dearest daughters & son

The saga continues...

Dearest Daughters,

When we announced your births eons ago social media practically didn't exist. So, I wrote your expected due dates on all the bathroom stall doors I used. And when you're pregnant and peeing and barfing frequently, that's a lot of bathroom stall doors. So, news traveled quickly.

But, the third time around, we're doing it right! (I feel this may be a trope that we hear throughout your lives--how we totally messed up with you two and how the third gets all the good stuff. Your words, not mine!)

Your dad is a huge movie fan and he ain't so bad with the photoshop. He's put a lot of time and love into this (while I do the hard incubating work). And you guys have mostly done nothing, so if you could sort of, kind of, just stay over there for a minute, while we announce something important:

We're having a trilogy!

Okay, so sure, everyone loves a good trilogy. It's very exciting.

But, we all know that there can't be a third without the first two. And that's you, Babybel and Danjo.

Don't worry, nothing will change. (Everything will change.)

I love you no matter what.

Mommy

Have I Told You Tuesday: Don't Pick Your Nose (in Public)

Dearest Daughters,

As I was brushing my teeth last night, my nose started bleeding.

And I was like: what the HECK? My nose hasn't bled since that time when I was six and learned the hard way that there is a limit to nose picking.

I tried to recall the First Aid class I took when Babybel was little-er. What's the current stance on Nose Bleed Cessation? Pinch, but don't tilt. Or else you'll drown your child in their own nose blood.

So, there I am, pinching and not tilting my head back, so I don't drown, my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth. Which is about a 7 on my scale of 1 to 10 of Unpleasant Things. Because I hate toothpaste. It's disgusting and makes me gag. And THAT made me think of being pregnant. Because the two times I've been with child, my already eager gag reflex went into overdrive. Just looking at toothpaste would make me gag. So, I didn't brush my teeth for nine months.

Luckily, I was born with the good kind of teeth. It's something they don't tell you. Some people are just born with good teeth. Yes, brush your teeth, blah, blah, blah. But, those who are going to get cavities, will get them. And those who won't, won't. Brushing the "sugar bugs" off, as we say at home, will certainly reduce the number of cavities you get, but as I said, you'll get them or you won't.

But, that's neither here nor there. We're not talking about dental hygiene today. We're talking about nosebleeds. And nose picking.

GONE FISHIN': What not to buy your mother.

Dearest Daughters,

Posting old content while we're away.

Wrote this near the end of my first pregnancy with Babybel. Two children later, I report: motherhood didn't change me. Slippers are still on the Do Not Buy list, girls. I repeat: DO NOT BUY.

When did I become the type of person for whom slippers are "The Perfect" gift?

About nine months ago, I guess.

The story really goes like this. My bestest friend in the whole wide world, KTA, bought me a pair of warm, comfy and very much appreciated slippers for my Christmas present. Perfect for my hardwood floors and poorly insulated apartment. Perfect for shuffling and rocking and feeding in the middle of the night. Perfect, in fact, for right now, cozy on the couch, writing a blog entry. So, thank you, Katherine.

I have nothing against Katherine.

I have nothing against slippers.

I'm just shocked (and amused) at an event that occured in my apartment this morning.

I had a lovely breakfast of eggs, potatoes, apple wood smoked bacon and the best biscut ever with my other bestest friend in the whole wide world, Ashley. We returned to my apartment to do some gift exchanging. Fine. If you must know: I had some Tokyo souvineers that I never gave her and a small homemade Christmas present. She gave me a "lame" (according to her) baby present, but it really wasn't. Instead of plastic toys from China that BabyBel doesn't really need, she got us diapers, wipes and the very important (and until now, unobtained) breast pads and cream. Superb baby gift, if you ask me. She ordered me something else, she told me, but she didn't have it yet. She'd bring it by next week.

Then, I hear a string of profanity exiting her mouth. Not that I'm unfamiliar with profanity, but given our pleasant morning, I wasn't sure what was wrong. Very concerned, I looked at her for clues and followed her gaze to my slippers sitting on the living room floor.

Apparently she had ordered me the EXACT, EXACT, we're talking EXACT same pair of slippers that Katherine did. And she was so proud of herself for thinking of and almost delivering on "The Perfect" gift, she was so pissed that someone beat her to it. Though, she reports to have thought of the idea in August, so I don't think Katherine can beat that.

I tried to console Ashley by praising her and Katherine's ability to choose "The Perfect" gift for me, apparently so perfect that TWO of my closest friends thought of it. Great minds think alike! Look how well you know me! You both are so thoughtful! But she was not to be consoled.

If only my slippers had been sitting in my room out of her line of sight! Then this travesty would not have transpired. Of course, I'd be the recipient of two of the EXACT, EXACT, we're talking EXACT same pair of slippers. Which brings me back to my initial question: When did I become the type of person for whom slippers are "The Perfect" gift?

