ready for action

Wouldn't you like to sleep here?
Sunny lemonade walls and crisp white things?
New and shiny.
At long last the junk room is no more.
100% baby ready.
Alls we need is the kid!
And 4 more weeks of baking the bun.

Nearly

At 36 weeks into this whole Creating a Person Project, it is really starting to look like it is all going to come together.

This weekend, we got the crib/cot ... and watching Mark put it together really hit it all the way home. I mean, he has put together ALL the furniture in our lives and houses, but for some reason, the crib... the crib... wow.

I felt a little like we are in a movie of our lives with a happy soft rock soundtrack playing and featuring snapshots of moments like that one.

So we are getting as ready as one can.

And have created a place I would be happy to sleep in if I was a babe -- sunny, bright, clean, comfortable, quiet, safe and cozy.

It is weird/lovely that we are having someone move in with us. A new person. Who is part of us. Who is OF Us. And is going to up-end all we know about ourselves and our world.

How does anyone really get ready for that?

Open. Curious. In the moment. Intent. Surrender. Clean. Organize. Sleep. Read. Laugh. Rub belly. Kiss husband. Appreciate.

Oh yeah, and wait.

35 weeks

And this is how it all looks at 35 weeks!

Slowing down my slow down.

Life Clubs is passed over for now.

A few clients to finish for now.

Lists to make.

Naps to take.

Worries to abate.

Things for the freezer to create.

Time to pull my weight.

OK, I am out of rhymes. But not things to do.

Lots we still need to "get". And several hospital things to "iron out".

Simultaneously wanting the time to go faster and also stop all together. Ready and Not At All.

An interesting paradox. I am guessing/hoping that one of those will win out sooner or later.

My Life According to the Indigo Girls

Several bloggers are posting their life according to their favourite artist.

The Indigo Girls have always been able to pour emotions into their songs in a way that makes me want to sing them at the top of my lungs.

Give it a go with your fav artist!

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions.

Pick your Artist: Indigo Girls

Are you a man or a woman: Girl With The Weight Of The World In Her Hands

Describe yourself: Closer to Fine

How do you feel: Make It Easier

Describe where you currently live: Get out the Map

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? Southland In The Springtime

Your favorite form of transportation: Least Complicated

Your best friend? Hey Kind Friend

You and your best friends are: Strange Fire

What's the weather like: None But The Rain

Favorite time of day: Killing Time

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called: Power of Two

What is life to you? Hand In Hand

Your fear: Kid Fears

What is the best advice you have to give: Love Will Come to You

Thought for the Day: The Water is Wide

How I would like to die: Welcome Me

My soul's present condition: Free Through Eternity

My motto: Make This House A Home

slow ride (take it ea-say)

And suddenly.

It slows.

After what felt like a cafuffal of a last few weeks, I suddenly can see some space beginning to emerge in my head.

It is lovely.
The slow down has begun.
And I am grateful for it.

• Midst switching hospitals. (which feels like a huge relief)
  
• Starting to close down my Life Clubs shop (or pass the baton) only one more until post baby.
• Heeding my primal needs to eat and sleep in frequent bursts. (never underestimating the power of toast)
  
• Trying not to catch Mark's cold. (which is tricky as it requires a wide berth and no cuddles)
• Doing some bonding with other pregnant people we've been lucky to meet through our classes the last 2 weekends.
• Getting good, belly laugh and compassionate chat with my pregnant yoga pal -- who I am happily drafting off of, sharing a doula and a soon a hospital. Boys bonding over beers and buildings.
  
• Making lists of (probably) ridiculous things.
• Amazed at the longest, strongest nails of my life.
• Wondering why after a blissfully headache free 8 months, my head has decided to start to hurt again
• Spending time WATCHING my belly as Lewis rolls around, alien-style, contorting in ways that entertain.
  

Looking forward to an even blanker September.

And for extra measure, am checking out the (hilarious) International Institute of Not Doing Much.

