On picnics, sleeping, and loving babies

I've been writing in this blog a lot more recently. It isn't really that I have nothing to do, as I often wonder. Perhaps it's that I have comparatively nothing to do, when looking back at the past 6 months. It's definitely because writing helps me to relax and unwind. Greta is happily asleep now. We were at an Italian picnic today and I ate so much food! I would say "more food than I could have imagined eating" but that is no longer true after being preggo with Greta. I ate an absurd amount of food during that second trimester. As in, more food than my husband. If you know him at all, you would appreciate what a feat that is. But this time around, I haven't been as hungry, or else too tired or busy to eat. I'm already to the end of the second trimester and I wouldn't describe myself as insatiably hungry. But today... I'd like to say I've eaten enough for three days, but I'm finding myself munchy again a mere 6 hours later. However, I was so tired after chasing Greta around in the sun while Josh played bocchi (sp?) ball. When we returned home, I fell asleep for about 3 hours. How decadent! Josh amused and fed Greta during that time. Being able to sleep so long and uninterruptedly is akin to heaven-on-earth.

I had a moment with Greta when I was putting her to bed. 3 hours of sleeping by myself and I found myself missing her very much. So I gave her a bath, lotioned her up, put her 'jammies on her, gave her a glass of water, and carried her around the room while we tidied it up. She isn't much of a cuddler, but recently has taken to snuggling on my belly. I suppose that the increasing squishiness of my torso makes it a desirable pillow. I also suspect that it is comforting to have the boobs nearby even if her mean mommy won't nurse her. :) Well, we laid in bed and she draped herself over my belly and fell asleep. Looking at her sleep, with her sweet, innocent, little face so restful and reposed, so utterly trusting and content, sent shivers of ecstasy up my spine. Her chubby little arm lay over my chest like a hug, her soft head nestled under my chin. Looking down, I could see my tummy bumping around as Baby Boy tried to make himself comfortable. All over, I could feel myself both giving love, security and peace, and receiving it. If I died just then, I could honestly say that I died perfectly happy.

Really, babies are such a beautiful gift. It is beyond cliche to say that, but it wasn't until I had mine that I realized the truth in that, as well as many other simple sayings. Like anything in life worth having, they required much work, self sacrifice, dedication, patience, and good ol' stick-to-itness. The rewards, like most things of this nature, are hard to put into human words or to describe with justice. Yet it's one of those things that you "know it when you have it." Maybe that's what is meant when babies are described as "miracles." A miracle is something not humanly possibly, something of God. Being of God, it beggars description. In my case, at least, nothing in my experience compares to the joy of one's children. Perhaps this joy is God's way of making up for the sorrow that children can and do cause you later... as is the case in my family of 6 kids. But even knowing this only makes my love for my babies more intense.

Love is a funny thing. I have this fear that I will not love my other children as much as I love Greta... while feeling like I'm doing wrong by Greta to love any other babies as much as I do her. Yeah, mothers are a special bunch! But as I lay in bed with Greta, thinking about this, it occurred to me that love is not something that has to be expendable. Love can be, and I suspect is, unlimited. Instead of running out of love, your capacity to love simply increases. So the more people you truly love, the more people you have in your life to love, the fuller a person you are. Think about it... the happiest people you will know are those people who have loved much. I think back to my early relationship with Josh. When we were first married, I thought I loved him as much as humanly possible. Then I got to know him better and grew to see myself more clearly. We stumbled down bumpy roads together, laughed together, fought together, and discovered more of ourselves in loving the other. In this process, my ability to love him increased. However, I think that this "ability to love" process is accelerated when you have children. For one, if you don't love them, find joy in the them, laugh over them, life becomes very unpleasant very quickly. Secondly, God made kids especially lovable. They're just that way.

Yes, did I mention that writing is relaxing to me? Well, it worked this time. Sorry for a long and rambley topic.

Starting to think about delivering again.

Uh oh. Last night, before falling asleep, it hit me like a load of bricks that I have to deliver another baby in a few short months... 15 weeks if we go the full 40, which Greta did not. Now you veteran moms of "real" deliveries might smirk a little that I'm worrying about this. After all, Greta's birth was nothing short of a freak birth. Which leaves me with the vague feeling that I've never really "delivered" a baby. No, this isn't a beg for sympathy post, but more of an attempt to make sense out of the apprehension I'm experiencing. Giving birth is scary, especially if you see it coming, as I did not with Greta. God knows what everyone needs, and apparently I needed to not be conscious of the fact that I was having a baby! Well, I have a sense that Greta's birth is not going to repeat itself. Since I have a well-concealed wagering streak in me, here's my prediction. This next birth is going to be more typical. I say I'll deliver some time between Thanksgiving and my due date, December 15th. I would really like to have a water birth this time. Hopefully the midwife will be here this time, but hopefully not early enough to make me anxious about a stranger sitting around in my house. The labor will be longer and I'll know it's happening. The baby will weigh about 7 lbs. Beyond that, I have no idea. I hope Baby will healthy and normal. I hope Greta will behave herself. Oh, did I tell you that we're planning for another homebirth? Yup. Josh's mom will probably be coming down to stay with us around Thanksgiving, until after the baby's born. She'll be around to help out with Greta, which is a good thing. I just hope that for my sake, the presence of an extra person in the house doesn't stress me out more in the last few weeks. Luckily, she is a very low-maintenance m.i.l., so I'm not too concerned. It's going to be winter when this baby is born. I wonder how that will work out. Greta was an early summer baby, so we had lots of wonderful walks together from Day 1. I wonder what it will be like to be home-bound with two babies and a husband who is working.

Did I ever mention I have a special skill for borrowing trouble? :)

I guess part of it is that with Baby 1, you don't have any idea of what to expect. With Baby 2, you sort of know what to expect, but then you don't because every birth, every baby is different, and you also have a better idea of what can go wrong. With most women, it seems like their second birth is much easier than the first. Since mine was as easy as could possibly be with the first, deductive reasoning tells me that the second is going to be much harder. How's that for optomistic thinking?

Well, here's to the third trimester and all the weight I'm going to gain :) Stats update. 25 weeks, weight 135-7. This baby is measuring 1 1/2 weeks larger that he is! So much for the nutrient-deprived baby I thought I was carrying through the house construction. Apparently he thrives on fast food and construction dust.

Fashion Sense on a Dime

I was planning on writing the second installment of my supplements/vitamins entry, but I'm just not feeling it tonight. I still have the remnants of my distaste at reading what a fashion editor for InStyle magazine can buy with a fall fashion budget of $2,000 hanging over me. Last night, I was talking to Josh about that and how impractical this is for the average woman who supports a family, depends on her husband to support her family, and can't justify spending $2,000 on anything other everyday bills. So why read InStyle? Ummm... a guilty pleasure that makes me feel like even if I can't afford or wouldn't want to afford everything they're pushing, I can still see what people are wearing and copy the ideas in a practical manner.

