Nathalie's Notes

Reasons I'm not Ready

Just a few of the reasons I'm not sure I'm ready to have children:

I don't know all of my state capitals.

I don't know my 12's.

I don't know the first thing about nutrition.*

I'm not a morning person. Also, I get angry with people who mess with my sleep

I can't seem to stop swearing. Also, I don't want to.

Frankly, there are just a lot of things I don't know. I have a feeling our little guy is going to be curious and want to know things. His dad is this Oxford English Dictionary of information whereas I'm more like a Real Simple magazine. I break it down into the tidbits that interest me at the moment in a neat little sidebar and figure I can look it up again later if I need to know more. His first verb might be "Google" as in "I don't know honey, let's Google it."

*On the subject of nutrition, I was telling Matt about my concern. He responded without batting an eye. Because he is ready. And he doesn't over-think things.

"But how will I tell him 'Eat your carrots because they're good for you' if I don't remember exactly what they're so full of that's good for you?"

"You tell him they're good for his eyes and ask him if he's ever seen a rabbit wearing glasses. And don't forget the thing about all the vitamins hiding in the bread crust."

Is bubble wrap cool yet?

I am as surprised as the next person to realize the depth of my love for a dog of all things. I remember the exact moment when I realized I was absolutely nuts over her. We were in Walla Walla visiting Matt's parents for the holidays. Matt was feeding his mom's horses with 8-week-old Lucy underfoot. She got a little brave and started running alongside one of the horses. I watched in horror from the balcony as one of these humongous beasts struck at her. All I could do was scream from a distance as I sprinted toward her. She tumbled out of the way and managed to avoid being stampeded to death.

I called YaYa that night with this to say: "I do not know how you send those boys of yours out into the world wearing just plain cotton. I'm not having kids until they make bubble wrap cool to wear."

Still Pregnant

Can I just tell you this whole pregnancy experience is totally bizarre. It's like, "Hey, you're going to be running this major marathon, perhaps the most intense experience of your life. You need to be well rested, packed and ready. But we're not going to tell you when it is."

What the hell?

I have plenty I want to post about but I'm sick. Yes! Again. I've had so many colds the last 9.5 months, I'm going to add TheraFlu to my list of pregnancy cravings. Oh, what I wouldn't do for the sweet bliss of a full night's sleep under the influence of a Robitussen TheraFlu cocktail.

Baby Dropping?

Lately, every time I run into someone I know a conversation about whether or not the baby has "dropped" ensues. Some say he's dropped quite a bit, others think he hasn't even started his descent yet. But I know he has. This is how:

Matt: You look cute. Did you get some new maternity overalls?

Me: Huh-uh. Why?

Matt: Uhm. Well, those were, well they seemed, um. It seems like they were really, really tight across your stomach last time you wore them.

Me: Well, he must've dropped then because they're the same overalls and I can assure you I haven't lost any weight!

Target Confessions

I think I found a way around my Babies R Us Hell - ta da Target! I love Target. Except the red. Too much red. Otherwise, I love Target. The other day I buzzed up to get a few last minute things for the nursery and some, uh, personal items for me. I ended up wandering around aisle after aisle, enjoying myself shopping. This is not something I normally do. It was one of my mom's least favorite things about me. Even the most innocent shopping trip with me could result in a catastrophic, unexplainable meltdown. But I digress. I'm puttering around Target, loving the Fall colors and clothes that might someday fit me again. Suddenly, it dawns on me. This could be the last time I get to do this. In peace. And quiet. I started observing mothers with babies and toddlers and as the arguments escalated, I thought smugly to myself, I'll be more patient than that with my kid! But secretly I'm scared that when he goes to school and the teacher asks him for his first and last name he'll answer: "Dammit Hardy."

Perhaps as punishment for my smug thoughts, I then had this exchange with a Target employee who looked like she was 15, size 2.

"Excuse me, I found your nursing bras but can't find any maternity underwear."

She scrunches up her face and appraises me. " 'cuz we don't have any. I guess you'll just have to look for the biggest size we carry."

"Thank you," for that, uh, Tricia. And when you get pregnant someday, I hope your ass gets HUGE!

And nursing bras? So not hot. Think: grandmas in girdles dabbling in S&M. Good stuff.

Operation Eject Baby

Stats: 50% effaced, 1 cm dilated. Matt can tell you more about what that means. I was apparently not paying attention during this portion of the class.

