A fall day

This post is my second contribution to the Just Write challenge.

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So far, it’s been the best sort of fall. The kind that lasts. Not the kind that is spoiled by a sudden freeze, leaving dead brown leaves to fall, wilted and sad. At least not yet. So far there has been the slow progression of color I hope for every year. Some trees are still completely green, which gives me hope for a few more weeks of mild weather and rainbow leaves.

I’m driving up Benton Ave and the tall trees - what are they? ash? cotton wood? oak? I know nothing about these things - on either side of the street are mostly golden. Not a lot of red or orange in this stretch, just a brilliant yellow. Gold flakes float down in front of my windshield. My tires cause a swirling and twirling of the sea of gold on the road.

Scanning the radio, I land on a Louis Armstrong track. I’ve never heard the song before, but really – how could you mistake that voice? I think of my Grandma Nicki bopping her big hips to the You’ve Got Mail soundtrack. Biting her bottom lip with a smile in her eye.

You’ve Got Mail. There’s a good flick – with a fellow lover of fall. “A bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils.” That always makes me smile. It was one of Grandma’s favorite movies. Probably still is. I feel that old familiar pang of sadness at the loss of those sweet times.

A long, looong overdue post

Hi. :}
Sorry about the extended absence. By way of simple explanation: my brain hurt. I was too tired to focus on writing anything coherent and, simultaneously, a little too worried about it. I felt myself worrying about updating my blog for all the wrong reasons - basically everything accept the original goal of keeping a sort of online baby book for myself and my son. So I gave myself a break until I got back to a place of wanting to post an update, not feeling like I had to.

We took a hike up by the Gibson Reservoir on Saturday - great day with my hubby and the puppies.

I'm 30 weeks! Sooooo crazy. 30 weeks and 3 days if we're being picky. I feel HUGE but am increasingly more and more ok with it - especially now that, thanks to my sister and wonderful friend Jaime, I have expanded my maternity wardrobe a bit.
Sleeping is, surprisingly, getting easier. I'm either just used to the discomfort or figuring out better positions for rest - possibly both. I get worn out easily (took a 30 minute light hike today, followed by an hour long nap) but the constant fatigue seems to be easing off a bit.
My son moves so, so, SO much. To be honest, some times it kind of grosses me out. Most times though, it's fun to be reminded of his presence in my day.
We have officially transferred care to the Birth Place in Bozeman with Stacey Haugland and will be going back for our second visit with her this Thursday morning. It feels really good to have found an avenue for my goal. Now, if everyone would just join me in the prayer that I make it past 36 weeks so I can deliver with her and have a nice, smoothly progressing labor so we can make the drive.... :) That would be greatly appreciated.
I'm more in love with my husband every day. This could be filed under "normal," "marriage," or "every day" but it seems appropriate in the baby blog, too. We are experiencing one of the most profound transformations of our lives - and we're doing it together. On this past Sunday - dubbed by my hubby "Sentimental Sunday" because he thinks he tends to think about things more on that day - Justin said to me, "I love you more and more the bigger your belly gets. It is a direct correlation." I smiled and asked him what would happen when the belly went away. He said simply, "It'll stay."

I am going to have some serious smile lines around my eyes when I'm older! :)

The Drive Home

This post is part of the Just Write challenge, and will hopefully become the first in a series of Tuesday posts here on my blog.

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Listening to classical music on YPR, it’s already dark as I drive home from my afternoon of grocery shopping. My feet are aching and I feel like I could sleep right here. I’m dreading how many trips it will take to unload all of this.

You flutter low in my belly. “Hey, kiddo” I say, brushing my hand across my ever-growing bump.

We enter the s-curve of Valley Drive and I see a dead rabbit on the side of the road. That familiar sink settles into my chest. I wonder if you will be a softy like me. Swinging left I see the moon sitting fat and orange just above the hills on the east edge of the valley. The sinking feeling leaves and I wonder if you will be as in love with the little things of this world as I am.