Because the fact of the matter is, you really don't have to spend a fortune to look up-to-date, chic, or well-dressed. I find comfort in telling myself that bargain shopping, or budget shopping is an art form. It takes no skill or intelligence at all to go out and buy an outfit off a manikin in Bloomingdale's. It takes a lot of persistence, patience, fashion savvy, and most of all, luck, to recreate a similar look from low end stores, thrift stores, clearance racks, or your own closet. So I find that InStyle is a good place to go for ideas. And c'mon... it's starting to feel like fall here. If that doesn't make you feel like a wardrobe adjustment or update, then you're a lot less materialistic than I, and good for you. But for all you ladies who feel the call of nature, then read on because I've distilled some of the more note worthy ideas from this issue's InStyle. :)

Cool styling tip - any of you moms or students wake up with red in your eyes? I do... all the time. Apparently, blue eyeshadow or eye liner makes the whites of your eyes look whiter. Cool, huh? And if your eyes are bloodshot or have dark circles under them, stay away from brown or purple eyeshadows because those colors intensify the discoloration.

What's everyone wearing - Honestly, as far as I could tell, EVERYTHING. Animal skin prints, gold metalics, something called "minimalism" (which just looks plain and ugly), and over-the-knee boots. One thing that definitely looks like it is out is flare leg jeans. Not news, huh? Yeah, well, I haven't exactly been following fashion in the past year. Everyone is wearing skinny jeans. But please, do everyone a favor and go with straight leg or bootcut if you aren't built for skinny jeans. If you don't know what that means, then just walk around the Gallup WalMart with me and you'll see pretty quickly. Some of the new fashion ideas I really liked (because honestly, I can't see myself sporting gold leggings or lepard skin coats) were the heavy bracelets, which instantly dress up any simple outfit, and the lovely, mid-calf, full skirts that are coming back into style after a long and sad hiatus. I just love the second one.

Maybe it's just me, but the look is so feminine, classic, 50's, and just ahhhhhh!.

Quick fall wardrobe update - I liked the idea of adding an earth-toned blazer to your collection. You can wear it over a simple summer dress or with a skirt, maybe add boots or a scarf, and you'll start smelling crisp leaves and bonfires. I checked Goodwill for a blazer or leather jacket today and had no success. But then, fitting any jacket is dicey when you're 25 weeks pregnant and are only getting bigger. You might have better luck.

Boots are a big deal right now. They are worn with everything, but the cropped pants/ankle boots stood out to me. However, I'm just not an ankle boot person, so I'm on the lookout for mid-calf boots that are narrow enough for my skinny legs. Maybe now that I'm preggo and fattening up....?

A couple more neat makeup ideas - Try using bronzer and a light blush together for a natural, light, everyday look. When you apply it, use a large brush and put it on in the shape of a number 3 - start on your forehead, then curve down to your cheeks, then down to your jawline. Accentuating your jawline lightly gives more definition to your face and helps to make your neck look longer. Random, isn't it? For a natural, easy lip tip, use a lipliner that matches your real lip color. Trace the outline of your lips with it, then fill in the middle area with plain ol' chapstick or a light lip gloss.

That's all for now. If I think of anything else interesting or read anything worth sharing, I'll post it later.

Supplements, good things to eat, healthy thoughts in general - Part 1

Dear eager reader,

You are about to learn something about me which I have not hitherto revealed (Victorian English, how I love thee!). I think I've covered most of my primary interests in this blog already... babies (the making, bearing, delivering and raising of them), husbands (mine, anyhow), cooking, reading, movies, random observations... it's all here somewhere buried under a mysterious heading. But upon further reflection, I concluded that I've never given you my spiel on health foods, supplements, vitamins, and all that good stuff. I'm not sure why except that it just doesn't sound as interesting as say, how to select a good nursing bra. But believe me, it is. Every week, an array of supplements that promise to make me feel good, beautiful and in the prime of life waylay me at our local Co-op, and I cannot get to the checkout without first paying homage to their outstanding qualities. So let's just say I've tried a lot, talked to a lot smart, knowledgeable people, and spent A LOT of money, much to my dear husband's chagrin. So I'm no expert, but I do want to see what my other mommy friends, girl friends and the occasional health-nut guy friend are taking and why. I'll share my thoughts and impressions - why I take what I take and how it works - and we'll go from there.

First principle of supplements - don't over do it! The purpose of "supplements" is just that... to add something to the preexisting norm. In a perfect world and perfect diet scheme, we would eat all the nutrients we need from fruits, veggies, meats, whole grains, etc. However, we don't, so we add to our lousy, American diets. So how do you not over do the supplements? Try first to improve your overall diet. Watch what is going into that shopping cart. Shop the circumference of the store... the veggies and fruits, the meats, dairy products, etc. first. I know my friends and so I'm not going to preach about what is a balanced diet, but I've been paying special attention to what we're eating since I'm rather guilt-ridden about all the fast food we ate during the house remodeling, and am seriously trying to hone in our eating habits. Make sure you are eating a wide variety of different colored veggies for proper nutritional support. The Bradley birth method, which focuses on keeping you healthy during pregnancy so that you have an uncomplicated pregnancy, so that you can have a natural birth, recommends that pregnant women eat leafy greens every day, yellow veggies twice a week... and you'll have to look up the rest because I'm drawing a blank here :)

Second principle - NEVER NEVER buy supplements at WalMart or your local drugstore. Ok, all my non-hippy friends can start throwing things at me about now and telling me how they can't afford to do otherwise. But here's why. The processing of the supplement makes all the difference as to whether your body can absorb the supplement or not. So you might be religiously taking your Women's Prenatal or Daily Multiple and your body may not be able to use any of the minerals there. Why? First, because the nutrients and minerals therein are synthetic, as in, your body does not recognize them as food and therefore, does not know what to do with them, and out they go with your waste. Second, while the supplement may claim to be "all natural," the processing of the supplement may have destroyed whatever nutrients were originally present. The most infamous offenders are your traditional, hard pressed pills. The heat and compounding destroys the good stuff your body needs. Gel caps or powders are usually more easily assimilated by your body.

Third principle - Sorry friends, real supplements are not cheap. Which is why the WalMart option is understandably attractive. But look at it this way. You are healthy and good looking now. Wouldn't you rather spend some money now to invest in your future well-being?  Think of the time you spend PMSing, having colds, enduring menstrual cramps, dealing with headaches and dizziness. Oftentimes, eating properly and using the correct supplements are the "ounce of prevention" that prevents the "pound of cure." 

So what DO you use or should you use? Well, the hard answer is do your research. Things to look for? Raw foods, organic, freeze dried, cold-processed... all are good things to look for. A midwife or your chiropractor are outstanding resources for good supplements. I'm not pushing one variety of supplement over another. Check my next post if you're interested in what I've taken or am taking, like, dislike, and why.

A nothing post

I'm just in a mood to write something, but haven't the foggiest what I am going to write about. So....

For the last few days, Josh and I have been 'nesting.' Oh yes, guys do it, too, only theirs is more obsessive-compulsive. He's been organizing the basement, which I swear to God will become his man-cave. With all the beer bottles down there, it already looks the part. Throw in some tools, a comfy chair, and a large ass TV and there you have it. I, in the mean time, have been "home making" upstairs... my territory. My kitchen is turning into a thing of beauty and joy forever and my bathrooms... well, I don't want to make anyone jealous :) The reality is that they are small, with no trim or floorboards, and the ceiling in one isn't painted. But they are mine and there is not one, but two of them. I have obsessed for my entire married life about renting or owning a place with two bathrooms. And now I do. Hence, joy and gladness.