Which I think everyone should consider belonging to for the rest of the summer.

33 weeks

In all my blooming glory.

(Standing, please note, in the FINISHED baby room. Well done to my dream boat, perfectionist and 110% giver Mark!!!)

winning words

I was given this little award by a dear fellow blogger and am dead chuffed.

Even though I've been blogging for a while, I was totally ignorant to all the funny, clever, poignant blogging going on out there.

People following each other and giving each other kudos and recognition feels really nice and neighbourly. And inspires one to keep writing - take time to stop and be thoughtful and conjure up an angle, a perspective to review.

So even though I don't follow many blogs - I am hereby passing the good vibe and nominating the ones I most religiously go to for my daily dose.

Here's to your continued brain power, vulnerability, commitment and sharing with the world!

• Moderation 1/3 - 2/3 - to Henry who inspires way beyond, in every aspect. Thank you Diamond Bear.
• Life Clubs - A Clearer Way of Thinking - for Nina who relentlessly champions people having better lives.
• clueless but hopeful mama - who I found when I was newly pregnant, and whose insight and heart cheers me.
  

Thank you and your words. They matter.

(scary) (perhaps) cultural difference

(this is amended)

Outside my (current, hopefully not for much longer) maternity hospital.

Woman in her nightgown and robe, clearly in the early stages of labour, standing outside to have a cigarette.

Sums up much of the health attitude here.

Different and somewhat Mortifying.


***********
P.S. As an amendment to this posting, it not that women in the US don't smoke while pregnant, it is perhaps that they hide it more. This is in no way meant to slander my adopted home of bonnie Scotland, where I have been welcomed so nicely. It is perhaps more of a reflection of the specific neighbourhood and attitude of certain areas in Glasgow.

(am I out of trouble now?)

Doula Done Deal

Happy to report we have *hired* our doula. She's a trainee, but exudes a comfortable and confident vibe and has given birth twice at our hospital. She has a famous Scottish Dad too- but that is oddly not my headline news.

What is new is that I feel the penny has dropped somehow in the last few weeks. We've gone from 1 to 100. From total ignorance to Kinda Knowing Things. And it was not a pretty trip. I was resistant to thinking about giving birth, so initially my brain was kicking and screaming to shut it all out. Denial.

Not that I know all. Or even have my body or mind ready. But between the 5 classes the hospital offer, the 2 weekend courses we are going on through the NCT (National Child Trust), the books, DVDs and Pregtastic -- we ought to have a through and balanced and bigger view of what is possible and what is what.

That, coupled with the near completion of Lewis Room (Halle- freaking -luah ) has me feeling calmer and more comfortable with what is to come. Less overwhelm and more open-ness.
(Almost) ready to make the famed lasagnas for the freezer that supposedly comes with nesting.

But for sure ready to stop panicking.

freakishly fascinating

I want to apologize for any errant thought I may have ever had about a pregnant person being obsessed with her pregnancy.

I defy ANYONE to have something grow in them, distort their body and not be interested in it.

And then make that something a PERSON who you created that will grow big and then come out of you in a dramatic and amazing way and then will move in with you, feed off of your body, be utterly and 100% dependant on you for many years and not be totally, um, distracted.

I now know that this process of becoming a parent is a Very Big Deal in one's life. I understand why friends go inwards, why they don't want to go out, why home is haven, why they do not have time for me for a while.

I get it.

And I am sorry if I ever didn't.

And I am hoping my world adjusts as I feel my tunnel vision closing in and my current interests point to he who lives underneath my navel for a while.

It isn't that I don't care or am not interested in what is happening in other people's lives, it is purely that I am mesmerized by the biology and evolutionary experiment which is my own self.

I promise to return to being a good friend, sister, daughter, tribe member, coach, student at some point.

