BabyMama: Weight For It

Note that this post was “written” via very slow typing in a notepad on my phone during late night feedings back in January and February. I’m truly terrible with touch screen keyboards, so the effort to type up even a text message is appalling. So just know that this post took WEEKS, for this old woman to smash out. And then has sat on the backburner waiting for me to find time to edit the ridiculously autocorrected 2am garbles... I’m trying here!

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In America, pregnancy is one of the only times when weight gain is exalted.* Every pound packed on is an addition towards a noble cause. Gone are the billowing tents of yesteryear, used to hide one's now-curvy figure. While everyday-pooches are to be strategically hidden, bumps are to be flaunted. They are badges of honor. Bodycon for bumps is a THING.

As long as you're pregnant, it's fine. But once that baby is out, those extra pounds go back to being judged. ‘Bouncing back’ is a dreaded expectation. You were granted nine months where society allowed you to be larger, but they won’t abide by much more than that. Sure, you have a new human that you’ve grown, and have gone through a massive physical (and emotional) trauma bringing them into this world, and are now trying to figure out how to care for them outside the bump, but, you OBVIOUSLY need to find time to work out and prep/eat healthy meals, too. Else, you’re failing as a mother. And as a wife. And as a woman. And just like, overall. 

And it's a bunch of bullshit. 

Okay, so. Before I dig in, disclaimer:

I am ALL about new moms taking time to care for themselves. They need and deserve that time. And for some, that absolutely is time for yoga, or a run, or to get veggies at the farmer’s market. And if getting back into a certain physical condition more swiftly helps a mom mentally/emotionally, as well as physically, then YAS queen, do as you will. This is more a rage about a societal expectation put on new moms, and how unrealistic and harmful it can be. And how we need to continue to normalize changes to our bodies as we grow as people (whether or not that involves birthing a baby) and embrace feeling healthy and beautiful over a number on a scale.

So let's go down the full weight journey rabbit hole of the last few years: like most women, I gained weight as I progressed into my thirties. Not a substantial amount, but there was a point where I suddenly realized I was in a different decade on the scale (the 140s) and literally my brain thought it was the one I’d “always” been in as an adult (the 130s). Because brains are funny that way. 

When we got engaged in 2018, set to marry in fall of 2019, I thought “this is it - if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better and 'get skinny' and hit my 'goal weight,' nothing will!” ... And then I spent a year not being motivated. (I was too busy doing wedding prep and other stuff.) Sure, I did more toning, and walks, and made a point to eat/drink out less, and tried a bit harder in random bursts, but overall I didn’t go nuts about it. I also jotted down my weight every single day, just for awareness, without stressing too much over the number. But, with all that minimal effort, when done over the course of a year, I did lose about a dozen pounds before the wedding.

I continued my daily weight tracking, and in the months following the wedding slowly bopped back to my "normal" weight again. Then, 2020 came, and I watched with morbid fascination as the pandemic hit all of our waistlines. And with no where to go, no happy hour calories to be had, and endless at home time to focus on myself, I thought “this is it - I don’t have being busy as an excuse- if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better, nothing will!” ... And then I realized motivation is often lacking when in deep states of depression and overwhelm. But, for the first several months of Covid, I had an irrational fear that we would run out of food / not have access to groceries. That, plus stress, caused me to lose about six pounds. But don’t worry, I hit my baking and stress-eating stride just like everyone else and rolling into early 2021 I was back up again to that pre-pani weight, plus a couple pounds. But we all were about there. The memes were endless, but so were the ads for online exercise classes and Peletons.

Then I got pregnant. And knowing that the nutrients I was putting in and how I was treating my body would directly impact our precious child, I thought, “this is it - if this won’t motivate me to workout and eat better and focus on my health, nothing will!” Andddd spoiler alert... that motivation just didn't come. I was good about avoiding some bad eats and not always overindulging, but overall I did not massively change for the better. I got more steps in, and did more stretching, and ate my veggies/fruits, but, I was too exhausted to properly dig in on meal prep and things like I thought I should. Shame on me, I know. (But at least I HYDRATED!)

With the weight gain of a new human life came the weight of placenta and fluids and everything else to house and grow that life. And the fun baddies like the almost-outie belly button, horrible back pain, swollen everythings, and just all the discomfort from the additional strain put on my body from rapid weight gain (just as there would be from rapid weight loss). I gained 33.5 pounds while pregnant and hit a number I’ve never seen on the scale. I carried that weight solely in my boobs and belly, which my porcelain skin will never forget. All of which cumulated in me delivering our beautiful (but massive), nine pound bébé, a week past my due date.

And there’s just no fucking way a body springs back quickly from that. Not on any front. Even with breastfeeding - which, people rave about as if it's some miracle weight loss program, but it is NOT. (Don’t get me started about how much I need to consume in order to stay afloat for that life sucking miracle.) The entire process was such a massive shift (to my organs, hormones, and life), that any expectation to return to "normal" in a rapid manner seems just so insane. 

The rare free time I’ve gotten with a newborn is spent scrambling to do laundry, or organizing so my mind feels some semblance of control, or stuffing a pop-tart in my face... it’s not spent at the gym. And maybe there will be a point where that shifts. Maybe when I’m WFH and our baby is at daycare I’ll do lunchtime workouts. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just embrace the fluff and nap...