Last night, we raided WalMart for furniture, and as usual, I came back victorious and slightly more broke than I went. I found a coffee table for 10 dollars. Granted, the top is probably paper, but it's sturdy enough and matches all the dark wood furniture in the living room. I'm living another dream here... matching furniture.

This week, after Josh finishes up another exam, we are moving Greta out of our bedroom. This is indeed bittersweet. I like having her nearby, I love watching her sleep, I HATE nursing her now. She is 15 months old and since pretty much the moment I got pregnant, it has been torturous to nurse her. Yes, she has teeth, but I think it's more because the pregnancy makes my nipples sore (sorry, TMI....). Ok, not just sore, horribly painfully sore. And I've put up with this for her good for 6 months now. Time to go, Greta. The thing is that she doesn't even nurse to eat, she nurses for comfort when Mommy is too tired or lazy to get up and feed her. This can be understandable because sometimes she takes it into her head to be starving at midnight, 3am, or 6am... all inappropriate times for small children to be eating, as far as I'm concerned. So hopefully, getting her into her own room will help along this weaning process. Wish me luck.

Well, the hubs is out of the shower and we have our midnight snack of ice cream to eat. I love that husband of mine!

The State of New Home Owner-dom

And.... we're in. Moved in on July 28th, if my foggy memory serves correctly. What a time. I think I have blocked out most of the ugly parts, leaving just a vague feeling of exhaustion and goose-bumpiness when I think back on the last two weeks of July. I remember crying my head off the first night at the house when all the boxes, tools, and appliances stacked in our bedroom and living room threatened to eat me alive. Luckily, Josh came to my rescue and cleared out our bedroom so there was some semblance of normal living in which to sleep. Ahh, those pregnancy hormones'll always get you.

Since that unpleasant 'first night,' things have gradually gone uphill. Not one day has past since that some project has not been completed. I have Dan and Zaz to thank for that. Eliza was on perpetual Greta-duty, to the point that Greta thought Eliza was some unpaid servant of hers. Daniel and I knocked out small and large projects together (do not say "that's what she said," Daniel! Thanks to him, this summer has been one long, ongoing, "that's what she said" joke). Our latest and last was to landscape the front yard and finish the new bathroom. Seriously, that boy has learned some major house building skills. Don't know what we would have done had the two not come out this summer. Thank God for the gift of family.

Now the kids have gone home and all of a sudden, life seems to be settling down. The house is far from finished, but it is livable... very livable. And in spite of it's unfinished-ness, I'm beginning to detect what I call "beauty spots"... areas in a room that make me smile, sooth my nerves, bring a sense of peace and rightness to my soul. It might be as simple as a plant in the corner of a room, near a window, where the sun strikes it just so. Or it could be the serene shade of green I've painted our bedroom, which remains lovely no matter what the lighting or time of day. Sometimes, it is simply a room put in order or a clean floor. But once beauty spots start appearing, my house becomes my home. Today we uncovered a few more beauty spots when we cleaned out the future Greta room/current guest room. That room had been used to stash clutter, but in honor of Josh's friend coming to visit tonight, we scrubbed all the paint off the floor, swept up the plaster debris in between the walls, hung a curtain over the closet, put up a few pictures, stuck a plant by the window, made the bed, and there you go! A snug, cozy, happy room with yellow walls, blue curtains and a white rocking chair stuck strategically in the corner, where you fall asleep smelling pinon pines and watching the pine branches dance through the shadows of the filmy curtain. I'd stay.

So the long and the short of it is that yes, I like my new house. In fact, I may go so far as to say I love it. Of course there is lots to be done, but maybe it's also the unfinishedness of the house that I love as well. Working on it, caring for it, making it more beautiful and homey appeals to something in me...which is why I've always concluded that "homemaker" was my vocation. Finally, I have a home of my own to "make"... quite literally, too! Good lord, to this day, I cannot look at the walls in my bedroom without thinking of puttying and sanding said walls. I guess it will be that way for awhile.

El husbandito is calling me to see what he's done in the basement, so I will leave you to your imaginings about what this dream house actually looks like. Stay tuned next time or some time after that for pictures.

Are We There Yet????

Nope, but the countdown until move-in day / move-out day continues. 7 days and counting. We are all so exhausted. Not just physically, which is bad enough, but mentally and emotionally. My brother has been a real trooper. He starts work at the house around 10am and usually does not come home until 9 or 10pm. My sister has been my life and sanity saver. She arrived just last weekend and already, I don't know what I did until she came. Basically, she's Greta's new mom. I've been working on the house from around 10am to 6pm this week; believe me, it is a long time to be away from one's baby! But I can do it because I know she has the best of care and I don't feel the awful, nagging sense that I am inconveniencing some non-family member. Josh... poor, dear, under-appreciated, hard working hubby... goes to his "day job" from 8am to 5pm, but stops by to run errands and feed his workers on his lunch break. Then he starts his night job on the house until 10 or 11pm. Between the boys and our friend Jeremy, who is our all-knowing supervisor/contractor/we'll-make-this-work-inspiration (who also has a day job and a wife and 5 awesome kids, one of who is brand new), the house is almost done.

We must have been crazy to do this. But that's God's fault. We agreed to buy the house back in April. Then our loan took ages to process. Then the government ran out of money to fund the loan. Then we applied for a new loan. Then the government printed more money. Then our mortgage person began working for a new company that required we re-apply for a loan. So we actually closed on June 30th, just squeaking by to qualify for the First-Time-Homebuyer's tax credit. So we've basically gutted and rebuilt this house in one month. All of this would be doable, if not fun, had we longer to work on the house. However, the new renters are moving in to our rental on July 31st. Oh.... joy. Hence, the 7 days and counting.

On the to-do list still? Prime the walls, paint, install cabinets, put in flooring, install new bathroom drain, install bathroom fixtures, replace old bathroom fixtures, compound/sand/texture/paint kids' room, put in carpet in bedroom, clean out basement, MOVE IN. Thankfully, we are only moving about three blocks.

So if you have any spare prayers or happy thoughts this coming week, send them our way. We are definitely going to need them. I promise to pay you back with lots of before and after pictures in the coming weeks.

What's in a name?

So now that I have my virtual audience waiting with bated breath for that oh-so-exciting announcement of "boy or girl," let me take this opportunity to make you hear my diatribe on the subject of "names." Ever since I was a kid, I was obsessed with names. Under my direction, my siblings and I played an acting game that involved picking new names for oneself, an appropriate age, etc. And of course, it involved dressing up. Unfortunately, none of my favorite names back then stood the test of time. I cycled through quite a few. I recall "Christina," "Cherry," "Brittany," "Mildred," and "Karen" being top choices at one point. But what has lasted are my Hate List. "Nancy," "Nan," "Jane," "Peggy," and "Sarah" are the ones that stand out the most. (I take part of that back; "Jane" and "Sarah" aren't bad names anymore... but "Nancy"? Never NEVER NEVER!). At some point later, when our inventive interests took a turn towards reenacting the Civil War, I developed similar lists for boy names and subsequently renamed my siblings with appropriately soldierly names.... usually something from "Rifles for Waiti," "Across Five Aprils" or "Friendly Persuasion."

