Need... baby... NOW!
Yesterday, we gathered our friends for an impromptu picnic/grillout. All told, there were 20 adults and 9 kids (if I'm not forgetting anyone, that is).
The three youngest children were all under a year old, and two of those babies were under three months old. There could have been one more one-month-old, but her Mommy said that both baby and Daddy were in crabby, pissy moods, so he volunteered to stay home with baby so Mommy could go have a good time. I missed seeing my littlest NOMH, but it was so nice to see my girlfriend out and about and having fun!
But... three babies under a year old? Two babies under three months old? Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!! Baby NOW!!!!!!!!!
Open Letter to my Baby-Not-Yet-Conceived
Dear Baby,
Sometimes when Mommy and Daddy are upset with each other, Mommy says really mean things to Daddy that she doesn't really mean. Mommy tries really hard not to do it to Daddy, and I give you permission to tell me that I'm being a beeyotch if I ever do it to you. And I don't care how young you are - if I'm truly being a beeyotch, I give you full permission to use that word.
Love,
Mommy
Validation
My newest NOMH was born at the hospital in the town where we used to live, which has not only recently been rebuilt, but is also the hospital where I've decided I want to give birth (as discussed in a pervious post). Understandably, I was curious to see how the rooms had changed since my first NOMH was born six years ago.
I was very impressed. The room was much brighter and more inviting. You now labor, deliver and spend your stay in the same room. There is a whirlpool in the bathroom to help ease labor, there is a DVD player so you can watch what you'd like while laboring, there are dimmer switches so you can have the lighting you're most comfortable with, and there is not only a glider and ottoman, but a recliner as well. Not too shabby for a small-ish midwestern town, huh?
Throw in the fact that quite a few of our friends as well as one set of our future baby's grandparents live in that town as well, and I think we'll be just fine there.
I'm an "Auntie" again!
One of the neatest things about having a group of really close girlfriends is that no matter how much younger than you your nearest-in-age sibling (or for me, my only sibling, who is 6 years younger than me) is, you can still be an Auntie. I call them NOMH - Niece/Nephew of My Heart. We may not share a biological bond, but I am their Auntie Kat. And that makes me happy. :)
Earlier this week, one of my best friends had a beautiful little baby girl. She has beautiful deep blue eyes, a shock of hair the same color as her daddy's, the sweetest little cupid's bow lips, and the cutest little button nose, wiggly toes and teeny tiny fingernails. She is absolutely perfect.
And I am going to love her forever.
So, um... yeah
I've been a little nervous about the big 3-0 looming later this year, not because I'm worried about getting "old," but because I'm worried about the fact that my mom went into menopause quite early - I had quite the interesting chat with her the other day.
She used to be fairly regular, then when she was right around my age, her periods started becoming more and more spaced out, until finally by around age 33 or so they were so far apart they were pretty much every other month. She had her final period at the age of 42.
I didn't really need to hear this a couple of months after I started going longer between periods. Even when I wasn't on BC, I used to be every 27, 28 days or so. I noticed they'd been a little further apart last year, but chalked it up to stress. However, my last 4 periods have all been 35-37 days apart.
I have my mom's hands - do I have her uterus, too? Yet another confirmation that it's time.
Don't name it
One night last month, we were at that point in the evening where we knew "the deed" was a distinct possibility but not yet 100% confirmed (oh shut up, you know what I'm talking about). The hubby asked me the $64,000 question... "so, is this for fun or for profit?" I'd be lying if I said I wasn't momentarily confused. But hey - I was about to get some, you can't expect me be fully rational when "some" is in the offing.
So at that point, we began to classify the deed into two categories - fun and profit. Fun being the times where there's no chance of conception, profit being the times where we might just make ourselves a baby.
BIIIIIIIIIIG MISTAKE.
Even though we're not long into this whole procreation business, I already have a few words of advice. Okay, well, maybe 9 words:
DO.
NOT.
DO.
THIS.
IT.
JUST.
MAKES.
YOU.
NERVOUS.
"...and that's why Mommy and Daddy are going to hell."
Being in a corner unit, our apartment is blessed (no pun intended) with windows on two sides of the apartment, rather than just one. This means that not only do we have a view out the front of the building, but the side as well. Our computer room and bedroom windows have a great view of the fundie-type church next door. Heathens that we are, we thought it fairly ironic.
