for dinner?  A whole sub? That's pretty impressive for someone the size of a banana!).  Regardless of our communication choices, we have decided on a few things together, since the ultrasound.

1.  We are both leaning toward thinking that Baby H is a "he"!
2.  We are pretty sure that Baby H is smiling at us in the photo.  (It's a little short of giving two thumbs up, as on the football field, but we're taking it to be a message that everything is A-Okay and that  he or she is happy!)
3.  Baby H is the cutest baby to ever live.  Not up for discussion.  :)

So, without further adieu, here he or she is!  Proudly making his or her first public appearance, I give you....

Baby H!

Here Comes the Bride, I Mean Bump!

I want to start with a little confession.  On my wedding day, I had a small panic attack as I walked down the aisle.  In no way did I have cold feet or any doubts at all about the marriage (or the wonderful man!) but the intensity of the day was so palpable that I almost couldn't take it.  Thank goodness I had my mom and dad on either side of me, because I think I needed them both there to hold me up.  I know I was shaking a bit as I looked around to see the faces of all of the people I love.  The record that kept spinning in my thoughts was, "This is it.  This is your wedding day.  This is it.  This is your wedding day." 

I am definitely one of those girls who began planning her own wedding right around the time when I could fully appreciate what one actually was.  I went through countless phases of colors for the bridesmaids and of course the groom was always one of a constant rotation of movie stars, musicians or an of- the moment boyfriend or crush.  As the years progressed, the "perfect" setting changed, the "perfect" flowers evolved, the style of my "perfect" gown altered.  All of this was done with the happy innocence of non-commitment.  So the finality of that day being the ACTUAL day was over-whelming.  I was truly thinking, "This is my wedding dress.  I will never have another one.  Do I even like it?  It doesn't matter, because this is it."

I don't think I really settled down or appreciated the moment until Ivan and I were saying our vows.  Looking into his eyes, I'd never been so sure of anything in my life.  It didn't matter what dress I was wearing, what music was playing, or what the flowers looked like.  I was completely present and utterly happy.  From that moment on, I savored every second of the day- the people, the dancing, the colors- and the memories are forever etched in my memory and heart.

I've been thinking about my feelings on the first part of that day lately because I'm afraid that I may be doing the same thing now in my pregnancy.  I am so anxious for that next step- for the baby to be bigger, to start to prepare the nursery, for the baby to get here already that I am not fully experiencing the pregnancy.  Right now it seems like it is dragging on forever, but I know that in retrospect it will feel like the blink of an eye, and I'd better start appreciating all of the small moments.  Even though this (God willing) won't be the only time I am pregnant, I am finally realizing that I need to enjoy the blessing of being pregnant throughout the process.

A week and a half ago, the impetus for this change in thinking occurred.  I was sitting at my desk at work, during my prep period, when I felt a small flutter in my lower abdomen.  My heart almost stopped, because I had been anticipating feeling this movement of my little Baby H for weeks.  I was nervous that I could be mistaking gas for his or her "hello," but sure enough, several seconds later, there it was again.  Tiny little bubbles of movement, that, had they been higher- up in my tummy, would have indicated nerves.  But they were low and unmistakable- life within me.  Tears stung my eyes as Baby H continued his or her sporadic dance over the next 15 or 20 minutes.  I called Ivan, my mom, Zandar.  I chatted over Google with my brother and friends.  I texted Cecelia.  I sat in awe, and spoke to my little gymnast, "Is that you?  I've been waiting for you to say, 'hello'!  I love you so much!"

I could have sat there and experienced that feeling forever, but alas, babies are sleepy creatures, and not only did the movement not last long, but the reprises have been few and far between.  Each time it happens, though it feels magical, and I stop whatever it is I am doing and bask in the glow of very early motherhood.

My little mango-sized friend has also caused another first- the appearance of an actual baby bump!  It seemed to happen overnight- a roundness to my belly that is not "suck-in-able".  Down below my belly button feels really round and hard.  I know that's where the baby is, and I guess that the uterus pushes everything else up, because my upper abdomen is also round, but soft and cushy.  There really is no mistaking the fact that I'm expecting now, except for in just a couple of outfits.

Speaking of a couple of outfits- that is all I have left, from a non-maternity standpoint.  Especially when it comes to pants, I have one pair of non-maternity dress pants and two pairs of non-maternity jeans that fit.  It makes dressing for work a creative struggle.  I'm never one to complain about shopping though!

As I'm embracing my pregnant self, it's hard not to notice society embracing me.  I'll tell you, for the most part, everyone is nice to you when you've got a baby bump.  Co-workers who previously had barely said, "hello," are striking up long conversations.  I get smiles and questions from people at the gym.  I wish people in other cars could see that I am pregnant while I'm driving, because I surely wouldn't get cut off as often.  I think it's part of God's great plan that while you may be miserable for parts of your pregnancy, people won't be quite as jerky.  I don't know if it's a completely fair trade-off, but it's certainly nice!

So, in conclusion, these are happy times.  I might even try to embrace the terms "preggo" and "preggersI'm learning to soak up every bit of this amazing period of my life and cherish it for what it is.  On the radar of my life, pregnancy is a mere blip, as far as length of time, and a skyrocketing jump as far as blessings.  To that end, I've composed this list:

Top 10 Reasons Why Being Pregnant Rocks

10.  You pretty much can eat delicious snacks all the time and blame your grossness on the baby.

9.  You have a pretty good excuse to blog and basically vent to people about your life, and some of them are even interested!

8.  As I mentioned before, people are super-nice!  When I get even bigger I may go to the city and ride the subway just to see how many people will offer up their seats!

7.  You can wear leggings every single day and no one will judge you.  At least not out loud.

6.  Maternity pants are way comfortable.  I honestly don't see how anyone would ever go back to actually having to zipper and button up jeans.  Yuck.  Not to mention, they are expandable, to accommodate the baby and aforementioned snacking.

5.  My students have become quite protective of me and the baby.  Whenever kids in class are misbehaving, without fail another student will say something to the effect of, "Stop it!  You're stressing her out!  Pregnant ladies can't get stressed out!!"  And I stoically agree with them.

4.  Your heightened sense of smell lets you know that there are snacks around a few seconds before everyone else, so you can get to them first.

3.  Even if you don't officially have "the glow," you find yourself smiling constantly, maybe for no reason at all.

2.  Ivan is the doting daddy-to-be.  The way he looks at me and talks to the baby through my tummy are the most romantic things I've ever experienced.

1.  No matter how bad your day is, at the end of it, you have a little life inside of you that doesn't mind that you had to sit in traffic for an hour, barely got to sit all day, or made a mistake at work.  All he/she cares about is that you are nice and warm and comfortable inside for him or her, and thinks you're just great because of that.