We officially launched Operation Eject Baby yesterday. Eviction sounds so harsh ... and if he's not ready, he won't come. But he can consider this his invitation to not feel like he has to wait for an arbitrary due date. My insurance ending at the end of the month (we still have Matt's but -remember- it's a long story) is not the only reason for this latest operation. I'm pretty much done here. No more room at the inn. LOOK at this picture. Sorry if you're grossed out by it. In fact if you're squeamish you might want to have someone screen these posts for the next few weeks. I am completely screwed because I am freaked out by my belly button sticking out and that is the tamest of things that is about to happen. I can't stand to touch the offending little protrusion, but it's like having something that hurts in your mouth, you just keep sticking your tongue on it aggravating the pain and yourself. No, I'm not licking my belly button but I keep touching the little bump and then grossing out.

We aren't going to induce but if he can come on his own by the end of the month, right on!  I had an acupuncture appointment yesterday, in part to help things along. The doctor chuckled when I told him about it. "I've never heard of acupuncture working for that, but try it if you want," he said. At my appointment this morning, Doc said he's growing well and looks like he'll be staying put for a little while longer. We'll see.

It would be better to wait until Sunday.

So I'm right at 38 weeks?

Well, that and I'm leaving town but will be back Sunday.

So maybe I won't press quite as hard on the little beads in my ear. But I am going to go make a cup of raspberry tea. I'm saving the Castor Oil delight for next week.

Nesting Novice

There's a crib in our bedroom. And a stroller in our living room. It is really starting to look like we're getting a new little resident. It appears that he will be taking over our lives. And we are thrilled about it. There will be some changes. Like, for example, I am ironing. Which brought up a few interesting points.

"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" (I am getting a little bitchy as I get more uncomfortable by the moment).

"Ironing his sheets. Is that what they mean when they talk about that whole nesting thing?"

"Evidently. When's the last time you saw me ironing?"
"I wasn't actually aware that we owned an iron."

"And I've cleaned out some kitchen drawers and next I'll organize the spices."
"Because that is definitely something that needs to be done before the baby comes, right?"
"I didn't say any of this made sense!"

"I was just kidding."
"Whatever."

"Why are you pressing so hard? You're going to break the board."
"I always press this hard. That's how you get the creases out. But I can't get them all out and it's stupid that I'm ironing all this shit anyway."

"Why don't you use the steamer?"
"What?"
"The steamer? On the iron? So it's easier?"

Blank face. Matt takes my water bottles and pours water into the whole at the top of the iron. Huh. That's what that's for. Instantly it's easier going.

"Well, it would've been nice to know about that before I ironed all of his clothes. Do all irons have that?"

*If Matt read my blog he'd be surprised to see this post because I made him swear that would be one of our little secrets because I felt like such a friggin' moron. But then I got to thinking and remembered that I'm so done with the me who pretended I was working toward being perfect. Good enough is just fine with me these days. Which means I won't be ironing the rest of baby's sheets, steam or no steam.

Patience Anyone?

I don't know if I've mentioned how much I loathe Babies R Us?

Which seems to have become sort of a necessary evil for me. I am sure I could get all the baby stuff I think I need in lots of different places but it is appealing to make a one-stop shopping trip. It's just that it's one loooooooooooooooooooooooooooong and painful stop. Basically, that is what I did today. Drove to Tigard and spent too damn long at Babies R Us. NOT because I'm so overcome by all the adorable things and want to spend time in there. But because something happens to my brain when those sliding doors open and I enter the Palace of All Things Baby. And I hit the return line which is staffed by one person. She's very nice but c'mon the line is six people deep, could you open up another lane already? The lady next to me asks if I'd mind moving over a little. "Can't. If I move I'll pee my pants." Because I've been holding it since Sherwood and I'll be damned if I lug this stuff one more step. And I don't even care if this bothers her. See, this is what pregnancy has done to me. I don't care so much what people think anymore. When people ask me what I'm craving, I'm tempted to reply, "my patience."

I'm not alone, I know it. Every aisle had women with bellies in various stages of pregnancy looking baffled by the selection.  I don't know, is velour or terry cloth better for a changing pad cover? Why in the hell do I need a cover? Wouldn't it be easier to just wipe down the plastic cover?

Then there's the whole mattress decision. Do I want to risk SIDS for my baby because I wanted to save $30 on a mattress? How should I know how many freaking gauge coils a baby mattress should have?