Oh, why do we have to grow up? If I hadn't grown up, gotten to know more people, and developed odd turns of the mind, I might happily have named all my kids for the sibling in "Across Five Aprils." But in recent years, or rather, since the reality of naming real children has struck, I don't like giving my kids a name of someone I know. It matters not whether I like said person or not. It's just that if they have a name, it's their name and I will always associate that name with them. It feels weird to me to call a brand new kid by someone else's name. Ahhhh... the things we confess to in blogs for the sake of being amusing, interesting or different! Now, I know that if everyone thought this way, we would very quickly run out of names and everyone would be called by some new fashioned, made up name like "Jayden" or Kylie." Oh wait....

So it's lucky for the human population that most of us do not think this way. However, in my case, I can't conceive of having more than a dozen children; in which case I'm sure I can humor my preference for not using the names of friends or close relations. Greta's real name is Margaret Elisabeth Rose. I adore the name Margaret, and yes, I do have a few good friends with that name. But I conveniently got out of calling her Margaret by nicknaming her the German derivative, "Greta," No one EVER gets this connection except honest-to-goodness, first generation Germans. And I love them for it.

Are you sufficiently impatient for me to get to the point about this kid's sex? Well, the English major in me won't let me do so until I've attempted to make the connection between the evolution of names and my baby's sex. You see, I want a girl because I absolutely love the girl's name we decided on. It was everything I love about a name - unique, classic, different, traditional, and Anglo-Saxon based (as are most of the names I tend to prefer). I won't tell you what it is, but I will say I checked to make sure it was NOT on the Top 100 Most Popular Girl Names for 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, and so on. In fact, it peaked in popularity in the 1930's. And it is not Mildred. The middle name was a family name and worked beautifully with the first name.

And now, I will have to wait to use it.

Yes, we're having a boy. Once again, Josh was right and I was wrong, With Greta, I was subconsciously sure that I was having a boy, but Josh "thought it would be nice" if we were having a girl. That is how my husband is about these things... never pushy or assertive, but pleasantly suggestive. Well, his "suggestion" proved correct in Greta's case. Once I got used to the idea that I was having a daughter and might have to raise someone like myself, I was very excited about Greta. This time, Josh "thought it would be nice to have a boy. Just for variety, Maria." There, future rebellious, teenage son of mine. Read that and feel sorry for yourself. No, Josh tacked on the last part because I'm sure he knew how much I loved my girl's name and how much easier I thought it would be to have another girl at this point in time. No new wardrobe, no new momma skills to learn, two cute, little girls to dress... sigh.

But now that I actually know we're having a boy... whoopeeeeee! I can finally call "it" something other than "it" and I can start talking to Greta about her little brother. And everyone I know seems to like their little boys very much, saying that they are less complicated and more fun, etc. And who knows? Maybe Little What's His Name will love me as much as Greta adores her Daddy. So when all is said and done, I'm very excited that this baby is a boy... my first little boy, my wee Christmas angel.

But oh, what to name him!

Josh wanted "Ingeborg" for Greta. His equally creative suggestions this time were "Ignatius," "Otto," or "Honorius."  I'm going to assume that he was and is joking. We've tentatively come up with a name... not telling, of course, but here are a few you can rule out. 1) No Italian names. I hate them. No offense meant to the growing number of people whouse them, but I've been conditioned by years of reading English and American literature to associate such names with effeminacy and a lack of manliness. Thank the WASP movement for that unconsciously anti-Catholic sentiment. 2) No made-up new names. I am not a fan of all the Jaydens, Kaydens, Haydens, Raydens and their ilk running around. Maybe Sayden. Josh suggested that, but in the interests of being Catholic, I think we will pass.

Well, here's to the next 20 weeks until we meet our first baby boy. If nothing else, there's always "Nicholas Nickelby." Then Josh would feel like we are more related to our dog, Smike. "Nicholas Nickelby Montagnini." Now, that has a unique ring to it!

Aches and Pains and Pregnancy, oh My!

I was formerly of the opinion that people should abstain from blogging if they have nothing of possible interest to blog about. Writing about how much the bones in one's ass hurt during pregnancy is about as bad as it gets in the ranks of "worst blog entry ever." But that's what it's come to. We have been SO busy lately and I have been SO tired that the only thing that comes to mind as a possible topic is the only thing on my mind right now, which is... the aches and pains of pregnancy.

I suppose this opening necessitates a word of explanation as to just why I am so busy, achey and tired (other than from the work of growing a baby). We finally (yay) bought a house. Buying a house is all well and good, typically as cause for celebration. In our case, it was a very long and out process. We started back at the end of March and concluded on June 30th. To make matters more exciting, it is a fix-er-up-er in the real sense... or at least we have turned it into one. But no. No, I could not live with wall paneling of the alternating white and dark wood variety. Just no. Nor could I live with a pink bedroom. Even more so could I not live with a bathroom with no ventilation and floor to ceiling mirror tiles AND carpeted floors. I suppose I could have survived the faux brickwork in the kitchen, but that would have been a stretch. The house also had minor issues, such as bad wiring. All in all, it was the best price for a nice little house with lots of potential. So much for the house. Josh and I are wanna-be handymen (women) so redoing it would not be a big deal except for the unforseen kicker - we learned on July 1st that we have new renters moving into our current house on July 31st.

That makes me extremely unhappy. If I hate moving, I hate moving quickly into unfinished houses even more. Wait. Isn't that what happened when we moved to Gallup? Ha. And I thought it was deja vu. On the bright side, at least we are only moving a few blocks away. Also, it won't be December this time.

All this to say that I have been assisting the deconstruction and clean up efforts in the past week. Hence, I feel like a very old, achey pregnant woman at the moment. The pain in my left hip makes me fall sometimes because I just can't feel my leg at times. I know... hie thee to a chiropractor and fix the pain in thy ass! I know, I know. My feet ache, I guess because I am fattening up for the pregnancy. But should an extra 5 lbs. make you feel this way? Somehow I doubt it. Just within the past week I have become insatiably tired. I mean, don't.want.to.get.out.of.bed. tired. I'll work at the house for two hours, doing something lame like sweeping the floors and carrying out wood scraps. Then I come home, get Greta to bed, and pass out for two hours. I used to be bright eyed and bushy tailed at 8am. Now I'm unconscious until Josh makes me get up to watch Greta when he leaves for work.

I know this won't last forever and I know the end results will be worthwhile, but I predict a rough month ahead. If you have any spare prayers or kind thoughts, send 'em our way. Ciao.

Mommying and Other Things

So I am supposed to be writing my masters degree thesis! Actually, I was supposed to be writing it over one year ago. But one year ago, I was having a baby, packing, moving, unpacking, packing, moving, unpacking, and settling in. Oh yes, I may not be a master of English yet, but I am most definitely a master of excuses. On one hand, I rather like being able to say to people who ask me, "what do you do?" that "I stay at home with my little girl and I'm working on my thesis." Somehow, I always have this half guilty feeling that staying home with my baby and growing another is not quite enough in most people's minds... probably just in mine. This thesis business justifies my cushy existence as a stay-at-home mother.

