So, I’m officially putting this old blog on permanent hiatus.

I don’t blog as much as I used to, at least not here. I have a family blog, a local sustainablility blog, and I’m currently developing a new healthy lifestyle blog with my dear friend Sixpence.

Between those, my job, my family, and the incoming wee girl… this has finally fallen by the wayside.

Maybe I’ll be back some day. Perhaps not. Until then, enjoy sifting through the last 6 or so years of my entries and the occasional entry by my friends. 700 worth.

Signing off!

Loricious

I am, unfortunately, a victim of my own nefarious mind: I really want to get to the end of this pregnancy, not so much because I am miserable but rather due to the fact that I hate waiting.

This whole experience has given me yet another aspect of myself to examine and improve upon: I can’t exactly hurry up the baking in my own oven. 9 months is 9 months; it is the optimal bake time for the best results.

I used a bread machine for this very reason. I can handle very tedious work, paying attention to very minute details if need be. But the hurry up and waiting (like waiting for bread to rise) is next to impossible for me. Bread machine is perfect: toss in the ingredients and I get to distract myself for 3.5 whole hours before I need to pay attention to the bread again.

What do you do with 30 minutes? I’m sure all you go getters out there are all about: Do some jumping jacks! Walk a leisurely mile! Play with the dogs! Clean the bathroom!

All these are great for the Uber Mom, but this lady right here is flighty. That 30 minute walk? Turns into a 45 minute dawdle. That 30 minutes for the dogs? Turns into an opportunity to clean up the poop in the yard as well, stretching my outdoor time to a full hour.

What happens to the bread in the meantime? It blows up.

See, I’m just no good at waiting short periods of time. 3 hours yes, 30 minutes no. Which is why the glorious breadmaker is my lifesaver. It takes care of one task so I can wander off staring at shiny objects.

9 months? Call it proof in my pudding bowl: if could actually grasp that amount of time and turn a good chunk of it into productivity I wouldn’t have a problem with my weight. But time seems to elude me… Four months off of work? I gain 30 pounds and not even write a line of a novel.

So what to do with 9 months… but wait?

The Baby Center Community has a lot of checklists for the impending parent to plan. I checked off all the boxes on the first trimester (for the most part). What about the 2nd trimester?

Well, we are visiting our first daycare tonight. Update: Daycare visit was last night, as this post was written yesterday. Started the registries; will finalize when we actually have a gender to go on. Still need to clean out the nursery, start setting it up. But it doesn’t take three months to do any of it!

Alas, I’m left with abiding by my mother’s carefully chosen words: Tough. You have to wait.

Indeed, I do. Perhaps this is a good lesson for dear Loricious, a tutorial on my own control issues, impulsive tendencies, and on the virtue of patience. I have no choice but to wait.

But what a little cupcake awaits me at the end!

You don’t talk about being pregnant. At least not in Nigeria.

I have the exceptional pleasure of working with a native Nigerian at my job. Not only does she have the most wonderful accent and powerful laugh, Sally* also isn’t afraid of talking about her homeland and the traditions there.

Sally was born, raised, and highly educated in Nigeria. She married and moved with her husband (also a native Nigerian) to Germany where she was promptly slapped in the face with the great hand of culture shock.

You see, in Nigeria, it is considered extremely ill luck to talk about the unborn because until recently many of those unborn remained unborn – mortality rates were quite high in the not so distant past. People just end up realizing what is going on when the mom’s belly starts to grow and subsequently remain mum. And they never ever talk about it, not even when the mother is wretching up due to morning sickness or dog tired. If any comments are made, it is brushed off as, “Oh, she isn’t feeling well.”

So imagine Sally’s surprise when she walked into work one day in Germany with her co-worker waving a just-taken pregnancy test in the air, proclaiming her pregnancy and the following eight months of non-stop chatter about gender and nurseries and everything and anything baby related. She was stunned and horrified. Here, one of the greatest cultural taboos in her country was being completely turned on its head.

Sally wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

She eventually moved to Alaska and was less stunned at the American way of life, being broken in by the German way. Living in Western society now for about twenty years has dulled the shock value of women and men (and MEN? Men NEVER EVER reference anything baby related! Not even tangentally!) speaking freely, comfortably, and excitably about impending parenthood.