Upon hearing this story, Beadle welcomed me to motherhood. But I told him that these high quality L.L. Bean slippers will last a good 3-5 years and when I actually need new slippers I (or one of my best friends, apparently) will buy them. Because I need them. Not because they'd make a great annniversary gift. He, under no circumstances, is allowed or should allow our children to buy me slippers. Designer handbags, spa gift certificates, chocolate, something for the kitchen, if they must, but not slippers! I'm only 23! No. Wait. I forget. I'm 24. Okay, almost 25. But, I'm too young to be relegated to a lifetime supply of slippers!

And don't get me started on robes.

I think I've found the holy grail of pregnancy.

That's it. Stick a fork in me; I'm done. I think I've died and gone to heaven and come back with Kool-aid marinated dill pickles. I want for nothing now.

Thanks to Rudy for tipping me off on this one: Kool-aid Pickles!!!

For Auntie Lina

I haven't blogged in forever and it's not like Auntie literally harasses me everyday to do so. But, almost everyday (when I'm reading others blogs), I imagine Auntie on her graveyard shift, peering at her computer screen, cold fingers, sorely disappointed yet again that I haven't posted anything.

And disappointing my family is the last thing I want to do.

So, disappointment, it shall be! The topic of this blog, that is. Because I don't want to disappoint Auntie.

Before I was with child, my uncle told me not to have children, or rather, do so knowing that they are bound to disappoint you. I'm not sure what that means exactly. Or whose fault that is. Is it because children are innately wired to make their parents' lives difficult? Or is it because parents hold exceedingly impossible expectations for their children? So they're set up for disappointment.

(By the by, my cousins, his children, have probably turned out to be some of the most perfect un-disappointing children I know.)

When it comes to children, is it really a matter of expectations and disappointment? Or can your vision of your child's life be framed, instead, in terms of hopes? Or is it (d) all of the above?

I know that I disappointed my parents. But, did I live up to their expectations? I'm not even sure what they were, if they ever sat me down and told me or if there were subliminal messages hidden in Daddy's tuna casserole. I probably made up a set of expectations to fit my own strengths and preferences: straight A's, prestigious college, M.Ed. Done, done and done.

No makeup until you're 16! But, Mommy introduced me to Shisedo at 13, so that's not my fault.

No boyfriends... EVER. I could have pursued the lesbian loophole, but instead made it to 15 whereupon I learned that 15 year old boys are losers who ditch you at Winter Formal because you're too much of a "good girl" to go to an unsupervised house party. But, apparently, I figured 17 year old boys were an improvement. Well, I didn't get knocked up, so there's that.

A car, a house and credit in my name before marriage. Two out of three. And I can boast a better credit score than my husband!

A piano prodigy. Sorry, Daddy. My long fingers are good at other things though! Typing... like right now I'm doing at least 80wpm... cooking, sewing, drawing/painting, picking my nose.

I was arrested, probably had a boyfriend too early, went away to college breaking my mother's heart, seemingly rushed into a marriage and a soon to be baby. Don't really have much of a career path. But, I hope I'm not a disappointment. I hope that these facts of my life are not about disappointment and expectations, but about their hopes for me.

What did my parents hope for me? What do I hope for my daughter?

I've traveled, survived on my own, explored my gifts and talents, surrounded myself with good people, I'm a good person, I'm empathetic and compassionate, I love my family, I'm carrying around another grandchild (isn't that a form of redemption in and of itself?) One day I'll find my passion, my way to meet the world's needs. I'll continue to fulfill my parents' hopes. I hope.

Maybe it's a spectrum? Disappointment being the things you don't ever want for your child. Expectations being the minimum rules/regulations/life logistics you want your child to follow (or ELSE.. right?) and hopes being the dreams you dream for your child to live a full life, the dreams I dream for this little, squirmy baby inside of me right now.

Disappointed, Auntie?

To a Baby Unknown

Dear Fetus,

Yes. Yes, I feel you there. In my side. Did you need something? Yes? Thank you for raising your hand. Into my ribs. What's your question? Oh, and thanks for stepping on my bladder. I love you too.

Love,
The Incubator

My Eggo is Preggo

I can't remember if it was the guy from Juno or Beadle who said this...

BLEEKER:
Like I'd marry you! You'd be the meanest wife ever, okay? And I know that you weren't bored that day because there was a lot of stuff on TV, and then 'The Blair Witch Project' was coming on Starz and you were like 'I haven't seen this since it came out and if so we should watch it' and 'but oh, no, we should just make out instead la la la'

Tokyo Writings: On Being Alone in a Crowd

9 October 2008

I'm 25 weeks pregnant and in Tokyo. It's our fourth day here. We've been to Shibuya, Shinjuku, Akihabara, Ueno, Asakusa. Yesterday, I visited the government area of Central Tokyo which is nearish our hotel in Akasaka. Today I'm going to the fancy shopping district, Ginza.

There are people everywhere. No, really. It's like New York City on crack. It's overwhelming.

