I hate it less today.

So, I'm getting used to the hair, and I hate it less today. It still isn't quite what I imagined, but ultimately, it's only hair and it grows back. Plus, it is super easy to take care of now and I absolutely love that part.

I've been experimenting with sculpting wax and a headband and I think it's working for me. The headband makes the whole thing look younger so I'm moving away from middle aged, at least. I don't know if I've hit 25 yet, but I'm at least back in my 30s. The key for me is that even if it's not the perfect cut I envisioned, it has to be simple and quick to style. I am admittedly bad at doing my hair (or anyone's for that matter), so I tend to wash, put up and go with long hair. With short hair, 'm willing to make more of an effort, but it still can't take longer than two or three minutes. Especially with Butterbean en route. :-)

So, all in all, after a few days of getting used to it, playing around with styling accessories and just coming to grips with the fact that though I didn't get what I wanted, it's not the end of the world (or my appeal to my husband), I think I at least don't hate this hair anymore. I don't know if we've turned the corner to love, but we're at least at a mutual understanding.

P.S. After seeing the photo I posted yesterday, maybe now everyone sees why I don't put pictures up on my blog. I know it makes the whole thing more boring, but I am a terrible photographer (there, I said it), and that particular picture made me look like a deer-in-headlights. Even with the tons of makeup I put on beforehand. Kinda scary...

You can't always get what you want.

In today's episode of good news/bad news: I got a hair cut.

Good news? I will save a ton on shampoo and conditioner. It's much easier to deal with. I won't wake myself up rolling over on my hair and Allen won't accidentally wake me up by rolling over on it and pulling it. No more flying hair in my face on windy days. No more pulled hair when I try to wear it up in a pony tail or barrette.

Bad news? I hate it.

Don't get me wrong. I love the idea of it. And I love having short hair and getting rid of all the hair I was weighed down with. But the cut? It's bad. Or maybe it's just bad on me. Either way: I hate it. The thing about being pregnant is your hair does some pretty awesome stuff. I don't shed anymore (it's a hormone thing) so I have the thickest, most ridiculous hair ever. It's pretty amazing/awesome. Also, my hair used to look pretty greasy and nasty if I didn't wash it every day, but now I can go two whole days without washing my hair and not look like a greaseball. Again: amazing/awesome. This will all come crashing down when Butterbean is born, but for now, I have to say, I have pretty awesome hair. Which is why I needed a haircut so badly. First my hair has been growing like crazy so it was getting pretty long. Second, I needed something that was easy to deal with when Butterbean gets here. I definitely got both of those things, but the cut is just bad on me.

I have proof.

This is what I wanted:

Yes. That is Alice from the "Twilight" movies. Hate on the source material all you want, but that is a super cute haircut.

This is what I got:

Please excuse the gross spotty mirror. But you see my dilemma now? And I took this while my hair was wet and had a lot of sculpting wax in it and after I put on a bunch of makeup. Trust me, it's for the best. When it's dry, the super short layers on top lie flat while the rest curls and poofs and I look like a freaking poodle. With wings. To be fair to the "stylist" I re-cut my bangs when I got home. She left them long and they looked weird and so I chopped them shorter. I actually like them the best out of everything, but they were clearly cut by someone who should probably not be allowed near hair and scissors. (Which could apply to either me or the "stylist", come to think of it.)

I wanted to get a hair cut that would look young and modern. But instead of subtracting 10 years from my face, this cut added 10. No, no. It's okay. I know it did. I look like a middle aged fourth grade teacher. Or rather, I look like my middle aged fourth grade teacher. From 1984. It's not a flattering look on me and I'm going to have to work extra hard for the next few weeks to look cute rather than middle aged. Extra hard. Lucky for me my hair is growing fast. Maybe by the time February rolls around it will be longer and cuter. I certainly don't want to look like this in Butterbean's birth day photos. ::shudder::

The other bad news? I didn't tell anyone I was doing this. Allen is in for an unpleasant surprise when he gets home. But in my defense, I honestly thought I'd be a lot cuter when he got home today.

(Edit: Allen was surprised when he got home, but claims to love my hair and think it's super cute. I'm pretty sure he's required, by law, to say that. Yep. Just checked the marriage contract. It's in there. Also, I was planning to be funny about my bad hair cut when he got home, but instead I burst into tears. Pregnancy hormones are killing me!)

More hair.

I think Butterbean is growing more hair right now. Because the heartburn is back and super not fun. I thought I was so lucky. The first bout of it only lasted a few days and then went away. I gloated a bit (to myself) about escaping the worst of the dreaded pregnancy heartburn, and now I am paying for my arrogance. Kind of like with the stretch marks (which are now all the way up to my belly button and show no signs of stopping there). At least this means he'll (hopefully) not be super bald when he's born. Ordinarily I love bald babies, but since he's a Winter baby, I was worried about his little head getting cold. Hopefully this is a sign that he'll have hair to keep his little noggin warm. Fingers crossed...

Also, at my 30 weeks pre-natal appointment (two weeks ago), the midwife measured me at 33 cm. Now, you are supposed to measure the same number of centimeters as you are weeks pregnant, so I should have only been around 30-31 cm. (From pubic bone to the top of the uterus.) The measurement is pretty subjective depending on who is doing the measuring, so I just thought she was measuring large and didn't say anything. Well, at my 32 week appointment yesterday, I measured at 37 freaking centimeters! That is huge! A variation of plus or minus three centimeters is fairly normal, but five?! Five is definitely measuring big. The midwife explained that the biggest measurements happen during weeks 32-36 because the baby is still shifting position and hasn't dropped down into the pelvis yet. But still. I'm not likely to measure any smaller after this, so now I'm fairly convinced that I am going to birth some kind of monstrous 25 pound baby. I've still only gained 30 pounds total, which I was feeling pretty good about, but apparently Butterbean is drawing in extra calories from an alternate dimension or something. He has physicist parents so he's a quantum baby. There is a finite probability that he is absorbing calories from an alternate universe version of me.

The midwife did include the caveat that the belly measurement wasn't all baby. There was a "significant amount of Mama" in there too. Which was her polite way of saying that I came, ahem, pre-padded. Thanks, lady. Luckily, this midwife only does office visits on busy days, so she will not be at our birth. Anyone who calls me fat is automatically kicked out of the birthing experience. Whether it's true or not! :-)

Better late than never.

This is only tangentially related to babies, but I thought it was brilliantly written. Stephanie Pearl-McPhee (AKA The Yarn Harlot) wrote a great blog post on the proper way to receive a knitted gift. If you have a knitter in your life, I highly recommend reading this post. In fact, if you have ever received a handknit gift from someone, I think it should pretty much be required reading.

The one thing I would add is that if you don't like and/or are never going to wear said handknitted gifts, it's okay to say so. Um, later, that is. Be appreciative up front, but be honest if you just don't want handknits. Knitters put way too much time and energy and effort into each gift to have it languish on a shelf or on a hanger or in a storage box somewhere. (This actually goes for any handicraft...) Knitted gifts are meant to be worn and loved. I have knit things for family members that I put a lot of thought and time and money and energy into, and sometimes I get the feeling that they would have preferred a gift card to a favorite clothing store. And honestly? I'm not offended. There are plenty of people (including Allen or any of my knitting friends) who would love and use something I've made and I'd rather it was worn and loved. You aren't going to hurt my feelings if you also want it to go to a different home. You are going to make me very happy, in fact, knowing that the item will be appreciated rather than hidden away.

So, if you have a knitter in your life who gives you handknit gifts, consider yourself lucky. Even if it's the ugliest, scratchiest sweater in the entire universe, they thought about how much they loved you with every stitch.

Meatless Monday: Christmas traditions.

Everyone seems to have a Christmas meal tradition. If you grew up in my family, you would have had cheesy meatless lasagna with assorted veggies (olives, mushrooms, artichoke hearts, etc.) and garlic bread for Christmas dinner (or Christmas Eve, depending). It's a tradition my brother and I continued into adulthood, and only recently, when Allen and I became vegan, did we abandon the tradition. It's a little sad, but there really isn't any vegan substitute for what we had, so I'd prefer to let the memory of a delicious meal remain a fond one and start a new tradition instead. (My parents went out to visit my brother in Arizona this year for Christmas, and they did, in fact, have the "traditional" lasagna.)

Since we are on the eve of having our first baby, it's time to start some traditions of our own. And, since it was just the two of us this year, we tried what we thought was something novel. Chinese food on Christmas. Turns out, not so much. There was actually a wait for a table at our favorite Chinese place. We were kind of shocked. The food was delicious - our local place has an extensive vegan menu - and was much more cost effective than putting on a huge "traditional" Christmas dinner for just two people. I don't know if this will be our go-to family tradition from here on out. We're unlikely to have many Christmases with "just us", and I'm not sure how amenable either of our families would be to Chinese Christmas dinner. I'm not even sure it's something I'd like to do frequently. It was a nice change of pace, to be sure, but there's something about baking and cooking while chatting with family and smelling the pies in the oven that just screams Christmas to me. Maybe my own old traditions are buried deeper than I thought?

One tradition that we've started that is sure to stand the test of time: homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast on Christmas morning. There is a super easy (with a stand mixer) recipe in Colleen Patrick-Goudreau's Joy of Vegan Baking. (Pages 175-176, available in the Google Books preview.) It's well worth your time.

I hope your holidays, whatever your cause for celebration, were happy and full of fun and loving (and maybe one or two of them meatless...) traditions.

Overdoing it takes a lot less these days.

They sure don't make 'em like they used to. And by 'em I mean me.

