Warning: this blog contains lots of rambling about myself. Hence, the title. But the title is also in honor of Jack Kerouac, whose "On the Road" celebrated its 50th anniversary this year. Kerouac also wrote a book titled "Vanity of Duluoz". I tried reading it, but couldn't quite finish it before the library said I couldn't renew it anymore. That's what I get for being a pretentious 15-year-old trying to read stuff way above my understanding. Maybe I'll give it another shot now that I'm older and wiser (Ha!).
Yay!
I recently found out a friend of mine is pregnant too and I'm absolutely thrilled. Even though being pregnant is an exciting experience, it can be lonely at times. I'm not sure why, I guess because you're going through these emotions and physical changes that no matter how supportive your loved ones are (and believe me, they are), you still feel like you're kind of on your own to deal with the challenges. But, on the other hand, you're also the only one who gets to feel the baby rolling around in your womb, and nothing compares to that! I'm so glad I have someone special to experience all these sensations with.
Stupid Tube
My esophagus has decided to become a pretty useless organ at night and because of heartburn I've resorted to sleeping in a reclined position to keep the contents of my stomach from backing up into my throat. My back continues to cause the most discomfort, but they ordered me a new chair at work, so hopefully that will improve. My current chair is your standard, four-legged chair someone thought graduate students should be confined to as punishment for some reason or another.
We're Not Fat, Lazy Ladies
I now have a deeper understanding of things like the pregnant waddle and the huffing and puffing of prenant ladies. I used to think that it was just because they were carrying around 30 extra pounds and were not in shape. Now I know that it has more to do with the fact their organs are all squished up and competing for blood and oxygen with an ever-growing parasite. Do pregnant ladies really need their own parking spaces at Goody's? Probably not. Should strangers give up their seats on the bus or their spots in crowded elevators? That would be nice. Though, honestly, I probably needed the designated parking or the bus seats more my first trimester when fatigue hit me like a Mack truck. Now I really need the exercise.
49 Days to Go
My torso seems to think that there is simply no more room in there for baby. My rib cage, pelvis, and associated ligaments and tendons don't care that the baby still has six more weeks of growing to do; they think it's unfair they should be forced to deal with this pressure and they're making their complaints known to me. But as my D-Day (delivery day) approaches, I'm starting to get a little freaked out about the birthing process. I'm really struggling with decisions about epidurals and other "interventions." Before I got pregnant, I always said that I wanted to be totally drugged up, no question about it. But now that I've got this thing inside of me and its health has become my number one priority, I don't know what I want. Any kind of intervention (inducing, breaking the "bag of waters," etc.) increases the likelihood of needing further interventions - and of prolonging labor. All interventions have their inherent risks (certain drugs can cross the placenta, for instance); but so does being stubborn and not allowing the doctor to do what he or she thinks is best. Ideally, I'd like to breastfeed as soon as possible after delivery, but if I get a C-section or am completely doped up, I don't know how that fits in with those plans. I know it's probably silly to stress about these decisions because when the time comes, I'll probably not have a whole lot of control over what happens. But I am my father's daughter and I will stress out over that which I do not know nor have any measure of control over. Damn Frew genes. How come I coundn't outgrow these genes the same way I outgrew my blue jeans?
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Update
Because I should be working instead of blogging, I'll make this quick. Today I had a doctor's appointment. My weight is at 174.5 pounds, bringing my total weight gain to around 30 pounds (yes, I still have almost two months to go). Baby's heartbeat is at 157 - I thought it was supposed to slow down as it got bigger, but apparently baby takes after mommy in this regard (I've always had a faster heartbeat). Does this mean I'll have an anxious child? My uterus measures 33 centimeters. The doctor said I'm still about a week ahead of schedule (at my last two appointments he said I was ahead of schedule). I told him I hoped that was an indication that I'll deliver early. He just smiled and said "maybe." I'm hoping his smile was sincere and hopeful, not condescending in a "oh, what a silly girl" kind of way. The nurse said the doctor will begin regular pelvic exams around week 36. How sad is it that that got me excited?