Believe it or not, I actually saw the same person twice yesterday. No, not the guy at the front desk or someone in a retail shop. But, an actual real live person. On the street. Spotted within the span of four hours. Granted she must work in the building I was exiting the first time we passed, but to see her again four hours later on my way back towards the hotel! It gave me some sense of sanity and humanity in this endless city.

Perhaps there were others that I saw more than once yesterday. And surely they noticed me--with my brightly colored messenger bag and pregnant belly. But, I wouldn't notice them all in their suits and typically metropolitan monochromatic clothing palette. Everyone is pretty anonymous, I guess that's why that guy went on a shooting rampage in Akihabara awhile back. Beadle told me about it; the guy crashed his car and started shooting. He later said he did it because he was ugly, no one noticed him, he wanted to be someone. Four days here and I can see how someone might feel that way in Tokyo. Though, according to Beadle, he was ugly.

The reason I noticed this particular human twice in one day was not because she was ugly, but because she was wearing an ugly outfit. It wasn't the worst I've ever seen, but women here tend to dress pretty stylishly and classically. They all have gorgeous, if uncomfortable, shoes that they run to work in, hurrying to make the clock, I guess. In other hipper, younger areas, they dress less conservatively, but everyone is always always always put-together. Unless it's after five and they're leaving a bar. In that case, they look a little less put-together.

This particular woman was indeed put-together, but as I was checking out all the women in their clothes, I noted to myself that I wouldn't recreate her outfit for myself. A shapeless, purple silk blouse and a not-quite-black skirt. A maroon skinny belt, attempting unsuccessfully to give her and her clashing shirt shape. Oh, and an ill-fitting suit jacket. The shoes were lacking too as Tokyo-ite shoes go. On to checking out the next outfit, little did I know I'd see this woman again, let alone recognize her because of her unsightly attire.

A sign, perhaps? But, of what? A reprimand from the heavens or Buddha or Shinto deities to not be judgmental? Or a glimpse of humanity to comfort me in my foreign isolation and tourist haze? An epiphany! I'm not alone, neither are they. They aren't anonymous, after all. They are humans, not suits! Or, perhaps, I'm reading too much into this?

The more I people watch, I notice that despite the magnitude of the city and its population, people are more connected to each other than I assumed at first. A few times a day, I see people bowing and greeting one another, business or personal acquaintances, perhaps. On the subway platform, at a sidewalk vending machine, while smoking a cigarette, grabbing a snack at the 7-11.

As I walk the streets, I have no one to greet. I expect to see no one I know. And, so, it's nice to be pregnant here. I'm not alone either! We're on this adventure together. When it gets crowded on the subway and I become overwhelmed. When I fumble with unfamiliar currency while paying for lunch. While I navigate the unnamed streets and unmarked buildings, trying to find a fabric store. Or in a desperate search for a bathroom with a toilet (not one of those holes in the ground that are pretty common). She's in there. And I just reach my hand to my belly, take a deep breath and am renewed with confidence that I don't need Beadle around, I've traveled abroad before, I've been in crowds of people, experienced culture shock, not spoken the language. I can do it on my own, or almost on my own as this case may be.

first grader baby advice

"Are you pregnant?" asks a first grader who has come up to me during recess.

"Why yes, I am," I say proudly for about the umpteenth time today.

"Why'd you put that in there?" she asks with a look of disgust on her face.

"Well, I guess..." I reply, taken aback by her response, because the follow-up question is usually: "Is it a boy or a girl?" or "When is it due?" I continue, "I wanted a baby, I guess."

She scrunches her nose up as if a fellow first grader just farted during storytime while the whole class is crowded on the carpet: "Um, why?"

"Why not?" I asked. "Do you think it might turn out bad?... like you?" I joke.

"Yup." she responds matter of factly.

The bell rings and she has to run off to line up with her class. As she turns she advises me: "When you get home tonight, you better get that out of there!"

creative endeavors

i should probably just post these things as they happen, but that'd be asking a lot. at least i document them as they happen. the following are some of the creative endeavors i've undertaken lately.

well this post really all began because today i harvested this:

my first homegrown salad! thanks to seeds (yes seeds!) from kta. seeds! that began their lives about a month ago like this:

oh, then there was the pear and brie pizza that i made for my parents. the dough was from trader joe's i'll admit, but that doesn't mean i haven't made my own dough in the past!

next was a yoga mat bag that i made sans pattern for my auntie jonelle's birthday present.

my latest "creation" was a DIY revamping of some ugly laminate bookcases beadle owned dating back to the pre-lauren era. with my little brother's help, i sanded and primed and painted the shelves and case part of the bookcases. i modpoged paper source paper onto the shelf back panels. reassembled and voila! funky bookcases that believe it or not actually fade into the background of the rest of our furniture better than fakey cherry "wood" bookcases.

well i'm obviously pretty impressed with myself. my most impressive creation though, which blows my mind every time i think about it is that "thing" growing in there.

21 weeks!