Friday, December 30, 2011

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...

Thursday, December 29, 2011

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!)

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

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! :-)

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

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.

Monday, December 26, 2011

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.

Friday, December 23, 2011

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. ;-)

Thursday, December 22, 2011

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. :-)

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

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.)

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

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.

Monday, December 19, 2011

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.

Friday, December 16, 2011

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.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

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...

Friday, December 2, 2011

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.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

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!!)