Of course, this is just a silly list of my observations, but I'd love to hear your additions!  You mommies out there- let me know what your favorite part of being pregnant was and I will include them on a future post.  Alternatively, if you'd like to share with me your least favorite part of being pregnant, I bet those would make for great accompaniments to a future list that I will undoubtably write during my third trimester!

Until then, wish us luck at our 20 week ultrasound on Monday!  Can't wait to fill you in!

The Adventures of Zandar and B

I'm about to tell you a story and some of you aren't going to like it.  Maybe all of you.  But it must be told and it has a happy ending, so don't freak too much as you read.

Zandar and I teach in the same school district, and among the perks that come with that (like being able to send messages and chocolate through inter-campus mail and having a partner to make faces at during professional days) is that we get the same days off from school.  So, during our fall break this year, we decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather and the fact that we are still baby-less and go on an adventure.  We booked a room at the Mohunk Mountain House in New Paltz, NY and drove up there on a Monday morning.

The place was BEAUTIFUL.  We were in pure awe as our car climbed the winding roads leading to the magnificent "house."  I say, "house" because it really is a hotel, and a sprawling, charming, antiquey one at that.  We checked into our standard room (floral wall paper, balcony with rocking chairs looking out onto the mountains, two beds, of which we only used one because we're strange like that, and no TV) and started out on the real reason for coming- the magnificent hiking through the Mohunk Mountains.  (By the way, the humor in the name Mohunk did not escape us!) 

Me in front of our "wing" of the "house."

The house sits on a gorgeous, glistening lake.  The weather was PERFECT!

Now, by no means are we experienced hikers.  Our family has done some hiking on numerous family vacations in such beautiful locations as the redwood forests in California, the mountains of Acadia National Park in Maine, and the Canadian Rockies near Lake Louise and each time we have been ill-prepared, training and equipment-wise and at times have sprained ankles, found ourselves on 5-mile long, exhaustingly steep trails, fallen down, peed in our pants, nearly gotten lost, and drank water that looked glistening and pure (we actually dumped out our Poland Spring to sample the local  "fare") and later found out that we were quite lucky it didn't kill or at least hospitalize us. 

Despite all of this, the recollections of our hiking adventures stand out as some of our best in the mounds of incredible family vacation memories we have made.  So Zandar and I decided to put our experience or lack there of to good use and do some hiking of our own.  We had been told by a co-worker that we would love the trails there, particularly those classified as "rock scrambles."  We set out with our map to find said scrambles. 

Our first trail was pretty standard- a worn walking path which snaked up to the top of the mountain, with little wooden viewing posts marking the way, which looked down on the house, lake, and gorgeous display of fall foliage.  We finally found a cut through- the Mohunk Trail- which looked a little "rockier" - more like what we were expecting and carefully climbed up.  The path was short and fun, but overall not as exciting as we had been anticipating.  The view from the top of the mountain, however, made the trails an afterthought.  The beauty surrounding us was exhilarating.  It was one of those moments that really made me think about God and His omnipotence.  I felt like he was letting me in on one of His little secrets, which happened to be a grandiose display of his painting skills.

Ready to start our adventure!  Fanny pack?  Check!

Pretty standard path- fun, but not fun enough!

Zandar was excited- we thought we had found a scramble!

We descended the mountain by a different route and scoured the map for some trails that would be a little more challenging.  The map was not the easiest to follow, but we came to the top of a trail called "Crevice."  However, it seemed to just descend into rocks.  We figured it had been miss-marked.  Only slightly frustrated (the high from the exercise and nature was tough to beat!) we wound our way back down to the house for pumpkin cookies and tea in the lounge.

After another easy hike at sunset and some time reading magazines on the cushy lounge chairs by the lovely indoor pool, we dressed for dinner.  Four courses of AMAZING food later, we rolled back down the hallway, excited for flannel pj's and bed- I think it was 9pm.  The great outdoors will do that to you!  Just as we were settling in to fall asleep to an episode of "Drop Dead Diva,"  courtesy of Netflix on Zandar's laptop, a knock came on the door- a delivery of three jars of pumpkin butter!  If anything excuses a knock that forces me out of my deliciously comfortable bed, it's the bearing of a pumpkin product of some sort.  (Plus, I think we got that third jar for free because I was in my pj's and looked so freaked out!)

After nine hours of sleep and a breakfast buffet (which included the most scrumptious scone, of which we couldn't determine the exact flavor that made it so intoxicating- upon further thought, we should have brought it back to the lab, the lab being Cecelia or my "buncake" friend, who has chosen an alias and will hereto for be known as "Ladybird") we were ready for another day of hiking fun.  We consulted a list of trails in the lodge and saw that there were two trails listed as "rock scrambles":  "Eagle Cliff" and "Labyrinth and Crevice."  We set off to find "Eagle Cliff,"  an off-shoot of a typical trail.  To our dismays, at the juncture between the two, we found this:

A chain crossing the path entrance telling us that the trail was closed for the season.  However, we declared (well, it was mostly me) that we had come to this place mostly to try these fun rock scrambles, so for that reason and also because there was not another soul in sight, we stepped over the chain (really, if they didn't want us to go down there, they should have made it just a little more foreboding- an orange cone or something) and took the first steps onto "Eagle Cliff" pass:

Which happened to be a ladder.  Down into the rocks.  Now this is what we were talking about!  We had so much fun navigating these giant boulders and finding the arrows in faded red paint to show us the way.

An example of one of the red arrows that we used to show us the way back up "Eagle Cliff"

At this point, you may be wondering, "What the heck were you guys thinking?" (substitute the expletive of your choice) but the truth is, I never felt that I (or more importantly, Baby H) was in danger.  Zandar insisted on walking in front of me on our descents and behind me on our ascents, so that if I fell, she would cushion the blow (she is nothing if not chivalrous) and when anything felt too steep we got on our butts and scooted.  The experience was a rush and our adrenaline was pumping, so much so that when we got back to the top, we were ready for more.  So, after a quick rest stop of bathrooms, water, and licorice (essentials) back at the house, we set out to find "Labyrinth and Crevice."

Look how excited I was at the entrance to "Labyrinth."  Was feeling quite invincible.  Silly girl.

Right away, this path was more challenging than the most difficult parts of "Eagle Cliff."  We laughed as we found the arrows, pointing us up steep ladders, across questionable bridges, and into dark caves.  Sometimes, we had to get creative with our climbing, because as relatively short ladies, some of the rocks were just not cooperative with how high we could lift a leg or reach a good gripping point.  I'm not gonna lie- we had to do some straddling and our hoo-ha's got a little bit of a workout as well.   There were a few particularly tricky spots where we had to be extremely careful- passages with steep drop-offs and there were times when Zandar, who is afraid of heights, would shake like a little leaf, which made the process all the more difficult.  There was some hand-holding and coaching, but mostly laughter and fun.  The trail was at once grueling and amusing, but all I could think was, "This has got to be the last obstacle.  How long could they possibly keep this up for?  10 minutes of climbing? 15?  20???"

