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!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
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. :)
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. :)
Friday, October 21, 2011
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.
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.
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. :)
Thursday, October 13, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Random Musings of a Rockstar Mommy
As I've contemplated this week's post, I found it a challenge to find one over-arching subject into which I could package my thoughts. I have things to tell you, but one doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the other. As I was convincing myself not to force the cohesion, it dawned on me that this is a pretty decent metaphor for the way my brain has been behaving as of late. That is, it is functioning and serving its purpose, albeit in a flaky and flighty sort of way. The good news is that this "fuzzy-mindedness" is an actual symptom of pregnancy and is even referred to as "Pregnancy Brain." The bad news is that it only starts to happen in the third trimester. So what's my excuse? I don't know. All I can say is, "There's a baby in there! Ah!!" So I apologize in advance for the "All Over the Place" nature of this post.
1. Today we are 200 days away from my due date! That seems like a long time, but a nice round number is always fun to work with, so I'll take it. (Btw- I only know this because thebump.com counts down for you. I am not yet crazy enough to be counting calendar days until 4/22. Just crazy enough to maniacally check thebump.com everyday).
2. The baby is the size of a fig! Another cute fruit! Okay, confession time...
Last night I bought a fig. Just to hold it in my hand and pretend it was my baby. And let me tell you, I fell in love with that fig. The actual fig. It just felt so cute and plump. I got it specifically because my mom and dad were coming over and I wanted them to see it and my mom will tell you, she thought it was adorable too. If Ivan is smart, he'll quietly hide the fig because watching it shrivel up as it gets older has the possibility of sending me into one of my now pretty common crying fits. It really might put me over the edge.
3. I have been reading a LOT of pregnancy books and websites. It's addictive to get more insight into my insides and what is actually going on with Baby H. I've got books that tell me "What to Expect," ones that explain what's happening "Week by Week," ones that help with names, and a particularly interesting one on the science of being pregnant written by the incomparable Dr. Oz. The most fun by far, though, is one called Rockstar Mama, which was given to me by my fabulous sister, and from which I stole the name for this blog. (My sister, by the way, will heretofore be referred to as Zandar. Her choice.) The book gives great ideas on how to continue to feel human and cute (which we know is important to me!) throughout the process of pregnancy. Now, I could do an entire post on the fun ideas in this book- maybe I will- but today I need to mention one thing that really stuck out.
The author said that to avoid getting stretch marks on your boobs, you should wear a bra all day, everyday and all night, every night. Oh that's right. You read that correctly. Here's the problem: Taking off my bra is my FAVORITE TIME OF THE DAY. Ever since my mom got me my first training bra and I found it lying on my bed around 8pm that fateful night, struggled for 20 minutes to attach it to me and proudly displayed my new accessory to her and my aunt and they told me, "That's great, but at night we get to be free," I have felt that way. I really took that to heart. I audibly moan when I free myself from that sucker each night. The idea of keeping one on indefinitely gives me nightmares. The worst part about it is that my mother, who is quite wise in all lady-matters, and life-matters for that matter, concurs. I just don't know if it's worth it. Is that terrible?
4. I canNOT wait to spill the beans at work. My best friend at work, D, told me that I had better make the announcement soon because it is so obvious. Geez! The problem is that none of my work pants fit me anymore so I have resorted to wearing the type of flowy dress that causes people to wonder what you're hiding even when you are in the greatest shape of your life. Why do designers make clothes like that? That empire waist top- soooo cute on the hanger. But on real women: insta-baby bump. How infuriating. So anyway, between the flowy clothes and the fact that five extra pounds shows on a 5'2" frame like a beer belly, I know that people are wondering. When my mom was over the other night, she felt my belly and said, "I don't know, B... you are definitely showing!" (Mind you I had just eaten a massive portion of leftover chicken parm, plus anything else that got in my way for dinner.) I told her, "Yes, but none of that is baby! It is chicken parm and everything else I eat in hunger-crazed frenzies, along with a huge decline in exercise. It doesn't have much to do with being pregnant." "Of course it does," she said, "You are thickening. You are supposed to thicken."
Thickening. Just what every girl wants to hear. Thickening from chickening. And pizza-ing, and chocolating, and pumpkin-spice Hershey's kisses-ing. Oh! And Sun Chip-ing!
5. We had our first bout of "nesting" last Saturday. Ivan had hand rails installed on our steep staircase so that my clumsy butt doesn't fall down them (which it has done, twice, pre-pregnancy). And me? I cleaned out our refrigerator. And by "cleaned out" I don't mean just "threw out the nasty, expired food that was in there" (though I did that too). I mean I took out every shelf and drawer, washed them in the sink,Tilexed the whole inside, and organized it. To those of you who have done this before, I salute you. This was my first experience. Not only was it DISGUSTING, but it took HOURS. What a nightmare. But now it looks amazing and hopefully the new baby will love the clean fridge- ha!
6. It is super fun to feel like you have a tiny partner in crime. I find myself talking to the baby, "Okay, Baby! You ready? It's just you and me!" And when Ivan puts his hand on my (chicken parm filled) belly while we watch t.v. and asks how our little fig is doing- honestly, the joy just bubbles up inside of me.