I will spare you the details of the breast pump supplies aisle in anticipation of good times ahead. You're welcome.

As I'm heading out to the truck I can't get over the fact that the total I paid was off from the running tally in my head. I check everything in the bags against the receipt and I've been overcharged by three extra canvas bins. I waddle back into the store and wait in line again and this turns into a 20 minute ordeal where the manager has to view the tape and I get to sit on what I'm sure is the shoplifters bench and wait and wait wondering if it wasn't worth the $30 just to be able to finally go home.

So, when Matt calls on his way home from work asking, "So, what'd you do today?" I almost cried. Matt worked his butt off last week and this weekend to get the nursery all dialed in now that it appears we'll be staying here awhile. He surprised me last night by having it all finished, painted, the new window installed and trimmed out, the crib assembled, shelves hung in the closet, vacuumed, etc. It looks awesome. My goal today was to surprise him by getting all the baby stuff organized and put away in the nursery so we could have some of the flat surfaces in our house back.

Maybe tomorrow.

At 36 weeks

In the locker room this morning, one of the older ladies came over to me and asked, "Are you going to have your baby in the water?"

"Um. Not if I can help it!" I am a little worried about my water breaking and having an embarrassing scene where they evacuate the pool and everyone is pointing and laughing at me. But that's more of a flashback to my middle school fears than reality. Because of course I won't say anything to anyone until I am safely in my car. Then I'll call them from my truck. After I've called Matt. See, it's okay. I've got it all planned out.

My baby appointment today shows Baby Chi Chi is still growing - the guesstimate is 6 1/2 or 7 pounds so far, his heart is beating away and my blood pressure is still good. The doc agrees that my hands, feet and ankles are really swollen and that yes, I look tired and he's sure I'm aching. His answer to those complaints? "Good. You're pregnant." Awesome. One of my favorite things about him is the little smile he gets when he's listening to the baby's heart. I usually cry when I hear it. I am just so excited to meet this little person. I bet he can't wait to tell me all about his feelings.

So far, I'm impressed by Baby Chi Chi's ability to simultaneously bounce his head on my bladder and kick me in the ribs. I am sure I will make up for this pain by poking him with a diaper pin or too. Thank God for Velcro and snaps on the diaper covers or else he'd look like a little heroin addict. But as far as inflicting pain on each other goes, I suppose we'll loose track of the score eventually.

For being an OB, my doctor seems a little shy, he assured me as he was facing away from me, writing something on my chart that it was "perfectly okay to have relations."

Relations? Oh, right. What got me here in the first place.

F word

What is a feminist?

Really, could the word be any more emotionally loaded?

I listened to an interview this morning with Jessica Valenti, creator of the Feministing blog and author of "Full Frontal Feminism." It reminded me of how disappointed I was when I read an interview where Susan Sarandon said she didn't call herself a feminist. I remember thinking, "If she's not a feminist, who is?" Valenti says in her book that a lot of women in our generation actually are feminists but refuse to call themselves such because of the stereotypes around feminism, as in the notion that to be a card-carrying member of the club you have to be a hairy-legged, bra-burning lesbian.

It also got me thinking back to a time when I considered it an "f" word of sorts. Of course I believed in equality! But did I really have to be a feminist to do that? Aren't feminists exhausted by being all agro all the time? I really bought into the idea that to be a feminist I had to be an angry man-hater. I liked guys. In fact, at that time I was particularly into dating pigs.

I'm not sure exactly when, but I realized that for me, being a feminist is about believing in equality and respecting the choices other women make. I'm proud of being one now. And I'm happy to be married to a man who bought this plaque for his classroom: "Feminism is the radical notion that women are people." I'm on the lookout for a onesie for Baby Chi Chi that says "Future Feminist."

Ani DiFranco addresses this on her album Educated Guess. This is an expert from her song "Grand Canyon of Light"

Like, say, the women who gave their lives
So that I could have one

People, we are standing at ground zero
Of the feminist revolution
Yeah, it was an inside job
Stoic and sly
One we're supposed to forget
And downplay and deny
But I think the time is nothing
If not nigh
To let the truth out
Coolest f-word ever deserves a fucking shout!
I mean
Why can't all decent men and women
Call themselves feminists?
Out of respect
For those who fought for this
I mean, look around
We have this