I'll tell you how long.  An hour and a half total.  That's right.

We were quite amused at the outset...

and started to get a little more incredulous as we went on.

After about an hour, we came to a break in the climbing, and a sign directed us that we could take about 100 stairs up to a major trail, or we could continue onto "Crevice."  Never one to back down from a challenge, I decided that we must press on.  We must complete the task at hand!  So off to "Crevice" we went. 

At this point, the rocks began to change and the arrows became more difficult to find.  Each direction seemed more improbable than the other and the change in terrain led us to believe that we were in said "Crevice."

What we thought was the "Crevice"

Suffice it to say, we were wrong.  Quite wrong.  Another 20 minutes of climbing accompanied by, as the climbing was all day, Zandar's proclamations that "Mom is gonna kill me!  What's wrong with me?  What was I thinking bringing you here?" and we were deposited at the base of what was actually "The Crevice."

And "The Crevice" was just that:  a giant crevice, which, when you stood at the bottom of it, felt as though you were standing at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  To our horror, the red arrows instructed us go continue on into the crevice.  "In there?!?!  They want us to go in there?!?!" were our exact words.  We walked on, and it got darker and darker as walls of rock on either side of us got narrower and narrower until they met at a series of skinny ladders which led to the small glimmer of sunlight a hundred feet above us.

At the opening of the crevice, not knowing what was ahead and already not amused

It's worth mentioning that 1.)  we had not seen anyone else on this trail the entire time and 2.)  we were completely exhausted at this point and the prospect of climbing back the way we had just come was not an appealing one.  And neither was climbing those ladders, but we truly felt that we didn't have a choice. 

The ladders were so skinny at their bases that you could barely get one foot on a rung.  Not only that, but they were angled in such a way that as we climbed, our bodies rubbed against the wet rock next to us.  I have to be honest.  My heart was pounding, my palms were sweating, and I was silently cursing myself for putting poor Baby H in this position.  It was not safe and it was not smart and I was terrified.  At one point, I couldn't find my footing and had to backtrack and I stepped on Zandar's hand.  She, I could tell, was going into full-on panic mode and was cursing NOT silently.  As I pulled myself to the top of the last ladder, I found myself on a rock platform that was about 2 1/2 feet wide.  The problem was that I was still about 7 1/2 feet from being out of the crevice.  If I stood on my toes, I could just barely curl my fingers over the edges.  There was seemingly no help out, save for a piece of rock that jutted out about 4 feet up, which for someone who is 5'2" is not reasonable leg-lifting height.

I wanted to to really freak out-we were a very rocky 100 feet off of the ground, but I knew we were so close.  And also, Zandar was really losing it.  I could hear the sheer terror in her voice as she berated herself, us, our co-worker who thought this would be a great idea, the designers of the course, and just about anyone else who came to her mind.  In desperation, I turned around and used my arms to pull my butt on to the jutted out rock and then was able to get my elbows out into the sunshine and pull my feet underneath me.  I could feel my heart rate slow down as I realized that we were going to make it out safely.  And then I looked down and saw Zandar sitting on the platform sobbing. 

Poor Zandar was so scared.  She couldn't see what I could see and she couldn't fathom how we'd get out alive.  Worst of all, she was blaming herself for getting us into this position and it was not her fault in the least.  It was me who had kept pushing us onward and upward.  I told her, a little harshly, that she needed to stand up immediately and as she shakingly did, I walked her through the steps to pull herself to the little rock and from there I was able to reach down and scoop her out.  At which point she collapsed into my arms and bawled in relief for an extended period of time. 

When she was finally soothed, we were able to drink in the beauty around us.  It was an incredible moment- a feeling a relief, accomplishment, and gratitude.  Zandar began thanking God for letting us live.  We crossed a bridge over the crevice we had just climbed out of and were able to laugh at the situation, now that we had calmed down.  A few rocks up, we found ourselves at the place we had been the day before- where we had thought that the trail had to have been miss-marked and we laughed again.  We chose a very easy path back down the mountain and spoke about how much our dad and brother would have loved the trail and how Mom and Cecelia would probably want no part of it.

See?  We made it, safe and sound.

As we hungrily devoured our lunches back at the house, we decided that, yes, we'd do it again.  But no, not while one of us was pregnant.  Since all ended well, it is easy to say that I don't regret our overly-adventurous climbing.  The truth is, though, that we could have gotten hurt.  I can deal with spraining my own ankle, but I could not deal with hurting Baby H and during the whole climb I found myself apologizing to him or her and vowing to be much more protective.

Zandar says that the way I took care of her on the trail proves what a great mom I'll be.  But a great mom doesn't bring her baby on super-long, dangerous hikes.  My only defense is that I didn't know what we were in for, and in the future I will need to inform myself a little better before making decisions.  After all, it's not just me that I need to think about these days!

All's well that ends well, and in the end, sharing that experience with my sister is something neither of us will ever forget.  I could say that it made our bond even stronger, but I don't think that was ever possible.  It's something that we will put in our bank of family vacation memories to tell our kids someday, along with the time that Zandar sprained her ankle running on the mountain in the redwood forest and Poppy (our dad) carried her down on his shoulders or the time that our mom laughed so hard at Poppy slipping on a mountain that she had to sit in a stream to disguise the wet stain on her bottom. 

Welcome to the family, Baby H!  You're one of us now!

















Where My Girls At?

Fair is fair... a post about girls to balance the one for the boys.  While I'm doing my best to be impartial, the two posts may be a little lopsided, because the ladies in my life are, for lack of a better term- thegreatestintheworldandoneofthebestpartsofmylife.  And it doesn't hurt that none of the ladies in my life have compared my eating habits to that of a garbage disposal (at least to my face- sorry, still getting over that!).  Below is a list of just some of the things the ladies in my life have done to bring sunshine to my days, which they do all of the time, but I especially appreciate now, as I'm in need of a little extra TLC in my overly emotional state.

So, to start out, let's talk about my girls.  I mean my girls- which are now, drumroll please... a size 32D.  Now, a 32 D is a lot different from say, a 36D, and comparatively speaking a size 32D bra still looks pretty small.  I don't have stripper boobs or anything, but I was definitely spilling out of my 32C, so my other girls, Zandar and Cecelia (for those who don't remember, that's my sister and SIL extraordinaire) lovingly welcomed me to "The Big Show- Literally" and helped me navigate the Maidenform outlet, because a good bra is hard to find.

Here are some more highlights of girls helping girls out as only we can (and I'm sorry- I'm sure I'm accidentally leaving some out!):

Two of my fabulous ladies have given me Rockabye Baby CD's- for those of you who don't know of them, they are rock songs done in the form of lullabies.  So now Baby H will be snoozing to the soothing sounds of Bon Jovi and Weezer!