In other news, we attended our first birthing class last night. It was pretty much what I expected, complete with cheesy "relaxation" exercise and explicit video. Honestly, the video wasn't that bad, though the part where the doctor held the placenta up to the mother's face was kind of gross. The nurse assured us that isn't standard procedure. I know I certainly don't want to be looking at that thing right after I had a baby (or any other time, for that matter). Next week we get to visit the (brand-new) maternity ward at the hospital. I love field trips!
Our nursery is getting close to being an actual bedroom instead of a storage closet. We've washed all the clothes, blankets, and washclothes. Everybody told us that because we weren't finding out the sex of the baby, we wouldn't get any baby clothes. Boy, were they wrong. We have oodles of 0-3 month clothes. Yes, they are mostly yellow and green, but they are all so precious, who cares! We're waiting on the yellow swivel rocker to be delivered (courtesy of Granny and GG) and once that gets here, I can rearrange the nursery furniture for the 88th (and 89th, 90th, 91st) time. I promise I'll get some pictures up when that time comes. But if I don't, you can't get mad at me. I'm pregnant.
In other news, we attended our first birthing class last night. It was pretty much what I expected, complete with cheesy "relaxation" exercise and explicit video. Honestly, the video wasn't that bad, though the part where the doctor held the placenta up to the mother's face was kind of gross. The nurse assured us that isn't standard procedure. I know I certainly don't want to be looking at that thing right after I had a baby (or any other time, for that matter). Next week we get to visit the (brand-new) maternity ward at the hospital. I love field trips!
Our nursery is getting close to being an actual bedroom instead of a storage closet. We've washed all the clothes, blankets, and washclothes. Everybody told us that because we weren't finding out the sex of the baby, we wouldn't get any baby clothes. Boy, were they wrong. We have oodles of 0-3 month clothes. Yes, they are mostly yellow and green, but they are all so precious, who cares! We're waiting on the yellow swivel rocker to be delivered (courtesy of Granny and GG) and once that gets here, I can rearrange the nursery furniture for the 88th (and 89th, 90th, 91st) time. I promise I'll get some pictures up when that time comes. But if I don't, you can't get mad at me. I'm pregnant.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
I Swear
Here are a few things I swear I will never do as a parent.
1. I swear I will never let my young child wander through a Wal-Mart parking lot barefoot (older children are on their own; they should know better).
2. I swear I will never take my two-year-old to an R-rated movie full of cussing, subtitles, and gunshot wounds to the head. And, no, covering his face with a shirt when things get a little too gorey does not excuse your decision. On a side note, "The Kingdom" is definitely a movie worth checking out with your adult friends and relatives.
3. I swear I will never apply for the WIC (Women, Infants, and Children) program while driving around my tricked-out, double-cab Ford F150 with tires the size of mini-coopers.
Now that I've been all judgemental and snooty, I'll list the mistakes I fully expect to make as a parent time and time again.
1. I will be hypocritical. I will tell people I will not spoil my child and shower him or her with material items, then go crazy at Target buying things that are oh-my-gosh-that-is-just-too-cute!!!
2. I will lose my temper. Again, and again, and again. I like to think I can maintain my cool at most times, but on occasion, I can lose it. My dad likes to remind me of this on a regular basis (usually in reference to "peeling" out of the driveway). But believe me, it wasn't easy growing up as Chuck's daughter. I just hope my anger and frustration doesn't manifest itself in an unhealthy way - you know, like lashing out at some poor, unsuspecting husband, dog, or whatever innocent creature stands in my way.
3. I will have unrealistic expectations. Just because I quit about three different instruments and five sports does not excuse my child from becoming a baseball/violin/mathematics prodigy. It is my child's responsibility to make up for all my shortcomings otherwise he/she will have to eat dog food and sleep on the roof. I'm kidding! Mostly.
In all seriousness, I know I'm not going to be the worst mom in the world. Probably not the best, but I've been lucky enough to have some good examples to follow. I hope I'm like my mom - always calm and collected, and down-right smart; I hope I'm like Andy's mom - creative and instilling the love of animals into any kid she comes in contact with; and I hope I'm like Ralphie's mom (from "A Christmas Story") - incredibly understanding and forgiving, a doting wife, and not willing to put up with any crap, like the glowing sex lamp.