Me, I may never be quite as interesting to myself ever again.

uk baby

UK to US
pram= stroller
consultant= OB/GYN
cot= crib
moses basket=bassinet
dummy= pacifier
nappy= diaper
muslin squares= burping blankets
wee man= little boy
surgery= doctor's office
wean = baby
maternity leave= 52 weeks

US to UK
baby shower= Does Not Exist
diaper genie= tommee tippee
maternity leave= 6 weeks
head nurse= sister

be the pooh

My 24 hour rant + some crying + releasing some stress+ a long soak in the tub + talking to Postitive Lexie = I feel better
My job is not to be annoyed or angry or scared.
My job is to be calm and appreciative and grateful and optimistic and excited for what is to come.
I have a beautiful, 100% normal boy growing happily inside me.
I feel good.
I love my husband and our relationship is only getting stronger.
I appreciate this moment.
I am really really grateful for all my life has become.

Float on my back like a happy, round Winnie the Pooh.
Knowing that what is next is going to be just right.
Trust that I am OK.
While keeping my head and heart in the grounded, comfortable place it has been these last 7 months, which has served me so well.
I forget.
And I am reminded.
And I am grateful.

P.S. What hormones? What mood swing? I have no idea what you are talking about.

cheating on you

Did you know I started to write on the Life Club blog?

Nina, the founder, was generous in inviting other writers to plop their 2 cents in for our Life Club universe of readers.

And since I seem to have ceased to have a Non Pregnancy Related thought for my own blog, I love the chance to write about life changes, coaching, leadership and the more meaty, brain related things on that one.

Have a look, read all about it. See I am more than just a pretty belly and a hormone addled mind.

happiness is ...

• crawling into bed at 9:30 with your husband, each with your books
• silky PJ bottoms
• open windows with cool breeze
• big tumblers of water on hand
• bonus scan of wee boy who is measuring 100% average/normal
• wireless connection
• 1/2 way through Orange Fiction prize winner
• 2 new amazon birth books on deck
• leisure
• all we need is the warm puppy

brain dump

This happens to me all the time.

When something big is coming up -- like a move, a big trip, getting married, or perhaps giving birth-- I tend to hyper list. Scraps of paper. Random thinking. A bit skatty and ping pongy.

So indulge me as I dump the contents of my head to get it out.

• To doula or not to doula. Must find the right doula
• Do I need a new nightgown for the hospital?
• One of my friends has her hospital bag packed already, should I?
  
• When will my remaining clothes totally stop fitting?
  
• Who knew you could bring music and snacks to the hospital? This opens up another whole group of lists
• Must buy clock radio for the guest room for the Tour of Guests 2009
  
• Summer soups - not ones serves cold ... hmmm
  
• Wow, I need a pedicure
• I wish we had Target - I need new comfy pants I can go out in public in
• Pre-Tastic podcasts are great and I can't stop listening to them
• Do you tell insurance people when you have a baby? When?
• Does the UK have tax deductions like the US?
  
• Wouldn't it be nice if I had a "go-to" group of easy recipes for my guests when then come -- for both pre and post baby?
• Why do US people seem so much more upbeat about pregnancy than UK? (pregtastic podcasts vs. NCT DVD and info)
  
• I really don't feel like cooking
• Can't stop doing laundry
• Glucose Tolerance Test Wednesday -- ugh hope I don't have Gestational Diabetes. That would suck
• When am I going to start thinking about things other than pregnancy and babies? I am boring even myself.
  
• Mark is cute when he is covered in paint. When WILL he be finished???
  
• Am I gonna have a baby shower?
• gotta pee
  
• Maybe getting a cleaner every other week during MAT leave is a good idea
• I wish we had a car so I could go shopping today
• When will the birth books from Amazon come?
• The pile of baby things in the office looks sad and, well, piled. I can't wait to put things in their place
• I miss drinking
• What is my Birth Plan? Low dose/patient controlled epidural/no episiotomy/calm environment. not too many people/can do attitude/reassurance/sorry of I swear at you/whoosh- here's the baby/please
  
• Stairs are hard. 55 to our flat is becoming an expedition
• When do I send in my Maternity Allowance form?
  