Remember when I told you that the instructor on my Pregnancy Fitness DVD calls your butt your "buncake"?  And how I said that a buncake sounded delicious?  Well, one of my very close friends emailed me immediately to tell me that she thought the exact same thing (not surprising, because we have always been freakishly close- when I did my senior recital 10 years ago (!) she could actually sense which songs I was most nervous for.  Sympathy nerves!  I hope my labor isn't too tough on her.  :)  ).  But not only had she thought that a buncake sounded delicious, but she immediately looked for a recipe and found one for... wait for it... Pumpkin Buncake.  Enough said.

Another luscious lady gave me a stack of FitPregnancy magazines passed on from a friend, not to mention the best reaction to my pregnancy news ever.  Out of anyone.  I'm telling you- it was four minutes of straight screaming.  I couldn't possibly unglue the smile from my face as I listened to her on the other end of the line.  And you'd think it wouldn't have been a big deal to her- at the time her own sister was expecting twins (born happy and healthy a few weeks ago!).  I should have known better.  She internalizes others' joy like no one else.  It truly is a moment I will never forget.

My fantastic friend, B, (a fellow blogger!) gave me a goody bag of some of her favorite pregnancy products, along with amazing mom insights.  She is the first of our friends to have a baby, so we all watch and learn from her.  Not only that, though, she totally didn't judge me when I HOUSED a gigantic omelet and hash browns in front of her at brunch last week, while she was clearly trying to be so good with her eating.  And she certainly didn't make any disposal remarks.  :)

One of my work friends, who also happens to be one of my favorite people in the world, gave me a beautiful book to write down pregnancy memories.  But again, as much as I love it, it pales in comparison to her unique perspective on parenting and the encouragement she gives me all the time.  She made having a boy sound so much less scary when she told me of her pregnancy experience thinking she was growing a girl and finding out to her surprise that a little boy was on the way instead.

My bestie from childhood has been so excited throughout this whole pregnancy process. The photo from our first ultrasound is nestled in the frame (made specifically for ultrasounds!) she gave us.  She is in touch all of the time (she doesn't live close enough, but she's getting there!) and wants to know every detail of the baby happenings.  No matter how frustrating a day is, a talk with her leaves you feeling like the luckiest girl in the world because she is in your life.

A wonderful friend sent me an invitation to a Pregnancy Night Out, which I attended with her and Cecelia and Zandar.  While the event was lovely, the real treat was spending the night with her and comparing stories with her friend who is also expecting.

I can't really get into my family in detail here, because I will surely start crying all over my keyboard and break it.  Let's just put it this way:  my mother is the most amazing woman and mom in the world.  Never has an expectant mother had a better built-in role model.  Zandar is my heart.  I don't know how else to express how much she means to me.  The other aunts-to-be, Cecelia and Aunt R, are my new sisters and they more than live up to that title.  I know I can call on them for ANYTHING (especially baby-sitting when the time comes!).  My MILs are beyond excited and so supportive.  My grandmothers (and I include Ivan's in there too) are the most wise women and every piece of advice they give I treasure like gold.  My aunts and cousins are amazing-  My fabulous aunt, Wife of Hunter, sends me texts to put my every fear at ease- she is another great mommy.

As I mentioned in the previous post, the comments, emails, and encouragement from all of the ladies reading has been overwhelming and humbling.  We're talking about Cecelia's mom, Zandar's friends, a friend overseas, the greatest aunts and cousins in the world... I am one lucky and spoiled lady.  The fact that you take time out of your day to read, respond, send a message... honestly, I am so blessed.  And I know that you are doing all of this with so much going on in your own lives- among other things:  new homes, new additions to families, sick children, work, loss of family members, loss of pets, new marriages, apartment disasters, college... you are all so incredibly generous and you make me proud to be a woman.

There was a time when I was not so crazy about girls.  Women can be very nasty to each other, and being a middle school teacher I see more than my fair share of cattiness.  Girls can be so very mean.  And I'm ashamed to say that there have been times that I have been one of those mean girls.  It's one of the reasons that I'm scared to have a girl.  I just know how easily it is for girls to hurt and be hurt.  When boys are angry at each other they duke it out and it's over, but girls?  We can hold a grudge.  Forever.  And the psychological warfare that girls wage on each other is so much more painful than a black eye.  Will I be able to teach a daughter to be stronger than I was, to not succumb to the peer pressure of joining in the nastiness?  Can I be a good enough example? 

And what about when your daughter decides that she hates you or speaks to you in that demeaning way that girls can?  (I know- I still do it to my own mom at times, even now.)  That has got to be so painful. 

What if I pass on my own unhealthy focus on looks to her?  My mom was never like that but look how I turned out- OCD about my looks.  What would happen to a little girl in my care?  She'd feel like a little walking Barbie doll. 

Oh Ladies.  At least as a consolation I know that even if I'm a mess, a little girl would have a TON of  fantastic role models surrounding her in my family and friends.  I know that everyone freaks out about their own inadequacies and worries about the job they will do as parents.  I also gather that there is only so much you can do as a parent.  And I know that no one is perfect.  And if a bunch of amazing women like you think enough of me to show me the love that you do, then I can't be THAT bad.  :) 

By the way, one of my school secretaries performed a little "ceremony" of waving a treaded needle over my palm.  By the needle's circular motion, she "determined" that the turnip or onion (different websites, different vegetables) sized baby I'm carrying is female. 

Ahh!  The suspense is wonderful and frustrating.  It's going to be so difficult to say, "No, we don't want to know," in two weeks when we go for the body scan ultrasound.  By the way, we went to the doctor two weeks ago for a check-up and everything seemed a-okay with the then avocado-sized little buddy in there.  And really, that's the only thing we need to hear when we go to the ultrasound.  It's the only thing that matters, right?  :)

Boys Will Be Boys

First of all, I am so sorry that this post is super-late.  My mom told me that some of you have been asking if everything is okay with me because there was no post last week, and after the "Debbie-Downer" nature of last week's, I can see why!  (And then again, maybe some of you were thinking, "Phew, no email from B this week! I need a break from her!") Either way, I'm sorry.  The truth is that I didn't have Internet for most of the week because of "Snowtober" and the end of the week caught up with me and I didn't get a chance to finish the post that I started on Thursday.  So without any further delay, here it is:
I have to start this post with a huge, "Thank you!!!" to those of you who reached out to me last week after my slightly emotional post on the work/don't work dilemma.  I was over-whelmed by the kindness and insight of the emails I received and conversations that I had with you.  I am surrounded by such incredible, strong, smart women and you all serve as role models to me.  I got so many emails that were chock full of sound advice and wise words.  You all should write a book!  I honestly feel so blessed that I can put out a virtual call for help and that you ladies respond like so many super-heroes, sans the Lycra outfits and magical accessories, but you know what?  You could rock those too.  You are some pretty amazing ladies.
Which leads me to this week's topic:  the difference in the genders.  Perhaps at no other time have I been so acutely aware of  the "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" phenomenon as now, when I am dying to know if the little apple-sized baby inside of me is made of "sugar and spice" or "snakes and snails" (guys really got the raw end of the deal with that adage!). 

