The Healthy Decision

This post was originally written yesterday, Sunday, March 2nd 2014.

Today was a fun day. My family and I slept till 8, and had a lazy brunch of bacon, eggs, and fried rice (because we're Asian). Then we all went to Coolidge Corner. I broke my resolution and got a haircut (post on that upcoming). We had Emma's bangs trimmed and took her to the bookstore where she was allowed to choose a book as a reward for being so good. Then we all went to the froyo place next door and had caramel pecan frozen yogurt with piroulines and gummy bears (because toddlers). We rounded it off with a trip to the toy store, where Meng and Emma played with magnets and I fed Elliot in a comfy chair in the baby department and had a huge revelation about my well being. This is what our good days look like. Specifically, this is what a good day that comes after a day like yesterday looks like.

Yesterday was not a fun day. Yesterday I woke up too early and didn't take a nap. The house was a mess and I spilled salt on the floor, which we all know is a pain to sweep up and a pain to walk in. I lost my temper and shoved the dog. I swore at the baby when I couldn't figure out why he was crying. And when my husband asked me what was wrong, I didn't have a good answer. Also yesterday I decided to go back on antidepressants.

The day after a bad day is always good because we want so badly to make up for the things that happened the day before. And when you have depression, a bad day is a very very bad day. It's funny how a disease can effect you like that. It can take inconvenient little speed bumps and turn them into mountains. Depression takes your anxiety and fear and applies it to everything that goes wrong. This is how yesterday happened:

Yesterday I did not want to get out of bed. I never want to get out of bed, but yesterday I woke up with a heaviness in my chest, as if my heart were trying to drag me back to my pillow. Everything that I tried to accomplish after I got up failed, and I was so distracted I couldn't make lunch. I had no patience with my children. I thought hurtful things at my husband. My throat tightened every time someone said, "Mommy, I'm hungry." I raged at my apartment that is too small and our belongings which are too many. I mentally punished myself for not being able to keep my weight under 160 and all my duties under control. And when my husband asked me what was wrong, I curled up into a ball on our bed and let it all spill out. I let the root of my anger and worry flow out of me at him, my certainty that I will only hold him back, that I am more trouble to him than I'm worth. When I'd finished I felt guilty, because he is the breadwinner and shouldn't have to deal with my depression.

He held me. He told me I'm not allowed to feel useless because he couldn't manage without me. He told me that he'd stand by my side with any other sickness and this was no different because (and he's a doctor, so he knows) depression is a disease, too. I didn't really believe him, but it was nice to know he could excuse my behavior.

This is how today happened:

Today I woke up with everyone else, and my heart felt lighter because it knew we had bacon, and my heart is planning an attack in 30 odd years. We all had breakfast together, and I drank coffee, because everyone needs a socially acceptable addiction. Then we all got haircuts, and I walked a bit taller, because my stylist told me my hair looks healthy. I read almost every book on the seasonal display at the bookstore and I gave up control at the froyo toppings bar, which is how we decided on the gummy bears. And while I was feeding Elliot in the toy store, I realized that if I go on antidepressants, I will only have a few more weeks to breastfeed.

That was a disappointing thought and the part of my heart that feels sorrow widened to let pain in. After so much work to achieve exclusive breastfeeding, I am giving it up. Then logic, which usually speaks with my mother's voice said, "Despite all the laud given breastmilk these days, there is nothing more important than a healthy mom." And that's when I realized that what I am right now truly is unhealthy, and I accepted that I have a disease.

So here's to tomorrow. Here's to wearing a pair of socks so you don't have to sweep the floor. Here's to more better days than worse ones, and mommies who don't need haircuts to walk tall. Here's to getting ice cream and reading books when you're already up instead of when you're down. Here's to little girls who love gummy bears and husbands who buy pecan froyo. And here's to the baby whose mother knows when to quit. Raise your glass (of water with a prozac) to them. Maybe someday I can go off medication again, but for know I must treat the symptoms of my disease.