This was evident when she casually brought it up in the breakroom with me, regaling me with stories about how co-workers in Alaska tried to figure out how to broach a baby shower for her first child (she ended up being ok with it) and her still slight kneejerk reaction of “OMG why are you talking about this?”

I love it when people who aren’t native to the American way shares with me their experiences; I love hearing about stories and culture and food (Sally brought a goat stew to the chili cook-off contest at work – it was fantastic). My other co-worker from Turkey shares with us his history, how he found himself here in America with an American wife (he came to the U.S. for his doctorate and stayed for love. Aw!).

I hope I can teach our kids to appreciate the world, to hear these light-hearted stories with an open heart and child-like wonder, in the same way. And that if they ever find themselves in Nigeria to remember that first rule.

After all, when in Rome…!

*not her real name.

Revolution: ever-turning wheel? Or vehicle for change?

Over the years, New Year’s resolutions have been an exercise in futility, just like giving something up for Lent. A virtue of mine? Passion! Flaw? Unless we are talking about my marriage, science fiction/fantasy media, or books, my passion bleeds out pretty fast into inaction.

What is a pregnant girl to do?

Goalz: I has dem
Basically, I want to use the next 7 months before Wee One comes to ready myself physically and mentally for the changes in my body, for the delivery, and the transition from the Me and Mr. H world to a world with a unified focus for us: Pip (this is what we call the wee one).

The goals are:
1. Reframe eating and food to help me understand that they are not good nor bad; food just is. It can be enjoyed, but only when I sit down and pay attention to it. I want to learn to consistently be mindful when eating. This is the first step of four in the Normal Eating process. While it is not an excuse to full on binge, it is prep work for eating when hungry. If I eat when I’m not hungry, at this step it is ok – I just must dedicate myself to be mindful.
2. Since step 1 is supposed to be a pretty quick, I expect to be working on step two, Reconnecting, before the baby is born. This step is taking the mindfulness another step forward. I need to start a log of what, when, and why I eat. Again, not focusing on only eating when hungry, but being mindful of the reasons behind why I eat when and where I do it, while objectively noting my hunger levels. This step can take months, so I’m not going to put a time limit on it. I will add step 3 when it feels right.
3. Once again, begin my meditation program from square 1, day 1, meditation 1. It is a two month program that I think will help with goals 1 and two. I’m looking to start it this very weekend. So my goal is to have it complete by early March.
4. Dedicate 30 minutes, 3 days a week to some activity. I’ve been sitting on prenatal workouts for over a month now and I truly have no excuse for not doing them. I’ve just been blatantly avoiding them, pretending they aren’t there. I really am not sure why and I hope to explore/discover some reasons during my meditations. But for now, I think I do need to dedicate at least that much. This will help for the delivery, as I’m planning on doing a squatting delivery (re: need leg muscles back).
5. Register or plan for some fitness event to train for after the baby is born, like mountain climbing or another sprint triathlon.

Execution
Well, I like this article from the folks over at Real Simple http://www.realsimple.com/work-life/life-strategies/inspiration-motivation/secrets-of-motivated-people-00000000026714/index.html?xid=checklistnewsletter-12-27-2010, so I’m going to parrot it and apply it to my own New Year’s resolutions.