I have had some pretty funny experiences with the opposite sex regarding my pregnancy lately.  Let's start with Ivan, shall we?

I must preface this story by telling you that almost all of the time, Ivan is wonderful with me.  He is patient when I cry over ridiculous things (and I've been doing that a lot), he tells me that I look beautiful when I am huffing around in the morning because I can't get my pants to button, and is constantly asking about me and the baby.  On a side note, he got so excited about being a dad when he saw our first trick-or-treaters on Monday- a 2 1/2 year old Red Riding Hood and a 1 year old Supergirl, who could barely stand on the stoop on her own (don't worry, her dad was right behind her).  We began imagining the end of our Halloween afternoons at home and envisioning the trek around the neighborhood collecting candy and we both got very excited (and not just for the candy!).  Anyway, I have to tell you these lovely things about him, because what I'm about to tell you will make you want to punch him in the face.  Or maybe that's just me.

A couple of Sunday nights ago, I made an astounding discovery:  at the bottom of our freezer in a Tupperware container was a large hunk of ice cream cake left over from Ivan's birthday party a week or so prior.  My sole thought was, "Score!"  and I took that sucker out to defrost.  Well, when Ivan saw this, he started to laugh and he asked me, "Do you have a button?"  "A button?  What do you mean?" I replied.  He said, "A button, you know, a switch."  And with that he walked over to the switch for our garbage disposal and turned it on.  Are you catching his meaning?  That's right- he was comparing my eating habits as of late to those of a GARBAGE DISPOSAL.  With fire in my eyes, I began screaming that he had no right and how dare he and the screams were accompanied by punches, which he did his best to deflect while in hysterics.  He thought he was so funny and kept trying to redeem himself by saying, "No, it's just cute!  I've never seen you this way" (which is a blatant lie, let me tell you).  I took my ice cream cake upstairs to eat in bed, thank you very much.  Men.

So that's my husband.  Now let's move on to my band.  So, as you know, my blog title is Rock Star Mommy 2B, not just because I'm really hoping to rock as a mom, but because I sing in a rock cover band, which makes me feel like a rock star, even though I'm really more of a rock piece of glitter or something else much smaller than a star.  I'm the only lady in the group and I truly love my band mates (especially that rhythm guitar player/keyboardist!)

Well, last Thursday night our band played a gig- a few hours at a local casino night for charity.  During one of our set breaks, I sat down with the bassist, drummer, and lead guitarist (Ivan was off schmoozing, as he is so good at it).  The bassist, an almost dead ringer for Andre the Giant, asked how I've been feeling.  Now, first understand that he is one of my favorite people in the world.  He is this big, tough looking guy (when my dad first saw him, he felt much better about our band playing out late- he knew no one was going to mess with me when this guy had my back!) and every other word out of his mouth begins with "f," but deep down he is a family guy at heart.  He would do anything for his wife and kids and he's a real teddy bear.  So when he asked how I was feeling, I replied, "I'm feeling really good!  Just tired, I could sleep all day!"  The rest of our conversation went something like this:

Bassist:  Yeah, that'll happen.  Are you gonna breastfeed?

Me:  (turning completely red) Yeah, that's the plan.

Bassist:  That's good, it's the best thing for the baby.  They're gonna get bigger, you know.  Ivan's gonna love it.

Me: (turning maroon) That's what I hear...

Bassist:  I tasted it once, it's really sweet.

At this point, bassist and drummer get into a detailed conversation about the intricacies of their wives breastfeeding experiences and I crawled under the table and died.  Well, I wanted to.  In actuality, I sat there, purple at this point, taking it all in and sharing bemused glances with the lead guitarist, who is a shy, extremely soft-spoken gentleman (who happens to be able to SHRED on solos) who finds the bassist hysterical, but would never join in this type of exchange.  I've never been so excited for a set break to be over.

Here's me with the guys- bassist far left, guitarist behind me.  Thinking of changing the band name to Lactation Specialists.

By the way, I should mention that at this exact gig last year, I received two very different, very flattering compliments from two different men.  A young guy (maybe 19 or 20) who worked at the restaurant told me, "The guy who's wichu is mad lucky," and a much older gentleman (70's?) told me that I was "a rare petunia in an onion patch."  No such compliments this year.  Just sayin'. 

So the last member of the male species that I'd like to discuss today is a former student of mine.  I received a text from him congratulating me on the pregnancy.  The exchange went something like this:

Student:  Ms. J!  I head that you're gonna have your baby soon!  Congratulations!

Me:  Not until April, but thanks!

Student:  Oh nice! April is a good month- that's when my birthday is.  You should try to conceive him or her on the 10th.

Me:  Okay  :)

I mean, that is not a correction you can make to a 15 year old boy.  It's a conversation you just don't need to get into, but I must say it has provided me with tons of chuckles as I've thought about it over the past couple of weeks!

Oh boys, boys, boys.  So strange.  But the big question is, ladies:  Could I be carrying one of these gross creatures inside of me right now?  It seems like some of the old wives tales are pointing in that direction.  The lack of morning sickness, the broken-out skin (because the testosterone of a boy would cause it), even the time of my cycle during which we conceived lends itself more towards a boy.  I don't have a strong feeling one way or another about the gender of the baby-  some days I am sure it is one or the other.  The thing is, though, I'm such a girly-girl that I wouldn't have the first idea of what to do with a boy.  So, if that's what God has in mind for us, just be ready for another virtual call for help!   Actually, no matter what gender child I have, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have your spandex super-suits at the ready! :)



To Teach or Not to Teach

Baby H will be my first child.  Obviously.  My first biological child.  But, if you count my students over the past 9+ years of teaching, I've already had thousands.  I know, I know, I know- it is NOTHING like actually being a mom and NOTHING can prepare you for being a mom, but even so, I love my students furiously and I think that all of my experience as an educator may have given me a teeny, tiny glimpse into parenting. 

My students have taught me so much.  I've learned to have a sense of humor.  Some of my funniest life memories have come from my students.  Over the years, I've racked up countless minutes laughing with these kids.  I've learned not to get too excited about the good days or too upset about the bad days.  I've learned that for however grown up they want to appear and want to be treated, they're really just babies who need a little extra TLC from time to time.  I've learned that my kids will disappoint me.  I've come to expect it, but I try to never let the disappointment pass by without remark, lest I miss the opportunity to teach a child the greatest lesson I can offer.  And I've learned that no matter how much I love them, I eventually have to let them go.  No matter how much they may admire me and promise to visit everyday once they've gone to the high school, they inevitably get caught up in their teenage activities and some kids I never see again.  And I realize that this is the way it should be.  They absolutely should be exploring all of the opportunities that high school life and beyond have to offer.  Hopefully, they look back at their years in my music classroom with fondness and remember me as a teacher who truly cared about them as if they were my own.