But... it gets better. The church's building - the place where the congregants gather - is quite obviously a manufactured house (that there's a fancy word for mobile home, which in and of itself is a fancy word for trailer). I don't know how it came about, but the fundie-type church has a new nickname.
My lovely husband has christened (pun fully intended) the place of worship "Our Lady of the Holy Double-Wide."
And this, dear baby-not-yet-conceived, is why Mommy and Daddy are going to hell. You're welcome to come along for the ride, but we'll be the ones driving the bus.
To save for college, or not to save for college?
Paying for college worries me, and part of me desperately wants to start a
529 plan. On one hand, my parents didn't pay for me to go to college, and I did okay. On the other hand, I'm $25K in debt. Back to the first hand, I'm a college dropout and I'd guess my parents would be rather pissed had they squirreled away a ton of money, only to see me not get a degree. Back the the second hand, not every kid goes to college, nor are they "college material."
So here I sit.
For an as-of-yet non-parent, I've spent quite a few years as a member of various internet communities geared toward parenting. Up until now, the draw has been that a lot of these folks are way cool. But as the time to have a baby gets closer and closer, the words I read there have started to take on a whole new meaning, which brings me to this post.
All of the boards I've been on have from time to time been peppered with discussions on how expensive school can be.
Public school. From fundraisers to book sales to field trips to school photos, from preschool all the way through prom, schools are so woefully underfunded that they are forced to turn to the parents to be their cash cows. Even back-to-school is pricey, what with all the new clothes and supplies. And apparently these days, the teachers are requiring more supplies than I ever had to bring.
As a child of parents who lived paycheck-to-paycheck with no viable means of savings (unless my dad cut out bowling and beer and my mom stopped smoking), I was always the kid who had to wait until the 11th hour to turn in my field trip permission slip (complete with a check written to the school and signed by my mom) because they didn't know if they'd have the money. I was always the kid with only a sandwich and
maybe a juice box, trolling the gift shop for something I had enough money to buy, while the other kids were having a grand old time snacking on their perfectly-packed, snack filled lunches and on their field trip gift shop spending sprees. I was the one who had to carefully choose one book from the bargain rack with the
maybe $5.00 mom was able to scrounge from her purse the morning of Book Sale Day while the other kids brought in a couple of crisp Tens or Twenties and went to town. I was always the kid who never had enough notebooks, paste, glue, crayons, markers, rulers, pens, pencils, scissors, whatever. I was the kid who had sucky dioramas because we didn't have enough materials at home to make them, but my parents didn't have enough money to buy the materials anyway. And even if we'd had the money, my mom worked nights and my dad was so uninvolved that he wouldn't have brought me to the store anyway - it always had to wait for the weekend, which most of the time was too late.
And we
never had a frickin' shoebox.
I distinctly remember one field trip in particular where we went to Mystic Seaport. The money I had been given for lunch and souvenirs wasn't even enough to cover lunch, and a chaperone took pity on me and covered the rest. And then there was a freak downpour, and the same chaperone ponied up money from her own wallet to buy me a cheap rain poncho. To this day, I can't even describe how embarrassing it was to be the kid for whom Christina's mom had to buy a rain poncho.
In junior high, I didn't go to the graduation dance, because the only gown I could find that was appropriate that fit me properly was deemed "too expensive" by my mother. She said "I might spend that much on a prom dress, but not for 9th grade graduation!" Ironically enough, she spent 4x that amount on my prom dress, but not without having to cash in a couple of savings bonds I got at birth.
Anyway, enough complaining. I think I've made my point, LOL.
The bottom line is that my parents never thought to prepare for that kind of thing, and while I know I can't spare my child every pain and embarrassment that might come his or her way, I want to have some control over the preventable. In other words, I don't want my child being the one caught out in the rain without a poncho.
I think what I'd much rather do is start a savings account with a high-interest yield and deposit money into that, and use the money for all school-related expenses throughout my child's life. Book Sales, fundraisers, field trips, dances, prom... all of it. My child will participate as he or she sees fit. And while I will keep a rein on the account and not just give the kid carte-blanche to run roughshod through the balance*, neither will my child have to suffer the embarrassment of being the one who can't participate. And whatever's left will help pay for college expenses.