UPDATE: it's especially evident in the last paragraph that this post was written prior to my return to work. Having been back at work for a few months now, I can confidently say that working out during lunchtime is NOT a thing, though is not out of the realm of possibility. I also am grateful for having stopped looking in mirrors during the pandemic - it overall means I have the ability to bop out into public and not care at all what I look like, so any additional weight has not bothered my self esteem on a public front. I've embraced the parts of my wardrobe that fit my body as it is, and the fact that my body has a death grip on certain pounds while I continue to breastfeed. After I'm done breastfeeding, will reassess. I'm currently still up about 13 pounds from my "normal" weight (which I used as my baseline for all the gain/loss numbers in this post), so have lost about 20 points since giving birth. Given that it took nine months to gain that weight and I'm now about 7.5 months out from labor and delivery, I feel like I'm doing alright. For now, I'm comfortable where I am (though I miss wearing some of my slimmer fit clothes) - big boobs and all. 

We plan to have our cake and eat it, too.

* Well, that and when celebs are “committing” to a role, à la Batman Bale.

BabyMama & The Hungry, Hungry Hypocrite

“There is no one right way to do any of this. Every baby and mom are unique.”

“Whatever keeps the baby fed and healthy.”

“You’re doing your best and making the best choices for your family based on the resources and information available to you.”

"Sometimes things don't go as you had planned or hoped, but different doesn't necessarily mean bad, it just means different."

All of these are words directly out of my mouth/clumsy fingers and into the ears/eyes of other mamas* and I definitely meant them with every ounce of sincerity. Being a parent is hard enough without adding tons of extra pressure to follow a specific set of "rules" outlined by some mysterious hivemind displayed on the socials. The important thing is to keep one's baby safe and healthy, to be adaptable to the unique needs of your own family dynamic, and to just fill that wee child's life with joy and love while meeting their needs as best you can. 

All of these are good words. I mean them when I say them to others. They are truths that need to be heard.

But obviously I don't apply them to myself. I don't get that same grace. Not I, said the cat.

The pressure I put onto my own self is astronomical. I take all those words, crumple them up into a little word ball, and chuck it an awkwardly short distance away (hashtag no upper body strength). Which really isn't fair, but I find it to be true. 

The biggest example being around feeding our hungry, hungry baby. For nine months in-belly and five months out, she has been literally kept alive by my body. Every single day since she has been born, she has physically latched onto me to get that sweet, sweet boob juice that has helped her grow and thrive. But that wasn't sustainable and I was ALL the waterworks when having to adapt.

This week, I'll be out of country for several days. It'll be the longest and farthest I've ever been away from our sweet girl, and I've spent the past month or so preparing in all ways, especially on the food front. In March, I began my psychotic calculations in earnest and realized that the milk deficit we were operating under (with daycare bottle consumption outpacing amount pumped while at work) would mean that our freezer supply of milk would not be enough. Not by a long shot. So, we hashed out a plan to start supplementing with formula.

And I wepppppt. 

It was by no means a failure, and in fact, the intricate planning in advance has made it possible to supplement milk and not just fully switch to formula - but it somehow felt like I was letting her down. Like I couldn't help her. My boobs and body weren't enough. 

“Whatever keeps the baby fed and healthy.”

Sure. Sure. But I failed. In my mind's eye, I failed.

Cue my sketching out notes for daily proportion of milk to formula, ramping up to be more formula heavy as days went on, tapering off the ratio when I knew there would be enough for my time away. Freezing, thawing, mixing up formulas, plotting out the logistics for my husband while I'm away. Making sure she gets as much of my glorious antibodies as possible during her boob-less days. 

And it'll be fine. It's fine. She took to the formula like a champ (probably didn't even notice since I ramped it up so slowly). She's happy and growing. I've done nothing wrong, but every day I pour formula for her, I feel my heart just ache. Which is absolutely foolish, and really it should be a relief to not have her life so lynch-pinned to one food source. Breastfeeding is such a delicate ecosystem and we've been lucky to have to go well so far, but it could end any time. My supply could drop, her latch could just stop being good,** there could be any number of issues with clogged ducts or mastitis - basically, there are infinite ways my boobs could go out of commission, at any given time. Any feed could be our last. Which sounds dramatic, but is just so damn true. So, I should be grateful for alternatives. 

I'm trying to be grateful. We've had a good run. We're still having a good run. I haven't failed. But at this point, my brain still won't believe any of that. It's a work in progress. Momming is always a work in progress. Why share all this? Just because. Because we all put too much pressure on ourselves, not just moms but everyone. And it's silly. Our inner monologues should match the same kindness we grant to others. We're all just doing our best. Go team. 

Eat when the baby eats?? Is that the saying?

* Okay, not like, mouth into eyes or fingers into ears but like.... written or spoken... or... shit. You get what I mean! 

** I mean, she's VERY interested in the world around her right now so, her latch is basically a bob and weave OR she latches super concrete but then whips about like she's trying to bag a marlin. It is... uncomfortable at best.

Hindsight Is: 2021 Edition

Reading through my previous "Hindsight is" posts (2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020) is always a real trip. Cruising into 2022, I not only didn't get time to write up this post, but also did not review my previous year-end posts. Such is the #newbornlife we currently lead. 