I had a totally normal day yesterday. Got to the gym for the first time in a while and went swimming - felt pretty good about it too and specifically did NOT overdo it since it had been a while. Went grocery shopping (for the apocalypse, apparently, but that's a different post), and was planning to clean up the house and vacuum before dinner. I smelled like chlorine so I decided a shower was in order... Went to pick something up off the bathroom floor and BAM! Back spasm. But not just any back spasm, oh no. A back spasm accompanied by a distinct cracking sound.

My first thought, and I'm not even kidding, was that the baby kicked while I was bent over and cracked my pelvis. I'm a little lot embarrassed to admit that I had a flash of Bella-gives-birth-to-vampire-spawn. I didn't cry, but it was close.

Long story short, a day later and my back is still in agony. I'm calling the chiropractor to see if he has any appointments today. I'm also feeling like a housewife failure right now. The house is slowly creeping back to messy wreck and I was planning on a sparkling house for Christmas. I've discovered that your ability to make things sparkle is severely hampered when you can't bend your back at all or stand comfortably. Poor Allen is going to have to clean and make dinner. I hope he doesn't break under the weight of the chores. ;-)

I need to try harder, I think.

I always wanted to be a young mom. That ship has clearly sailed, which, granted, is a good thing. I'll be a much better mom now than I would have been in my 20s. It's a fact. But since I can't be a young mom, I decided I wanted to be a cool mom. The kind of mom who is well-dressed and pretty and never looks like a slob. I have several friends who are this type of mom and it's something to which I aspire.

Um. I'm falling short of the mark. My sweet, patient, kind and long-suffering husband told me, out of the blue, while we were waiting for the metro yesterday, that I looked really pretty. I was wearing a new sweater, make-up and super cute shoes, and I was feeling pretty good about my appearance. (I had a luncheon to go to with my old work group.) His compliment made my day even better, but it also made me realize that he usually sees me in various combinations of sweats and pajamas.

When I leave the house, I generally try to dress well and at least have clean hair if not make-up. I'm not the type who has to "put on her face" before leaving the house, but I like make-up and I like feeling like I look good (extra few pounds notwithstanding, cough). And if I'm willing to put on make-up and wear nice clothes to meet a friend for coffee, shouldn't I be willing to put the same effort in for the man I love? Granted, he doesn't see me for the majority of the day, and when he gets home, he wants to change out of work clothes and into comfy ones, too. So maybe lazy clothes if I'm indoors all day isn't such a bad thing?

I'm still feeling like I should try a little harder. My husband is the best man I know, and I never want him to feel taken for granted. I'm not going to start getting up at 5am so he only ever sees me in full make-up, or anything like that, but maybe changing out of my PJs in the morning would be a good start. :-)

A secret.

So, apparently there's a secret about stretch marks that no one tells you. Actually, come to think of it, there are a lot of things about pregnancy that are like that. Little secrets that no one ever tells you that you find out yourself along the way and then you wonder, "Why didn't anyone tell me this?!" Well, I'm blowing the cover off the pregnancy secrets. You heard it here first, folks.

So, stretch marks. Here's the secret about them: they hurt! Okay, okay. Not like agonizing, gut-wrenching pain. More like three day old bruise. But still. Also, you can feel them - with your fingers. I still can't see my stretch marks without a mirror, but if I rub my fingers across my lower belly, I can feel the ridges where the stretch marks have opened. Oh, and? Once those bad boys show up they are like freaking zippers. Ziiiiiiiiiiiip. They start small, but now my lower belly looks like a river delta, with purple-red streaks fanning up towards my belly button. I was so proud of myself for escaping them for more than six months, but now it looks like I'm paying for that delay. I don't know if anyone in the history of stretch marks has gotten this many, this bad. I'm really not kidding when I say they almost completely cover my lower abdomen.

It's not pretty. The vain part of me mourns the loss of the smooth skin of my belly and feels like my skin is ruined. The realistic part of me knows that this is the price I am paying for our son, and I pay it gladly. They'll fade over time, and in the long run, I get a miracle out of the bargain.

P.S. One more pregnancy secret: you will poop while giving birth. Most likely in front of strangers. It's a fact. The baby's head squeezes out whatever is in your intestines on the way out, like toothpaste out of a tube. And someone else will be wiping your butt because you'll still be trying to push out a baby. Maybe that's the real reason for the high c-section rate? Women found out at month seven that they'd poop on a table in front of strangers and said, "Oh hell no!" and opted for a c-section instead? It's certainly tempting... (Kidding. a c-section is major abdominal surgery and I maintain that it should only be used in emergencies. A 40% national average for deliveries via c-section is criminal and dangerous.)

Butterfingers... and toes.

Being pregnant makes you clumsy. Who knew?! I seriously cannot hold on to anything these days. I've stopped picking up fragile things because it's only a matter of time before I fumble it out of my fingers and break it. I'm like Chunk holding the frame in the attic in "Goonies".

My klutziness reached a new level this past weekend, though. I am now seven months pregnant (31 weeks), and getting big enough that my center of balance is off kilter. We have beautiful hardwood floors in our house, including a staircase that runs from the bedrooms upstairs to the main floor of the house. I am always extremely careful on these stairs, especially in the winter as socks + hardwood stairs = slippery disaster. I have a fear, nay, phobia, of falling down stairs while pregnant, so I generally clutch the handrail like I'm trying to strangle it. Well, this past weekend, as I neared the bottom of said stairs, I put the arch of my socked foot down on the edge of the step, and faster than you can say "Kristy Yamaguchi", that foot went flying out from under me. (I'm lovin' the 80's pop culture references today...) I landed hard on my butt and hit my back on the stair above my butt and then slid down two more stairs before finally coming to rest. As falls go, this was nothing. It was really just me sitting down hard, plus a bruise on my back. There are no other repercussions (other than the bruise), and the baby is still kicking up a storm and growing like crazy. I wasn't hurt, but man oh man, did it scare the crap out of me. I sat there for a while - Allen jumped out of his chair to come to my aid, and our house guest ran up from the basement to make sure I was okay - and after about 20 minutes of assuring myself that we were all okay, I burst into tears.

Hi. My name is Autumn and I'm pregnant and emotional.

It was the relieved but shaken and a little freaked out kind of crying, so I just got it out of my system and moved on. I think being so close to the end but still having an appreciable amount of pregnancy left is kind of an emotional landmine. I've talked about milestones before - the first trimester, the first heartbeat, the 20 week ultrasound - and we've hit them all. But now we're in no-man's land. The baby is gaining weight and prepping to be born, and I'm just willing him to stay in there until the right time. I know a few friends and friends of friends who have had their babies way too early and I am terrified of that outcome. It's a hard road to travel and watching a good friend go through it first-hand really brought home how scary it is and how helpless you are in the end. Maybe I'm dwelling on this because of the miscarriage? Or maybe it's just because I'm a control freak and I can't control anything about this? (Let's be honest here. It's probably the latter...)

Whatever the cause, I'm trying to let it go. I can't control when the baby will make his entrance. I can only plan and try to stay as healthy as possible. And maybe be extra careful on those stairs from now on... Or buy grippy soled socks.

Meatless Monday: Italian Soup

My Mom came up with this recipe and I am here to tell you it is fantastic. We made this the other night and both had huge bowls and then seconds even though our stomachs were full to hurting. It's that tasty. You can thank me when you wake up from the food coma. This makes a huge pot, so feel free to halve the recipe or just be thankful you have leftovers for lunch for a few days. Also, the orzo soaks up most of the liquid by the second day, so you might need to add more when reheating for round two.

Italian Soup a la Mama

olive oil (for sauteing)
1 onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced (this is highly variable - Mom used 2, we used 5 or 6.)
1 Tbsp fennel seeds
2 stalks celery, diced
1 pkg Tofurkey Italian Sausage (or your fave vegan sausage), chopped
2 cans diced tomatoes (and juices)
2 can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1 bag frozen (organic) chopped spinach
1 pkg orzo or other tiny pasta
12 cups of water, broth or combo

Method:
Saute onions in olive oil for a few minutes to soften, then add garlic, fennel, celery and sausage. Once that starts smelling delicious and the onion is pretty translucent, add everything else except the beans (you don't want to burn or caramelize the onions and garlic, though so watch them and add in liquid before that point). You may need to adjust the amount of liquid based on the pasta you choose, and whether you want more of a soup or a stew. Bring to a boil and boil gently for 8-10 minutes to cook the orzo. Add the beans in and heat through for a few minutes. Serve as is or with garlic bread.

The Duggars.

Everyone who has a TV probably knows that Michelle Duggar had a miscarriage. A second trimester miscarriage. I feel awful for her, especially since getting to the second trimester is usually such a huge relief in terms of making it past the most risky miscarriage time. There is a great blog post on Babble.com about insensitivity toward miscarriages and how the Duggar's tragedy has stirred a lot of it up. The bottom line is that whether you have zero children or 20, a miscarriage is still a lost child. An extremely painful experience. It wasn't her fault, but she has to bear not only her loss and sadness, but also everyone else's judgments in the public eye.

My heart grieves for her and her family.

Read the blog post here:
Duggar miscarriage shows insensitivity.

So I quit my job...

And somehow I have even less free time. How did that happen? The good news is that the groceries are bought, the laundry is done, the Christmas gifts are all purchased, the car has gas and the house is slowly getting cleaner. I think I'm in the middle of a perfect storm of holiday prep work, baby prep work, trying to find a routine and trying to be a good housewife and assuage some guilt over the fact that I just single-handedly halved our income.