*Honestly, I probably won't even tell the kid of the account's existence until he or she starts a family of his or her own. Our child will be taught the value of a dollar, and will be taught to have a good work ethic. The child will grow up knowing that you have to work for what you get. And if there is ever a time where my child does not participate in a school activity, it won't be for lack of funds or my unwillingness to plunk down the cash for "just another school ripoff." It will be through choices he or she made as to the kind of person they are, as part of teaching them that their actions have consequences.
Name change!
I changed my name... rather than Mrs. TwoYears, it's now just "Me." The hubby thought the original name was silly - but didn't say what name he thought would be better. He's always on my butt about that kind of thing - don't say you don't like it without giving an alternative.
So honey... what should it be? {bats eyelashes}
Getting here
For almost my entire life, I have known I wanted to be a mom. I say "almost" because there were a few years of ambivalence. I am inherently selfish. I like my alone time, I like sleeping in on the weekends, I certainly enjoy the freedoms that being child-free afford:
Freedom to spend disposable income on meaningless-to-anyone-but-me stuff.
Freedom to "pick up and go" on a moment's notice.
Freedom to just be whoever and however I want to be, no matter how crabby or selfish or bitchy or anti-social or lazy that might be at any given moment, without fear of how that would affect my progeny.
But fearful as I may be about any loss of freedoms, perceived or actual, I've come to discover that I fear being forever child-free
more.
Who needs another pair of $15
Payless shoes when I can buy something fun for baby (like $10 Payless
baby shoes!), or even squirrel that money away for school-related expenses? Who says you can't pick up and go - isn't that what car seats and diaper bags are for? Who says that having a baby won't fill me with such joy and wonder that maybe I won't be as crabby as I would previously like to have been?
Okay, maybe that last one is a bit of a pipe dream. Everyone has bad days. As much as nobody wants to admit it, I've been assured by all of my childed friends that yes, there are indeed days where you want to hurl the screaming mass of quivering flesh out the window and have lunch with your friends... or even just yourself. Or maybe not even lunch. Just something
quiet and non-demanding.
But then I stop and think... for me, there has to be more to life than buying things and sleeping late and being anti-social. Some people prefer to remain child-free, but I don't think I'm cut out for that life. I understand it, and I respect it, and I think that if you're of sound enough mind to realize that it's right for you, more power to you - there are too many unwanted babies born today for wrong reasons. Some sense of familial obligation... thinking it's somehow selfish to not have children... fear that you'll forever mess up your life by not taking "the next logical step." If you know that you're not parent material, by all means, don't have kids. And for a few years, I wasn't sure if I was parent material.
But watching so many of my friends and coworkers become parents, I've realized... I'm not child-free material.
The ultimate decision to actively try to become a mother is the end of a journey I started a few years ago when I first started thinking that having a kid might not be for me. But as cliched as this may sounds, it's also the beginning of the rest of my life.
I have never been more at peace with a decision I've made than this one.
Is 35 minutes really too far to drive?
Mr. TY and I had a conversation based on my previous post. As of right now, I have decided to keep seeing Cindy, even though it will mean a 35-minute drive each way for appointments, and a 35-minute trip to the hospital for delivery. It can't be that bad... can it?
After today's horrendous appointment, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make to keep my doctor. I'm comfortable with her. I'm more comfortable with the hospital there than I am with the one here. And after all, stress about doctors and hospitals is something I shouldn't have to worry about during pregnancy/labor/delivery.
I'm certainly not in denial about the fact that I'm not at the healthiest possible weight to think about TTC. But I have been taking steps in that direction, and there's nothing that says I can't continue a healthy lifestyle during and after pregnancy. I used to work with a woman who was obese (by BMI standards) when she found out she was pregnant - the minute she found out, she quit smoking, stopped drinking soda and caffeinated beverages, even gave up her beloved
Excedrin Migraine. She started walking daily and eating a more healthful diet - when she went into labor, she was in the best shape of her life and went home from the hospital at the lowest weight she'd been since high school - all the while having a perfectly healthy pregnancy, the end result of which was a gorgeous little baby boy.
I'm not saying that I am guaranteed to have her luck. But if I'm going to do this, I refuse to allow myself to be made to feel like I'm a bad person. I will not be making this journey with a doctor who makes me feel inferior, who makes me feel as though I'm not worth her time before conception and that she'll just be "dealing with me" on the off-chance I go and get myself knocked up before she feels it's right. I want to make this journey with a medical professional who will take an active interest in not only helping me achieve my goals, but who makes me feel like a valuable member of society, unlike Little Miss "I'll Grudgingly Deal With You."