59. That’s what the temperature gauge in our Jeep reads. Thank the lord, it’s finally starting to cool down. I’m glad I wore my jeans today.

Final left turn onto Main St – almost home. I remind myself to keep it under the speed limit. I repeat my new motto, “Drive like there’s an infant in the car.” Because really, there already is.

Letter to My Son

Dear Son,

Do you know that I love you? Every time you jump inside of me, my heart jumps with you. Even when it keeps me awake at night. Yes, it would be great if you wanted to sleep when I do, but I’ll take the  midnight bumps and kicks if it means having you.

I’ve been having the sensation of missing you lately. Odd, since I haven’t really met you yet. But I read this book that tells me how you’re growing each week and you should be nearing three pounds by now. Three pounds! You weren’t even a pound yet the last time I got to see you in an ultrasound. And so now I feel like I need to know how you’ve changed. Could I see your fingers more clearly? Would you let me get a better look at your face? You were so shy (or annoyed?) last time. You kept turning away from the ultrasound or shielding your face with your hands.

I day dream about what you will look like. Dark haired and dark eyed? Or blonde and blue eyed, maybe, like your cousin. You’re sure to have big, chubby cheeks. There’s no getting around that one, I’m afraid, with your Dad and I for parents. If I run down the list of features, I generally end up hoping you get most of them from your Dad. He’s just so handsome. But no matter whose side of the family you take after, I know you’re going to be perfect and I can’t wait to kiss your tiny nose and nibble on your puffy feet. (I’m sorry – you’ll just have to put up with that. I get it from my Mom – your Nana – the urge to bite things that are cute. Your Nana calls those bite-worthy bits Sweet Meat. Maybe it makes us a little weird, but I promise it’s a sign of affection.)

Even more than I wonder what you will look like, I wonder about what you will be like. Quiet and serious? Or wild and funny? Will you love to read? (I’m reading Jane Eyre to you right now. It’s not likely to turn out to be your favorite book, but maybe you will inherit my love of reading if I read something that I adore. Plus I’m hoping you’ll be attached to the sound of my voice.) Or would you rather run around outside and invent new worlds for your games? I hope you’ll do plenty of both.

I had a dream last night that you were here. I was lying in my bed, holding you. Some other things happened in the dream but you were the only part that made me a little sad when I woke up. I was sad to find that you were not there for me to hold and to kiss.

I can’t wait to meet you. I tear up at the beautiful promise of the moment I get to hold you in my arms. But on some level, I’m going to miss this: the constant companionship of you being a physical part of me. The constant bumps to remind me you are ok. Not just ok, but healthy and strong. I already fret about how out of control it will feel to have you separated from me. It makes me a little nervous for the years that are to come. I’m apologizing right now if I turn out to be one of those obsessive, worry wart mothers when you are a teenager and young man. I promise to do my best to fight the urge to control and protect, and to just let you be you. To make your own mistakes. To forge your own way. To learn to believe in yourself.

But for now, I’m glad to have you where you are. I will keep you safely in here for a few more months. Know that I love you more than I ever knew possible.

Love,

Mom

A Step in the Right Direction

(Alternately titled: The Dream is Still Alive)

Justin and I got up at 6 am (very early for a couple of people who very rarely go to bed before midnight or get up before 8:30/9) this past Wednesday morning to hit the road to Bozeman. We had two appointments to make before heading back to Helena in time for Justin to be at work by 2 pm. Two very important appointments with two different midwives at two separate birthing centers – because I haven’t given up yet on my goal of an out-of-hospitalbirth.

I mentioned before that there are currently no midwives in my town that will deliver at home. There are midwives in neighboring towns that are willing to travel to Helena to attend a birth, but my husband has never been super thrilled with the idea, and frankly, considering we’re due in December in Montana, it sounds less than ideal to me, too. December typically isn’t a very severe storm month, but you just never know. And when the roads around here are bad, they’re just plain nasty. So when the idea first came up that we drive to Bozeman to deliver in a birth center, I was pretty quick to dismiss it. Justin, however, was surprisingly ok with the prospect. I gave him a hard time. “So, you’re worried that a midwife might not make it to Helena because of bad roads, but you want to drive your laboring wife an hour and a half to Bozeman??”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug.