So now I am at a crossroads- the terrifying prospect of being the one to say, "good-bye" to my students before they are ready to leave me.  To be clear, my maternity leave plans are very open at this point.  I know for sure that I will not be back for the end of this school year.  I'm pretty certain that I will be taking next year off.  And to be perfectly honest, Ivan and I have always been of the mind that once we have children, we would like for me to be home with them.  Nothing is set in stone, and I have a ton of time to make up my mind- there are a LOT of options to consider, but I can't help but feel (and act like) this might be my last hurrah in the classroom that has been my home for a decade, and it gives me pause.

I should preface the remainder of this post by telling you that I fully hope and expect that once Baby H arrives that I will look back on this entry and these thoughts in general and laugh.  Nearly EVERY working mom I have talked to has told me that if she had the opportunity to be home, she would be, and that she was MISERABLE coming back to work at first.  And also, lest you think that I am a spoiled, self-entitled brat (which I very well may be), please know that I know that we are BLESSED to even be able to consider having me stay home with our kids and it would not be without sacrifice.  We use nearly every penny of my teacher's salary each month, so our lifestyle would have to change dramatically (though from what I understand, that's in the cards as it is).  Everyone tells me that once the baby is here the decision will be crystal clear, and I'm sure it will be.  But for as much as I love this little lemon-sized (!) munchkin living inside of me, this is the only adult life I have known, so the thought of leaving it all together seems so scary and uncertain. 

My students were SO excited to find out I was pregnant, but on average, the third question I'd get after the announcement was, "But you're still going with us to Great Adventure, right?"  It broke my heart (I actually cried in one class) to tell them that I wasn't.  Of course the 8th graders feel cheated that I will miss their graduation, but I keep telling them that at least it is for a wonderful, wonderful reason.  I'm also getting a student teacher starting in January, which, at the time, seemed like a great idea.  I thought, "As I get bigger and farther along, there will be someone to take over while I can be off of my feet."  Now, though, I'm beginning to wonder if I made a horrible mistake accepting her request.  I mean, I only have a few months left with these kids and I'm going to hand them over to someone else (someone younger, prettier, and not gigantic with child- what if they love her more than me?)?

I started creating a binder for the teacher that would take over next year, with helpful tips for each month, i.e., how to order the uniform T-shirts, when to give out certain forms, how to go about booking trips, etc.  As I type each item, I find myself making the details more and more minute, wanting to share all of the knowledge I've gained after years of trial and error.  And I find myself thinking, "This person is going to mess this up.  They'll never get their T-shirts in time, everything will be a disaster," as if what I do is brain surgery.  I'm just so possessive of what I've built- and even though it is just a moderately successful middle school chorus program, it is mine.  And I hate to think of someone coming in and 1.) changing everything and doing it their way and ruining everything  2.) changing everything and doing it better than me  3.) doing everything I did and continuing on roughly the way it is.  Lose-lose-lose.

Of course, there are days when I want to ring my students' necks.  And there are days when I just can't stand the ins and outs of a school system.  And just about everyday I don't want to wake up for work (more having to do with sleep being my new favorite activity and less to do with work).  And today it was freezing cold and I forgot to warm up my car.  During these circumstances, it's superfun to say, "Ah, in a year, I won't have to deal with this nonsense anymore.  I can pack up my stroller and meet of my other (hopefully) stay-at-home mom friends at the mall for lattes and shopping!"  (I know this is a fantasy, please don't ruin it with talk of screaming babies and not having a chance to take a shower, let alone leave the house.  I'll deal with reality when it is here. :) )

I feel emotionally torn.  In this (modern) age-old battle between stay-at-home and working moms, I have to choose a side.  I wish it wasn't so contentious, and maybe it's only in my head, but I just keep wondering:

Will people judge me for not going back to work? 
Will my students feel completely betrayed when I don't come back next year?
Will I be completely bored at home and feel jealous of my friends' and familys' active lifestyles?
Will I be out of the game so long that I'll be too scared to ever come back?
Will I lose my teacher friends?

And if I did decide to come back instead of stay home...

Could I actually do it?
Could I live with dropping my child off with a stranger each day?
Would people judge me for coming back?
Would I begin to resent my students for keeping me away from my baby?

It is a hugely emotionally charged issue, to say the least.  And to contemplate it with a 3 year supply of estrogen coursing through my body each day (each day!) doesn't make it any easier.  Not only that, I'm not contemplating it will all of the information, that information being my little lemon being actual baby-sized and in my arms. 

I'd love to hear from you on your feelings on the issue- either through comments or emails or in person.  I know this post was incredibly self-indulgent (having a blog at all is pretty self-indulgent, actually :)  ) but it's what's on my mind this week.  Cue my best Wendy Williams voice:  Love you for reading!

Bonus Track!

I've been meaning to tell you this story for a couple of weeks now, but keep forgetting.  Nothing too exciting, but funny in a "Boys are SO DUMB," kind of way.

So, a favorite fall tradition of Zandar's and mine are Saturday morning runs along the Tow Path at Rutgers.  I pick her up early and we drive to the RU campus, park, and then walk up the hill to the opening of the path that runs for a good length of NJ.  We have to walk across these rocks to get to the dirt path, and if you know anything about our coordination, you know we are quite a sight, trying to decipher the sturdy rocks from the wobbly ones in an attempt to not fall in the Raritan.  We are always successful, though, and it is the PERFECT place for a fall run.  The path is shaded and as the weeks progress, so do the colors of the leaves, so that by November you are running literally in awe of the beauty of nature around you.  Until a squirrel jumps in front of you, of course, and you scream and cling to each other.  But anyway.

We've gone several times this fall, and although we've been running a little slower, we've also been running farther and we end with a celebratory high-five and an incredible runner's high.  We always cap off our morning with pumpkin spice lattes and oatmeal at Starbucks on George St., and if we're lucky enough to scrounge one up, a crossword puzzle.  (We finished the last one.  We felt invincible that day.)

However, the "boys are so dumb story" happened right before said breakfast and puzzle on Saturday a couple of weeks ago.  You see, when we run, we lock our purses in my trunk.  So when we park for breakfast, we inevitably have to retrieve them, by leaning into the trunk, with our stretchy pants-clad rear ends in the air.  What's bad is (and I hope Zandar doesn't mind me sharing this) that when we run, we sweat- disgustingly.  Enough so that our butts look like Rorschach tests from the butt sweat.  You know, those ink blot tests they use to tell what pysch patients are thinking?  And speaking of psych patients... that fateful morning, as we were grabbing our bags in anticipation of Starbucks goodness, this guy on a bicycle came flying by and said in this guttural voice that creepers reserve for hitting on women they don't know, "Look-in' gooo---ooood."

Ew.

Ew for two reasons. 