This is supposed to be the most joyous time in my life, and I will not allow my doctor - one of the people who is supposed to be most supportive of my "medical condition" other than friends and family - bring me down. I've been brought down too many times during my 29+ years by less-than-well-meaning people to let my own doctor do it to me.
I'm keeping Cindy.
Waaaaah!! Can I import my old CNM? PLEASE?!
Having only recently moved to the town in which Mr. TY and I live, I hadn't had much of a chance to explore what the town has to offer in the way of OB/GYNs. For the last 5 or 6 years, I'd gone to a Certified Nurse Midwife (CNM) for my gynecological care. Cindy's awesome - she has always been supportive of my reproductive choices (i.e., baby timing, birth control choices, etc.), and encouraged me to be open and honest with her about when I felt the time was right to have a baby.
When I mentioned during my last annual exam that Mr. TY and I would probably start TTC within a year or two, and told her of the worries I have (I'm significantly overweight), she explained to me that while she wouldn't lie to me about possible complications that could arise from being overweight before and throughout prenancy, she assured me that she'd had many patients around my size that went through happy and healthy pregnancies, resulting in happy and healthy babies. She then changed a medication I'd been taking to one that had the same effect but was safer for pregnancy, just to start getting ready.
I decided that since we were in a new town, I should probably start seeing a new doctor. After all, there is a hospital in this new town, and I'd probably wind up delivering there, rather than at the one 35 minutes away, in the old town. I chose Dr. D based on the fact that she has an office in the new town, she takes my insurance, and I really liked her profile and video introduction on her medical group's website.
According to Dr. D's profile and video introduction, she prides herself on having an open dialogue with her patients, and talking with them, not down to them. She seemed very nice and very personable. Apparently, she's more of a salesperson than a doctor, and she's an expert in false advertising.
Her profile asserts that one of her hobbies is "immersing herself in cooking and cuisine." A ha! A fellow foodie! This'll be great - she may be a doctor, and I may be "just another fat chick who wants to get pregnant," but at least we'll have something to talk about, right? Right?!
Wrong.
At one point in our discussion, after she recommended Weight Watchers and gastric bypass (after telling me in not so many words that I'd probably either have a miscarriage or a baby with several birth defects, then tell me that of course if I did manage to get pregnant that "we'd certainly deal with you" - gee thanks), she mentioned that I should cut down on preprocessed foods. Um, what? Way to ASSume, lady. We're not perfect. The mister and I do enjoy a little bit of crap food on occasion, but by and large, our problem is not with the quality of our food. We have a quantity problem. I'll be the first to admit that portion control is an issue. But preprocessed food? Feh. Very little of what I eat is preprocessed. We subscribe to the theory of "perimeter shopping" - most of our groceries come from the perimeter of the grocery store, which in most stores is where the freshest, most healthful ingredients are located. Fresh produce, lean meats, dairy, etc. Of course we venture into the aisles to find baking supplies, vinegars, healthy oils, etc., but for the most part most of our items come from the perimeter. I told her that both my husband and I love to cook and that we always use fresh and healthful ingredients.
I thought that would be the perfect segue into making a connection on more than a doctor-patient level - a discussion about the joys of cooking -
healthy cooking at that. Boy, was I ever wrong.
Her response? A tight, forced smile. "Uum, yeah, cooking is nice." So much for immersing yourself in cuisine and cooking. People who are passionate about something usually rejoice in finding someone to dish with (pun not intended). Maybe in her eyes I'm just a fat chick who has a pipe dream of getting pregnant and she doesn't feel she's allowed to show enthusiasm about the fact that I'd even
mentioned food? And since I'm so fat, of course there's no way I'm not chowing down on Lunchables and Haagen-Dazs. Where the eyeroll icon when you need it?
I'm so non-confrontational it's disgusting, but even
I was ready to give her what-for. But then she said the magic words: "and of course, I deliver in XYZtown." XYZtown is not the town in which I live.
When I said "oh, so you don't deliver at ABC Hospital," she looked visibly relieved. She vigorously shook her head and said "no, only in XYZtown - if you want to deliver at ABC Hospital, you'll need to see someone in 123 Medical Group." She then abruptly got up, shook my hand and said "well, thanks for stopping by," and walked out the door.
And with that, she was gone. So, I'll not be going back to her, but at least my non-confrontational self doesn't have to tell her why.