1. I swear I will never let my young child wander through a Wal-Mart parking lot barefoot (older children are on their own; they should know better).
2. I swear I will never take my two-year-old to an R-rated movie full of cussing, subtitles, and gunshot wounds to the head. And, no, covering his face with a shirt when things get a little too gorey does not excuse your decision. On a side note, "The Kingdom" is definitely a movie worth checking out with your adult friends and relatives.
3. I swear I will never apply for the WIC (Women, Infants, and Children) program while driving around my tricked-out, double-cab Ford F150 with tires the size of mini-coopers.
Now that I've been all judgemental and snooty, I'll list the mistakes I fully expect to make as a parent time and time again.
1. I will be hypocritical. I will tell people I will not spoil my child and shower him or her with material items, then go crazy at Target buying things that are oh-my-gosh-that-is-just-too-cute!!!
2. I will lose my temper. Again, and again, and again. I like to think I can maintain my cool at most times, but on occasion, I can lose it. My dad likes to remind me of this on a regular basis (usually in reference to "peeling" out of the driveway). But believe me, it wasn't easy growing up as Chuck's daughter. I just hope my anger and frustration doesn't manifest itself in an unhealthy way - you know, like lashing out at some poor, unsuspecting husband, dog, or whatever innocent creature stands in my way.
3. I will have unrealistic expectations. Just because I quit about three different instruments and five sports does not excuse my child from becoming a baseball/violin/mathematics prodigy. It is my child's responsibility to make up for all my shortcomings otherwise he/she will have to eat dog food and sleep on the roof. I'm kidding! Mostly.
In all seriousness, I know I'm not going to be the worst mom in the world. Probably not the best, but I've been lucky enough to have some good examples to follow. I hope I'm like my mom - always calm and collected, and down-right smart; I hope I'm like Andy's mom - creative and instilling the love of animals into any kid she comes in contact with; and I hope I'm like Ralphie's mom (from "A Christmas Story") - incredibly understanding and forgiving, a doting wife, and not willing to put up with any crap, like the glowing sex lamp.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
So Loved
I have never believed that material items can truly display one's love and affection for another. But this last week has presented an awfully strong argument against that standpoint. Last weekend my stepmother and stepsister held a baby shower for Andy and me. It was held in Huntsville at my dad's house. There was food, games, football, alcohol, more food, and the world's biggest cake. It was like an SEC gameday party and a baby shower all rolled into one. My two best friends from high school were there - the first time we've all three gotten together since Lindsey's wedding over three years ago. My uncle and aunt arrived from Atlanta toting a relic from the Frew family past (an awesome rocking horse crafted almost 100 years ago, most likely by the Amish). Dyer family friends from Chattanooga were there with embarassing pictures of pre-teen Andy in hand. And Dad's Sunday School class (including members I've never met before) showed up in droves to show their support. Once everyone left, we were left with a dining room stuffed with gifts (and a long list of Thank You notes to write).
Yesterday, my friend Keesha threw me a surprise baby shower here in Auburn. She got quite a few people in on the gig and, boy, was I surprised. I thought I was just going for an ordinary lunch with my friend Emily, but when I arrived at Ruby Tuesdays, there was a dozen ladies there cheering with balloons, cake, and the whole shebang. I was embarrased and instantly regretted not having showered that morning (don't worry, I at least took a bath the night before). It was fun and they showered Baby Dyer with more gifts (though, I guess that's the point of a 'shower').
So now, after all this showering (of gifts, not me physically), our nursery looks like a baby store exploded in it. We still have a few supplies to get, but it has become clear that our friends and family are not going to let our baby go without plenty of onesies, teething rings, travel accomodations, and soothing play things. We don't know much about our little heaven-sent gift, but we know that he/she is already so loved.
Yesterday, my friend Keesha threw me a surprise baby shower here in Auburn. She got quite a few people in on the gig and, boy, was I surprised. I thought I was just going for an ordinary lunch with my friend Emily, but when I arrived at Ruby Tuesdays, there was a dozen ladies there cheering with balloons, cake, and the whole shebang. I was embarrased and instantly regretted not having showered that morning (don't worry, I at least took a bath the night before). It was fun and they showered Baby Dyer with more gifts (though, I guess that's the point of a 'shower').