Even without a reread, I can honestly say that I'd have thought 2020 would be the forever black sheep of the bunch, but the joke sure was on me. 2021 turned out to be almost as topsy-turvy, but with the addition of becoming a mom. Sort of like my regular anxiety got a minivan. But for posterity, here is a quick look back at the big ones of 2021: 

• Celebrate Good Times. Ish.
• We ended 2020 with digital holiday celebrations, with just us two in-person. The lack of gatherings with loved ones was unfortunately an ongoing theme in 2021 as well, though this year we were able to share the Christmas season with some family. 
• Was happy to celebrate and support friends and family (mostly digitally / from afar) as they tackled milestones and other moments of growth. It was wonderful to watch as they welcomed new babies into this world or announced pregnancies, started new careers, bought new homes, got engaged and/or finally married, furthered their education, tackled new hobbies, etc. I loved sharing in their moments!
• Oh Baby.
• Obviously a biggie this year was finding out we were pregnant. In the same vein as celebrations above - with everyone newly vaccinated, we were able to share the news with some close family and friends in person. Which felt so exotic at the time, especially since we'd barely seen anyone since the pandemic started. We found out we were pregnant around St. Patrick's Day, told immediate family on Easter and Mother's Day, and had a "we're all vaccinated" garage gathering of friends at the end of May to announce to our MKE crew. 
• In the fall, had a series of virtual baby showers, as the excitement of vaccines gave way to "we're not out of the fucking woods yet, people suck" mode. Even had a tiny "Groovy Baby" themed shower in person. 
• Did a maternity photoshoot, to glamorize the big old bump.
• Took a roadtrip for our Babymoon to St. Louis. Some day we'll get a honeymoon...
• Oh yeah, and like... had a baby. Gave birth. That was a thing.
• Our House, In the Middle of Our Street
• I was all up in the projects. Started doing my Casey Kasem days - throwback episodes of the show play for three hours on Sunday mornings, so I'd take that time to work on things. Got an old Zenith record console that I got partially done tearing apart and converting into a dry bar (then had to hold on since I couldn't use stripper / harsh chemicals to continue my work while knocked up). Found a glorious vintage coffee table that my uncle and I restored. Hijacked a van to get a thrifted dresser for the nursery that I jazzed up. 
• Overall, we settled properly into our house that we bought in November of 2020. You know, once we realized that the pandemic might actually end and people would eventually come visit and would think we looked like squatters. (LOL pandemic ending. Sigh.) We tackled a bunch of projects: setting up my WFH office (with actual art), converted a closet to a mudroom, fully rearranged the upstairs and set up the nursery, got rid of our old couch and opened up a front room to set up my husband's dainty sitting room (yet to be done). Got a ton of new stuff: new couch, proper headboard, new bookshelves, non-retro curtains (so much ironing), new house numbers, a new A/C, etc. There was painting and power outages, and lawn mowing and snow blowing, and it was proper homesteading all around. We even got a chest freezer. Look out, world!
• Hodge Podge
• Watched the political landscape with shock and awe. Kicking it off with the horror of the January 6th insurrection. The inauguration gave some hope. And hope was punched in the face throughout the year by witnessing idiotic party tensions slowly destroy our democracy. It's cool. I'm fine. This is fine. I hate everything.
• Had a mini staycation a few days post insurrection. IE we got takeout to a local boutique hotel and watched Elvis movies - it was actually pretty perfect. 
• My hubby got to revive is running a bit after a bummer 2020 of cancelled race events. He had an 8k and half marathon event, and a whole lot of training. Training that cumulated in his running the Berlin marathon in Germany in the fall - was so proud, even though I was sad about not being able to cheer him on in person because I was super pregnant.
• Sports were a thing. The Bucks won big, Rodgers was a total nutter, and I continued to give zero fucks about baseball. 
• On the family front, my grandma took a few falls and has now settled into a nursing home. She's the matriarch and still has all her wits about her, so I expect she'll be running the place any day. 
• A few miscellaneous attempts at normalcy were also made: attending the digital Van Gogh exhibit, visiting a few restaurants in person, getting back out to my thrift store hopping (and IKEA), some backyard afternoons with friends, a weekday afternoon at Summerfest, and even a movie at an actual theater (Black Widow per my sister's request). 

And of course, one of the top highlights of the year: getting vaccinated. Because while this thing is still not at a tipping point (thanks, anti vaxxers) back to totally normal yet, having that protection for myself and my loved ones (and our baby via me) was a game changer on my mental state. It gave that glimmer of hope that 2020 just didn't seem to have. I hope more of that shines through as we barrel into 2021... I mean, 2022... we just did 2021.... right? Didn't we? Fuck, I don't know. Go team.

Because the death of 2020 meant new life in 2021. Bloom and grow, baby!

BabyMama & The Baby Boos and Hoos

Surprise: our sweet baby girl is now over a month old! This past month there have been a billion things - big and small - that I've thought to share. But, #NewbornLife has meant very little time and mental energy to string thoughts together, let alone write them out. As such, going to start with another mommy-brain* related topic that is very prevalent in the fourth trimester: baby blues.