I know I keep coming back to this, but Allen is amazing. He has commented more than once how awesome it is to have someone at home taking care of domestic stuff. I'm not sure why, but for some reason I keep waiting for him to come home and complain about how I'm not doing my fair share since I'm not working at the Patent Office any more. Maybe it's bad juju leftover from a long-ago relationship? Maybe it's guilt that I am doing something I love instead of stuck at a computer doing drudge work that I hate? Probably the latter, combined with the halving the income thing. Plus, since I hated my job so much, I feel guilty that Allen has to still work at it. But really, he actually likes his job. So I'm not sure what my problem is. I'm keeping it to myself for now. (You know, other than publicly posting it on the interwebs for all to see...) I know it will pass - it's just transitional jitters.

So apologies for the unintentional hiatus. I hope to get into a more regular routine. I can't believe how fast Christmas is coming! And then Butterbean will make his appearance not to long after! This is crazy, people! I feel like time is water slipping through my fingers, and no matter how I cup my hands I just can't hold onto it. Since the Internet is the biggest time suck on the planet, I guess I should walk away from the computer now and go finish folding clothes...

A transition.

This week was my last official work week. I'm not transitioning from working from home to working at home.

I can't even tell you how excited I am about this. I'm making plans for errands and projects for next week, though I am taking a "day off" to do nothing but revel in the fact that I don't have to clock in to work anymore. It's not all bon-bons and soap operas, though. (Even though I am eating gummy bears right now...)

I am so lucky to have a husband who understands and appreciates the value of having someone at home to take care of domestic stuff. I'm really looking forwards to getting our weekends back. Up until now, with both of us working full time, our weekends have been devoted to running errands, cleaning and catching up on things we didn't have time for during the week. Now, with one person home, a lot of that will get done while Allen is at work, and we can actually spend weekends enjoying each other's company instead of making endless lists of all the things we need to accomplish.

I have a long to-do list to accomplish before Butterbean arrives - not the least of which is actually setting up his nursery! But I also have some major house cleaning to do, Christmas cards to organize, and generally settling into a routine of domesticity. I have been feeling a twinge of guilt this week, leading up to my last day at work. I feel a bit guilty making Allen responsible for all the income earning. But I try to remind myself that though I am not providing a paycheck anymore, I am still working. I think the guilt will subside once I fall into a rhythm of house-wifery. I have been waiting for this day for a long time, and I can't believe it's finally here! It bears repeating (over and over): I am so lucky to have Allen as a husband. So, so lucky.

And grapefruit gummy bears are the best.

28 weeks.

Things I l earned at my 28 week check-up:

1. If you hit a vein just right when taking blood, it will spray blood all over your white sweater.

2. Midwives are excellent at getting blood out of things, particularly white sweaters. (The key is peroxide.)

3. I gained 20 pounds in the first six months of pregnancy. I gained 10 more in the last month. I am displeased. I blame Thanksgiving.

4. Midwives have no magic cure or salve or potion or spell to prevent stretch marks. They are just the price of admission to pregnancy. Sure, some women escape without them, but I, sadly, am not one of them. Body butter, olive oil and the like will help your skin feel soft and smooth, and helps prevent the itching associated with dry and stretching skin, but it doesn't prevent stretch  marks, either. It's all about age and genetics. I appear to have gotten the short end of the stick in both categories. Which I protest mightily, given that my mother claims to have gotten no stretch marks. (Gray hair is also delayed or non-existent in the women on my Mom's side, but that didn't stop my first one from popping up around age 31... Again, I protest!!)

Happy Tofurkey Day!

We'll be out of town for a few days, so I won't be updating the blog until next week. Until then, here are a few things I'm thankful for this year:

Allen, being pregnant, our kitties, great friends and family who have been so supportive (couldn't have made it without you guys!), having food on the table and a roof over our heads, and getting to spend the holiday with people we love.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Meatless Monday: The Tuesday Edition.

In my distress over stretch marks yesterday, I totally forgot to post for Meatless Monday. I had a post all written up and ready to go ranting about Congress trying to get pizza classified as a vegetable in school lunches, but in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I think I'll post a recipe instead. Not that it's a traditional Thanksgiving recipe or anything, but it's still tasty and you should give it a try. (This recipe originally came from my friend Jon who is a fabulous cook and all around fun guy.) 


So, here is a delicious recipe for Chana Masala - an Indian chickpea dish. This recipe makes a huge batch, so it will either make a big enough serving for several people (at least six), or you will have yummy leftovers for a few days.


Chana Masala:

2 Cans Chickpeas (or one 16 oz. bag dried - you'll need to increase the spice amounts a bit if you use the entire bag of dried beans) Rinse and drain if using canned. If using dried, soak with the quick soak method, drain, rinse, add water to cover and boil until soft (or use a pressure cooker, if you have one - cuts the cooking time dramatically). Then drain and add to recipe.

1 onion sliced thin
ginger - 1 in. piece, minced or grated (or approx. 1 Tbs powdered)

garlic (a few cloves, minced)
jalapeno (minced, optional - if you want the flavor but not much heat, make sure you scrape the seeds out before mincing it. one jalapeno in an entire batch shouldn't make it too spicy, but you can leave it out if you are worried about it)
1 Tbs turmeric
1 Tbs paprika
1 Tbs cumin
1.5 Tbs coriander
0.5 Tbs pepper

1 pinch asafetida (if you have it - can leave it out otherwise)

2 Tbs lemon juice
cayenne (just a dash. I'd put in a smidge even if/especially if you leave out the jalapeno, but it isn't crucial.)
salt (to taste)
1 quart vegetable broth

2-3 medium tomatoes, diced (or 1 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes)

1 14.5 oz. can tomato sauce (or juice)

Measure the spices out first and have them in a little bowl by the pot on the stove. You don't want to be measuring them in individually at that step because you need to stir them constantly to make sure they don't burn. Trust me on this one...

Caramelize onion in olive oil (this is the key - get them really brown and sweet!)
Add ginger. Cook for a bit. (until fragrant and soft - make sure you stir frequently so nothing burns - maybe a minute if using fresh, 30 seconds if using powdered)
Add garlic, jalapeno - cook 30 seconds or so
Add the spices - cook until toasted and fragrant, 30 seconds - 1 minute, stirring constantly

Add 0.5 cups water to make a thin paste

Add beans, broth, tomatoes, and the juices. Simmer until liquid is thickened and reduced. If the taste is a little too tomato-y or otherwise flat, add a bit more salt and maybe a bit more of the spice mix. (Just add in dashes of each until it tastes right. Wait until the liquid gets thick before you taste and adjust, though. Some spices take a while to cook and develop flavor - like turmeric - and concentrating the liquid will concentrate the taste.)

Garnish with cilantro, if desired. Serve over rice with a side of raita.

Rice:

The perfect ratio is 1/3 coconut milk, 2/3 water. For example, for 3 cups of brown basmati rice, use 2 cups coconut milk (basically, use 1 can) and 4 cups of water. Add (golden or regular) raisins, cardamom pods (green or black or a mixture) and turmeric before cooking (1-2 teaspoons for color). YUM! (Either fish out the cardamom pods before fluffing the rice - they should all be sitting on the top - or warn people they are in there!) That will make enough rice to have leftovers.

Raita:

Peel one cucumber, slice it in half down the length, an scoop/scrape out the seeds with a spoon. Then grate the halves with a box grater and squeeze out excess liquid from the shreds. Mix with one big container of soy yogurt (or greek yogurt or regular ol' yogurt), but make sure it's the PLAIN flavor! Add some salt and fresh cracked pepper to taste. You can also stir in parsley or cilantro or a bit of mint if you like. Serve chilled on the side, or put a dollop on top of the chana masala when you serve it.

Yummy all around! Happy cooking!

You know what it is?

I figured it out. I am terrified of stretch marks because they are physical proof that I was pregnant that will be around long after I am no longer pregnant. After the emotional nuclear winter following the miscarriage, I am terrified of having a physical reminder of the pregnancy before I have my baby safe in my arms.

I know it's weird and pessimistic, but I know of so many women recently who have had their babies too early and I am terrified of that outcome.

At least now I know why I am freaking out so much about something so superficial. Maybe that will help me take a deep breath, relax and let it go. I can't control it so I should stop trying.

Thanks for listening to me whine about it. I feel much better now.

Stretch marks.

I have been living on cocoa butter. Seriously. I am single-handedly keeping the coca butter business afloat. I slather so much of the stuff on my belly every night in the hopes of staving off stretch marks that I permanently smell like whatever scent I've picked out for the week. But last night, I discovered something devastating...

It's not working.

I was just bragging to my mother about how I had no stretch marks on my belly yet (though a few small ones have crept up on my chest), and I was working so hard to make sure it stayed that way. (The aforementioned cocoa butter, plus keeping really well hydrated and eating right.) So seeing those first faint pink lines stretching across my lower belly was a shock. Though, in retrospect, they shouldn't have been all that surprising given the ones that appeared on my chest a few weeks ago.

In theory, I don't think there's anything wrong with stretch marks. They are a sign of something amazing: growing a person! One book referred to them as "the red badge of motherhood". But let's be real here for a minute. They aren't exactly attractive. No one sees stretch marks and thinks, "ooh, sexy!" I have enough body image problems without adding huge red welts across my abdomen. I know they fade over time, but it's distressing. I'm not a fan, in general, of putting a bunch of chemicals in my body, but I'm thinking that Mederma and I are going to be pretty good friends in a few months...

I think the main reason this is so hard for me to accept is that almost every single woman I have discussed this with has said something along the lines of "I didn't get any stretch marks!" I swear, if I hear that one more time I might go insane. I mean, sure, there have to be women out there with magical skin who never show signs of trauma, but seriously? Is it all of you? Am I the only one getting these things?