So I thought about it. And I met up with a girlfriend who just delivered a beautiful baby girl in one of the birth centers in Bozeman. Her water birth story was beautiful. “A labor that had more hours than a marathon has miles,” as her adoring husband put it, and she had been a warrior. And the midwife and birth team sounded like exactly what I was looking for. “But,” I told myself, “Mary was due in August.” Despite the fact that my timing was presenting a slightly larger challenge, I decided that at the very least I wanted to meet the midwives. See the birth centers. Ask as many questions as I could think of. And I wanted Justin to go, too. So I got lucky, was able to make two appointments for the same morning, and if all went well, Justin wouldn’t have to miss work.

The drive was gorgeous. Can I just tell you, I love my state. Driving east into the sunrise sits at the top of my list of Best Ways to Start a Day.

We got to Bozeman in an hour and twenty minutes – really good time. The road construction is easing up for the year (people often say of Montana that it has two seasons: winter and road construction) and we were lucky never to get stuck behind a tractor or one of the many other kinds of farming equipment that often travel along that road. We even had time for Justin to get a second cup o’ joe in Bozeman before we headed to our first appointment at The Birth Center.

What a serene environment! Something like a yoga studio or good day spa, but instead of a massage table and steam room you find a birthing tub and a European stall shower with a fold down bench large enough to house mom, dad, midwife, and doula. The staff was warm and welcoming, and all in all The Birth Center felt like a dream birthing environment. Mikelann, the main midwife in the practice, met with us and did a brief “meet the baby” exam. She was able to tell me exactly how he was situated just by prodding at my belly. It was really neat being able to follow her hands and know, “This is my son’s head, this is his butt – he he – there are his feet.” So cool.

Unfortunately, there were some major concerns about whether or not our insurance would cover the (flat rate and very reasonable!) fee at The Birth Center and, reasonable though it was, it represents a much larger amount out of pocket for us then we would be paying in a hospital setting.

A little unsure  of ourselves and our options (did we have any?), we left with time for a quick breakfast (Main St. Overeasy – yummy!) before heading over to The Birth Place to meet Stacey. We took the tour – another glorious birthing suite with a wonderfully large birthing tub. A much smaller shower, but really, I don’t imagine myself spending too much time in there when there is a tub available. Another round of questions. Another run down of what’s and how to’s.

But the the thing worth mentioning about The Birth Place is Stacey herself. Her demeanor immediately put both of us at ease. When Justin had financial questions (my ever so practical husband worries about these things pretty constantly) she answered them directly and professionally. We run a test claim – simple as that – to see what the insurance will cover, and we go from there.

And then something really amazing happened. She asked me to describe my ideal birth story. At first, I was stumped. I knew a lot about what I didn’t want, but hadn’t thought much about what I did want. I sputtered out an answer about wanting to allow my body to do what I trust it to be capable of doing. That’s all I could think of. I just want to let my body do what it has to. But as she commented on the wisdom of that plan, it hit me. No. There is something I want. Desperately. Something I had been clinging to but was almost afraid to talk about until now. I had been protecting it, holding it close so no one could take it from me. I want to hold my baby. Right away. I want him on my chest and I want to keep him there. I don’t want anyone to take him from me to weigh our measure our otherwise test. As I told Stacey this, I started to cry. Even now, I am tearing up a bit. The thought of that moment – the promise of the feel of my son’s skin against my own – is the one that is going to get me through these last few months and the trials of labor. I need it, and so does he. I wept a little as Stacey told me that, as long as baby is doing well, she guards that time fiercely. For as long as it takes for him to initiate breast feeding, which he should do instinctively if we let him.

And with that, I was sold.

We left The Birth Place knowing we would try to figure out a way to have our son there.

There are logistical details to be worked out, to be sure. But we will work them out. After knowing what I can have, there is no way I’m going back.