1. When you make a plan, anticipate bumps.
My bumps tend to be a sudden lack of motivation/disinterest. A case of the Idon’twannas. Especially with #3 and #4, but that doesn’t really mean I won’t pull this stuff with #1 and #2. How will I fight this? I think that is a whole other post. Stay tuned for that mama.
2. Channel the little engine that could―really.
AKA: believe that you can and you will.
I always believe I can, at the beginning. Then the bumps roll in and I cave like a sinkhole.
3. Don’t let your goals run wild…
I really don’t think I’m overdoing it here. I’ve put pretty reasonable goals out there. Ok exercise ambitions, working on my mental aspect reasonably, and putting a goal of just to register for something. At first, I put a limit on it by saying “an event in October.” But what if I’m not ready by October? I may not be! So if it is in October, great. If not, that’s ok too. I’ll use my best judgment while not getting derailed by my bumps.
4. Go public with it.
Done!
5. Lean on a support crew when struggling.
The ladies over at Normal Eating should prove to be a great resource for the NE work I’m doing. Six and I email pretty regularly about our goals; in fact, the sprint tri and the mountain climbing will be for the both of us. I’m not sure what I’ll have in place for the meditation part. Six again? And, of course, Mr. H.
6. Make yourself a priority.
This one is hard. I often use Mr. H as excuses. Oh, he wants pizza so we’ll have pizza and I’ll just have one more piece.. maybe two… Or, OH! he wants to eat in front of the TV, I suppose I could… mow mow mow. Where did dinner go? OR, he won’t exercise with me so I’m not going to go. Lame? YES. A reality I must fight? Yes. I need to make myself a priority and not use the excuse of giving Mr. H what he wants to avoid doing what is best for me.
7. Challenge yourself―and change things up.
Luckily, my goals are pretty broken down into manageable chunks I think. No need to change things up, for the original list is pretty varied already.
8. Keep on learning.
It’s my favorite thing to do, so I think I have this one down too. I just need to focus.
9. Remember the deeper meaning.
This is the big one: the whole point of this is for Pip. I don’t want to pass on my mental flaws onto my children. I want them to enjoy food but not obsess over it. I want them to see exercise as fun activities instead of hard work. I want them to be healthy and fit people. This is the deeper meaning. I also want to be around for a long long time and not be taken out by something I could have prevented if I could have only just gotten a grip on my compulsions.

I’ll try to figure out a way to keep y’all posted about the goals. A ticker maybe? A calendar with dates? Days of meditation? We’ll see.

So I wrote this…December 27th. But that was the day that some invader thought it’d be funny to remove my login. Which actually is funny but also annoying. So enjoy, for my next couple of entries were written last week!

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Incoming Ultrasound!
Tomorrow, we have our second ultrasound as well as a tour of the birthing center if I remember to make that appointment over lunch.

Updates:
Feeling – physically: alright. Still tired. Getting used to eating more often to fend off the nausea.
Looking: Heavier and pimply. It hasn’t gotten to me in the way of “Omg, I’m so ugly and fat.” It’s more like, “Ugh. I have zits everywhere and I can’t do anything about it.” And the fat? It’s just the way it is. I’m still doing pretty good with eating well most of the time. I’m still 100% off any naughties like caffeine, booze, unpasteurized stuff, listeria-ridden foods.
Feeling – mentally: exhausted. Baby is always on my mind. Food is always on my mind. Sleep and dreaming is always on my mind. Yet, some nights I simply cannot sleep. The last couple of nights have been better.

That leads me to: allergies.

Sneezing.
Ugh. Until this weekend, I hadn’t taken a single allergy med since October. I know it isn’t supposed to hurt the baby, but unless I felt it was really necessary I was going to martyr myself to the allergen gods.

Until this weekend.

The sheets needed to be washed. I woke up at 1am sneezing and sneezing some more. And in the previous nights I would wake up multiple times in the night with a drippy nose and a need to sneeze. The night before we changed the sheets, I broke down and took a Benadryl. I stopped sneezing and my nose stopped dripping and I slept for another 6 or 7 hours.

That day we changed the sheets.

2 days later, I’m back to sneezing in the nighttime. 3:30am this time. Had the Benadryl at my bedside, so I popped one with a couple handfuls of water and went back to bed with Kleenex stuck up my nose. I really don’t want to change the sheets every other day, but on the other hand I’m really not sure what to do. Vacuum daily? Deep wash my pillows?

I also don’t want to keep taking pills and if it weren’t keeping me up at night I wouldn’t be complaining. I’m at the end of my first trimester and I’ve taken 2 pills total. I mean, I sneeze all day at work. Which is fine – I don’t need to take a pill for that. But my sleep…. good lord I’m tired of waking up so often in the night for my nose.

Christmas!
Finally – something I won’t complain about! It was wonderful. Mr. H and I had a very quiet, peaceful time together. We didn’t get out of our jammies for most of the weekend, which is always fun. I read a book all day on Saturday, watched a newtome TV show on Netflix, helped Mr. H fix the dog kennel, did some laundry, bought some pants for us, and ate my favorite holiday treat: stollen. I could live on the stuff, I swear.