I would really love to hear from someone who got stretch marks. How bad is it going to get? How long do they take to fade from neon red to skin tone? Does Mederma (or any other scar reducing topical treatment) work? Is this something I just need to accept? Learn to love it as just another sign that I grew and nourished a life for nine months? I know it's vain. I fully embrace that it's only "skin deep" (heh) and has no impact on my abilities as a wife or mother. And not many people see my belly on a regular basis (or at all). But I would really love to be pretty for the one person who does see me and my distended belly on a regular basis.

This is where Allen proves, once again, that he is the best husband ever and a better person than me. He doesn't think they are ugly - though that may be because they are still small and unobtrusive right now. He thinks they are a sign that my body is doing something incredible, and thinks anyone who thinks they are ugly should keep their mouths shut. I married an amazing man. But still, having a baby is, in the end, kind of gross. So I'd prefer to keep the rest of it as pretty as possible. Rubbing a belly that's marked with deep red gashes takes away some of the charm...

N.B. This post is not meant to make anyone feel bad about themselves. This is how I feel about my stretch marks. Seeing them on other people doesn't make me cringe or shudder. (Actually, come to think of it, I don't know that I have seen them on other people aside from the birthing videos we've been watching in our Bradley Method class...) I'm whining about them on my body because I'm having a little pity party and feeling sorry for myself for not being Miranda Kerr who had a baby and went back to modeling Victoria's Secret underwear like 2 months later with nary a mark on her perfect self. (Not to mention a perfectly flat and flab-free belly.) I know beauty is only skin deep, in the eye of the beholder, is fleeting, etc, etc. But I'd still like to be pretty, for Allen at least.

An open letter to Ikea.

Dear Ikea,

I'm just going to say this to you straight, no beating around the bush. You suck and it's over.

Yep. That's right. I said it. I used to love you, but now I find you tedious and hateful. I'm afraid our relationship has to end. Sure, you have cute ideas and some smart storage solutions for small spaces - things that, in the beginning, I thought made us a perfect match. But I was wrong. Beneath your cute exterior lies shoddy craftsmanship, questionable manufacturing and labor practices and terrible customer service. Looks aren't everything in a relationship. I'm sorry I had to discover this fact the hard way, but now that I have, I just don't think we should see each other any more.

I put up with your abusive ways for far too long. The two story maze I had to navigate just to find the one lamp I needed, the 45 minute drive just to get to one of your stores, the time Allen had to go to three separate stores in a giant triangle around the DC metro area just to assemble a single desk... But the final straw was last weekend.

I found a bed frame I loved. I saw it in the store a few months ago and then stalked it online. Your stock is always fluctuating and never quite reliable, so I made sure to check online before we left to make sure the frame was "in stock". I had to wait several weeks. You know how to keep a girl dangling, Ikea. I'll give you that. I watched the stock go from "probably not in stock" with red bars, to "almost definitely in stock!" with five green bars! Five green bars, Ikea! It must be in the store! We drove down, expecting to buy our new bed frame and a whole new closet. We talked about sleeping on our new bed all the way down, we were that excited about it. We got to the store and decided on a color, then went to pick out our new closets.

This is where it started to fall apart, Ikea. First, you had some kind of high-wattage interrogation lights installed in the Pax closet section. I realize that I'm pregnant and a little sensitive to temperature changes, but even Allen was dying in there. We kept having to walk back to the mattress section for breaks because it was so unbearable. Then, we discovered that the tall shelves come in five colors, but the short ones only come in two colors. Whaaat?? We spent all that time picking out colors and accessories, only to have to start over when we realized that we could either get a kaleidoscope of closets (no) or settle for a color we didn't particularly want just for the sake of everything matching. I have a news flash for you, Ikea. Not everyone has even ceilings. Sometimes you have to mix and match heights, but it shouldn't mean you have to mix and match colors. But, like all abused partners, we "compromised" and rationalized our choice as being "better".

Once we had everything picked out and finalized, we went to the representative on the floor to pre-order our tall closets. You can't just pick those up at self-serve, oh no, you have to have the rep order it for you, print you out a receipt, pay for it and then you can pick it up from the furniture pick-up. She was moderately helpful, Ikea, but it only made us realize how terrible you had been to us overall. She checked the stock of all our closet accessories to make sure we could get everything we needed. On a whim, I asked her to check on our bed frame. This was the moment, Ikea. The moment you look back on and say, "Wow. Right there is where I totally blew it."

There was one in stock. Normally, this would not be an issue. In any other store, one in stock means one in stock. But seeing "one" in stock made our rep nervous. She tried to call someone in the stock area to find out if it was on the shelf. Twice. No one answered, Ikea. Perhaps we should have known what that omen would portend. Since I was dying under your interrogation lights, and my feet hurt from the miles of maze we had already traversed, and I was tired and hungry from being trapped in your store for over three hours already, I told her that we would just go check for ourselves.

You know what happened next. We made our way down to self-serve with our list of aisles and bins and a cart to lug our purchases out to the car. Luckily, Allen suggested we get the bed frame first as it was the biggest. We found the appropriate aisle, then the appropriate bin, labelled with "Opddal" so we knew we were in the right place, and found... Nothing. (Well, not nothing. We found plenty of Malm bed frames stacked in the Opddal section.) Allen went to find someone to help us. The response he got was something along the lines of "Well, if it's not on the shelf, we don't have it. The stock numbers are more like plus or minus five, so having one "in stock" doesn't mean anything."

We came to you with money in our pockets, prepared to spend well over $1000 on furniture and accessories. But like all abusive relationships, you left us upset and disappointed in the end. Feeling like we were stupid to have trusted you, and hating ourselves for buying into your promises. We left without giving you a single penny of our hard earned money. The only thing I am proud of that fateful day. We decided to wait until we had cooled down before making any further decisions about our relationship. I emailed your online customer service department to air my complaint with the hopes that you would try to win us back. We would have taken you back, you know, if you had shown even the tiniest bit of remorse or understanding about how upset we were. But you have grown so arrogant in your dominance in our relationship that you couldn't even muster up false sympathy. You know how limited our choices are for affordable, space-saving furniture, so your customer service rep basically told us we should have called the store in advance. Never mind that I did check the stock before we left, and checked again while we were in the store.

It was a classic non-apology. "I'm sorry you are mad, but it's your own fault."

So, that's it, Ikea. We're through. In our "consume or be consumed" world, customer service has taken a nose-dive at all retailers. Gone are the days when a store would try to win and keep your business. You certainly aren't the first to have treated us badly, Ikea, and I'm sure you won't be the last. But I can say with certainty that you'll never get the chance to hurt us again. "Fool me five times, shame on you. Fool me six or more times..." We put up with your crap for far too long and we refuse to do it anymore. The list of companies we will no longer buy from is growing longer, and our options for where to purchase things are growing shorter. We are unhappy with this turn of events, but the consolation is that we don't have to feel bad about funneling money into an ungrateful, bloated and arrogant corporation who cares only about its bottom line. We will gladly pay three times the price for a similar item, just for the pure satisfaction of getting it somewhere else. We will also happily search Craig's List and consignment shops and antique stores to find what we need. Your furniture may be new and flashy, but we've discovered that there is no soul underneath the pretty exterior.

So long, Ikea. It hasn't been fun, and I'm glad to be rid of you. I hope more people recognize your abusive ways and tell you goodbye.

Relieved that it's over,
-Autumn

Blogs I love: Via Ukraine.

In honor of National Adoption Month, I'd like to call your attention to one of my favorite blogs: Via Ukraine.

She's hilarious, but she's also honest and doesn't sugar coat anything. It's refreshing to find a blog that isn't all sunshine, rainbows and unicorns. Those blogs are great, but it's a relief to see that there are other women in the world who don't have perfect lives. She writes with such honesty about the struggles she had with infertility and adopting older children, and it never veers into self-pity, which is a hard line to walk.

Did I mention she's hilarious? I can't even tell you the number of times I have laughed out loud at something she wrote. This woman is responsible for my second favorite saying of all time: "Hold my earrings, Imma fight a man." If we lived in the same town, I would have asked her on a girl-date ages ago. She's exactly the person you want as a friend: witty and a bit sarcastic, with a fabulous sense of humor, but also kind and willing to lend a hand or a kind word.

She has an "ask me anything" feature on her blog, and she actually does respond to questions. This month she's trying to field adoption questions, so if there is anything you ever wanted to know about adoption, or older child adoption or adopting from an Eastern Bloc country, go ask her. But fair warning: you'll get addicted to her blog and end up stopping by every day. Ask me how I know...

Meatless Monday: Red Radio.

I'm thinking of trying out a new feature. I'm going to try to post something every Monday that has to do with food activism or veganism (vegetarianism). This blog is about our journey as a family, and that necessarily includes those topics. It won't all be in-your-face-activism, though occasionally it might be. I promise to post recipes and other stuff, too. We'll see how it goes.

What finally pushed me over the edge into trying out this feature on the blog was Jamie Kilstein - a vegan comedian - and Citizen Radio, a political and activism radio show that he created with his wife. Jamie Kilstein is hilarious, by the way.

Citizen Radio started a new program called Red Radio (hosted by Erin Red), which is specifically about veganism and animal rights. The inaugural episode features an interview with Colleen Patrick Goudreau who wrote one of my favorite vegan baking books - The Joy of Vegan Baking. (I make the cinnamon buns out of there for all special occasions and they never last more than 20 minutes out of the oven. Then I have to make a second batch for everyone else...)