But the sad truth is that I really haven't been working on my thesis. I "read" for it, but that is nothing new... I am always reading a book and since they are all vaguely literary, I call it "reading for my thesis." Granted, there was a period when we lived in Florida when I ordered a bunch of books on motherhood and writing and avidly read for about 4 months. And then I finished the books and started on "Miss Marjoribanks" which has nothing to do with my topic. And that's been the story ever since. Yet that thesis is always out there, begging to be written, pervading my sleepless hours, worse for my conscience than the pile of laundry that did not get washed, or the dirty dishes left overnight in the sink. I put a lot time and energy (and money) into my master's degree; it would be a pity if I don't ever earn it from lack of having the gumption to write a thesis.

Two days ago, I had a rebirth of interest in this bugbear of a thesis. I wrote my adviser, said hello, let her know I'm still alive, and told her I'm still going to write a thesis. Her email back to me was encouraging. She has two children of her own and somehow manages them, a teaching career, and research. With the impetus of her words, I started rewriting the proposal draft I'd previously coined. I'm about half way through and getting to the nasty, researching part. There is just so much information available that it is always a chore to use it in an organized, succinct manner.

Now a new dilemma strikes. What to do with Greta? She suddenly decided to stop taking two naps and instead, have two cranky, sleepless times in the morning and afternoon. As I procrastinate and write this entry, she is trying to crawl out the window and play with "her" dog, to whom she just fed the pen I was going to use to take notes on my research. Sigh.... Now she has moved to her crib, where she is loudly  thinking over life and the delinquencies of her mother. I should be able to work because she is out of the room, but no, how can one work with a guilty conscience? My kid is crying. I'm supposed to do something about it, right? Sigh again..... The slightly ludicrous part of this whole drama is that my topic has to do with motherhood and art/writing, how the two compliment each other as two ends of the creativity spectrum (motherhood is physical creation, while writing is mental creation). The consoling part is that every critic on the subject is beset with the same struggles I'm having right now. Somehow they manage, and manage to create lasting works. My thesis does not need to be lasting, but it needs to be written at some point in time!

Anyone else? How do you do it?

Easiest, No-Bake (Berry, Citrus, Chocolate) Cream Pie EVER

And, my friends in blogging land, it is NOT made from a can or from a mix! I put this recipe together for dessert tonight and both the baby who was craving it and the mommy who concocted it were well pleased. The best part of it is that with a little creativity, you can turn it into any kind of cream pie. First I'll give you the base recipe and then explain the variations.

Filling~
8oz. cream cheese (1 pack), softened
2 tblspoons sugar (I used turbinado and it was fine)
1 cup heavy whipping cream, whipped until firm and peaky
1 tsp vanilla extract (if making a non-citrus version)

Cream the cream cheese and sugar together. Whip the cream. Add the vanilla. Mix ingredients together. Pour into a baked pie crust (you can use a graham cracker one or a regular one. Just make sure it's already baked). Put in the freezer for half an hour if you want to eat it sooner, or put it in the 'fridge until it is firm enough to cut. I think mine 'cooled' for about 2 hours before we ate it and it was in the freezer for about half an hour. Don't leave it in the freezer too long or it will freeze solid. :)


Variations~

The Berry...

Put about 1 cup of fresh or frozen berries of your choice in the blender on a low setting. They should look slightly mashed, but not quite smoothie texture. Mix in with the whipped cream and the cream cheese mix.

The Citrus...

Zest one or two lemons. Juice remaining lemon and add the juice to-taste. If you like, set aside enough zest to lightly garnish the top of the pie. Mix remaining zest into pie mix. Don't add vanilla extract.

The Chocolate...

I'd leave off the vanilla extract. Add about 1/2 cup melted chocolate chips or cocoa powder (moistened) to the cream cheese mix. You can mix it in thoroughly, or simply marble it.

A funny incident.... or; "Miss Manners" Learns a Lesson in Discretion

Oh lordy... this pregnancy has been very hard on my brain. I feel most days as if I fall a little further from a reasoning, intelligent being to a hormonal, emotion-ridden creature. Well, I was rather poignantly reminded this weekend that the age-old adage of "think before you speak" is a wise one to remember. To think that my old boss at Ave gave me a mock award once for being "Miss Manners" because I "always said the right thing at the right time."

So it started at McDonalds, somewhere along the way to Sedona. The family drove down to Sedona this weekend to spend time with Josh's dad and family. It is a 3 and a half hour drive from Gallup. Anyone who knows me should already know how much I abhor long drives, especially when I am pregnant and since having Greta. Anyhow, we stopped for dinner (I "needed" chicken strips) and went inside to sit down. We deposited ourselves in a booth next to a young man, who was industriously typing on a laptop. He was sitting down, so all I saw of him was his laptop and the fuzzy, little mustache on his face.

Well, we ate our food, played with Greta, and sat back to observe the incoming customers. People watching is one of my favorite pastimes... and people watching with Josh is one of my favorite sports. Our conversation falls to the level of satire, if not outright criticism, which usually results in a trip to Confession for both of us. I was in rare form that day. My head ached, my legs were stiff from sitting, my stomach was queasy (McDonald's chicken strips are not to be noted for their antacid effect), and the prospect of a long drive was still ahead. Needless to say, I was not feeling in particular good humor with my fellow men at that time. Then two boys, about 15 or 16, walk in. One has on a green t-shirt, reading, "God Recycles." Both had on those patchwork, plaid, pastel shorts that men/boys have been wearing recently and which are so ready to go out of style and remain horribly dated for the next 50 years. This is what I mean.

The boys walked by and went to the counter to order. They were out of ear shot when I looked over at Josh and said in my normal voice, "Those shorts are just ridiculous. Little kids might be able to get away with wearing them, but they just look stupid on grown men." Josh was nodding and laughing when suddenly, he kicked me under the table and started laughing even harder, but quietly. He discreetly indicated the mustachioed man sitting next to our booth. I look, but don't notice anything. "What?" I ask. "Look at what he's wearing." I look and oh my! He has on the fruitiest of plaid shorts that ever appeared out.

AWWWKKKKKWWWWAAAARRRDDDD!

The funny part is that the young man never looked up, never noticed us, never made any indication that such ill bred human beings ever existed. Let's just say that we made our exit soon after.

But why, oh why, do men insist in dressing in plaid, patchwork shorts? I blame the fashion industry for this lapse of civility on my part.

Thoughts upon one year of nursing

Ha! The English major in me totally likes that title. Sort of reminiscent of Anne Bradstreet and "Upon some distemper of the body." Ok, ok, it's a little lame, but it's late, I'm tired, and it doesn't take much right now for me to find myself clever. This might get edited out tomorrow, fyi.