Cheers.

Let's do this thing, already!

Last week I started Lamaze classes. Class #1 was really quite uneventful, which is why you didn't hear about it. Highlights included a basic introduction to what makes babies and the stages of pregnancy, resisting the temptation to put a quarter down the butt crack in front of me (the guy needed a belt; it was more like a cavern than a crack), and watching the dads-to-be on my left shoot hoops with a grape and a trash can.

This week was much more interesting. We started out with a short video documenting three "natural births," (watching the men's faces during that was entertaining) talked about technical terms like dilation and effacing, did some relaxation exercises and had some valuable Q & A time.

The woman conducting the class was different from last week, and I think I liked her better. She kept making side comments such as, "And husbands, after transition, your wife doesn't mean anything that she says," and, "You'll think you have a bowling ball resting on your rectum, but you can do it." I appreciate blatant honesty like that. I'd rather hear about what it's going to feel like than how wonderful I'll feel afterward.

But now I'm depressed. Can't I just have this baby already? It's not that I'm apprehensive of or excited for labor, it's just that after seeing three other women do it, I can't help but think to myself, "I can do that!" So let's do it! I'm ready to go. The nursery isn't exactly ready, but a few hours of organizing can take care of that. (I should post a picture or two... I'll see what I can do once I've got everything set.) The only essential thing I'm missing is a changing pad. I've packed my overnight bag, made a playlist on my iPod for the hospital, and discussed a contact plan with my (almost 200 miles away) boyfriend. I'm at 36 weeks, the baby has dropped, so what's with the wait?

I'm tired of wondering what it's going to be like, if I'll go to the hospital because my water breaks or because contractions are 5 minutes apart, how well I'll handle the pain, and if I'll need an epidural. I keep finding myself putting my stuff by the door (then thinking, "this is silly," and putting it back), stopping to pay attention to every kick and twinge, and hoping that each little back pain will radiate and worsen. Really, baby, this is quite nerve racking.

So someone show me where the eject button is on this thing before I go nuts!

49 Days and Counting....

I made a startling discovery today when I logged on to my iGoogle homepage. A few months ago I started a countdown to my due date, which I then promptly forgot about until today when I got a little notification:

Congratulations! Less than 50 days until Your Little Asian Baby is Born!!!

It took me a minute to remember that I had set up the countdown, and to figure out how Google knew that I was pregnant. I was worried for a moment there.

So blow a kazoo, throw some confetti or eat a piece of cake today if you have the chance, because we passed the 50 day mark, and life just got a little more real.

Bad baby! No more coffee!

I am officially requesting an intervention. You may recall in the last post, I boasted of how I've not touched a french fry in months. Well...

I'm having a horrible time in the caffeine department. I've been trying to be good, but lately...

As far as I can tell, the only real complication caffeine really causes is a hyper baby. It's true, studies have shown that babies exposed to large amounts of caffeine will have such-and-such problem, but in order for the baby to absorb enough caffeine to be affected, I would first have to drink myself into a coma.

This is what I told myself yesterday when I drank my coca-cola after having two cups of coffee in the morning.



I'm accustomed to one cup of coffee. What I overlooked yesterday is that we are out of half-caf. So when I had two cups of coffee, I actually had four times my regular dose of caffeine. Plus the soda. I was no better behaved the day before, and single-handedly drank an entire Dr. Pepper.

Needless to say, I've not slept well in several days due the little energizer bunny within the womb. And last night, I was downright punchy.

I repeat my opening statement: I am officially requesting an intervention. Besides my one cup of morning coffee (if you take that away from me it will not go over well for you), do not let me drink caffeinated beverages. This does mean that you might have to take it out of my hands. I will probably be miffed, but if you say something to the effect of, "Remember, you asked me to," I'll give in.

Soda has a ridiculous amount of sugar in it anyway.