Or maybe I will.
I wonder if I can contact my CNM's office and see if she would have a recommendation?
The Magic Number
Ever since we started talking about babies oh so many years ago, one song has always meant a lot to us.
Three is a magic number,
Yes it is, it's a magic number.
Somewhere in the ancient, mystic trinity
You get three as a magic number.
The past and the present and the future.
Faith and Hope and Charity,
The heart and the brain and the body
Give you three as a magic number.
It takes three legs to make a tri-pod
Or to make a table stand.
It takes three wheels to make a ve-hicle
Called a tricycle.
Every triangle has three corners,
Every triangle has three sides,
No more, no less.
You don't have to guess.
When it's three you can see
It's a magic number.
A man and a woman had a little baby,
Yes, they did.
They had three in the family,
And that's a magic number.
3-6-9, 12-15-18, 21-24-27, 30.
3-6-9, 12-15-18, 21-24-27, 30.
Multiply backwards from three times ten:
Three time ten is (30), three times nine is (27),
Three times eight is (24), three times seven is (21),
Three times six is (18), three times five is (15),
Three times four is twelve,
And three times three is nine, and three times two is six,
And three times one is three of course.
Now take the pattern once more:
Three! . . .3-6-9
Twelve! . . .12-15-18
Twenty-one!. . .21-24-27. . .30
Now multiply from 10 backwards:
Three time ten is (30 - Keep going), three times nine is (27),
Three times eight is (24), three times seven is (21),
Three times six is (18), three times five is (15),
Three times four is twelve,
And three times three is nine, and three times two is six,
And three times one...
What is it?!
Three!
Yeah, That's a magic number.
A man and a woman had a little baby.
Yes, they did.
They had three in the family.
That's a magic number.
Yep,
Schoolhouse Rock. Go ahead and laugh. I tear up every time.
Why now?
So after reading my last post, you may have assumed that Mr. TY and I are now homeowners. Well, notsomuch. A few weeks ago, we thought there was a possibility that I was pregnant. The "deed" happened at the wrong time during my cycle, but my period was 9 days late. My cycle usually runs anywhere from 28-30 days, and it's really never deviated from that.
But a magical thing happened - while some might deem that a pregnancy "scare," neither of us were scared at all. We were actually pretty excited. And honestly, owning a house scares the crap out of me. I love the fact that as a renter, if something is wrong with my apartment, someone else is required to pony up the cash to fix it. I am absolutely petrified that if/when we buy a house, one day, when we finally have a nice financial cushion, that it will be blown to bits by a new roof, new furnace, new kitchen floor, new driveway, etc. We have spent so many years getting kicked in the gut financially just as we started to finally get ahead that I don't want to do it any longer.
Sure, I might be writing a check every month with nothing really to show for it at the end of 30 years, but you know what? There's a lot that I pay for with nothing to show for it - cell phone bill, heat, electric, cable, internet, gas, etc. I'll continue to "throw away" my money on rent (and I really don't consider it throwing away money when I have the security of knowing that I can actually build up a savings cushion without worrying about what major appliance will "go" next), while building up a nice nest egg.
To make a long story
short not quite as long, we've been waiting for an ideal situation that might take years more to happen, and we're not getting any younger. Even if I were in the early stages of pregnancy at this very minute, we'd be 30 and 35 before the wee one made his/her grand entrance.
It's time.
My name
I chose the name Mrs. TwoYears for one reason, and one reason only. Ever since we were planning our wedding, Mr. TwoYears and I have been asked many many times when we were planning to have kids. The conversation would go a little something like this:
Them: "So, when are you guys gonna have a baaaaybeeeeee?"
Us: "Mortgage before baby."
At that point, I would usually add something like "yeah, my parents were renters when I came along, and they weren't able to afford a house until I was almost 13. I have no intention of being a 40-year-old renter."
Them: "Well, when are you gonna buy a house?"
Us: "Two years."
We've been saying that for almost four years now.
Hi! *waving*
My husband and I have recently decided that we are going to start trying to get me "knocked up." I wanted to be able to blog about it, but we haven't shared our news with everyone just yet, especially my family. Many of our friends know, as do his parents, but I'm just not ready for certain people to know yet, and some of those certain people could potentially stumble upon my "regular" blog.
So here I am! I hope you'll join me on my journey to motherhood. Climb aboard! I think we're in for a heck of a ride.