I started listening to the show, but I couldn't make it to Goudreau's interview. Erin Red, the host, began with "what's actually in your McRib sandwich" and detailed some of the allegations of abuse and neglect at the factory farm which supplies McDonald's with pork. (They are being sued and investigated by the Humane Society for gross violations.) What actually goes into a McRib is disgusting, but the abuse allegations were unimaginably cruel. I had to turn the program off before she could get into the worst of it because I just couldn't handle it. This is part of the reason I'm vegan, anyway. I can't stomach animal cruelty, so I don't eat animals. Even though I couldn't make it through the episode, I highly recommend you give it a listen. If you've ever wondered how your food gets made, this is an eye-opener.

As I've said before, I don't advocate a vegan diet for everyone. It's hard work: it requires time, money and vigilance - which are three things in short supply in this economy. You also have to be extremely well educated to insure you are getting proper nutrition. Being vegan is easier for me than trying to make sure I ethically source all of my animal products, which is another part of the reason I do it. But if you are eating meat and/or dairy, I strongly feel that you have a responsibility to know where your food is coming from and how it's treated before it hits your table. It's not just an animal rights issue, though that's a big part of it. It's also a human rights issue (migrant and illegal labor), a health issue (hormones and antibiotics injected into the food supply), and an environmental issue (pollution, run-off, e. coli contamination, a dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico from farm run-off...).

I also strongly believe that how we treat those who are weaker than us defines us as human beings, and defines us as a species in a larger sense. I saw a bumper sticker years ago that has stayed with me and really resonated: "People who abuse animals rarely stop there." Violence is becoming pandemic in modern society and if we can't be kind to a cow who is destined to become our dinner, how can we expect to be kind to one another?

Check out Red Radio's inaugural episode. It's worth listening to, even the hard parts. (It's also totally free and available online or via podcast.)

How green is "enough"?

You may or may not have guessed reading some of these posts, but we're kinda granola at Chez Parker. We try to buy organic, fair trade, made in the US or made with fair wage and labor standards, we reduce, we reuse, we recycle. We work pretty hard to be eco-friendly. With a baby on the way, there are a few baby items that are easy to go eco-friendly: cloth diapers. Check. Organic soaps. Check. No VOC paint. Check. Non-toxic, eco-friendly latex mattress. Super check. (Excited about that one.) Hand-me-downs and/or gently used baby clothes. Check. Basically, if it comes in organic or fair trade, or if it reduces waste in landfills, we plan on using it for our baby.

Here's where I may fall off the wagon...

Baby wipes. I found an awesome recipe online for DIY wipes. I'm all for it. Make something gentle and know exactly what goes in it?? Yes please! There is a great recipe and tutorial on the Angel Babies website if you are interested. So while I am super stoked about the homemade wipes thing, I am torn about one particular aspect... Disposable or reusable? The tutorial shows a roll of paper towels, but says you can use it on reusable cloth wipes too. I'm all about reusing, but I gotta tell you guys: disposable wipes are super tempting.

It's not the laundry. I'll be washing cloth diapers every two days anyway, so it's not like I'm making more work for myself in that respect. The issue for me is the extra ick factor. Wiping off poop? Fine. Getting to then throw that poop away? Awesome.

I suppose there's also the issue of how often I'l have to make the wipes. If I have a roll of paper towels, presumably that will last a week or two, right? Newborns go through 12 diapers a day, so I'd assume going through 12-24 wipes per day. If I'm using cloth ones, I'd need a supply of like 50 wipes just to get through 2 days before needing to do laundry. Well, I'm exaggerating a bit. That would be a terrible two days... So maybe I'd have to make them more frequently, but maybe not that much more frequently?

Am I trying to be too green? Is there such a thing? Am I just making a lot of unnecessary work for myself that I'll regret when I have a newborn to care for? I want to do the right thing for my baby and for the planet, but when is enough enough? 

So, disposable or reusable? It's the new "paper or plastic?".

Future gymnast.

We've hit the point in the pregnancy where I can feel the baby moving. It's pretty exciting. I've actually been feeling him moving around in there for a few weeks now, but in the last week or so, he's gotten strong enough to make my whole belly move. Like you can see it on the outside kind of moving. It's both awesome and freaky. Like Aliens but with less carnage.

Allen saw one belly move and felt one kick, so our record of uncooperative baby is still standing. But this little guy is active. I don't know how much babies move around in there in general, but I've got to tell you, this one is doing somersaults. It's awesome. I absolutely love feeling his little kicks and punches. It reminds me that someone is actually in there (rather than me just having a beer gut), and it makes me feel like he is growing and getting stronger.

I've been measuring this pregnancy in milestones. First heartbeat on ultrasound, first heartbeat on Doppler, first trimester, 20 week anatomy scan... Now we've hit the movement milestone. The next one is the 28 week milestone. We're right at the cusp between viable inside and viable outside, and 28 weeks kind of marks the turning point. Everything has been going so well with this pregnancy, and while I am incredibly grateful, I've also been kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop. That's why I measure time in milestones. It's a short term goal that that's easy to attain and doesn't let me look too far ahead. It's also a much more positive outlook and doesn't let me dwell too much on the what-ifs.

I still can't believe there is a whole person in there. It's so amazing. I wish I were a poet because I just don't have the words to describe how incredible this whole experience has been. It's totally normal and natural - I was built to do this! And yet, so completely wondrous. I am growing a person, you guys! And I can feel him moving around inside! Being pregnant is amazing!!

It must be the belly.

I was parking the car yesterday, on my way to buy some tank tops for me and some pants for Allen. I got out of the car and was getting my purse out when a random woman walking by stopped and said, "You look so cute!"

Let me back up a bit. The DC metro area is not, like, a super friendly place. JFK is famously credited with saying the DC has "Southern efficiency and Northern charm." This is not to say that everyone is a jerk, but it's not like a town in the South where people say hello to you on the street (even when they don't know you! gasp!). Everyone mostly keeps to themselves, and everyone complains about how ridiculous the tourists are. (Stand on the right, walk on the left! Jeez!!)

Every once in a great while, if you are in DC proper, with a map and looking lost, someone will stop and ask if you need help finding something. But generally speaking, it's head down (or on cell phone or iPod) and no eye contact. I generally employ these tactics myself. It's a big city, and if I'm walking somewhere by myself, I'd prefer to not run the risk of getting trapped by a crazy person. (There are plenty of those, too.)

So when that woman stopped the other day to offer four small words of kindness, I was both surprised and really, really touched. It literally made my day. Now, I think I'm pretty cute in general, if a bit, um, well fed at this stage, but honestly, no one was stopping me before to offer compliments on my appearance. I have noticed that I get more smiles, more offers of assistance, more random kindness, and easier access to bathrooms now that I am preceded everywhere by a baby bump. It's like magic and I love every minute of it.

Maybe that's the secret to a polite and caring society - just pretend everyone you meet is pregnant.

The massive to-do list.

It is chaos around here. Absolute, complete and utter chaos.

Usually we can keep it in check a little, but with me trying to make it through my last rating period at work, Allen taking a promotion and a new work detail, being pregnant, and everything else... Well, the to-do list has gotten out of hand. We've crossed some things off - like getting a new mattress and painting the baby's room - but that has also added new things to the list. Like buying a new bed frame, getting rid of the old mattress, getting rid of the futon and the sewing table, painting the bedroom, rearranging and reorganizing. We also have to buy furniture for the baby's room, hire a birth assistant, find a pediatrician. All in addition to the normal things like laundry and dinner and social obligations. Feeling tired yet? Yeah... Me too.

We're just in that really awkward stage of slowly getting prepared with new stuff and needing to get rid of old stuff, but running out of room because we currently have both the new and old in the house. The second bedroom is closed off with three huge boxes holding the new mattress. I can't even fit in there any more between my belly and the furniture. The easiest solution would be to just donate everything to Goodwill, but our futon was kind of pricey and it seems a shame to not try to recoup some of that.

The good news is that the laundry is almost done, I have a good lead on a birth assistant, and a meeting set up with a highly recommended pediatrician. I also have an appointment with a chiropractor for tomorrow. I'm probably most excited about that. I have a pinched nerve in my pelvis and it's been driving me crazy for about six weeks now. It's only going to get worse as I get further along, so I figured it was time to nip it in the bud.

Sorry this post is so rambley. This is my state of mind lately. I'm trying to focus on one small thing at a time so I don't get overwhelmed with the daunting number of tasks we have ahead of us. Wish me luck!

The first cold.

It's official. I am sick. At first I thought it might be allergies, but no such luck. I have a full on horrific cold. If I ever find the outbreak monkey who gave me this wretched virus I will do them bodily harm.

I called the midwives to ask about cold remedies and got this as an answer:

"If you treat a cold it lasts 7 days. If you do nothing, it lasts a week."

Two days down, five to go. And I plan on whining through each and every one of them. I am miserable! Runny nose, crazy sneezing fits, watering eye - just one, mind you. My left eye. I've been walking around the house looking like Popeye for the last two days. And trying to knit with one eye open and one shut is no fun. It seriously messes with your depth perception. Adding to the fun, apparently pregnant women tend to have more swollen nasal passages so I can look forward to more mucus and sneezing than a not pregnant person. Fabulous.

Someone, please, make it end! I'll be waiting on the couch with tea and tissues.

Pros and cons.

I have heard women say how much they loved being pregnant. I would smile politely but secretly think that they were crazy. I mean, I didn't expect to hate being pregnant (though some do that, too), but who loves being on a restricted diet and activity schedule for almost ten months? No glass of wine with dinner? No pints at the pub? No roller coasters?! Okay, that last one is a bit silly since I don't go on roller coasters frequently enough to matter, but still. It's the principle.

So, when I got pregnant, I was excited, obviously, but I realized that I would immediately have to cut out coffee and alcohol, and if I could make to the Harry Potter theme park in Orlando, I probably couldn't go on any of the rides. What I didn't expect is that I love it.