1.)  That is just plain gross.  In general, I HATE when guys think that the fact that you have boobs is an open invitation to comment on your sex appeal.  I hate the random beeps and shouts from passing by cars, the under-the-breath mutterings as I walk by, and especially the thinking that since I'm out dancing with my girlfriends at a bar means that what I really want is for some sweaty, over-"Axed," dirtbag to come grind up against my backside.  (Okay, there may have been a brief time during my life when I wouldn't have minded this so much- specifically one summer when one of my best friends and I found ourselves single simultaneously, for the first and only time- probably for the best.  We wreaked a little havoc that summer.  But that was 10 years ago and everyone has a phase like that, right?  Right???)  Anyway, the point is that guys can be so gross.  Once, I was walking down the street in Manasquan (okay, so maybe it was partially my fault for being in Manasquan) and there were guys outside holding up paper plates with numbers on them, scoring the attractiveness of girls as they walked by.  (I got a 10, which only made it a fraction less disgusting.)  Another time a guy in an SUV followed me down the Garden State Parkway trying to get me to yell my phone number to him while going 70 mph.  Man, sometimes I daydream about what winners I could have ended up with had I not been swept up by Ivan... some real princes out there, I tell you.

But honestly, in no way do I think that any of this unwanted (for the most part) attention was paid to me in my youth for any other reason than the fact that I am female.  Which is hysterical.  One of my favorite ways to demonstrate this point is with another story:

Maybe 3 or 4 years ago I took Zandar and a friend of hers out "down the shore" to show them the ropes as they had recently turned 21 and had not yet experienced the rapture that is a night in Belmar.  As we walked to the bars, a car slowed down and yelled out at us, probably something about how "bangin'" we were, but the actual words escape me now, being that I'm 100 years old.  I'll never forget how Zandar's friend, we'll call her "C,"  looked at me, wide-eyed, and said, "B, does this just happen to you everywhere you go?"  It was so sweet, innocent, and flattering that she thought that the drive by shout-out had something to do with the beauty and sensuality I so effortlessly exude and nothing to do with the fact that we were in an insanely trashy shore town and we have lady parts.

This past summer, the same trio went out, this time in Seaside (no better, I know, but we were there to see a band) and as we walked back to our car, the inevitable slurred pick-up line came flying out of a passing SUV and "C," now a seasoned veteran, flipped them off without missing a beat and continued with the story she was telling.

So that was a rather long explanation of why bicycle guy was so "Ew."  To summarize, it is unacceptable for guys to hit on, touch, or dance with girls without some reasonable assumption that they are interested in said interaction.  And calling out from a moving vehicle (no matter the number of wheels) is never a good idea.

2.)  The other reason I say, "Ew" to this guy who thought it would be appropriate or appreciated to growl out "Lookin' good," to us is.... because we WEREN'T!  We were not looking good.  We were looking gross.  Our hair was matted and our mascara was smeared from sleeping, we were in workout clothes, and I already mentioned the butt sweat.  For all of my feminist ranting, isn't it terrible that my gut reaction (after "ew") was, "Ha!  You think this looks good?  You fool.  This is nothing.  You should see me 10 lbs lighter, in my butt-lifting jeans and some killer heels.  Never mind, you couldn't handle it."

And this is why I'm a crazy person.

I know that my days of the random shout outs and unwelcome advances are probably drawing to a close, probably forever, but definitely for a hiatus as the baby bump grows.  I'm sure some of the ladies in my family are reading this saying, "Don't worry, B, you won't have to worry about this much longer," or even, "Someday you'll miss that attention."  And maybe I will.  But for now, I'm excited about a reprieve from the skeeve, so to speak.  And if I ever start to feel nostalgic, I'll get Ivan a bike and tell him to start practicing his creeper voice.  :)

Spilling the Baby Beans

The baby is out of the bag, so to speak.  Last Friday we went public and what a fun day it was!  The cupcakes came out scrumptiously and everyone thought they were super-cute and very tasty.  People wanted to know what makes them so yummy, to which there is a very uncomplicated reply: butter and sugar, lots of it.  Yummmmm. 

Let me back up though.  I woke up early on Friday morning (and did my buncake workout!), dressed in my "announcing I'm pregnant" outfit (nothing special, really- just some new clothes that I felt cute in), packed up the car and got to work nice and early to set up my cupcake stand and pale yellow cupcakes (in all the excitement, I forgot to take a picture- I'm sorry!).  The response was immediate, and do you know what that response was?  It was, "I knew it!!!"  "I could so tell!"  "I was wondering when you were finally going to say something!!!"  Sheesh.  I guess "thickening" is not only noticeable to moms.  One of my "favorite" reactions was a from a fellow teacher, whom I love, who told me, "The girls and I were talking and we said, 'Have you seen B?  I mean, she must be pregnant.  She's a Pilates instructor for crying out loud!'"  What can you really say to that?  Moral of the story:  There comes a downfall to working out all the time and being obsessed with staying in shape.  People expect it of you, and if you let yourself go, look out.  They notice.

And, not surprisingly, my students claim they knew.  An 8th grade boy told me, "No offense, Mrs. H. but you're really bad at hiding it."  I told him that he should get pregnant and try to hide it.  And, of course, now I have 200 students who think this child should bear their names, you know, because I will want their memory inscribed on my life in a permanent way after they leave the halls of our middle school.

There was also the announcement on Facebook, done only minutes after Zandar's post that she is going to be an aunt.  (Have I mentioned that she is super excited?)  Ivan and I were so over-whelmed by the response.  I think the current count is 67 comments, plus 81 "likes" on my post and 82 "likes" and 41 comments on Ivan's post.  (He is a little sore that I am "beating" him, but it's all about the mama, right?)  People really get excited about babies, though, which, in turn, makes us even more excited!

The weekend was fabulous- and a bit exhausting- with our huge family tailgate (our "lime baby,"  courtesy of my amazing sister-in-law, Cecelia (her code name!), attended- how adorable!), running the RU 5K on Sunday morning and various fall activities on Sunday afternoon being huge highlights.  By Sunday night, my tummy was full of delicious goodies and I was ready to drop, and drop I did.  Between the fall off of adrenaline from the big announcement, the jam-packed weekend, and what is just "this time of year," I woke up with a cold on Monday, called in sick, and proceeded to sleep for the better part of the day.  I'm feeling better now, but I'm not gonna lie, you wouldn't have to twist my arm to get me to take a nap on my desk.

Proud Mom and Dad and our "Lime Baby"  Go RU!!!

It's a lot of fun when people know you're pregnant.  Everyone is smiley and they constantly ask how you're feeling.  There's been an extra bounce in my step knowing that everyone knows about our little peach (yes, she or he is a peach this week!) and even though my skin doesn't reflect it (my reprieve from the breakouts was only temporary, alas), I feel like I have that pregnancy "glow."  It's just a warm, happy feeling inside of me, accompanied by a lot of smiling!

