Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I often catch myself doing things that I never did pre-Khubz. Duh. But I keep doing them even when I am at work or otherwise away from the girlchild. Do you do this? These mommy-specific habits are not that strange when done for and with a child. Away from the child they seem strange or odd or just weird.

Driving: Any bump or curve or dip in the road is now highlighted by "Wooowwww!" or "Hold on!" or "Wahooo!" Passing trucks on the highway are punctuated with "Camiooooon! Vrooom!" My carpool buddy has a limited tolerance for this. She has let me know.

Handwashing: Khubz enjoys washing her hands but she's not necessarily thorough when she does it. We've tried to reinforce the hygenic aspect over the recreational aspect by scrubbing with soap, washing it off and then smelling our freshly washed hands. Five minutes ago I walked out of the bathroom, held my hands up to my nose and let out a "clean!" This happened at work. Sans Khubz. Yeah.

Communication: Inevitably in conversation, adults will use certain words that Khubz happens to use. Think about it. "No." "Now." "Eat." "Bird." And I have developed a nervous tick with certain words. I must repeat them with a Khubz-like tone. If the adult I'm talking to does not know I have a child and clearly does not care, I catch myself silently mouthing the words with Khubz's voice ringing in my head. "birrdd." I try to mouth discreetly (not very successfully.) This is super-not impressive at staff meeting. Luckily, Khubz has not learned the term "battering" yet because this would be a tricky one to sneak past in a lyric, toddler-y tone.

There's other stuff but I'm still being held hostage by a fracking grant report--so back to that.

Ramadhan Mubarak

Fig
Originally uploaded by George Kaplan

I can't fast this year but I have to do something. I thought I'd start the month out by giving this tender present to the basket.

Ramadhan is all about wanting & waiting, holding out with a community until the moment you all take a bite. It is a slow down in the year because time always moves slower when you're waiting for the sun to go down. And it is also the excitement of seeing people, people you always want to see but don't get a chance to, at the most delicious and anticipated time each day.

The preparations are elaborate because if you can't eat, you at least want to be planning food, washing fruit, slicing cheese, watching bread rise in the bowl. All these preparations promise that the sun will go down. When it does you can slice up the fig, give one half to your lover or sister or friend and collectively enjoy the most perfect satisfaction of breaking your fast.

OB Update

tree that did bear fruit
Originally uploaded by macaSTAT

Everything went great at the OB apt yesterday. I had done the "quad screen" (blood screening for genetic disorders) and that came back negative. (There's a whole story about our decision whether or not to do the screening that deserves its own post. Maybe I'll catch up later?) My blood pressure, blood sugar etc are all fine. The bean's heartbeat was 147--I *love* hearing the heartbeat.

Also, I've gained 8 pounds total for this pregnancy. (I told some friends yesterday it was 11--sorry! I can't even do simple math) So 8 pounds at 5 months along is not bad at all. Especially since I've got 30 pounds from my Khubz pregnancy that I never lost. Additionally, I am still not as big as I once was and am actually surprised and annoyed that I'm spending so much time preoccupied with it at all.

All in all, a good visit.

I'm continuing to have heartburn, no more vomitting--hamdillah. We are investing in tums and I've already had one diet 7 up this morning. But all good. All fine.

The ultrasound showed a bean that is on target for our Jan. 14th due date. The tech was saying things like, "2 kidneys, good." and I was like, "I hadn't even thought to worry specifically about the kidneys!" So now Scully and I have been including all kinds of things on our gratitude lists: Cerebellum! We are thankful for the bean's cerebellum!

Anyway, stay tuned.

Bearing Fruit

Third Trimester
Originally uploaded by Colin I. Mills

Okay, so this photo is actually titled third trimester but I think I can take a few liberties with expectant fruit.

I'm off to my OB appointment. Wish us luck!

The FF and the bean

4 am musings

It was a weird night last night. Good weird, though. Good.

Scully and I packed a light dinner and we took Khubz to the park. She had some watermelon, a few pieces of cucumber and one pitiful bite of her sandwich. This was all while making romantic eyes at the playground equipment. We finally released her: Go!

So we all had fun, there was a brief tearful goodbye when leaving the park and when we got home the girl was exhausted and famished. She stuffed whatever food she could into her mouth and we tromped up to bed.

Scully and I finished cleaning up downstairs and did some party planning (the girlchild is turning 2 soon, you know.) I sat down for an evening snack of cheerios and out of the blue I began to vomit violently. I am not kidding. Luckily, it was not all over the living room. Unfortunately, it was in the kitchen trash can.

It was one of those heave, pause, heave, pause kinds of events. While gasping for breath I pleaded with Scully to please leave the room. "I'll just turn on the tv." "Scully! Get out!" heave, heave, heave.

I emerge, shaking, and turn to Scully who is still sitting in the recliner (!!!??!!!) "That was totally fucking boorish of you." I snarp on my way to the bathroom to brush the stomach bile off my teeth. "Where was I supposed to go?" she asked when I returned to human form and sat back down on the couch. True enough. So? I'm trying to retain a little dignity while puking my brains out here.

I laid down on the couch. My beloved redeemed herself and brought me some pillows and a blanket from upstairs. She put on an episode of Foyle's War that she'd gotten from the library. I promptly passed out.

At 3 a.m. I sit bolt upright. I hear Khubz coughing and gagging upstairs. She's got some molars coming in and, though she is fine during the day, at night she is overcome by mucus. She coughs, chokes and gags. So I'm downstairs listening to this and thinking, "what is Scully doing up there?" I didn't hear her getting up to go get Khubz. This made me crazy and I dashed upstairs myself.