I love being pregnant. I love that I am the vessel, I love that I am growing a person (!), I love choosing a meal knowing that my baby is going to get a taste of whatever I eat, and hopefully, will love some of the same things I love. (Though he may be mad at me about how much garlic I eat...) What I love most of all is feeling him move. Feeling that little squirm in my belly that lets me know he's happy and kickin'. And recently, though it's a little creepy in an Alien (the movie) sort of way, I love watching my belly move from the outside. It makes me proud that I am nourishing him and he is getting stronger every day.

I even love the smell of Allen's coffee in the morning, knowing I can't (shouldn't) have any. And I love the smell of the beer he has occasionally. I also love getting a decaf latte occasionally. It feels like such a treat now. Maybe I'm learning to appreciate simple pleasures that I took for granted before I got pregnant? Who knows. But I love it, anyway.

Having said all that, there are a few things I could do without. The first is the pinched nerve in my right hip. It is agony and has been for about six straight weeks now. And the midwives tell me it won't go away - it will only get worse as I progress. I hobble out of bed every morning, and stairs? No fun. Especially since I have to climb and descend them 15 million times a day to pee. The second is the near constant stitch in my left rib cage. It is driving me insane. Sitting on the birthing ball helps with that, somewhat, but I would pay real money to make that go away. I know it can be one of the symptoms of pre-eclampsia, but my blood pressure is fantastic and I don't have other symptoms. I think it's just sitting for long periods with crappy posture.

As I get farther along, I'm getting bigger and more waddley. I love my belly and love showing it off in maternity clothes, but getting out of bed is getting more difficult. Particularly when I have to wrestle with a body pillow, covers and cats who do not want to give up their warm spots. All in all, I'm pretty surprised though. I never expected to love this, so it feels like another amazing gift. The first was getting pregnant, the second was loving (almost) every minute of it. (Except maybe the hip thing. That I could do without. I think it might be time for a chiropractor...)

The good and the... less good.

We had our first appointment with the midwives. It was everything we expected. They also have student midwives who intern at the practice, which is fine. We are fine with having a student sit in on our visits. Except... Except the student right now is our Bradley Method instructor.

Sigh.

While she was taking down my history, she took the opportunity to lace into me yet again about being vegan. This time suggesting that my life-long, runs-in-my-family, started-around-the-onset-of-puberty, I-know-my-triggers-are-sugar-chocolate-and-red-wine migraines are due to the fact that I don't eat animal protein. For eff's sake! I explained that I got migraines when I did eat animal protein - milk, eggs, cheese - but she dismissed that as not "real" animal protein. Look lady. Animal protein is animal protein - milk, eggs, chicken, beef... It's all "animal protein", The midwife finally had to cut her off. 1. Because it was clear that I was getting pissed. 2. Because they have a whole visit designed to evaluate your diet and this wasn't it. And 3. I am clearly not malnourished, nor is my baby. In fact, this same student was concerned that I was measuring too large for how far along I was. Oh, until she realized that I was actually 24 weeks and not 22. And measuring 24-25 cm at 24 weeks and 3 days pregnant is perfect. Needless to say, this "student" is not invited back to any of my exams. Luckily, she's only there until December, but still. We. Are. Done.

Whether you agree with my diet or not, continually badgering me about it is only going to piss me off and make me defensive. And I take great umbrage at people who think they are diet experts because they follow the latest diet trend. (Ahem, paleo...) I am vegan, but I would never suggest that it's the only correct diet. I wouldn't even suggest that most people should be vegan! So it greatly offends me to be questioned over and over again about something I have done a ton of research on. It also feels like she's criticizing my parenting before I've even gotten started! She seems to be suggesting, less subtly each time, that I am in some way harming my unborn child. Let me be the first to tell you, I would have gone back to eating diary a long time ago if it was best for my baby. Or if my brand of veganism was in any way harmful. And since my old OB/GYN signed off on my diet, I think the Bradley instructor can go fu... Take a flying leap.

What ifs.

They are so unproductive and yet, I find myself playing out crazy scenarios day after day. The most common is what if something happens to Allen and I am stuck all by myself with a baby to raise, a mortgage and a car payment, and my only recourse is a job I absolutely loathe? This has been a big thing with me lately. I have seriously been obsessing about "what if something bad happens to Allen". If he's late home from work, I start to worry that he got hit by some crazy commuter. "Will they know to call me?"

I've also been obsessing, just a ton teensy bit, about losing the baby. I had a miscarriage before, I have friends and friends of friends who had their babies way too early (so far, knock on wood, with positive outcomes), and know of several women who had late term miscarriages. I'm far enough along in my pregnancy that Butterbean is a reality to me now. My bulging belly (and crazy hormones) and the kicks I feel from inside remind me all the time. I think it's that I feel so wildly out of control. I'm doing everything I can to have a healthy pregnancy, but if something happens, there isn't anything I can do to prevent it. I know, logically, that control is an illusion. But that doesn't make it easier to give up.

So instead, I've been obsessing about worst-case scenarios. It's driving me insane, and is making it hard to focus and function. I need to find my way back to the place where I can concentrate on the things I can accomplish and let go of the things that are outside my sphere of influence. Anyone have any ideas on how to do that?

Oh, right. I remember now. "Don't anticipate". Easier said than done!

That was easier than I expected.

I broke up with our Chantilly midwives yesterday. I chickened out and sent an email, though. After the ugliness with my OB, I just didn't want to deal with any more drama so I took the passive-aggressive way out.

Turns out, my fears were totally unfounded. The midwives were so kind and gracious, and were nothing but understanding and helpful about the whole transition. Had they been more local to us, I doubt I would have switched, especially knowing what I know now. They wished us the best and invited us to come back for their open house and asked if we would send pictures once Butterbean makes his entrance.

I guess it goes to show you, midwives are a whole different breed, and a completely different model of care. I feel incredibly lucky to be able to use a midwife for the birth of my baby.

Oof. A dilemma.

I really didn't see this coming.

I got a call from the Birthcare center near us - when I say near, I mean 1 mile away. I called them originally in August about getting into the midwife practice for Butterbean's pre-natal care and birth. They only take 25 births per month, and I was number nine on the waiting list. So I was completely unprepared for them to call me yesterday and offer me a spot in their practice.

I like our current midwives, but it's not like I have some deep spiritual connection with them. I feel a little bit flaky for considering the move, but Birthcare is so much more convenient. First, it's super close to us. No worries about a 45 minute drive to the birthing center. I could walk there if I really wanted. (But that option is not on the table right now.) And, as an even bigger bonus, our insurance accepts them as a care provider! Our current midwives don't qualify because they are "certified professional midwives" rather than "certified nurse midwives". The midwives at Birthcare are CNMs.

While they've never pushed it on us, I have also been vaguely uncomfortable with our current midwives religious affiliations. There seems to be a big focus on "God's plan" on their website, and while I think that they are entitled to their own beliefs, I don't share them. In fact, not only do they seem to be fairly religious, their practice seems heavily weighted with fairly religious people. I can name four people off the top of my head at that practice that have more than eight children, for example. That's pretty rare outside certain religious ideologies. Having said that, however, I think it might also be a sampling bias. Certain religious groups prefer to labor and deliver with midwives, for a variety of reasons, so it's not necessarily that the practice as a whole is religiously oriented.

It's entirely possible that I am trying to justify changing providers and using unfair criteria. Our current midwives have been nothing but kind and caring, and haven't made us feel uncomfortable in any way. Well, other than a brief (and entirely incorrect) lecture about nutrition. But having just gone through an ugly incident of alienation with my OB, I am a little gun shy about changing. But that kind of makes me mad, too. Why should I be afraid to change to something that's easier and more convenient for me and my family?!

We went to an open house at the Birthcare center last night, too. They gave us until Friday to decide about changing, and I wanted to tour and meet at least one of the midwives before we decided. We kind of lucked out that they happened to have an open house. We've been to the center before - our Bradley Method birthing classes are held there - but we've never met the midwives or seen the offices and birthing rooms. The birthing rooms are small, and there are only two of them. The NOVA birthing center that our current midwives just opened is much bigger and nicer. The midwife we met last night was knowledgeable, patient, friendly and open. I don't know if I've ever met a midwife I didn't like, come to think of it. We really liked her, so she was kind of the icing on the cake. One of the best things about the new place is, in the event of a catastrophic snowstorm, they can actually come to me! She had no qualms about traveling to us if we got snowed in, and made a point to tell us that they would do whatever we felt comfortable with - come to us, meet us at the hospital, whatever. Our current midwives kind of made me feel like I was on my own in the event of a snowstorm.

So, after careful consideration, we're changing. It just makes sense logistically and financially, and I feel much more comfortable with my options in case of emergency. Now comes the hard part... "Breaking up" with my current midwives.

I spoke too soon.

An exchange from a recent birthing class:

Instructor: "Who has been feeling really hormonal?"
All the women in the class: raise hands
Allen: whispers to me "No, you've been fine."

Oh my poor, sweet husband. How those four little words came back to haunt you.

I had an epic meltdown last week. I mean like Lord of The Rings extended cut movie marathon epic. This was my first really hormonal completely-lose-all-reason episode, so I think I'm still doing okay overall, but man... It was not pretty in this house for a good 12 hours.

It wasn't even anything specific. I was frustrated with work (not unusual), but for some reason, I could not stop crying and every tiny little thing set off a fresh round of hysterics. We're trying to adjust our mortgage rate and the APR went up from 2.75 to 2.875? Crying. The VW dealership is sending out a guy to repair our windshield and he isn't here yet? Tears. My computer settings are wonky because we got new hardware at work? Meltdown. My brother got a new iPhone 4s? Hysterics.