The picture is from a little over two weeks ago - I was 24 weeks at the time. Trying to be better about posting belly pictures!

I have to take a moment to express my gratitude

I intended to write a different post this morning. I intended to write something light and funny. But now I can't. I've just read the most heart wrenching post from a woman who has been through so much in the past couple of months. I won't attempt to tell her story for her - her own telling is so real and raw and beautiful - but she is on my mind and heart in a big way this morning. Alicia Stucky, I am praying for you.
It has left me feeling so supremely grateful and so, so lucky. My husband is sitting here next to me reading The Jungle and enjoying a cup of coffee, like we do most every morning. My son is tumbling around in my belly, perfectly happy and healthy so far. My pregnancy is going smoothly. No major upsets. No traumas. Thank God. But how easily it could be going the other way.
So I just have to take a moment to say, "Thank you, Lord. I don't know why I deserve to have it so good right now, but I promise you I won't take it for granted. Every moment I remember how blessed I am to have this amazing man as my partner and friend. Every day I will cherish the life growing inside of me. And every day I will praise you for all of it."

Feeling a little heart achey

I got sent on a mission today to photograph the seventeen buildings in the network of churches and organizations that partner with a local non-profit I volunteer for, Family Promise. It was a pleasant way to spend the day, if you don't count the broken air conditioner in my car, the 90 degree heat, and my black leather seats. 

One of the organizations in their network happens to be Carroll College, the beautiful campus where I found my way through my first year in an English Writing program just this past school year. Classes are back in session as of this past Monday and I've been grappling with what feels a lot like mourning since late last week. I'm not joining the other [often not nearly as eager] students this Fall. Probably not this next Spring either.
I'm essentially due to deliver my son around Finals week of this semester. Not exactly ideal. And then I'll have a four week old infant as students return from their Christmas Breaks for the Spring. I understand why that doesn't really work. And yet I'm yearning for it so, so dearly. I actually dreamt about it a couple of nights ago. The entire dream consisted of my strolling happily between the classrooms of Simperman Hall and thinking to myself, "Hm. It's strange that the professors are expecting me in my classes. I un-registered from all of these. Sure glad they saved me a spot!" and then, "What are you going to do when the baby is born? Oh well! We'll cross that bridge when we get there!" I dreamt in the sort of Pollyanna verse I wish I could live by sometimes.
The gritty reality of it is that I'm an obsessive perfectionist who darn near killed herself last year. I barely slept. I rarely had time to eat. I fretted and stressed constantly. I am aware of this. And I am aware that my husband is right when he says I simply can't do that to myself while pregnant. None of that, however, changes the fact that, today, I am achey.
As a kid, I fantasized about life as a college student. I know, I  know. Call me a nerd. It's fine. I'm used to it by now. But I did. I pictured myself wearing sweaters and funky plastic framed glasses (it was very much to my chagrin that my eye sight turned out to be perfect), sitting on a grassy hill somewhere in the middle of a history rich campus surrounded by a pile of books. That was my version of a bright and exciting future.
I waited six years after high school to finally make it there. And now, one very short year later, it feels further from me than ever before.
Here is where it becomes necessary for me to remind you (and myself) that I am truly thrilled to be becoming a mother. Truly. The desire to be a mom radiated from my bones for two years before I got pregnant.
But I crave writing, too. It's like a thirst I can't quench. I know I still have so much to learn.
Last year, my dream felt like it was there for the taking. I was learning and growing and creating and stretching and absorbing and experimenting and thriving. I was drinking my fill, and making plans to bring a bigger cup.
And now, if I am lucky, I'll get back to school Fall of 2012. But, let's be real: the odds of that are pretty slim. Our finances were tight last year. Now I want to throw the financial responsibilities of a baby in the mix and make that work? My time and energies were absolutely maxed out. How can I expect to be a the kind of mother I want to be and an over achieving, professor-pleasing student?


Am I really looking at a solid ten years (accounting for the fact that we plan to have more kids) before I can even wet my lips again? My creative throat feels dry already.