I got to our room and there was Scully with Khubz curled up against her. She was snuggled into the crook of Scully's arm so her head was titled upwards. Apparently the night was longer than I thought and Khubz had joined Scully hours ago.

I got in to bed with them and Khubz woke up enough to look at me and pat my face. She then said, "Mama pillow? Khubzita pillow?" and burrowed back in to Scully. I laid awake for the next two hours unable to sleep. All kinds of things went through my head. The only thought I even remember centers around Scully and Khubz.

Their relationship has grown so much. When Khubz was an infant someone gave Scully this quote. "It's not that she doesn't need me. It's that she needs you more right now." It was hard for both of us that Khubz the infant wanted me, or more specifically, my breasts all the time. Milk was the ultimate comfort and I had the milk. Now comfort comes from all kinds of places: juice, hugs, favorite books, galloping across the room, kisses and belly rubs, the naranja pequinita song, puppets. . . For all my fears of weaning I did not lose my girlchild at all. Scully and Khubz have each other in a new way. And Scully and I, actually, can support each other as parents in a new way as well.

I guess I'm writing this down because I laid awake last night looking at my woman and my girl all curled up together. Khubz had her foot propped up on Scully's leg. She would occasionally reach up to grab Scully's hair or pull at her clothes. I contrasted this to when Khubz the infant would reach up to tweak my nipple or bite me. This toddler cuddle is infinitely better. I smiled as I watched the two of them shift in their sleepy embrace. I rolled over and rubbed the bean until I fell asleep--thoroughly enjoying more than my share of the bed. I'll take this, I thought. The bean will be here soon enough. Then I smiled again as I s t r e t c h e d out across the bed. Blissful.

Clearly, no real problems

I need to start by saying that this blogpost will prove to the basket that I have no real problems. Anyone with actual problems would never devote any energy to bitching like this.

There is someone in my world who is making me bat-shit crazy.
The conversation goes like this.

We need to pick something up for lunch. She only eats soup for lunch so I start by saying, "okay, soup. Where would you like to get some soup." Twenty minutes later I try to shorten the conversation by offering concrete suggestions.

"Well, there's a Red Lobster. They have chowder and bisque. Would you like Red Lobster?"

"You know. . . I have only ever eaten at a Red Lobster once in my life. My entire life. I can't even tell you which one I ate at. I know that sounds funny, but I can explain. You see it was when I was working for blahblah doing contract work on the blahblah in blahblah county which is in blah part of the state. And I can tell you which county I was in but it was one of those places that you only know you're in a new town because you pass a small sign that says, "welcome to blah town." So it was one of those places and I guess I wasn't paying attention to the signs because I have no idea which Red Lobster it was that I ate at."

they're all the same! that's what's wrong with america, right?! the same exact restaurants no matter which town you're in! it doesn't MATTER which FUCKING RED LOBSTER IT WAS! they all have the same menu that's why they have the SAME NAME!

"Oh well, we've passed it. I know Applebees has soup. Let's pull in."

We pull up to the Applebee's to go and have a 15 minute conversation about how remarkable it is that they have a "to go" parking area. And they have the phone number posted so you can just call it in, but how do you know what they have? Surely they have a different soup each day, don't you think. . . . ?

Or consider that we are two hours away from home. Our meeting gets done an hour early. We go to "pick up some coffee" on our way out of town before heading home. FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER we are actually getting in the car to head home.

At some point, I just can't engage any more. Scully bought me an i-tunes card specifically so I could download old this american life episodes. She did this specifically so I didn't have to converse as much on these lengthy and frequent work trips. And that works, it works well. But sometimes it backfires.

We were listening to one called "Family Physics." The short version, a woman is dating a white guy while also screwing around with a black guy. She gets pregnant & isn't sure who the father is. Her family makes her marry her boyfriend (the white guy) and the baby is born looking "white enough." The truth comes out 20 years later, the family does fine and the biracial kid meets his bio dad etc.

She looks at me stunned. "What a good story. Really good story." pause & I know its coming. "Do you suppose that's why adopted kids sometimes seek out their birth parents? Do you think its about identity?"

I couldn't even make eye contact. "I don't know. I guess I don't know." because I was simply unwilling to engage in a conversation about identity, race, adoption, family etc. for the next FOUR HOURS that it would have taken.

There's more. There's so so much more.

See? No real problems.

Ridiculously hormonal

Let's just start a short list of what's making me cry today.

Scully told me that a Jamaican Olympian won the 10 meter dash and set a new world record. Crying yet? Nope. Just fine. Then she said that he kept running past the finish line and over to the stands where he hugged his Mom. Sobbing, Sobbing, Weeping!!!

Um, okay. . .

Driving to work I pop in some Jesus Christ Superstar. This does not in and of itself make me cry but listening to it makes me think of two things: Les Miserables (the mere thought of which is enough to make me cry and does) and my sister, now known as Tia Lila (crying, crying, crying.)

So we're off to a good start, I tell Scully when she calls me with the drop off report.

I then arrive at work. A very good friend who works here has just accepted a new job and even though it is a wonderful opportunity for her and she will absolutely kick ass at it. . . It does mean that I have begun the grieving process. Really, there are days when I was struggling and I could simply head down the hall and sit in her space. I'm not really ready to give that up & am doubtful I'll ever be ready. So we can expect more crying.

Best part of being pregnant? It is a great excuse for a woman who (even when she is not pregnant) is completely, thoroughly and ridiculously hormonal.