I wish I was making that up. But all of them are true. Welcome to pregnancy. These are the things no one tells you. Yes, you'll be hormonal, but no one told me what that meant. So, ladies who intend to get pregnant for the first time, pay attention. You will get hormonal, but being pregnant hormonal is to regular hormonal as being an elephant is to being a mouse. (I dare them to put that on the SATs.) It's a whole other league.

Allen got a crash course in it. He came home to hysterical wife, and held me while I cried about work, the mortgage, the iPhone, the car, not to mention the "what if you die" scenarios I spun out in between sobs. It was a special moment, guys. Here's where Allen once again wins best freaking husband, ever:

Me: sniffling "I also ate all the halva because there was no ice cream in the house."
Allen: "Well, there is now. I brought home cake and ice cream for dessert."
Me: miraculously "I feel better!" tears dry, clouds part, angels sing

A little ice cream goes a long way in this house.

Construction.

Dear County Construction Workers,

I really appreciate the new water main and sewer lines you are working so hard to install. However, since I'm one of the people paying for the job (with my tax money), I'd really appreciate it if you would use the jackhammer to tear up the road after 8 am. It makes my whole house vibrate, wakes me up, and makes me worry that you are scrambling my baby's brains. And while we're on the subject, could you also not park your huge bulldozers and cranes and such right next to my new car? There is a whole street at your disposal, so parking 2 feet away from my bumper was a little unreasonable, I thought.

Thanks,
-Me

This is getting ridiculous.

I can't even tell you the number of people who have stared, slack-jawed, at my belly in the past week and said something along the lines of, "Oh my gosh! You are ready to pop! You were due last week weren't you?!"

Manners are clearly in short supply around these parts.

After I politely inform said obnoxious observer that no, I'm in fact only about 6 months along and not due until February, I get this in return: "Is there more than one in there?!"

Jesus H. Christ, people. I am having ONE baby. One. And I am not actually that big! I look like a normal five to six months pregnant woman! Were you all raised by wolves?! Actually, I take that back. Wolves would be more polite. I'm starting to come up with less polite retorts to these types of observations, so buyer beware. If you see a pregnant woman and you think to yourself, "wow, she looks huge!", please, for the love of all that is holy, keep it to yourself!

Say something nice or shut the hell up. "You look huge!" is not nice. It's not cute, and it makes me feel bad about myself and self-conscious about my belly. I should be proud of my belly! Showing it off! Not trying to hide it under muu-muus because of a few (hopefully) well-meaning clods. Try something along the lines of, "You look great! When are you due?" If you can't manage that, then please, don't say anything at all.

I need to become one of the top 10,000 influential bloggers.

I'm serious, people. We need to make this happen.

The tourism industry in Japan has suffered serious setbacks due to a strong yen, and the earthquake and nuclear power plant snafu from earlier this year. So, to help boost tourism and bring money into the country, the Japanese Tourism Board has decided to give out free flights to Japan to "influential bloggers". The initiative is still waiting for government approval and budgeting, and should be finalized in April, 2012.

So we have until then. Now the challenge... How do I increase readership without pimping myself out too much. A little pimping might be worth it for a free trip to Japan.

Exercise ball, take two.

The exercise ball didn't last very long. It's great for sitting, but not so great if a huge orange tabby insists on jumping up into your lap. With his ridiculous back claws extended.

The cats weren't very interested in the ball, other than to sniff it, because it's not stable. They never even attempted to jump up on it. Then, one day, when Allen was sitting on it and finishing up some work, O'Malley (the aforementioned giant orange tabby) decided he had to be in Allen's lap at all costs. In the process of jumping up, he gouged a hole in the ball with his back claw. Allen reported that the ball slowly deflated instead of bursting, which is amazing given that the gash was a good half inch long.

So good news: the ball won't burst, even when punctured. Bad news: we had to order a new ball. Thanks for the field test, O'Malley.

Nursery design.

Is tough.

That's the main take-away point of this post. We - and by "we" I mean Allen - got the second bedroom walls patched and primed. Now we have to pick out paint. But before we can pick out paint, I have to decide what I want the nursery to look like. I have never been one of those people who can find something amazing at a yard sale or antique store, or just happen to stumble across the perfect furniture or rug accessory for the space I'm decorating. I consider myself creative, but an interior designer I am not. I love simple and clean, I love small spaces, I love hidden storage. But I also tend to go overboard. I find something I like and I find myself putting it on everything. I quickly go from "simple and clean" to "cluttered and overkill". I need someone to reign me in.

Unfortunately, Allen is not that person. He has absolutely no input or ideas on decor other than "that will (will not) fit." It's not a downfall or shortcoming in any way, and I am lucky to have a husband who trusts my eye so completely (except for the time I painted my walls pink - he was not a fan). But I am struggling here, people.

I have several ideas... First is a woodsy forest theme. A wall decal of a tree maybe with some birds (owls??), some mushrooms along the baseboards, a wood grain pattern rug.

Second: a Japanese style theme. A sakura tree wall decal (I love this one), an asian fabric quilt, a koi pond rug. Or maybe a sakura rug, instead. I'm a little worried that this style could get too feminine, though.

Third: a fantasy theme. Kind of along the same lines as the woodsy theme, but add dragons.

I have to remind myself that this isn't going to be permanent. It's not like he's going to graduate from high school with the same room design as his nursery. This just has to be a room I'll enjoy being in until he's old enough to want something different, or until we move. I've almost decided, I think. Now I just have to go find that damn wood grain rug...

New paint.

It's kind of amazing how a simple coat of paint can transform a room. Allen primed the second bedroom - soon to be nursery - and we picked out 3 paint sample colors to try on the walls this weekend. We also had 2 samples leftover from when we painted the bathroom, so we put 5 samples up on the wall, total.

Here's the thing about paint... The sample cards they have in the store don't accurately represent the final color. I learned from a friend (during the bathroom project) that whatever color I liked for the walls, I should buy at least 2 shades lighter because it would look much darker once applied to a large surface. She was so right. The samples that Allen complained looked white in the store are a lot darker in practice. Also, thank god someone decided to sell small samples of the paint before you buy a whole gallon. A few of the colors are dreadful on our walls and I'm really glad I found out for a $2 and 2 minute investment.

I have 2 favorites picked out, but I'm waiting for the second coat before I decide. If they are too dark after that, it's back to the store to try to find an even lighter shade. Who knew this would be so hard?! Though, on the plus side, I think we have a theme picked out and I'm pretty excited to start sourcing furniture and decorating. Look out, Butterbean! Mama is decorating!

New car!

The title says it all. We bought our first new car! Well, technically, it's a certified pre-loved car, but it's the first car we've purchased as a couple. All our other cars have been hand-me-downs.

Hand-me-down cars are great, don't get me wrong. It fits right in with our "reduce/reuse/recycle" philosophy and we definitely pay it forward by handing our cars down in return. But the last car (a 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee) was having major issues that no mechanic could diagnose without investing hundreds of dollars. Since the car wasn't worth that much, we decided a new one was in order.

We searched for the right car for a few months and then finally found it: a 2010 VW Golf TDI. It has a diesel engine (great gas mileage), is a manual transmission (won't get stolen since no one can drive stick any more), has four doors (a must with a baby), and is all around perfect. I'm in love.

Back-up plans.

Our little guy is due February 17. If we lived further south, this would be no cause for alarm. If we lived further north, we would also be undaunted. Further south, little to no snow. Further north, lots of infrastructure in place to handle snow. Mid-Atlantic region? El zilcho.

Two years ago, in mid-February, we had Snowmaggedon up here. We actually had two that winter. The first was mid-January, and then a second a month later. The entire metro DC area shut down for a week. Roads were impassable unless you had a snowplow or a four wheel drive SUV, and even then, it was iffy. Last winter wasn't as crazy in terms of weather. But with global warming and generally unpredictable weather patterns, you can never be sure...

Our plan is to drive to the birthing center in Chantilly when I go into labor. It's a 45 minute drive without traffic. At my last check-up, I asked our midwife, Peggy, if we should buy the homebirth kit (gloves, sterile pads, etc.) as a back-up in case we got snowed in. My thinking was that if we couldn't get to them, they could probably get to us.

Unfortunately, this is not the case. They did have a birth happen during the aforementioned Snowmaggedon, and in the process of trying to get to the home, the midwives spent 11 hours on I-95 and ended up in a snow bank. Needless to say, they were not eager to repeat that scenario. I should add the caveat that our midwives are fantastic, but there is no reason for them to put their own lives at risk driving in dangerous conditions. I thought our back-up plan was going to be a home birth. As it turns out, our back-up plan is the hospital.

There is a hospital close to our house (maybe 5 miles away), and if we can't drive out, an ambulance can come pick us up. I'm a little bummed (okay, a lot bummed) that this has to be our back-up in case of adverse weather, but I understand the reasoning. This is not an ideal (for me) back-up plan, but at least we have one now. And even if our midwives can't make it to us, or us to them, they will still be on the phone with us and talking us through a lot of it, so that makes me feel a bit better. I'll just have to labor at home as long as possible to avoid the interventions I'm likely to get at a hospital. But, as my sister says, "don't anticipate." So I'm going to proceed like everything will go according to plan... I am planning for clear roads and clear skies.

Oh, another bit of news... I thought my placenta placement was good and we were all ready to go for non-hospital birth. Peggy, however, said that the placement was low enough to warrant another ultrasound around 32 weeks to make sure it had moved up and out of the way. I'm not super excited about another ultrasound - I still have mixed feelings about them in general. It should just be a precaution. The placenta usually moves up as the uterus expands, and having it cover or partially cover the cervix only happens in a very small percentage of cases - like 3%, I think. At least we'll get one last look at Butterbean before the main event. I'm not exactly worried about this, but I'm not thrilled about it either...