So now, after all this showering (of gifts, not me physically), our nursery looks like a baby store exploded in it. We still have a few supplies to get, but it has become clear that our friends and family are not going to let our baby go without plenty of onesies, teething rings, travel accomodations, and soothing play things. We don't know much about our little heaven-sent gift, but we know that he/she is already so loved.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Things I Love, Things I Hate, Part 2
This is a follow up to my initial "Things I Love, Things I Hate" posting (August 23). This time I'll list the things I hate first, so I can end on a happier note.
Things I Hate
Need for sleep. I'm tired of being tired - I'm ready to have a nice, flat belly I can sleep on every night (another reason I don't want a C-section). My belly is too big to sleep on. When I lie on my side my shoulder or my back hurts. I'm not supposed to lie on my back (something about circulation and cutting of the baby's supply of oxygen - scary!). I've tried a variety of pillows in a variety of positions. What's a girl to do?
Superhuman sense of smell. I know I mentioned this in Part 1, but it really deserves a second go-round. Today I went to heat up part of my lunch in the microwave on the second floor of Comer and just about threw up all over myself. Someone had left their lunch in the microwave - it smelled like he or she had disemboweled a cow and tried to cook it in the microwave. Now, normally working with students and professors from around the globe is an enlightening experience, but dang, can some of the food those folks bring in smell funky. Now, for all I know, my Campbell's Soup at Hand can be just as stinky to them as their intestines-and-rice combo to me - but I seriously doubt it.
Carefree-No-More Freakouts. Commercials for cruise lines. Stories of alcohol-fueled freshman year hijinks. Pictures of camping in the Rocky Mountains. These are all things that remind us: Holy crap! We're never going to have fun again! No, I know that's not true, but gosh darn it, it's a little frightening thinking that our lives are about to change forever and suddenly we'll have this precious little human at the center of it all. When it comes time to plan our vacation, we won't be asking ourselves "where would it be cool to go explore this year?" Instead, we'll be asking "do you think airplanes will let us carry on a Pack 'n Play so we can go visit/crash on the couches of family members in Virginia?" We're about to have to acquire some serious compromising skills.
Things I Love
Personality possiblities. I love to think about all the different personalities my baby may end up with (but hopefully not all at once - I don't want a schizophrenic after all). Will she/he be quiet and pensive? Or cheerful and rowdy? If baby gets Andy's ADD and my OCD, what kind of life is he/she in for? Maybe the kid will get lucky and get Andy's charm and sensitivity, my knack for logic puzzles and celebrity trivia, and our combined passion for animals and wildlife. I think that would be a pretty fantastic little kid.
Party in my belly. I love, love, love feeling baby rockin' and rollin' in my womb. It's especially fun when it's strong enough that other people can see it. When it's wiggling all over the place, it's telling me two things: "Hey momma, I'm here and I'm doing great!" Most of the time baby is only super-active during early afternoon. Sometimes he/she moves at night, but rarely. Except at 3 a.m. last night when Domino tore a shelf off our foyer wall (don't ask how) and Sullivan got very upset and did his mean bark. Andy and I got up to make sure everything was ok. Apparently baby wanted to join in on the fun because she/he began rolling around for a while. But even in the middle of the night, it thrills me to no end.
Celebration of Me! How often in your life does everyone in the world want to know how you're doing, how you're feeling, and what your plans for the future are? Friends, strangers, people that don't like you - they are all curious about these things and aren't afraid to let you know it. You get to have baby showers and devote entire blogs to yourself! You get to be vain and talk about yourself - but because you're carrying around a fleshy watermelon and waddle when you walk up the stairs, people think your selfless and a pseudo-hero. It's great!
Things I Hate
Need for sleep. I'm tired of being tired - I'm ready to have a nice, flat belly I can sleep on every night (another reason I don't want a C-section). My belly is too big to sleep on. When I lie on my side my shoulder or my back hurts. I'm not supposed to lie on my back (something about circulation and cutting of the baby's supply of oxygen - scary!). I've tried a variety of pillows in a variety of positions. What's a girl to do?
