A Sunday Afternoon Buffet

This week has been a good one. Brandon and I joined the YMCA, which has both an indoor and outdoor pool. I've started swimming laps, which feels incredible, weightless, and cool. I wonder if that's how the baby feels, weightless and cool. Another perk of the Y: daycare while the parent is working out, starting at 6 weeks. So, while I'm off work this fall, the little man and I can spend an hour or so at the gym.

Brandon's still incredibly busy with his work at the Barter and finishing up this semester at King. He's "making hay while the sun shines," which is great. Still, I miss having him around. At least it's only another month.

This weekend's been a good one too. Productive. I cleaned the house Friday night, mowed with Brandon Saturday, and chaperoned prom last night. I'll have to tell the little boy that I was his first prom date.

What Made Me Sad About Prom:

This fall, a student in my senior homeroom had a baby boy and took maternity leave. We had a little shower for her, complete with cookies, a card signed by the class, and a gift card. She later brought the baby by the class to show him off. I don't know where the dad is, but I don't think he's around. She is raising the child in her parent's home.

Well, I haven't seen this student since before Christmas, until last night while working the prom check-in table. She came in with a group of kids, but her name wasn't on the list. She told me that she had talked to the assistant principal, and that it would be okay. While I went to track down the assistant principal, she went ahead and let herself in. The assistant principal offered to let her pay the ticket price and stay at the prom, but the principal said that if we let one in, we have to let in anyone who wants to buy a ticket at the door. On principle, the principal said it was wrong to let the girl in.

So, for the next few hours, this girl, whose parents refused to pick her up and whose friends remained inside the dance, sat in the lobby and cried. Her parents called the school board, but in trying to stick it to the principal, they hurt their daughter by forcing her to remain in an uncomfortable situation. The girl said that she didn't know about prom until the last minute, since she graduated early.

I almost wish that I had ignored the fact that her name wasn't on the list. I feel sorry for her, wonder what kind of home-life she has, what kinds of prospects she has for her own personal success or work, and what kind of life her son will have. I want her son to be the kind of kid who will be a pleasure to teach one day down the road when I'm a seasoned, middle-aged English teacher, but I'm pessemistic. Perhaps it is this pessemism that creates crotchety old teachers. Or perhaps, as in cases where mountains are moved, this little baby will grow up to be a loving, hard-working young man with integrity. But what role, really, am I playing in making that happen? Was this really a situation where not grace, but "tough love" was the better tool?

Education. My two years of teaching in this high school has been that for me.

Speaking of Pregnant Students:

Two former students and two current students are pregnant, and all five of us are sharing our pregnancy together--well, not consciously as a group perhaps, but they're in my mind about every day. I think about my child and his future. Even in love and marriage and a supportive community, I feel apprehensions. I can't imagine what these young girls are going through.

We swap ultrasound pictures, trade stories about going to the doctor, talk about how our bellies are growing, and smile at the excitement of new life. Still, I can't help but feel that I am advantaged over these girls. I wish that they had what I have, because I know that I'm blessed. Maybe they have enough, and surely there are people with more advantages at the get-go of parenthood than me. I just want good futures for these girls and their children, and they want that too. God, bless them just as you've blessed me, exceedingly, abundantly above all we can hope and imagine. God's hand is in their lives, and I pray that it moves lovingly and with stength to bring His Kingdom of peace more into the world.

Sunday School:

The college Sunday school class that Brandon helps teach and I attend as a guest will wrap up next week. We've been reading the book of Mark since August, and are only now on chapter 13. Needless to say, we've taken it slow, chewing on it verse by verse, making conversation and prayer out of little chunks of scripture. It's been my weekly meal, more than I eat during the week. We read today about the pharisees and their lack of social justice to people such as the widows, and consequently about the widow who gladly gave all she had to the Lord.

I didn't speak up then, but I was thinking about my Dad. More and more, he stands out in my mind as a man who gave all he had to the Lord. By the time he was my age, he was living in the Philippines, learning a new language, and by the time he was ten years older than me, he had led people to Christ and founded a church that is independently Filipino now. By the time he was fifteen years older than me, he found out he had cancer, and had to deal with the dark night of the soul. In that dark night, he gave his most expensive inheritance to the church, while he struggled to work and make ends meet during chemo. When he was twenty-two years older than me, weakend by chemo, he gladly reached out to hurricane Katrina victims who were refugees in his town. He died two months later. He abandoned care for his own health to show love to other people. He abandoned love of money for love of a heavenly kingdom. My dad was flawed, but he is the kind of person I want to be. I miss him.