Two more days of the first trimester left- throw your head back and sing with me, Bon Jovi style, "WOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!  We're a third of the way the-ere!!!"  Maybe not quite as catchy as the original, but I think it has a certain ring to it.  :)



Look Mom! I'm (Feeling) Human Again!

Well, either the first trimester, with all of its glorious symptoms, is drawing to a close or my body is just on strike from the slothfulness and fattening foods I have been imposing on it.  Even though I won't reach the second trimester benchmark for another week and a half, I can see the energy boost that every book has promised me as the proverbial "light at the end of the tunnel."  Although by month 7 it seems that my slug alter-ego will re-emerge, it looks like I may get a few month reprieve- hooray!

This week has been pretty fabulous so far.  It started with our monthly visit to the OBGYN on Monday afternoon.  The doctor says that everything seems to be going well, that my blood work looks great, and -oh yeah, WE HEARD THE HEARTBEAT!!!  Holy moly, I cannot begin to describe (and it's probably useless to try) the emotion of having that chilly goo on my lower abdomen and feeling the pressure of the "magic wand" as I'll call it.   Ivan and I held our collective breath as the doctor searched for our child and all we could hear was static.  Then, suddenly, a loud woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh filled the room and intense feelings of relief and love and awe washed over me.  A little heart (just one, phew!) beating inside of me.  Like, when Ivan and I are hanging around on the couch together, there are three hearts beating - there are three of us in the room.

I mean, clearly I cried.  I wonder how tiny that little heart is, because the baby is lime-sized this week!  A little seed inside the lime?  It is mind-blowing to consider.

So that was Monday.  You can't really beat that, but things have been continuing in a positive fashion.  Tuesday... wait for it....   I went to the gym.  Somehow, after my faculty meeting, I felt compelled to go.  Mind you, I have been packing a gym bag and bringing it with me to school everyday for the past 6 weeks, and then having to bring it back into the house unused, "walk of shame" style, each day.  But something made Tuesday different (okay, it might have been the mani/pedi I promised myself and pre-booked for immediately afterwards) and I went.  It was a wonder that I was even able to find the gym anymore, but find it I did and I changed into my (now much snugger) workout clothes.  Being stuffed into that spandex, it really looked like I had a little baby belly.  (Still just the lovely "thickening," which-by the way- my mom's mom, our family's beloved "N" confirmed this past weekend is definitely happening.  Mom and N actually said it at the same time.  N asked if I was showing yet and I said, "No, I'm just getting fat," and they announced in unison, "NO! You're THICKENING!"  But I digress).

It had been a long time and at least 10 pounds ago that I had taken a dance class in that studio of the gym.  But I stood in my usual place and even held my own through the routines.  All the while though, I couldn't help but crack up at the changes in my body, imagining a split-screen of myself 6 months ago in the same spot in the same clothes.  To me, I look like a different person, but I have to confess- I thought I looked kind of adorable!  I could picture a little more what I'll look like as I'm farther along and it really tickled me.  Also, I felt my whole perception of the class change. 

I'll admit, I'm a little competitive, especially when it comes to things like being an awesome dancer at the gym.  (I know, I'm sick).  The thing is, there is always a girl there who looks like a straight-up Barbie doll and she is amazing.  She has long, thick, wavy, blonde hair, a KILLER body, and crap, can she dance.  I've always known that I couldn't compete with her physique-wise, but that didn't stop me from trying to at least always be on par with her dance-wise.  I don't know how she feels about me- most likely I am not a blip on her radar.  But for me, every Zumba class was a Dance Battle.

Well, she was there on Tuesday, and I couldn't have possibly cared less about what she was doing and what she looked like.  It was like my priorities had finally popped into place, or maybe it's just now I actually have something WORTH caring about.  All that mattered is that I had a little friend doing the workout with me, who was grateful that my body was actually moving for once.  The endorphins kicked in immediately and I was able to remember just how much I truly love to work out.  It was a euphoric feeling that would have been tough to beat, except that the manicure and pedicure that followed were even better.

Wednesday, inspired by Tuesday's workout and the fact that I had cute nails once again, I woke up early to do a Pregnancy Fit DVD.  Now, I think that it is important to first understand that the last fitness DVD I had done was the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred.  JM does not mess around.  Even though she kicked my butt into INCREDIBLE shape, I wanted to die every minute of every workout.  She really just is a crazy person and she and her abs are not to be trusted.  So what a shock to the system to have this tiny, bubbly little cheerleader of a fitness instructor, who you kind of just want to hug because she's so cute, as the one taking me through this workout.

The level of exercise was great- I felt challenged (not surprising, considering my most used muscles as of late have been those used exclusively for chewing) but not exhausted- it was just enough.  I felt energized when it was over and I went to shower with a smile on my face and sweat on my brow. 

Before I leave the subject of the DVD, though, I have to mention one more thing.  It's always interesting to see how the person in the video is going to address your glute muscle.  You have your standards:  butt, tush, and glute, the tough ones will say "ass" and the sexy ones will say "booty."  Guess what this girl called it?  You'll never guess.  Buncake.  Read that again.  Buncake.  The first time I heard it I thought, "No, I can't have heard that right."  But I did.  The thing is, the girl is so adorable, you begin to think it's adorable too.  "Wow, I really CAN feel that in my buncake!"  The other thing is that a buncake sounds kind of delicious.  "Buncake?  What's that?  I don't know, but I think I could go for one right now..."

So I also go my hair colored on Wednesday (completely approved by my doctor, of course)  and I'm starting to look a little more pulled together.  I might be imagining it, but I even think my skin is cooperating.  It's less unsightly than normal.  All of this is in anticipation for tomorrow- Friday... the day we announce to the world that we are expecting (and the day YOU can tell anyone you want as well)! 

In preparation for Friday I have:  1.) talked to my union rep about maternity leave and how to deal with work-related stuff  2.) spoken with my principal and supervisor to give them a "heads up"  and  3.) started to make cupcakes.  In our school there is a tradition of bringing in delicious treats for your own birthday, engagement and baby announcements, and other fun events.  So last night, after getting my highlights, I made a ton of mini-cupcakes (I told you I got an energy boost!) and today I will ice them and try not to eat so much of the icing while I do it that I make myself sick, which is the usual drill.  I'm planning on bringing them into the faculty room tomorrow with a sign that says, "B has a "cupcake" in the oven... Baby H will be arriving in April!"  I'm soooooooooo  excited- for people to know, to tell my students, and to have cupcakes.  I'll take a picture and try to attach so you can see. 

It will be a lovely way to end the work week- and kick off an AMAZING weekend of RU Homecoming festivities- seeing friends, tailgating with family, and on Sunday...apple picking!!!  And of course, apple picking most importantly means... Apple Cider Donuts.  I mean, is there a greater feeling than to kick off and then close the weekend with two different and equally delicious pastry items?  I don't think so.  Now, if only I can find a recipe for a buncake.