• Am I eating too much peanut butter toast?
• No good movies out
• Is the baby room gonna be too baby-ish and bug me?
• gotta pee
• mmmm, peanut butter toast
  

home alone

Mark is out tonight and I have Friday night All To Myself.
Delicious and solo.

No matter how much you love someone and their company, there is something indescribably lovely about being in one's own company.

No chat. No discussion. Channel surfing without comment. King of Queens reruns. Daal for dinner. (It would have been nachos, but that would have required going to the store!) Maybe a bath and the library book.

Not that Any of those things above are un-doable with Mark here, it is somehow more yummy occasionally by myself.

Nice to fly solo once in a while.

And how can I miss you if you never go away?

The really nice this is that after a night on my own, I'll be ready for him again.

da belly

OK, I am feeling brave enough and preggo enough to share these. And perhaps it is cultural, but no strangers have come up to me to touch my belly. Perhaps it is because many of the lassies here look like they have Iron Bru and sausage roll babies growing and it is too hard to tell if a gal is with child or with lunch.

If it looks like I am sweaty and possibly annoyed, it is because I am. (Mark & I had a bit of an awkward/dissatisfying photo shoot. "Turn SIDEWAYS" "I AM!" "Put your hand down" "I am hot" "JUST TAKE THE PICTURE") Sigh. He is a a better builder than photographer, which is OK by me.

Note, my the NON wedding ring on my marriage finger.
Oh yeah, sausage hands.

Onward and outward!

mommyblogger madness

Thanks to Mary J, I have been reading Sleep is for the Weak -- a compilation of the 'best of the mommybloggers'.

Now I have been blogging near 5 years and I must admit... I don't read many of my own, just a few friends who have recently dipped into their own writing. What have I been missing?!

I was unaware of the GINORMOUS outpouring from women who are new mothers. They. Are. Everywhere. Many many blogs are written by smart and funny women (and a few men) who are adapting to parenthood and relaying their experiences with the world. Great writing. And truth telling.

This book collects just some of the stories of parenthood -- covering old chestnuts like sleep deprivation, poop and pee, balancing life and work, stress, body changes, etc.

It is Great. And Alarming.

I admit I have been very very chill this last 6 months of being pregnant for the most part. Once I stopped feeling like I had a monster case of malaise, I just felt like regular me with increasingly tighter pants. I have had only a few overly emotional and (only) slightly irrational outbursts. (Never tell me I am over-reacting to something, especially when I am over reacting!)

But now I am in the 3rd and final trimester, things are starting to get more, real.

As time is ticking, the belly growing, moving, gurgling, and I am getting closer to the End Game, I realise that my LALALALAEVERYTHINGISFINEANDNORMAL way of being is going to end.

I see (loud/crying/whining) kids with harangued mothers and I think YUCK! I realise I stop seeing women and I see Mothers. I take mental inventory of things kids are doing and vow piously "THAT will not be allowed." Or, "He WON'T be eating/drinking/sitting/screaming/yelling/like THAT."

So these stories of parenthood and all of its trials and stress and confusion and freak out are all written with humour and humility. And Reality.

It is a Reality (which needs a capital R) which I have not yet quite accepted will actually happen yet. Being The Mother, much like Giving Birth remain Out There and Far. And Theoretical.

While it is a treat to read these cleverly written stories, they are kind of freaking me out. I know that sleep will be slippery and not normal. That going out with a baby into the world will require Gear, Patience, and Stamina. That my world will shrink and grow in a way I can't understand yet. That breastfeeding and diaper/nappy changing will be all consuming. I have no illusions that it will be easy or really All Fun. Certainly some of it will be. And some won't. AND It is all out there waiting.

But somehow now, in my innocent not knowing, reading these tales it is killing my last months of unclogged and first person singular thinking. And it is scaring me. I like my ignorance a little.