"Don't anticipate." Got it.

Birth ball.

My desk chair is miserable. It was great for a while, and I spent a ridiculous amount of money on it, but now that I'm pregnant it is the most uncomfortable thing I've ever sat in. I makes my bum and back ache and I have a near constant stitch in my left side because of the way I have to sit in it. (Though the computer mouse gets some of the blame for that, too.)

I've heard recommendations from pregnant women, doctors, midwives and just about everyone else that an exercise ball (a.k.a. "birthing ball") was the way to go. As a chair, they encourage better posture and support your pelvic floor, and, maybe even more importantly, the double as a support device during active labor. When I went to the gym last week, I sampled (sat on) several of the exercise balls they had laying around. I. Was. Hooked.

I ordered this ball: the Gaiam Total Body Balance Ball Kit. It comes in 3 sizes - 55 cm, 65 cm, and 75 cm - and according to user reviews and the Gaiam recommendations, the 65 cm size is appropriate for someone my height (5'7"). The thing is, to get it to the proper size, you have to inflate it in stages. I was worried when I first inflated it because I my knees were slightly higher than my hips, and I felt like I was a kid sitting at the grown-ups table without a booster when I pulled it up to my desk. So I sat on it for a while, and it also felt slightly too squishy. So after about two hours, I pumped more air in.

That did the trick. It is now a proper height (my midwives recommended that my knees should be slightly lower than my hips), and I don't feel like I'm sinking into the ball when I sit on it. I think this would be true of any exercise ball, so my advice is: inflate, sit for an hour or so, re-inflate.

When I first sat on it, I made sure Allen was standing nearby to catch me if I fell off or if it burst. I am terrified of the ball bursting out from under me. I read some reviews of other balls that had burst and dumped people face-first onto the floor, and that was not a path I wanted to go down. One, because I am terrified of hitting my face on something and breaking bones or knocking out teeth (it's a vanity thing), and two, because I am pretty sure that falling when pregnant is a no-no. I would freak and probably call 911 if I fell off this thing.

Luckily, and this is part of the reason I picked Gaiam, there weren't any "this burst and dumped me on the floor!" reviews of this particular ball. It didn't hurt that it also retails on Amazon for about $20.

I've been sitting on it all morning and I've discovered a few things.

1. It's pretty fun to sit on. I find myself rolling around on it a bit, adjusting my position frequently and overall, not getting bored.
2. I'm doing more "work" than I realize. When I get up from the ball, my hamstrings and bum feel like they've been working out. In a good way.
3. My posture is much improved. It's not perfect, but I'm still learning. I think in time, this will be a fabulous posture resource. There is still a small temptation to slouch, but the dynamics of sitting on a ball make it difficult and uncomfortable to sustain a slouch for an extended period.
4. It's a cushy seat, but after a while my bum feels like I've been sitting on a hard chair. But not in the "omg I need to get off of this thing" kind of way. More in a "my bum is tired, I should stand up for a minute" kind of way. I don't know how to explain it better than that. But since sitting all day isn't great for you, having the urge to stand up and stretch can only be beneficial, right?

All in all, I am pretty sure I am going to love this thing. I will warn you, though, it's going to take some getting used to. It kind of feels like riding a bike. After a while, your sitting area gets a bit sore and tired, and I have a feeling that I will feel a bit sore tomorrow, but if I keep at it, the muscles will improve and it will be a comfortable seat.

There are a ton of brands out on the market, so if you are looking for one, read reviews and sample a few if you can. The Gaiam one feels pretty sturdy (and is rated to hold up to 300 pounds without bursting), made of a thick material, and as a bonus, is latex and phthalate free. They also make a version that has a rolling office chair base for the ball, so it sits a smidge higher and feels more like an office chair. I was thisclose to buying that one, but opted for the cheap trial version before shelling out $70+ for the fancy version. You can buy them online, obviously, at places like Amazon, but I'm pretty sure stores like Target, and probably sporting goods stores carry them as well. (If you'd prefer to look at them in person.) Sporting goods stores might have some inflated for you to see, too, if you don't have access to any at a gym.

So, I'll update in a week or so about how it's going, but overall I'd say go get one. Even if you aren't pregnant, they are pretty fun chairs. But remember, inflate twice!

Random Acts of Kindness.

Dear Universe,

On Monday, I was driving home from an errand. Our Jeep had been dying randomly for the past six months, and I was at a particularly ugly snarl in traffic and just hoping that the car would get through without any hiccups.

It didn't. The Jeep died in the middle lane right at the point where three lanes converged down to one. The traffic was already backed up for half a mile, and this did not help matters. I tried to restart it, but naturally, it refused to cooperate. I called Allen in tears because a) every person behind me was frustrated at me (though thankfully only one of them was rude enough to honk), b) I'm pregnant and crying in tense situations is what happens, and c) I had no idea how to help myself. We have roadside assistance, but I knew it would be 45 minutes before anyone would come to tow me. I also knew that I couldn't push a 4,000 pound car out of the way by myself (or even with help - it's not a good idea to be straining that much when you are pregnant). There was also the fact that I was in the middle lane and would have to stop traffic in the right lane to get to the shoulder.

As I was getting ready to hang up with Allen and call roadside assistance, a construction truck pulled up next to me. The driver asked if I had someone coming to help me. I told him I was calling roadside assistance but if he could help push me to the shoulder, I could at least get out of the way of traffic. He and his passenger hopped out of the truck, blocking the right lane so I could get over, and pushed me to the shoulder while I man-handled the steering wheel. (The power steering goes out when your car dies, FYI.) They jumped back in the car and were off before I could do more than yell "thank you!" out the window.

So, Universe, I was hoping that you could smile on those two guys this week. They were incredibly kind to me and I didn't get the chance to properly say thank you. So, if you could, see to it that someone does something nice and unexpected for them, too.

Gratefully,
Me.

Just keep swimming.

Exercise can be hard to come by in these parts. I go into the city on average once per week, and take public transportation, so I get a pretty good walk in. Allen has been encouraging me to take walks around the neighborhood and to do some light yoga at home, which we manage about 2 or 3 times per week. Well, probably more like 2. Or 1. I have plenty of excuses, but the bottom line is: I need to make more time for exercise.

I joined the local YMCA gym last Spring, specifically because they have an indoor track for running and a heated pool. I haven't been in... months. It's ridiculous, I know. I was going pretty regularly for a while but then fizzled out as I started to flounder at work. I finished my work early this week (for once), and decided it was high time for a re-commitment to exercise. It will only help me and Butterbean in the long run. So, after breakfast this morning, I went to the gym.

Why, oh why did I not do this sooner?! I know I'm not the first to say this, but seriously, swimming is the best! Pregnant women everywhere should make this their exercise of choice. Yoga is great for stretching and breathing, but I often feel that my belly is in the way. Swimming alleviates that feeling entirely. I am light and buoyant and I can stretch without feeling like I am squishing Babycakes. I can't wait to go back!

Birthing classes.

Yesterday was our first class. We're taking a Bradley Method birthing class. I probably wouldn't have bothered with it, but the midwives recommended, and I thought it would be useful to Allen to see some videos of births and to get some pointers on how to deal with a laboring wife.

It was what I expected it to be. Discussions about birth options (hospital vs. non-hospital), some relaxation an exercise techniques, discussion about the importance of diet. This is a 12 week course, so we'll have more in-depth discussions as it gets further along, but it was a good start.

...

Right up until the point where she laced into us for being vegan. She asked us the age old "Where do you get your protein?" This question is tiresome. I started to respond with the standards - tofu, legumes - she cut me off and asked what whole food sources. She was extremely a little bit snotty when she said tofu was not a whole food. Saying tofu is not a whole food is like saying your dinner is processed because you cooked it. Or that cheese is a processed food. Cheese was high on her list of viable whole foods protein sources, by the way.

Since I was put on the spot and felt a lot little attacked, I didn't have a good comeback, but seriously? I am tired of this. I am not protein deficient. I did a lot of research on this diet before I started it, and I would not being continuing this diet if I thought it was harmful to my baby in some way. Or if any blood work or ultrasounds showed any kind of dietary concern. Which they haven't.

The "vegetarians don't get enough protein" thing is a myth. A MYTH. We get protein from all sources. Every food has protein in it to varying degrees. People who aren't vegan think that only dairy and meat have protein, but it's just not true. Dairy and meat are almost exclusively protein and fat, but vegetable and grain sources have protein too. They also have carbs and fats and such, so they aren't exclusively protein. But we do eat foods that are high in protein - legumes, nuts, tofu, tempeh, wheat gluten, quinoa, This list goes on. Not to mention that our vegan diet is way healthier than any omnivore who eats out 4+ times a week. And p.s. lady, your double cheeseburger from Five Guys isn't a "whole food" source of protein. (N.B. When I say "food", I'm talking about whole foods you buy at the grocery store, not fast food or any other kind of processed food.)

Needless to say, I am irked. I'm tired of being attacked because I don't buy in to the American diet. And I'm tired of people second-guessing me and trying to scare/shame me with outright lies about nutrition. I'm not an idiot. I can read. I understand what I need to be healthy, and what my body needs to produce a healthy, appropriately size baby. This over-emphasis on protein is ridiculous. Why don't you talk to the couple who came in eating footlong Subway sandwiches with deli meat slices about listeria and the danger to pregnant women? I didn't hear you making a fuss about that.

It's going to be a long 12 weeks. And next week is specifically the nutrition week, so I'm going to have to come in armed.

A very long 12 weeks.