Existential Non-Crisis:

I'm 27. I'm married. I'm about to be a mom for the first time. I teach high school English. I used to want to be a famous writer or singer or songwriter, but I only touch the guitar every now and then these days. I feel ill-suited to be a public school teacher and ill-disciplined to be a writer or musician. I'm happy in marriage and family. I'm happy in stability. I don't know what I am. That God has called me, I'm sure. Of what that calling is, I can only see as far as a flashlight's beam. Thankfully, I'm coming to peace with this.

Anticipating Childbirth:

Earlier this week, doula Patty dropped off a book, "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth," and once I fished it out of the mailbox, I couldn't stop reading it. From the stories of women giving birth naturally to the connections between one's mind, emotions, and body, quite a lot of what I read rang true to me. The strategies that she recommends, it seems, would work best in a home setting, but I'm comfortable with my half-and-half plan at this point--to labor at home for a while with the doula, and then drive the ten minutes to the hospital for delivery.

It seems strange, but the more I read about childbirth, and the more videos I watch, the more excited I get--the more confident. Something may go wrong or it may be more excruiating than I can handle, but by the same token, what good does it do me to think about that? If I go into the situation, knowing I'm in the hands of people who love me and care about me, knowing that I am that much closer to meeting my son, knowing that many women have delivered safely, knowing the techniques and being willing to let my body do what it can do, I believe I can relax and have a safe and healthy natural birth.

I'm inspired by the stories, by the thought that there is redemption in the midst of the curse of pain in childbirth, and maybe it doesn't have to be a shot in the back. That sounds hippy-dippy. Still, I feel less fearful about the whole thing, and that seems good.

In Conclusion:
I teach my students never to end a paper with "in conclusion." I hate it. It's an easy way to wrap up things that don't connect, because if they did connect, one would be able to find a more apt transition. I want the ideas in their papers to connect. I'm using it for the very reason that I dislike it, because I'm not sure if these ideas connect. But heck, this is a blog and people can get away with anything on blogs. This entry has included several courses, and my plate is full, and the food isn't all Indian or Southern or fast. It's just a little bit of this and that. If it were connected, it would relate back to this preparation for motherhood, this search for personhood that I find in myself as I hope to be someone my son will find strength from in his own search.

A Dog and His Boy

Those of you who remember Steele's comic strip from our Christmas card will know that while Steele is not particularly keen on posing for photos, he won't miss an opportunity to be captured being himself on film (or whatever it is now).

I go back and forth wondering how it will be to bring an infant home to this rambunctious, albeit, loving Weimarener. Some people have recommended practicing with a baby doll, which I still feel ridiculous about but maybe I will loosen up about that later. I'll definitely send Brandon or someone home with baby-scented things for Steele to check out before his arrival. And we won't ever leave Steele and the baby alone together. Allison let me babysit baby Hank, and Steele was quite curious and jealous of the time Hank and I were spending together. If Steele is jealous, will he grow less jealous with time? Will I be able to hold the baby in the living room without Steele jumping up in my lap, or will we have to quarentine him on the apartment side of the house?
When excited, Steele is also prone to barking--not yipping--barking louder than we've ever set our stereo. I guess the baby will be used to that, since he will have heard it in utero so often, but I wonder if at just the moment I put the little guy down to sleep, Steele will start barking and rouse him from his slumber.

Ideally, I see this wise, middle-aged, well-adjusted Steele acting as friend and protector to his little boy. I see a toddler with a cowboy hat trying to lasso his wild runaway horse, and the horse accepting the situation with good humor.

Check Up

We got to hear the heartbeat again at the monthly checkup yesterday. When the nurse put the probe on my belly, baby started kicking at it, knocking it out of place. I'm surprised by the strength of this little one already. Brandon finally got to feel him move this morning, I guess as the boy was doing his morning stretches.

The doc also said the baby is in a breech position right now, which makes sense because I feel a lot of movement lower in the stomach. Apparently he will continue to flip around until the last couple of weeks before birth. I wonder if the baby was still in that position, if the doc would try to turn him externally.

At the next appointment, due to having Rh negative blood, I get the Rhogam shot. Yay! Shots! I read this one website where a vegan lady refused the shot on the premise that if she had a natural birth it was unlikely that her blood and the baby's would mix. But it seems like the benefits outweigh any risks of getting the shot. I mean, I don't want any stillbirths, and if this shot successfully eliminates that, then I'm okay to get it. Maybe the vegan lady is just scared of shots.