Well, today was not one of "our" better ones - meaning, myself, Moopy, and Doopy (the respective names of our born and unborn children). I had one hell of a headache. If one could die of headaches, I would be on my merry way to being 6 feet under the ground by now. Greta (Moopy) was not "feeling" her nap. We fought over it for a good hour, upon which time Mommy surrendered and put Moopy in her crib to think things over. I hate doing that. Whenever I do it because I am just out of options rather than as a result of a well-reasoned plan, I feel like I failed something as a mother. However, failed or no, Greta did fall asleep after complaining loudly in her crib for 15 minutes. But all that was enough to amp up the headache to unbearable heights. So what did I do? I laid on the couch, called el Husbandito, worried about my sister, and contemplated writing an entry tonight about nursing.

Which brings us (finally) to the point of the title. It's a funny thing, but as we near the end of Greta's nursing period, I'm starting to feel very sentimental about the end of one of the hardest things I ever had to learn. Note: I am not going to be one of those people who nurse two babies concurrently! I'm not denying there may be health benefits, but please! Just imagine what that would do to your boobs. Kidding, people, kidding. But seriously, no more nursing for Greta after Doopy gets here. But I digress... Oh yes, nursing Greta. Going in to it a year ago, I had no real set ideas. I refused to take the La Leche classes, simply because I thought it seemed a little much. I did read their book, but couldn't get past the very dated pictures in the edition my mother-in-aw had. I just thought I would figure it out when it had to happen. The only part I recall feeling certain about was that it was going to happen. From my own mom, who'd breastfed each of her six kids, I inherited the firm conviction that this was the only way to do it. Besides that, someone had told me that breastfed babies were healthier, and if there is anything that really scared me about having a child, it was the thought of aforesaid child getting sick, catching a cold, having an earache... God knows what. Sick people and I don't/have never mixed well.

So Greta was born and anyone interested can read that entry posted somewhere in this blog. The short version of that story was that it was the easiest birth I had ever or have ever heard about it. Literally 15 minutes after Greta was born, Josh and I were laughing about it and talking about when to have the next baby. In all seriousness, I was very blessed and lucky. I am a firm believer in the notion that God gives you only the struggles you can handle. Well, I guess I can't handle very much (knock on wood!). But what threw me for a loop was the nursing. That was TOTALLY the worst part about having Greta. The first two or three days before my milk "came in" were fine. She didn't nurse a lot and needed to be cup fed. Not fun, but nothing compared to the nightmare that ensued when I started making real milk. [TMI alert for all you boys, non-mothers, or squimish folks] For one, I was sickeningly engorged. Literally, my boobs grew to be the size of my head. And I wonder why that is the only place I have stretchmarks? It hurt like... not even like hell. It just plain and simply hurt like nothing I can compare it to. Then, of course, whenever Greta "latched" on, it felt like my nipples were about to burn off. It was so, so, so horrible. And to top things off, instead of lasting the "one or two weeks" my midwife promised, this went on for about 1 month. If that wasn't bad enough, Greta was a really poor nurser at first and had to constantly cajoled into eating.

The funny thing was that through all this, I never doubted that I could "do" this or that it would eventually get better. I suppose when you're raised by a mother who exclusively breastfed, you forget that there are other options available. Greta gained back all the weight she needed, and I appreciated that no one was around to tell me that I wasn't doing a good enough job, or that I needed to supplement, or that my kid wasn't getting all she needed. Because it did work out. Until she hit about 6 months, Greta was not a very good nurser... needed to be coaxed into eating, bad latch, etc. However, after about the 6 month mark, she became very consistent and dependable in her feedings. I actually came to look forward to snuggling with her fat, little body and nursing her. It was our cuddle time, mutually enjoyable to both of us. We'd lay in bed, side by side, and she would curl up with her little feet against my tummy, her little mouth busily working, and all was at peace between mommy and baby for the time.

So what happened to end this utopian existence? At about 9 months, I simply had enough of the whole thing. Why? (Major confession moment coming up) I got so sick of my shirts getting stretched out. I usually wear fitted, ribbed tees or tanks, and you know how those stretch out on their own during the course of the day. However, when you are lifting them up and down all day long, that nice, form-fitting shape doesn't last long. No, it lasts until the first feeding. Then you are stuck with the option of changing your shirt or going through the day looking like you are wearing a bag... and a droopy one at that! Between that and the fact that we were getting less sleep at night due to increased night feedings prompted me to finally start solids.

Four months later, I'm three and a half months pregnant, and the mother of a very fat and health child. She still nurses at night and before naps, but it's no longer her primary source of food. But now when I nurse her, there is something in me that becomes very sad, as I watch that fat little face suck so intently. Nursing has always been "our time"... just Mommy and Moopy. She really enjoys it, and although I'm back to having sore nipples due to the pregnancy, I enjoy the exclusivity of our bonding time. It's very bittersweet knowing that it will all be over so soon. Not that there aren't more fun things to come, and not that I won't be able to do this ALL OVER AGAIN with several more children (God willing), but it won't be the same. No baby will ever be my first baby, no baby will ever have to learn so much with me, and right now, I think that no baby could ever be as loving and sweet as my little Greta.

But I guess that's life... whatever does remain the same?

**************
Just for Katie...
How did teething affect nursing? I'm going to pull a brilliant one and tell you that "it's different for everyone." In our case, Greta did not cut any teeth until after her first birthday. Crazy, isn't it? However, I'm still nursing her one month later, and in all honesty, it doesn't affect it for us at all. Seriously. I wouldn't know if she had teeth if I was to go by how nursing feels now. I do take extra precautions now. I don't let her just "hang out" unless she is actively sucking. If she isn't, I take her off, just in case she starts feeling "chewy." Granted, my case might be a little different. Since getting pregnant when Greta was 9 months, my nipples have been SO sore, just from the pregnancy hormones. So I'm sore regardless, and believe me, I would know if she started biting. I wouldn't worry too much about it. From what every mom I know has said, if you either yell at them, take them off the boob, drop them on the floor (kidding), they usually get the hint pretty quickly and stop biting.

My most unfavorite-est things

You should be able to tell that I am either (1) really, really bored, or (2) trying to put off doing one of these said "unfavorite-est things" in writing this post. I'm not a big list person, but while trying to convince myself that I should use the 1 hour of quiet allotted me by my baby's nap to iron the stack of El Husbandito's shirts, I decided that there are a number of chores or activities that I absolutely abhor. If you are in a similar position (bored, or procrastinating), read on. If not, by all means don't waste your time with this one.

Dislike Number 1:
Ironing. I hate it. Plain and simply hate it. The actual work is not so bad. It's almost relaxing to watch the hot iron smooth away ugly wrinkles. There are very few other tasks in life from which you receive the instant gratification of seeing immediate results. But the set up... and the time it takes... and the putting away... and the overwhelming number of shirts to be ironed. Maybe my problem with ironing is not so much the chore itself, but the mindset I have about it. Note, watching movies helps. However, having a baby who tries to crawl up your butt while you are ironing is not conducive to a relaxing experience.

Dislike Number 2:
Dusting. I just don't do it. Plain and simple. Living in a desert means that 5 minutes after you dust, all the same dust is back. So why even bother?

Dislike Number 3:
Road trips with my baby. She isn't a bad traveler, but we've just been on way too many since she was born. I have this mental shut down when she starts crying in the car. It's either I totally zone her out, turn up the music, and drive on... or have a break down somewhere along the 100 mile mark. Either way, I feel like a bad mother. Will this change? Sure hope to hell it will or I don't know what we are going to do with the other kids!