Perhaps when I am in the thick of my own real life When He is Here adventure I will appreciate them more. Certainly relate to them and admire the ability to tell the story. Or better yet, write about them myself to give perspective, lightness, humility and witness to my own experience.

Heck, what's one more mommyblogger to add to the list.

VIPP

I like being a pregnant person. (And no, that is not my stomach up there. I am holding out on those kinds of photos until there is no shadow of a doubt it is Baby Not Burgers)

• People are nice to you.
• They care about how you are doing. And mean it.
• They think being round is Cute. For Once.
  
• Resting is important and excused
  
• People squeal when they see you
• And are really genuinely excited for you
• You get to buy big clothes
• You no longer need to (or can) hold your gut in
• Not seeing your feet is comical, not tragic
  
• Looking good is secondary, OK, tertiary, to feeling good
• Asking for help comes really easily
  
• It matches my already advanced need for quiet time and naps and comfy bottoms
  

So yes, it suits. I love the attention. I love my thick hair and strong nails. I love the kicks and the somersaults. I love Mark talking to my tummy. I have a few physical niggles, but not bad. I feel good. And Special. Because I am growing a person.

What's going to happen after the boy comes? Will I get any attention? Will I care? Is this the ultimate test of being a Grown Up? It is no longer about you -- and that is OK? Does the maternal love kick in and all that matters is the Baby?

Being a Very Important Pregnant Person is lovely. I look forward to seeing if I can give up the crown graciously to my new Prince.

taking pictures

You know how when you are on holiday or at an important party with all your friends and you really want to capture the moments for your memory bank, but you are so busy ENJOYING the moments that stopping to break out of it and photograph it feels wrong?

That is kinda how I have been feeling about this particular time of pregnancy. I know I am going to want to remember little things, what I am feeling, what steps we are taking to get ready, what is happening, but I kind of can't be arsed.

Is that weird? It is like I am so happy In It that I don't want to break the spell to look at things more closely or record them.

This does not bode well for me keeping baby journals, does it. I find I am getting lazier about those kinds of things. We still haven't ordered (shhhh) our Cambridge wedding photos from 3 years ago. Nor have we really put our DC wedding ones in any kind of album.

All the baby stuff I have -- maternity papers, stuff from the doctor, etc. are shoved into a blue folder named "Baby". I have not organized anything official. The few things we have bought are sitting piled up in the office. Unsorted. Un -cooed about.

I haven't really gotten a jones to shop for small adorable things. Or large and practical ones either.

I kind of want to just read novels and sleep and go for walks. The End.

Lexie put it nicely -- that I am providing a House. A safe shelter that is constant and stable and not too hot and not too cool and is sturdy and quiet. Nothing too jiggley. No sudden movements.

Somehow that gives me a little more permission to be quiet about it all. Be a Safe House.

Perhaps I wake up a bit more to be more conscious about what kind of House I am and pay a bit more attention to the inner workings.

As soon as I take one more nap.

Fame! (I'm gonna live 4ever. I'm gonna learn how to fly!)

At least for the day! Dig my article about Life Clubs in today's Scotland's Daily Record.
A giant photo of me and my name SEVERAL times feels weird. And nice.

I recall that I also really SAID all those things but they didn't sound nearly so precious at the time. Nor do I remember trying to sound British. (Rubbish, Brilliant, Have A Go) Do I really talk like that when I am trying to fit in?

Well it is a good day for the Scots as they now know that we exist!

Too bad there is no mention as to how to attend! (http://www.lifeclubs.co.uk/!)

P.S. Look how LONG my hair is!

hard labour

Mark's that is.

As Mark is spending his 4th weekend eyeball deep in drilling and sawing and pounding and earning blood blisters, I sit idly by with offers of occasional cups of tea and making good on my promises of a good meal when the day is done.

He is seriously going to TOWN. Building from scratch:

• a walk in 'cupboard' for all manner of tools and buckets, and hide able cleaning junk
• a wardrobe
• and is now installing new wooded worktops/counters in the kitchen.