Approximately 80% of new moms experience what is referred to as “baby blues.” When referencing baby blues related symptoms, articles often talk about irritability (partly due to lack of sleep), new moms feeling unfit or overall parenting anxiety, sadness etc. Women are told that this is a mostly harmless, short-lived period of hormonal flux that ends within a few weeks of giving birth. They and their partners are told how to recognize if it’s something more sinister - in the form of postpartum depression (which can sometimes surface several weeks later).

For me personally, I had more what I refer to as the “baby boo hoos” - in which my face would suddenly start leaking and refuse to stop for a myriad of reasons. Most of which seemed silly at the time (and still do now). But, this is motherhood, so, I figure I’ll do as mothers do and overshare. Here were a few of the many moments that sparked my Niagara Falls:

• I started off strong by openly weeping at the lovely nurse from the day shift at the Mom and Baby Recovery Ward. She walked us out when we were getting discharged from the hospital. As Andy brought around the car, I sobbed because everyone was just so kind to us, and how could I ever thank them enough, and they were there for us even with staffing shortages and a pandemic, and all the things. But also, would things continue to go well when we got home? Or was it all because of the excellent staff that we'd even made it that far (to day three)? What would become of us without their support?? (Spoiler alert: we're okay.)
• Then, more tears later that day and throughout the following weeks, because I was just so happy that the baby and I were both home safe and nothing bad had happened to us. It had all gone fine. All my worst fears had not come true. All was well.
• All the messages, cards, presents - every single well wish sent me into a spiral because people were just so nice, and how did we deserve such kindness, and how wonderful for our daughter to have such loving people in her life. Alllll the feels. 
• In the same vein of kindness, every time the grandmas left or were set to leave, tears. Tears thinking about the women who raised us, watching us raise a new generation. Grandmas always get me. Always and forever.
• That first week home, laying down for tiny bouts of sleep, feeling my deflated bump, knowing our baby girl was no longer in there. No more kicks or wiggles. After weeks of daily kick counts and being hyper aware of each movement, instead there was just nothing. A squishy void. Because I had graduated from being the vessel. Our little one was now a part of me in a different way, after so many months being as close as one can be. It was also a tissue grabbing affair anytime I left to run an errand or do anything without her - knowing that each trip was the further away from each other we have physically ever been. Even just after delivery, seeing her on the other side of the room, knowing she was only going to continue to get further from me. That she'll have so many adventures ahead without me. It was like some weird Golden Compass dæmon thing, where feeling her so far away was almost painful. Even though like, I was just ten minutes away doing a pickup at Target. Mom tears for days.
• Holding her on my chest for a snuggle or a burp/spit-up sesh. Seeing how small she is. How her entire self takes up such a tiny space on this earth. Knowing that in my lifetime she'll never been this frail or dependent again. That she's at the precipice of a great life. Feeling all that potential as a warm squishy babe. Sobs of awe. Sobs that I hope I'll be there to see her dream those dreams and make them come true.
• Which leads to the big one, that I keep blubbering about every time my husband brings it up as an example of weird things I bawl about... we were talking about how our little one will likely live to see the next century, even though we probably won't. And how fascinating that was. But what struck me most is that, when that happens, she'll be a little old lady. Our sweet tiny baby will have lived out so much of her life and potentially be in the company of kids or grandkids of her own, and we'll be just memories, alive only in her mind. Not likely there to share it with her (we saw Y2K, I'm cool not doing another round). But, the thought of her as a little old lady breakkkks me, for no good reason.**

Overall, I wouldn't call it the Baby Blues, and I’d say I didn’t have just the  Boo-Hoos either. Because in addition to the random cries, I’d also have other flares in the scares. More so paranoid anxiety flares that were likewise related to hormone flux and lack of sleep? Or some such thing. These were what I just call the “Baby Boos” (because scary). Some examples:

• Within a half hour of arriving home, our newborn officially solely in our care, I had a total freak-out meltdown. Due to Covid restrictions, no one had been allowed to come see us at the hospital. So, the grandmas and my sister were set to come see us at home shortly after our arrival. I wanted to get the hospital bracelets off so they could see us looking less clinical. Grabbing a pair of regular scissors and running on very little sleep (also, with my body completely broken/destroyed from the first few days of recovery following a long labor), I went to cut the bracelets off. Our little girl let out a giant shriek and I was completely convinced that I had literally cut one of her fingers off. Like, I was surer I was going to see gushing blood and an actual finger on the table. I threw the scissors down and held her and was completely hysterical until my husband intervened with a much smaller pair of scissors, quickly cut the bracelets off, and assured me I had NOT maimed our daughter.
• The first few weeks, I would wake up thinking I was co-sleeping and panic. I'd think I had the baby in my arms, under the covers, and would wake up my husband, babbling/shouting that he had to take the baby from me and put it in the bassinet. That she shouldn’t be in the bed. All this while gesturing wildly at my phone or a pillow or a stuffed animal, half-asleep, convinced that whatever object was a baby. It was never a baby. It was always just my fear manifesting in a creepy way in the middle of some sleepless night. 

