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