I am amazed at his hard work, his perfectionism, his tireless cheer and lack of moaning, even when he incurs minor cuts, scrapes and falls into bed exhausted.

I sometimes feel a little guilty that I am not really helping. Or Helping At All. I mean, this is my baby's room and my house too. Shouldn't I be helping? No, he claims. Honestly, I do love my pregnancy excuse for not lifting things or holding stuff. But I am seriously Not Needed for this project. Not for the Figuring it Out. The Decisions of How. The Buying of the Materials. The Clean Up of the Mess. And I am so grateful.

He treats this as his job. While mine is to take a nap. How did I get so lucky?

I feel so honoured and a little pampered as he rubs MY hands after a day of hard work.

I can really learn some lessons from him to keep going and see the big picture of how things will look. Not get hung up when things go slightly wrong. Be creative in the approach. Have the right tools. Get help when you need it.

Perhaps this is his version of nesting to get ready for the little one. And this is his labour. Mine after all, will come in 4.5 months. And may involve a little more than a blood blister. And I'll get pain meds.

What is really true is that this, Mark's labour, is no less a labour of love.

beauty in my window

wee getaway to Isle of Gigha (pronounced gee- aa)

nine (and three)

Celebrating nine years of togetherness today. Nine feels like a hefty number. Longer than grade school. Nearly a decade. Past any 7 year itches and headed into double digits.

And we are also celebrating three years of being married to each other too. (Near to the day we met too!)

Hard to believe it has only been that long. And that it has been that long. We reviewed the places we have lived and the jobs and phases each of us has been through. And my move to the UK and how seamlessly the rest worked out. A lovely walk through the memory.

Who knew that fateful Happy Hour for LW's birthday at Sequioa in 2000 would change the very course of my life. And the cheeky English boy whose original claim to fame was that he insulted my sister's hair would worm his way into my very soul and enrich it in ways I never dreamed.

So yes, today we celebrate. And I celebrate my very own version of personal happiness.

And love.

additional movements

1) Giant amounts of long and skinny timber and wood and various building bits and bobs arrived at our flat this morning
2) This means Mark can get cracking on building a cupboard/closet with a door for all the tool crap
3) And a closet for the wee babe
4) And he also ordered new (against my wishes grr) new worktops for the kitchen (we need ANOTHER PROJECT??)
5) And await a new sink so we can use the dryer in the kitchen
6) I made a chocolate cake (which looks nothing like the photo. Mine is 100% Betty Crocker. And crooked)
7) I get up 2x a night for bathroom breaks
8) Newly sprouting back pain
9) Survived going to Glasgow's Baby Show where I saw many things I never want
10)Now sporting new (too much info?) maternity brassiere and belly band, which is like a big tube top that you wear on your hips to disguise that you can't button your pants. (Where has this invention BEEN?)

begin the begin

We have a perfect spare room that has been our (on a good day) 'Multi Purpose' room since we moved. Let me be clear. It is really the Junk room.

3 bikes, the (in use!) tumble dryer, steam cleaner (Mark is in love with it), electric fan, space heater, giant tool storage, xmas decorations, 5 suitcases, hundreds of bits of wood and random (to me) scraps of things Mark needs when he is building/fixing something, tile cutter, vacuum cleaner, 3 tennis rackets and other various unnameable detritus. It is the room Mark uses for all cutting, sawing, building and tool things. Filthy. Cluttered. Need to Keep the Door Closed.



This. This room. With all that. Is to be the baby room.

Sigh.

With my deep ignorance (OK, disdain) of all things DIY. I could not marry my image of a sweet and clean and safe and serene baby room with this ... place.

Mark, my dear dear, knew otherwise. And has been sketching and planning, and measuring and head scratching on how to store, declutter, or otherwise account for all of these things in our life and flat while making this the room we want. Bless him, for that is just the kind of thing that makes me want to pull all the covers over my head. (Can the baby just sleep in the sock drawer?)

So last weekend, we began.