The mind plays terrible tricks at such a vulnerable point in the pregnancy journey. The fourth trimester is a roller coaster of emotions. I tried to ride that wave of boos and hoos with as much grace as I could, but I'm fairly certain I looked like a nutter most of the time. May our newest addition not think her mama is crazy until a future date, when I'm back to normal insanity. And may normal insanity resume someday soon. Til then, let's just all give new moms a break when their hormones fill a scene.

I just want to hug and squeeze and cry all over you, wee bébé!

*This child has literally tapped most of my intelligence and brain power and taken it for her own. I now have the IQ and processing power of a squishy rock. What’s a squishy rock? I don’t even know... Go team.

**Although, if you've ever seen me watch 'Interstellar' - the little old lady scene in that is absolutely just me dissolved into tears. So, maybe this tracks.

BabyMama & The Due Date

It's official. I Jennifer Greyed it. I carried a watermelon. 

Today marks 40 weeks. Our baby's official due date. And with an induction on the books for one week out (our original due date: November 17th), ready or not, the countdown is REALLY in the single digits now. This is happening. While I still am not mentally ready for labor, or even parenting a newborn probably, I am very ready to be done being pregnant and to start focusing on our new little one (instead of corporate work, prep for their arrival, and all the other nonsense) and our newly expanded family. 

So, here's the d-date feels:

• Here's hoping d-date becomes b-day! Today I have been bumping the birthday jammers and telling this bump that TODAY could be their birthday, but they can't celebrate while still inside, they need to come out! My husband was due on his due date - only about 5% of babies are - so we'll see. Still have time.
• Quit scaring new moms. We're good enough at scaring ourselves, thanks. Disclaimer: I have absolutely been guilty of not saying the right things to my pregnant friends/family - something I only realize now, having been the preggers one, and wish I'd have been more thoughtful about before. That said, you know what a woman who is about to go into labor any time DOESN'T love to hear? Not limited to:
• "You think you're tired now, JUST WAIT until xyz..."
• "Oh labor is terrible, here's all the horrible things that happened to me, my cousin, some woman I read about on the internet."
• "ALL first time moms go WAY over their due date and have GIANT babies."*
• "You look HUGE." 
• I still don't know nothing about birthin' no babies. People keep asking what I'll need, or what I plan to do for x or y, and most of the time, I just don't have straight answers. I won't know what kind of support I need until I'm like, in it. And even then I may not. This is actually my first rodeo. I cannot say in advance what condition I'll be in (if I need a C-section or have a horrible labor vs. if everything goes smoothly), or how our little one will be (maybe they'll be colicky or totally chill, or maybe something will be amiss and they'll need extra care). I'm not sure how that fourth trimester is going to go (if I'll have awful PPD, or struggles with breastfeeding, etc.). I'm lucky that I have a supportive and loving partner, and that we likewise have supportive immediate family who will be around to help, and that I have a lot of mom friends to ask questions of - but this is new territory, so, we're just going to navigate it as best as we can and play it by ear. PLEASE don't take offense when I don't know how to communicate during this time. 
• Waiting is hard, and yet easy? I'm not trying a bunch of crazy old wives' methods to try and induce labor here. I'm just carrying on like normal. My body and this baby know what they need to do, and they'll do it when it's time - else, will medically intervene in a week. For now, as they will. Assuming all is well in there, this baby must have a reason to not be out yet, so, I'll be here when it's ready. I can't say I'm thrilled about waiting, but, it just is what it is. 
• I'm still mad about the pandemic. And how our moms and siblings and friends won't be able to come to the hospital and be there after this new life joins us. I've long since accepted that that just is what it is, but I'm still just so mad about it, and always will be. Get vaccinated, please. 
• It's still so strange. That at any time, our lives WILL be completely changing. That the quiet of us sitting and watching GBBO with a few little belly bump kicks of disruption will soon be us with another person. That I grew that person and carried it around for nine months. That when our baby is delivered and taken away by the hospital staff to be cleaned and examined, it will be the farthest away from me that that baby has EVER been, and it will spend the rest of its life going on adventure far away from the womb that it shared with me. 

My husband will be dad, and I will be mom. And it's all VERY exciting and VERY scary. And I just hope it all goes well. We'll know at some point in the next week. So keep those fingers crossed. 

They say it's your due date?

*A few notes on this particular comment, which I get at least once a day:

• Statistically speaking it's just not true (about 60% give birth before their due date - though some stats vary), and they also don't let women go too far past their due dates anymore - overall, d-dates aren't a perfect science
• I currently have at least 6 friends due AFTER me who have ALL already given birth. 
• Both our older first-born siblings were premie babies. 
• Every fucking pregnancy is different, don't tell me how mine is going to be, thanks. 
• Cool, thanks for wishing a large baby on my vagina, that's definitely what I want to hear. 

** I had a million other thoughts when I decided to type this up but... I don't remember. My brain is mush. Love you all just the same. Go team. 

BabyMama & The Bébé Q's

As the bébé q's rolled in, I started answering questions in bulk over on the Gram. There were a few bigger questions though that I couldn't quite fit my ramblings into a caption for. So, pairing them together on here.