Dislike Number 4:
Dirty sinks. This may be worsened by the fact that I am pregnant, but it is a major pet-peeve of mine that whoever does the dishes is responsible for cleaning out the sink drains and rinsing out the sink. I lose my lunch or my religion every time I see sopping bits of food or other unidentifiable squishy objects in the sink.

Dislike Number 5:
A dirty house. There is a difference between dirty and messy. Dirty refers to physical filth... something that can be wiped up, swept up, or rinsed off. Mess is simply things not being in their proper places. Now, "mess" I can handle on the average day, so long as it is put away before I go to bed. However, "dirt" is unacceptable. This paranoid state of mind developed while I was in college, when I couldn't concentrate or study until my room was cleaned and orderly. I've loosened up on the mess part since having a kid, because, well... kids and mess are sort of synonymous. But the dirt part still gets me. I hate it when Greta's knees are greyish-brown from crawling on my floor, or when she's picked up as much dust and lint as our vacuum cleaner.

There. Just from the simple activity of telling myself how much I hate ironing, I've worked myself into a much better state of mind... to the point where I can't think of anything else I dislike enough to write about it. So ya'll have a good day. Meanwhile, I'm going to set up the ironing board, refill the spray bottle, count the shirts, find the hangers, and start the damn ironing.

"Revolutionary Road"

I shouldn't ever bother writing this, but I hated the movie so much that my sense of proportion would not allow me to let this one pass unscathed. I watched this mind-numbing flick featuring Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet this past weekend. I seriously felt like I was in the middle of a war zone. The relationship between this romantic pair could not have been less turbulent than drowning on the Titanic. From Scene I, the two fought and fought and fought. And it was ugly. It was noisy. It was vulgar. And it was pointless. Kate and Leo play a married couple who deem themselves too special for ordinary living. However, they find themselves stuck in this ordinary, ol' world, and hence, go around with a perpetual grudge against each other for said circumstances. Nice, right? Kate plays this AWFUL woman... silent, accusative, begrudging, contemptuous, and just ugh! Why do I always make myself watch movies in which the lead actress is a human being I really dislike? Nicole Kidman is one. Kate Winslet is another. Please don't assume I'm jealous. If I looked as mean and angry as the two of them, I might not like myself very much either. DiCaprio plays the more or less selfish, slightly indulgent husband desirous of his wife's attention. The two decide to leave their humdrum lives in the US and go to France, where Winslet will work as a secretary and support her husband's ambition of sitting around and coming up with his life's mission. But ah... she gets pregnant, they start cheating on each other, and the crazy son of a busybody neighbor tells them exactly what they are.

And here is my confession. In the middle of another stirring fighting match between the romantic couple, I shut the movie off. I'm too pregnant and hormonal to be able to sit and enjoy watching a married couple fight, even it it isn't real. I couldn't see anything getting better for this pair, except maybe having a paid assassin shoot the two of them. But as that did not seem to be in the cards, I left well enough alone and went to bed. Still, the entire performance left me with a bad enough feeling to waste my time this morning, writing a partial review of a movie that I could not finish.

When life strikes

So what is new in this odd circumstance known as my life? Well, I temporarily disappeared into the wilds of Ohio for an impromptu visit to the few family members left there. All of them are "going through" something in one way or another. I've come to the conclusion that I have a bad tendency to go overboard when it comes to my family. If there is something wrong, I worry and stress and fret over it until I've done something towards righting the wrong. This may sound like a meritorious trait, but it isn't. For one, it leads to no end of useless worry and anxiety on my part. Secondly, I often the doubt the efficacy of any action on my part. I mean, if people want to mess up their lives and if people don't want to be saved from themselves, intervention seems futile, right? Ah well, some people never learn to stop.

So one unnamed family member has been making a series of choices that have yet to prove beneficial to him/her and in the mean time, are seriously affecting the rest of the family in a negative way. Said family member indicates that he/she will be visiting Ohio for a short period of time to another unnamed family member. Big sister hears about this and decides with one day's notice to haul her butt and her baby's butt out to Ohio to reconnect with this family member and figure out what the hell is going on. Through a series of unfortunate events, big sister and baby arrive in Ohio, rent a car, and go to see said family member. Said family member then communicates that he/she will be unable to visit due to unforeseeable circumstances. Ok, then... on to Plan F... fly erstwhile family member home. Family is reunited and everyone lives happily ever after.

Not so much. As I look back now, from the fine vantage point of my comfy couch, pleasantly situated in my own cozy home, surrounded by my own affectionate family, it certainly felt like a very painful and useless experience. I'm still having a hard time deciding what exactly was so awful about the experience. Being accused repeatedly of being a liar, a traitor, and an untrustworthy human being may add to that feeling. Watching my baby suffer through a time zone change, a routine disruption, and turn into a clingy fiend was not exactly a joyful process. Facing misunderstanding and lies from other, supposedly "helpful" family members could be part of the problem. The physical discomfort of sitting through 4 long flights, by oneself, with a toddler, in one's 1st trimester, and missing two of those flights, and having to stay overnight in God-forsaken Atlanta could definitely be cause to doubt the overall success of the venture. Just being away from your husband for a week and under such stressful circumstances is hard enough. So what was accomplished, I ask myself? Well, I haven't seen my Grandma in almost a year. While never the most stimulating of visits, it was still good to see her again. And I saw another family member who I haven't seen in a long time. And as for the current problem child, well... he/she at least knows that his/her family cares enough about him/her to go through great lengths to see him/her. If actions do speak louder than words, and said family member does not close off his/her mind to reality, then he/she should realize that his/her family still loves him/her.

Whatever. Everyone is able to make their own decisions, good, bad, or otherwise. It's just a pity that often, you have to hurt yourself and others around you in order to learn from the school of hard knocks. This little episode in my family's drama is far from over yet, but I'm settling back to watch it happen, secure in the feeling that I did my best and couldn't have tried harder to give someone the chance to stop screwing up. Smug? Maybe, yes, a little... but it's also a great way to mask very real feelings of failure, disappointment and sadness. I can honestly say that I have never, in my 25 years of life, been through so harrowing and painful an experience - mentally, physically, and emotionally. Being 13 weeks pregnant didn't help, either. Oh well... pick up, and keep moving on. What else can you do? You just can't live other people's lives for them or prevent them from hurting themselves if they are determined to do so.

Yoghurt / Apple Sauce muffins - my own

1 cup yoghurt
1 cup apple sauce (natural)
2 eggs
2 tbsp. milk (give or take)
1/2 cup butter (1 stick)
1/2 to 3/4 cup sugar to taste (turbinado or raw is best)
2 cups flour
2 cups oatmeal (not "quick")
1 cup wheat germ
2 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp salt (or to taste)

*the following to taste or preference
ginger
allspice
vanilla
nutmeg
cinnamon
chopped apples
raisins

Mix all dry ingredients and then add softened/lightly melted butter to dry mix. Mix wet ingredients separately and then slowly add to dry ingredients. Grease muffin pans thoroughly with butter and fill to half. Bake in 400` oven for 8-10 minutes or until sides are brown. Remove from muffin tins as soon as possible. Cool.