We have a loft, which for you North Americans is called an attic. Great. But we also have like 16 foot ceilings and a 15 foot ladder. and the hatch for the loft is little. And in the bathroom.

So Mark BRAVELY and inexplicably hatched the brain child to Build A Better Loft Hatch. In the "baby room". Which meant Creating A Hole In the Ceiling. On Purpose.

This, I could not get my head around. How? What do you mean? Do you know HOW to? Do you need to call your Dad? Look online?

OH, I should know by now, that Mark figures things out.

2 days later, and 8 million times filthier, (Our building is like 200 years old and had that much soot and dirt up there) We have a new hole. And it looks like it should. And we managed to off load an old TV, old desk chair to new homes and chucked MANY of the offending cluttering things up into the new storage of UP There. Where I predict we will leave everything until we move again.

Unfortunately, we also acquired a Near Hole. In the hallway. Where Mark's foot slipped off the beam and crunched into the ceiling.




So the room is not done. It will require building a new cupboard for the tools. And a new wardrobe/closet for the kid. And a new sink for the kitchen. (Sigh, so we can move the dryer. don't even ask) And paint. (The walls now being Dirt Coloured)






And all the baby furniture and accouterments.

And, well, a baby.

But. We. Have. Begun.

internal pacing

So, here I am, almost 16 weeks into this gig of pregnancy. Nothing to "do" about it except take care of myself. Doing all the proscribed 'right' things -- no booze, caffeine, nitrates, raw things, medications, soft cheese, etc. Lots of sleeping, lots of walking, started prenatal yoga.

CHECK. CHECK. CHECK.

And we have LOADS of time before we really have to have things done and dusted, baby room-wise.

So, yay for me! TIME! Freedom! Things I hear are mighty scarce once one becomes a new parent. Never to sleep as soundly again. I so so so get that. So we have 2 mini trips planned. And see movies. And go out into the world. And be loud.

So why do I not feel really free? I feel like I am pacing inside. Preoccupied. Now that I am latched on firmly to the notion of growing a person and then becoming a mother to the person, most other things seem to pale a bit. It is like knowing you have a REALLY BIG party to go to and you are excited and nervous and wonder what it will be like. And it isn't for another 5 months.

It is the preparty equivalent of obsessing about What to Wear and Over Applying Lipstick.

I think I need some living to kick me into realizing that this is it.

I need to get out of my navel. The baby will grow without my furrowed brow and one track mind.

Time for those trips away to change up the scenery and expand my mind along with my belly!

current benefits and downsides

overwhelming

So, we went to do a little "perusing" of nursery furniture today at John Lewis. You know, Looking.

And as we viewed the 1 zillion different kind of prams (that is stroller to you US folks) and cribs v moses baskets, v cots, v everything else, I felt a shift. No not in there, but in our perception.

Mark was taking the iCandy Transportation System for a spin down the store aisle and I think it hit us both simultaneously that soon we would be Needing These Things. Using These Things. As Parents.

It kind of felt like we were posing. New kids in the Parenthood store. Not really knowing what we are looking at. Or what questions to ask.

I guess we are still feeling sometimes like maybe I just had a big lunch and am crabby and need bigger jeans. I forget that I am Really Pregnant. Or, moreover, we will eventually *hopefully* have a kid at the end of this funny experiment.

More scans and a few tests ought to hammer it home. As does my heartburn and giant gut. And lack of caffeine. And huffing and puffing as we head up the last of our 2 flights of stairs to our flat. (the last 5 steps are a doozey)

The exciting part is starting and that is, well, exciting. Thinking about the colors and the cute onesies, and cute toys. And I am hoping the incredulous and wonder stays a bit longer. It is still fun to be naive. I know it won't be easy. At All. I hold no illusions of that. So for now, the dreamy state feels like being engaged. No need to worry about the marriage yet.

returning

Yes. I have not been blogging.

Thank you for noticing! And not for lack of happenings...