Besides the disclaimer I gave in my last post, I want to make it absolutely clear that the responses below are solely my opinion* and if yours is different THAT IS REALLY FINE. It's hard enough figuring out how to make this major life shift into parenthood without all the added pressure of everyone else's beliefs weighing in. Zero judgements from me if you're approaching (or have approached) your own pregnancy differently, or if you disagree with my comments below. I respect that we're all doing our best, and that everyone's journey can look VERY different, even if there are tons of overlapping factors. I'm not trying to vex anyone - you keep doing you.

Bébé Q: "Was it planned?"

This is sometimes paired with the other frequent semi-Q of "I thought you didn't plan on having kids...?" If you've known me for some time, this set of Q's doesn't come without warrant. I have always been quite vocal about my feelings. To avoid ranting, here's a short punch list:

• one does not NEED children to have a complete family; family can mean a lot of different things
• if I personally never had children, I could still live a very fulfilling and happy life; it's totally fine to be childfree
• having and raising children is a huge responsibility, not to be entered lightly; I couldn't personally hack it as a single mom and would want a very strong partner to parent with

I'm sorry to say this: but being a mom has never been on my bucket list. The maternal urge, the need to nurture, just came in other forms than baby-making. Yes, this feels really shitty to say, since I know there are many women who want nothing more than to be a biological mother, and men who want nothing more than to be fathers, but, it's just the truth. If you'd have asked me about wanting kids in my twenties, I'd have probably straight up laughed in your face. 

I prioritized my education, my career, traveling, and developing who I was as a person. Finding a good partner, settling down, and birthing babies? Not on the radar. And the partners I did find? Well, I was likewise pretty truthful with them that if a baby is what they wanted, I was NOT their gal. They were nice guys, but I knew they were not men for the long haul. And that was fine. It just was what it was. I was still very happy and content with life. 

And at one point, I got lucky. I stumbled into the right partner, and we spent years adventuring and settling into a new life together. We decided to live together. We decided to get hitched. We decided to invest in a house - one that was big enough in case we decided to add to our family. And likewise, together we decided, yeah, let's have a baby. 

Having witnessed the fertility struggles of so many loved ones, we approached it in a fairly straightforward manner: we'd try, and if we found we weren't able to have kids, then we would be content as is. If kids weren't in the cards, we'd sell the big house and buy a condo downtown. If it worked out, we'd already have a big house, ready to nest into. No IVF, no adoption, no other paths, should things not work out. We'd see how things went. 

As a woman "of a certain age," who has always had the thought in the back of my mind that maybe I wouldn't physically be able to have kids, I would not say I went into this optimistically. I was a realist. My hopes were not high. I followed the advice of my OB/GYN and went off my pills for a couple months before we started "actively trying," so I could learn what my actual cycle looks like (because I've been on a pill-driven cycle for the past 15 years), and loosely tracked my "fertility window" with a pencil on my little desk calendar. And again, I got lucky. And here we are, a few short weeks away from bébé's arrival.

It is not a "whoopsie" baby. It is not a "pandemic baby."** This baby being consciously brought into this world by loving parents, who are confident in each other, who are comfortable with where they are at in life, and who... want to have someone to care for them when they are the old people in the post-apocalyptic hellscape. You know, typical stuff.

Bébé Q: "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Why does it matter?*** Why are my baby's reproductive organs SO important to everyone? Can't they just be a baby and not immediately defined by their gender? Aren't they going to spend the rest of their life being forced to deal with the gender norms and stereotypes of the world? While they're in the womb, can't we just let them be? Do we HAVE to stuff them into a blue or pink box straight out of the womb? Am I less of a mother for buying clothes that are gender-neutral OR just come in a variety of colors? Can't they have dinosaurs and sparkles? 

If you want to / did a gender reveal and want to scream from the rooftops that you've got a baby boy or baby girl arriving on xyz date - do you. (But like, don't shoot off anything that starts a forest fire, please.) It is just not my thing. I just want them to be born healthy and happy and whatever gender they are, we will raise them to be curious, independent, and kind. Period. 

When people ask this question, the easiest answer has been, "We're keeping it a surprise" or "We don't know." Those answers don't piss people off. When they find out that WE know, but are choosing not to tell THEM, that is when people tend to get weirdly aggressive and mad. Like, we are wronging them somehow by not divulging. It's... kind of exhausting. I can even give valid reasons like "Hey, if we decide to have more kids, and they're a different gender, this way we don't have to get all new stuff, we can just reuse what we had - think of the money/time/waste savings!" but, it's still a personal slight somehow. People are still upset they can't buy you all pink or blue things.

And yeah, I know I'm getting a lot of eye rolls and "there goes Gina on her soap box again" - but if you're willing to get legit angry at someone for them not telling you their baby's gender? Or if you have spent the past eight months trying to "trick" one of us into telling you? I mean, go reevaluate and chill. Because, you're just adding unnecessary drama to a pile of legit worries new parents have on their plate. And honestly, if the baby's genitals matter that much to you, you'll find out soon enough, won't you?

Bébé Q: "How has it been being sober?"

Another question largely asked by people who have known me longer lol -- If you told me in my early twenties to be sober for nine months, I would have probably reallllly struggled based on my lifestyle at the time. I hate to give any good credit to this awful pandemic, but I'll say it's a big factor in why sobriety hasn't phased me. 