Reflections after one year of Greta

You know how it is when you're dating, engaged or newly married, and you're going through what some people call the "honeymoon stage" - where your feelings about your loved one are so intense and so numerous that the most you can say about him/her is just that you "love" him/her so much? Well, I am still going through that with Greta. It's been just a year since her birth. And I'm still not reasonable about my feelings for her. Perhaps that is part of the magic of mothering. So I'm dedicating this post to her. Caveat. It will be everything emotional, sappy, and sentimental that can usually only be expressed in one big, Greta-hug.

So what is she like? Simply put, she's a little Josh. Personality-wise, she is a calm, but affectionate child. She loves to play and interact with other children and adults. However, she also amuses herself, as she is doing right now, in her little play area. She is such a happy baby! That is one of my favorite things about her. No matter where we are, or what we are doing, at least one stranger comes up to us and raves over her smiles. Whenever she and I are having a bad at home, I take her out. We'll go to a coffee shop, the co-op, the grocery store... anywhere we can find other people. It cheers her up to no end to be around other people. Going to resturants with her is one of our favorite activities. To begin with, Josh and I love eating out. Yeah, it's expensive, and yes, it probably isn't the most healthy, but it is our way of spending time together, enjoying a good meal, and not worrying about the dishes. Since Greta has learned to eat solids and sit up, she loves to join us. We ask for a booth seat, then one of us sits on the outside of the booth, while she stands or sits next to us. She can move around and look at people while Josh and I enjoy watching her.

Since having Greta, my theory of being "pro-life" has boiled down to this: if you want to convince people that children are indeed the blessing we believe them to be, then raise them to be the kind of people you would like to be around, and take them out in public! Too often, people have negative associations with regards to children - they are messy, loud, obnoxious, sick, dirty, etc. Well, you can't always help the occasional flare-up, but on the whole, you know your children and you know how they interact with people. I think that the reason most people don't want to have children or postpone having them indefinitely is because they share these all too common assumptions about children. How do you change minds and hearts? By the simplest and most effective means - example. Show folks that kids can indeed sit still in church (ok, we don't have that down yet), don't have to throw temper-tantrums in the store, allow their parents to eat in peace at a resturant. I'm not saying that there won't be an off-day, but generally you can count on more good than bad days.

So now that we're expecting Number 2, I'm worried. Worried because Greta is such a good kid, who I really couldn't improve upon. Worried that since every kid is different, that this next kid can only go downhill because I can't conceive of a nicer baby than Greta. I know it's silly, but who ever said that pregnancy improved one's rationality? Well, at the very least, Baby Number 2 will have a very good big sister to look after him/her.

Final thoughts? A year ago, I had no idea what to expect, but that didn't stop me from thinking about parenting. I would say that overall, having a child is more enjoyable than you could ever imagine. The love you feel for that growing child - who just gets more loveable and interesting as time passes - helps to smooth the harder parts of parenting. Yes, it's hard to wake up at night to nurse, I dislike poopy diapers as much as ever and pawn them off on my kind husband at every available instance, coughs and colds still leave me in a panic of uncertainty, and it is always a sacrifice to not do everything you want to do when you want to do it. But the part that you really can't imagine until you have your baby is how much love you can give. That love is what makes all the difficulties, sacrifices, and inconveniences less onerous, if not an actual joy.

Thank you, my Greta darling, for being a part of our lives and for bringing so much joy and happiness with you. Your daddy and I love you!

Here we go again!

Prior to this second pregnancy, I was so curious as to what it would be like to be both pregnant and caring for a toddler. I suppose part of it is because I felt I couldn't handle one more thing when I was pregnant with Greta - after all, working all day and going to grad school two nights a weeks was something of a hassle. But back then, it was constantly on my mind, "how do people do this with other kids around?"

Well, I'm happy to say that it's much better this time. Oh, so much better! For one, I don't have to get dressed up and go to work every day. Don't get me wrong, I had a great job, a caring boss, pleasant coworkers, and all. But going to work is going to work... you have to get dressed, look good, act normally... traits in my mind that are rather opposed to the very nature of pregnancy. If I want to be in pj's and not wash my face all day, I really want it. And it is torturous to be sitting around in professional, uncomfortable, albeit cute clothes for 10 hours. I will never forget how, everyday at 5:20 pm when we returned home, I would waddle off to the bedroom, take off all those miserable dress clothes and put on the baggiest, most unappealing pajamas I had. Of course, an hour later, I'd have to get dressed all over again to go to night class, but it was worth it.

But the best part of not working during pregnancy is that I can have my miserable days all by myself and not have to put a smiling face over it all. C'mon, every expectant mom is going to have shitty, hormonal days when we are doing a favor to humanity in staying away from people. The problem with a regular work schedule is that you can't. Those were the absolute worse days. But now... ahhh... the underrated freedom to bitch in the privacy of your own home! The funny part is that, this time around, those days are much fewer and further in between. I suspect this is because I'm not seeing people as often and when I'm pregnant, I have so little patience for human foibles... which even in the best of coworkers, is something of an on-going issue.

End of story, I am so happy to not be working right now. I love being at home, having the leisure to enjoy my little Greta grow up, having a daily routine, eating at normal times, waiting for Josh to come home, and watching that belly grow. Yeah, and playing good music all day long.

"Australia"

I've been plagued by ironing lately and needed a really long movie to get me through the pile of shirts that have been sitting in my laundry room. I remembered reading reviews of "Australia" when it came out a year ago and the critics didn't like it because it was too long. Well, let's start this by saying I finished ironing all 12+ shirts and the movie was still going on when I finished!

Pros - I liked the fact that Nicole Kidman played a semi-ridiculous person. I'm not a Kidman fan. She has a mean face, angry eyes, and her best roles involve serious, business-like women, or else the stereotypically beautiful, cold seductresses. Worse yet, she isn't even pretty for all the hype she gets. So it was nice for a change to see her as something other than unlaughable. Hugh Jackman was good... did you ever notice how much he looks like Gregory Peck? The cinematography was first-rate. I am a sucker for expansive outdoor shots and mountainous scenery. The little kid's accent was cute.

Cons - Way, way, way too long. I thought the movie was going to end at three separate points... and the sad thing is that it could have ended at any one of those points and no one would have missed the rest. But no, it dragged on. Kidman became more and more melodramatic as the movie progressed. The villain was just too bad. And pointlessly so. He just did not seem to have enough motivation or reason to act as wickedly as he did. I didn't appreciate the typical Hollywood smack at the Catholic church, portraying the priest-run Children's Island (where all the half-breed aboriginal kids were send for "proper" training) as some sort of hell on earth. The priests themselves, while not evil, were weak and stupid. But thank God, the noble, good-hearted aboriginals, with the help of Hugh Jackman, were there to save those poor children from decimation by the Japanese. Oh Hollywood.

Overall, it was a very unremarkable movie except for its length. It was VERY long. Too long, I think. The story was not uninteresting, but nor was it stirring. The emotions were overdone and the music was too much in all the wrong places. Would I watch it again? Probably not, unless I somehow start working at a dry-cleaners, pressing shirts all day.