On Monday we get to go to the doctor again-it felt like the day would never come! We're so excited to learn more about the baby, maybe get to see her/him, or hear the heartbeat. It is nerve-wracking to constantly wonder about the baby's health and any landmark that leads us to believe that all is well is so welcomed. We know that it is all in God's hands, but we're so grateful that you are keeping us in your prayers and thoughts. Thanks for reading, Ladies! :) Love you!
1. Today we are 200 days away from my due date! That seems like a long time, but a nice round number is always fun to work with, so I'll take it. (Btw- I only know this because thebump.com counts down for you. I am not yet crazy enough to be counting calendar days until 4/22. Just crazy enough to maniacally check thebump.com everyday).
2. The baby is the size of a fig! Another cute fruit! Okay, confession time...
Last night I bought a fig. Just to hold it in my hand and pretend it was my baby. And let me tell you, I fell in love with that fig. The actual fig. It just felt so cute and plump. I got it specifically because my mom and dad were coming over and I wanted them to see it and my mom will tell you, she thought it was adorable too. If Ivan is smart, he'll quietly hide the fig because watching it shrivel up as it gets older has the possibility of sending me into one of my now pretty common crying fits. It really might put me over the edge.
3. I have been reading a LOT of pregnancy books and websites. It's addictive to get more insight into my insides and what is actually going on with Baby H. I've got books that tell me "What to Expect," ones that explain what's happening "Week by Week," ones that help with names, and a particularly interesting one on the science of being pregnant written by the incomparable Dr. Oz. The most fun by far, though, is one called Rockstar Mama, which was given to me by my fabulous sister, and from which I stole the name for this blog. (My sister, by the way, will heretofore be referred to as Zandar. Her choice.) The book gives great ideas on how to continue to feel human and cute (which we know is important to me!) throughout the process of pregnancy. Now, I could do an entire post on the fun ideas in this book- maybe I will- but today I need to mention one thing that really stuck out.
The author said that to avoid getting stretch marks on your boobs, you should wear a bra all day, everyday and all night, every night. Oh that's right. You read that correctly. Here's the problem: Taking off my bra is my FAVORITE TIME OF THE DAY. Ever since my mom got me my first training bra and I found it lying on my bed around 8pm that fateful night, struggled for 20 minutes to attach it to me and proudly displayed my new accessory to her and my aunt and they told me, "That's great, but at night we get to be free," I have felt that way. I really took that to heart. I audibly moan when I free myself from that sucker each night. The idea of keeping one on indefinitely gives me nightmares. The worst part about it is that my mother, who is quite wise in all lady-matters, and life-matters for that matter, concurs. I just don't know if it's worth it. Is that terrible?
4. I canNOT wait to spill the beans at work. My best friend at work, D, told me that I had better make the announcement soon because it is so obvious. Geez! The problem is that none of my work pants fit me anymore so I have resorted to wearing the type of flowy dress that causes people to wonder what you're hiding even when you are in the greatest shape of your life. Why do designers make clothes like that? That empire waist top- soooo cute on the hanger. But on real women: insta-baby bump. How infuriating. So anyway, between the flowy clothes and the fact that five extra pounds shows on a 5'2" frame like a beer belly, I know that people are wondering. When my mom was over the other night, she felt my belly and said, "I don't know, B... you are definitely showing!" (Mind you I had just eaten a massive portion of leftover chicken parm, plus anything else that got in my way for dinner.) I told her, "Yes, but none of that is baby! It is chicken parm and everything else I eat in hunger-crazed frenzies, along with a huge decline in exercise. It doesn't have much to do with being pregnant." "Of course it does," she said, "You are thickening. You are supposed to thicken."
Thickening. Just what every girl wants to hear. Thickening from chickening. And pizza-ing, and chocolating, and pumpkin-spice Hershey's kisses-ing. Oh! And Sun Chip-ing!
5. We had our first bout of "nesting" last Saturday. Ivan had hand rails installed on our steep staircase so that my clumsy butt doesn't fall down them (which it has done, twice, pre-pregnancy). And me? I cleaned out our refrigerator. And by "cleaned out" I don't mean just "threw out the nasty, expired food that was in there" (though I did that too). I mean I took out every shelf and drawer, washed them in the sink,Tilexed the whole inside, and organized it. To those of you who have done this before, I salute you. This was my first experience. Not only was it DISGUSTING, but it took HOURS. What a nightmare. But now it looks amazing and hopefully the new baby will love the clean fridge- ha!
6. It is super fun to feel like you have a tiny partner in crime. I find myself talking to the baby, "Okay, Baby! You ready? It's just you and me!" And when Ivan puts his hand on my (chicken parm filled) belly while we watch t.v. and asks how our little fig is doing- honestly, the joy just bubbles up inside of me.
On Monday we get to go to the doctor again-it felt like the day would never come! We're so excited to learn more about the baby, maybe get to see her/him, or hear the heartbeat. It is nerve-wracking to constantly wonder about the baby's health and any landmark that leads us to believe that all is well is so welcomed. We know that it is all in God's hands, but we're so grateful that you are keeping us in your prayers and thoughts. Thanks for reading, Ladies! :) Love you!
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