First off, our pandemic social calendar doesn't look like it used to. No happy-hours with coworkers. No attending festivals or concerts every weekend. Infrequent eating out at restaurants. And just an overall decline in events where we'd normally find a cocktail in hand. So, while I've never had a problem being the gal with a Coke at a boozy event, it's been way less of a thing because those events just aren't happening.

The other side of this: I haven't been drinking at home during all this. Because I know myself, and I know what a slippery slope that could have been. My younger self, and my family, have a sorted history with alcohol. So when the world shut down and everything went to hell, I was very conscious of the fact that a cocktail might make the situation feel less stressful - but could become a heavy crutch for balancing out my anxiety. I did not want to go down that path, so I mostly just avoided drinking entirely. By the time I found out I was pregnant, not drinking was already a part of my routine, so it didn't seem like as big of a deal. Which was really nice. Though, I definitely miss my brandy-old fashioneds. I look forward to welcoming that old friend back into my life. 

Bébé Q: "Are you planning on having more kids?"

Sigh, y'all know how I feel about the constant "what's next?" questions... that said, we'll see how it goes. In my mind's eye, we'd have two total. No more. Having grown up with a sibling, I see the value in having that person (for better or worse) to share the journey with, so I'd say we're not "planning" for an only child. BUT there are so so many factors at play here. Maybe I'll have an absolutely horrible labor (knock on wood) and/or not physically be able to have more. Maybe we'll find out that we're just totally overwhelmed by parenthood (knock on woooood) and we don't want any more. Maybe we'll try and just run out of time on the biological clock somehow. Who knows? In terms of "planning" I've really learned that... you just can't. The best laid plans of mice and men, y'all. 

Bébé Q: "Are you scared?"

As all hell. But with 15 days til D-Date, we're sort of at the point of no return. To quote Home Alone: "This is it. Don't get scared now." 

Fab bump credit to McKenna Marie Photography
https://www.mckennamariephoto.com/

*Even my husband and I aren't 100% aligned on things around this pregnancy/birth. We're maneuvering to find what middle ground we as a couple, and as parents, are comfortable with. But we are two separate individuals who form and defend our own viewpoints. That's just part of a relationship - working out how to be a united front as two unique persons. 

** Sorry, but I REALLY fucking hate how often people give a wink wink nudge nudge and say "oooh pandemic baby, cuz y'all were bored, right??" UM, did you live in a VERY different 2020 than I did? Because there was nothing sexy about 2020, and 2021 is on its heels for a very unattractive year to live in. Watching the news in horror every day, being separated from loved ones, and constantly afraid of losing someone you care about to an overwhelming global pestilence? Yeah, sorry, that's not really something that puts me "in the mood." Being isolated with my spouse in a tiny space, not going outside for days on end, while a psycho wave of conspiracy theorists try to destroy my sanity? Doesn't exactly get me all "hot and bothered." When my anxiety is through the roof and I'm worried about a potential food shortage while slathered in hand sanitizer? No, my first thought was not, "I'm bored, let's bang." And I also did NOT decide to BRING A PERSON INTO THIS WORLD just out of sheer boredom. Fuck off.  

***Also, I know I'll get a bunch of people upset because they will think I am personally mad at them for even asking this question. I'm absolutely not. It's a very straightforward and easy-to-ask question when you hear someone is having a baby. You ABSOLUTELY should feel free to ask. Just don't be pissy if the parents-to-be don't give you the answer you "want" to hear. That's literally it. 

BabyMama: I'd Like to Stay a Little Longer

Here we are, a four month hiatus since the last post. As ever, that comes with a lot of reasons (or excuses?), so let's jump right in.

Baby Talk is Difficult

While I've been actively posting about this pregnancy on the temporary space of Gram Stories, I've been light on the blog, FB, posts, etc. Because every. single. time. I go to put something up, I think about all the couples in my life who have a checkered past with fertility. Friends and family who have lost little ones before they could even hold them in their arms. Parents who went through the unthinkable moment of losing a child. Genuinely good people who have struggled down every road, chasing after the baby from their dreams. And I know that almost all those people, despite their tumultuous relationship with the reproductive cycle, want to celebrate and be happy for others - but that doesn't mean I don't feel like I'm still punching them in the gut with every bump pic. 

And those that are in a more difficult place, sometimes they just can't feel supportive, because their personal hurt is too great. That's where it gets into the "how dare you complain about a stretch mark or the pending nightmare of pushing a watermelon out your snatch, at least you're pregnant." As if your right to feel anything is negated by the fact that you should be so lucky to even be in the position you're in. There's an underlying judgment from those in pain - justifiable or not. But it does make me feel like, who am I to say something negative about this "miraculous" journey. I got pregnant when others are struggling; so just count those blessings and shush up.* 

Then comes the other element: I do not know what I'm talking about. This IS my first rodeo. And any time I say anything baby related at all, there is a barrage of well-meaning advice. Of people wanting to share their experiences. Sometimes just to connect, and sometimes to try and guide me in a different direction because they think I'm screwing it up. The latter sometimes makes me think, just don't say anything. It's easier.

All of the above is of course, in my head. And it shouldn't have stopped me from sharing, documenting, and just working through all this via words. But, it kinda did. And that's just how it went.