Superhuman sense of smell. I know I mentioned this in Part 1, but it really deserves a second go-round. Today I went to heat up part of my lunch in the microwave on the second floor of Comer and just about threw up all over myself. Someone had left their lunch in the microwave - it smelled like he or she had disemboweled a cow and tried to cook it in the microwave. Now, normally working with students and professors from around the globe is an enlightening experience, but dang, can some of the food those folks bring in smell funky. Now, for all I know, my Campbell's Soup at Hand can be just as stinky to them as their intestines-and-rice combo to me - but I seriously doubt it.
Carefree-No-More Freakouts. Commercials for cruise lines. Stories of alcohol-fueled freshman year hijinks. Pictures of camping in the Rocky Mountains. These are all things that remind us: Holy crap! We're never going to have fun again! No, I know that's not true, but gosh darn it, it's a little frightening thinking that our lives are about to change forever and suddenly we'll have this precious little human at the center of it all. When it comes time to plan our vacation, we won't be asking ourselves "where would it be cool to go explore this year?" Instead, we'll be asking "do you think airplanes will let us carry on a Pack 'n Play so we can go visit/crash on the couches of family members in Virginia?" We're about to have to acquire some serious compromising skills.
Things I Love
Personality possiblities. I love to think about all the different personalities my baby may end up with (but hopefully not all at once - I don't want a schizophrenic after all). Will she/he be quiet and pensive? Or cheerful and rowdy? If baby gets Andy's ADD and my OCD, what kind of life is he/she in for? Maybe the kid will get lucky and get Andy's charm and sensitivity, my knack for logic puzzles and celebrity trivia, and our combined passion for animals and wildlife. I think that would be a pretty fantastic little kid.
Party in my belly. I love, love, love feeling baby rockin' and rollin' in my womb. It's especially fun when it's strong enough that other people can see it. When it's wiggling all over the place, it's telling me two things: "Hey momma, I'm here and I'm doing great!" Most of the time baby is only super-active during early afternoon. Sometimes he/she moves at night, but rarely. Except at 3 a.m. last night when Domino tore a shelf off our foyer wall (don't ask how) and Sullivan got very upset and did his mean bark. Andy and I got up to make sure everything was ok. Apparently baby wanted to join in on the fun because she/he began rolling around for a while. But even in the middle of the night, it thrills me to no end.
Celebration of Me! How often in your life does everyone in the world want to know how you're doing, how you're feeling, and what your plans for the future are? Friends, strangers, people that don't like you - they are all curious about these things and aren't afraid to let you know it. You get to have baby showers and devote entire blogs to yourself! You get to be vain and talk about yourself - but because you're carrying around a fleshy watermelon and waddle when you walk up the stairs, people think your selfless and a pseudo-hero. It's great!
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Deja Vu
Man, I'm tired. Boy, does my head hurt. Gee, this reminds me of my first trimester. Only this time I fit into a fraction of my clothes and tying my shoes is a real pain in the butt. T-minus 92 days, people.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Apparently, I'm Boring
I had a checkup today with the doctor. I had my blood sugar tested. I was told I am boring. Medically speaking, that is. Like airplane rides and trips to the DMV, you want doctors' visits to be uneventful, right? My blood sugar is fine, my blood pressure is good, my weight gain is normal (really? 23 pounds already is normal?), and my uterus growth is on schedule (27 centimeters - whatever that means). Even my "problems" are mundane (back pain and heartburn, whoopi!). So I should be happy, right? Well, I am. But a tiny, weird, selfish part of me wishes that something would be sort of wrong (but not really) so I can get more ultrasounds or visit the doctor more often and listen to the heartbeat. I also can't help but wonder, if everything is going so swimmingly right now, am I bound to suffer some horrid fate come D-Day (Delivery Day)? Am I going to be the patient all the other patients are wispering about ("I heard she's been here 52 hours, needed three epidurals, and had two episiotomies!")? Oh, I'm sure everthing will be alright. I just hope I'm not SO boring, my doctor becomes complacent, forgets about me, and I have to deliver in the hallway of EAMC with only a very frightened (and possibly drunk) Andy by my side.
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