1. Went to Canada to help train new hosts for Life Club Shalom Village!
2. Played in Elora with Chris & Dave & Gary
3. Saw my parents and Aunt Dot in WI
4. Been rocking my Glasgow Life Club
5. Coaching my regular peeps

But mostly, what has been taking up most of my time, psychic energy and all my physical and mental and emotional real estate has been ...

1. Sleeping
2. Feeling like I was run over by a truck
3. Napping
4. Padding around in soft clothes eating cereal
   
5. Being on the edge of barfing

Because, yes, many of you know and if you don't you may have surmised, I am pregnant!

I found out on my actual birthday and my first trimester was consumed with my very own self. I know I could have been blogging about all the other nice things happening, but since I knew I couldn't go public, I created a self imposed gag order.

Cat outta the bag. I am almost 14 weeks along the way, feeling more like myself and starting to have the news really take purchase in my brain. It is time to get excited! Which we are. In batches between slight freak out and wonderment.

Taking it all in stages and not at the point where I can watch any Discovery Channel "Extreme Labor" or "Baby Stories" yet because the end game still makes me woozy. For now I am happy to stay awake all day, have an appetite, go out into the world and be active, and watch my belly grow.

I promise not to make this blog all about pregnancy nay about parenthood.

I hope it, as I, remain still my own person with a brain and interests and things to say.

Now just Plus One. Perhaps with more insight.

snow globe

I know so MANY people are so over the whole snow thing. Novelty worn right on off. I mean, it is February already and snow has been around for 3 months for most folks. Shoveling, cold, wet, traffic issues, travel disruptions, etc ...

Here in the UK cities we get a sprinkling here and there, but nothing that sticks or crunches under one's feet.

But today was different.

It was sticking. And really coming down from all angles. Giant, fluffy cotton balls. It looked like we were in the middle of a snow globe that had been shaken. Hard.

So we went out to play today and enjoy the rare white world.

• slide down the hill on our bums...
• watch eager snowmen being made -- the ones with sticks and a bit of dirt cuz the snow isn't deep
  
• throw snowballs ...
  
• get wet gloves ...
  
• admire how many other people were doing the same thing at 4 pm on a Monday
• take a bite out of a fresh white, clean snow
• watch Mark's face turn into a gleeful 8 year old
• play!

national me day

So tomorrow is my birthday.

And I love my birthday. I've always loved my birthday. Maybe because being the youngest of 5 kids it was the day I got to pick out my supper menu and my cake and sit at the head of the table and drink milk out of a wine glass and have my family bring me presents. And it is not all that different today. Except the milk part.

I mean, for my 30th birthday, the theme was All About Carol. I am not shy about asking for the attention I love and thrive in. I've always been really fortunate and lucky to have people who remind me that I am important in their world.

I know it sounds 1% weird, but it feels like a secret holiday for me. National Carol Day. You walk around knowing that it is YOUR day. And the shop keeper doesn't know -- or the lady at the bus stop. Over the years I have taken a bit more responsibility in making sure I like my birthday day. Planning things I want to do. Creating the day I want to have. Because face it, birthdays can be weird. You want people to remember. And you also don't want to make it a Big Deal. Very tricky place. I mean, you WANT people to want to celebrate your own national holiday and all and yet you don't want to ask them ... "please be happy I was born and tell me today."

And honestly, when it is other people's birthdays even if you really really like the people, it is never as big of a deal as when it is YOUR birthday. I like to remember the day and wish them a happy one, and all. And I hope it makes them feel like I am glad they were born. Because I am.

And mostly I am learning that while it is NICE to have other people celebrate you - it is really more important that you celebrate yourself. Hey- you lived another year here on earth -- breathing and living and loving and doing stuff... cool! And it brings your humanity right to the tippy top of your consciousness.

It is a day to feel divinely and scrumptiously human and alive. In your bones you know who you are.

And that calls for cake.

(This was one of those entries I 'wrote in my head' in the small hours. It was way more insightful at 4:30 a.m.)