My students are becoming increasingly curious about my belly and baby, and have started to tell baby stories or ask baby questions in the middle of class in an attempt to get me off task...and I have fallen for it. One will raise his hand, I'll stop what I'm saying, and he'll launch into, "I was watching 16 and Pregnant and..." and I will have to say, "So, Pablo Neruda's Ode to My Socks..."

Spring Break and Not a Real Hippie

It's been a spring break almost good enough to make me forget that I have a job. Which I'm notably trying to forget for a few more hours. I worked around the house, cleaned the back porch and hung up the hammock, flew kites, kept the house clean, cooked, went for walks, read, talked on the phone...practiced being a house wife and just generally enjoyed being alive. My poor Brandon, on the other hand, was struck with a nasty case of strep throat which left him delirious for about half the week. Thankfully, he's back to his spirited self, and I haven't gotten the thing.

The kid's been kicking more this week, or I've felt him more. I was grading research papers (a spring break festivity I omitted from the above list), when he kicked so forcefully it made me sit up straight. It's nice to feel him move, to know that my portly size is less influenced by my recent interest in Ben & Jerry's and actually due to the growth of a small person.

So as far as nursery theme goes, it seems settled that trains and travel are the way to go. I'm happy with that decision, although I feel a sudden pang of guilt that my choice of bedding isn't organic. Is choice of bedding already a parenting decision where I am putting my aesthetic preference over what might be a more responsible choice? I'm still planning to get a few sets of organic sheets, but everything else isn't organic. I have a friend who's as A+ granola as it comes on the East coast, and I admire her simplicity and devotion to organic living. While I do try to make good decisions, I find that possibly I am just not as type A as her, which is maybe a mean way of saying that I'm just not as disciplined. She also plans to use cloth diapers, which leads me to

The Great Diaper Dilemma:

Back in the day, until the 1960s, there were only cloth diapers, so there were far fewer diapers in landfills. As a missionary in the Philippines, my mom only used cloth diapers on three of her kids. So, obviously, its not an impossible task.

But then came the ease of disposable diapers. Babies need to be changed less-often. And, at five months old, when I go back to work and the little fella goes to Apple, he will have to use disposable diapers.

I could opt for cloth diapers for the first few months while I'm home with him, and even in the evenings--his disposable diapers could just be daycare diapers.

Still...enter the financial end of things. Although cloth diapers seem cheaper, you have to buy diapers and diaper covers and you have to cover the laundry expense, which is a time and money issue--really more time as both Brandon and I work full time and sometimes more than full time. Should I invest my few stay-at-home months in using cloth diapers? Advocates say that if the diapers last, then hypothetically, we could save them for future children and thus really save some dough.

On the disposable end of things, buying Huggies in bulk puts us at $.14 a diaper, between $400 and $500 a year. According to Baby Bargains, this is still a few hundred dollars cheaper than investing in disposable diapers and laundry.

So, I don't want to spend hundreds on cloth diapers and then an additional hundreds on disposables. It seems a commitment one way or the other will be best. At this point, I'm leaning towards disposable.

The Greatest Man to Ever Live Had No Nursery

For whatever reason, new parent-naivety, American materialism, nesting instinct, or sheer longing for cuteness, I've been hung up on how to design the nursery.

And I know the nursery will only last 2 years...and then we'll have to figure out something else. Still...

I called Mom, and we shopped together long distance, online, and we brought Jenny's artful eye into the discourse. We decided that the following two were the cutest for different reasons, and agreed to sleep on the decision.

Plan A: "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" by Land of Nod

Theme: Trees and Nature

Decor: could include my tree painting, a framed Ansel Adams Oak Tree sunrise, The Tree of Life Art Styles Poster Print by Gustav Klimt, starry night print, a map, and cherry baskets with white lining.

Pros: Neutral, could be used down the road, even if we had a girl. I liked it immediately because it's pretty and peaceful.

Cons: But maybe what a boy wants is not pretty and peaceful? Maybe too neutral?


Plan B: "The Little Crib Bedding That Could"by the Land of Nod

Theme: Trains & Travel

Decor: could include tree painting, framed O Winston Link photo, picture of Bristol train station, maps, vintage travel posters, toy trains, and the cherry baskets with white liners

Pros: Boyish, vivid colors, can see him enjoying it as a toddler. Love O Winston Link and love travel.

Cons: Too busy?