It's Not the Shiny Stuff

Most of what I want to hash out... it's kinda dark? Or at least, not so bubbly? Like, the mind-fuck of creating and carrying a human life inside your body and being solely responsible for its wellbeing for NINE months. Like, all the horrifying and strange things your hormones and body go through, the things other mothers don't seem to want to talk to you about until AFTER you're pregnant - at which point there is a flood of horror stories and things that can go awry that you're just suddenly treated to hearing about as you start to experience them (third tri carpal tunnel anyone??). Like, how your life and relationship to others in the world is literally never going to be the same, and it's always difficult to lament a loss of identity, but even more so when everyone keeps telling you it's the bee's knees and you're like "but so was my old life." 

This all jumps back to the "just glow, don't bitch" note above. But also, it's hard to talk through some of these difficult items without having a "yeah but look at this cute onesie" response. And I get that response, because if you think too hard on some of this, it's easy to spiral a bit. And that onesie is absolutely adorable. Not processing at all isn't the answer, though, but I'm not sure where the balance is. 

Which leads me to what I actually wanted to talk about... 

With all that in mind, the biggest thing that's been weighing on me is one of those things that people just don't say out loud. It's an unspeakable. I'm going to rabble about it a bit and I do NOT want a bunch of "reassurance" or "it'll be fine" messages after. That's not why I'm bringing it up. Despite my current hormone situation, I am a rational, intelligent woman, in possession of all the statistics in the world around this topic. I'm fully aware of the massive amount of privilege I have going into this, as a young-ish white woman in a good socio-economic situation; with access to all the proper facilities, doctors, and knowledge; in good health; with an awesome support system; etc. But, it's in my mind and it's not going away.

...

I will never forget a phone call I go in my early twenties, from my first close friend to have a baby. Friends had barely started getting married, let alone having babies, so this was totally new territory. And her biggest worry wasn't about being a mother, or even about the process of physically having a baby. She was worried about surviving the labor itself. That her husband would be left alone with their new baby, and she wouldn't be there. That this future they were building towards wouldn't include her. 

It was something I had literally never even considered. That sort of thing didn't happen in real life, it just happened offscreen to the moms in Disney movies. It couldn't happen, because all we ever talked about was the miracle of birth and yay baby, not the fact that the mother is going through a major physical trauma to bring that life into the world. 

But her fear was real. It wasn't invalid. Because it does happen. 

So here I am, with less than a month til my due date, "panic nesting" as I call it. Trying frantically to get everything organized, labelled, and ready. Walking through annoying details with my husband so he knows where things are, how to find everything. Attempting to get everything perfect, even if it's not stuff we'll "need right away." And when people try to talk to me about those early days with a newborn, and I hear the forever loop of "sleep when the baby sleeps," and advice about sleep training... most of it just bounces into a wall in my mind and falls into a box for later. Because there is definitely a wall there. The labor. The birth. And the underlying uncertainty that maybe... that's the end of the line.** Maybe all these preparations are what I'm leaving behind for my loved ones, to make sure things go smoothly if I'm not able to be there to help later. 

It's kind of an achy, awful feeling. I could write about it and explore it at great length, but I know it's a super uncomfortable thought, and I'm not sure the emo/philosophical path I'd go down would be helpful for anyone, so I'm not fully going to dive in on here...

And again, I know it is not a likelihood. I understand the odds. I get that I'm probably more likely to walk out and get hit by a car. That all doesn't matter. What matters is that... well, I'd like to stay a little longer, but I know it won't be entirely in my control. Being pregnant, you quickly figure out just how much is no longer in your control, and you sort of accept it, and figure out how to move forward with that awareness. So, I don't let this thought overwhelm me, and constantly weigh me down, but I carry it along with the other uncertainties and wonder how things will all play out. 

I sure hope that within the next month, we'll be at the point just past this. And I'll be on the 'good' side of those statistics. Settling into that 'new parents' phase that I haven't properly put thought towards yet. Where I'll be able to look down at that wee little life we created and say, "Hey, we made it. Now let's go figure this future out together." Because it's a future I'd really like to be a part of. 

<3

We've got this, wee bump.

*Granted, not everyone is happy to be pregnant - there are MANY complex situations, but in our case we're not unhappy about it. Also, I'm not diving into the other side of this - that some people realllllly could give a hoot about kids/babies. Which I absolutely understand, having lived a very happy childless life up to this point. It can also be frustrating to see a constant celebration around "traditional" life events like weddings and babies, when that is absolutely NOT the path many take. And it's annoying to not see other big successes (like, getting a promotion at work, or moving to a new city, or having a beautiful plant that you've kept alive through the winter, or finally finishing that binge of "Grey's Anatomy," etc.) being celebrated in the same way, because they truly are important. But, I could rant all day about that, and, my posts are already too damn long lol so just... know that I know what I'm not shining a light on and I'm sorry.

** Also, YES, I know how absolutely selfish this all sounds. Most moms are just worried about having a healthy baby, and I'm over here worrying about myself. But. I was here first. I know me. Wee bebe, I'm still getting to know. So yes, I'm selfish and I'm concerned about myself. I'm not saying I'm not also VERY much concerned about the wellness of this little one who I'm carrying. People are complex and can feel more than one thing, y'all - so let's not get judgey.