Parenting Fail

My dear friend Natalie got me hooked on this website that has lists of things. Today I came across 15 Worst Parenting Fails. Amongst car seats in trunks, children playing with plastic bags and toddlers at strip clubs came this lovely shot:



*face palm*

Psychic Traveling Baby

This child is going to be so well traveled by the time she's born! Last Friday I took the late train to see my (studious and very responsible) boyfriend, along with lots of friends for the 4th of July! We had a great time with barbecuing and beer (*downcast* no beer for me) and fireworks! What's amazing is that you don't need to go anywhere for fireworks in Chicago. They come to you! We had three or four displays going on around us, and it was really quite spectacular. The best part was definitely when a larger rocket hit a street lamp and shot yellow and blue sparks in our direction. By the end of the night, Meng's deck was covered with ash and shrapnel, but it was an amazing time.

People kept on asking how the baby was doing with the fireworks, but she really didn't have much of a reaction. I think she jumped a few times, but I think those were the few times that a rocket went off unexpectedly, in which case she could have just been startled by my being startled.

I took the early Monday train back to Michigan, only to re-pack my bags on Wednesday and head to Kentucky with my mom. We're here for the next week or so and my goodness is it ever hot! I lived down here for 13 years, but you just never get used to the deadly heat/humidity combo. All I have to do is walk down the sidewalk to develop a sweat. The fact that I'm gestating probably doesn't help.

I've been noticing an interesting phenomenon in the last couple of weeks. I've mentioned it before, and people tell me it's just my imagination, or that it's coincidence. I really do think that the baby knows when I'm around or talking to her father. I'm officially in my third trimester (31 weeks, to be exact), so her movement is very observable. When he is around, she doesn't kick. She might move, stretch, turn, but she doesn't kick.

During the entire train ride to Chicago, she didn't kick. Barely moved at all, actually. I think she likes train rides. Meng picked me up from the station after 11 at night. Needless to say we didn't stay up late. I got settled in my room (Actually his room. Very sweet of him to take the couch. There's a spare room but it's upstairs and the basement is cooler.), Meng kissed me goodnight, and as soon as he was out the door, the baby started kicking. It was like that every night I was there.

I'm rather accustomed to feeling the baby move early in the morning. Each morning in Chicago, not the case. I had to get up very early on Monday to catch the train (early for me, not so early for Meng or the baby). We got around, packed up the last few things, and then Meng drove me to Union Station. I settled down into a good seat (facing forward, very important), and waited. The instant the train started moving, the baby kicked. It wasn't just a, "Hi! I'm here," kick, either. It was a kick of discomfort.

I find this pattern to be true when we talk on the phone with him, too. As soon as I hang up, she gets fussy. And it's not like I move around a lot. Often, talking to Mengyao is the last thing I do after brushing my teeth and climbing under the covers. How could she possibly know?

Baby Says Jump

Lately I’ve been observing, with increasing curiosity, the miraculous little being inside of me. I wake up in the morning to the indescribable sensation of her little body stretching, growing, and dancing... on my bladder. Every day she gets stronger, and in the mornings she’s difficult to ignore. The problem isn’t just that I’ll wake up to her kicking my insides. After I get up to relieve myself, she keeps kicking. I have a feeling that early mornings are about to be a regular thing for me. What I don’t understand, what is truly miraculous about this child, is how she knows that it’s 6:00 in the morning without having windows...

God is up there smirking right now, and if you’ve ever tried to wake me in the morning, you know why.

I’m beginning to see little tendencies here and there. I can tell the difference between a kick and a hiccup, a “hello” kick and an “I’m not happy” kick (it’s rather like the difference between a pat on the back and a dope slap, just in the lower abdomen and from the inside), and a dance and a squirm. Dances are the best, and usually happen when I’m playing music for her (I put an earbud in my belly button—genius). Squirms amuse me, are usually accompanied by annoyed kicks, and happen most often when I play Mozart. (Irony?)

Baby also has this curious tendency to be completely quiet and behaved whenever her (very dutiful and responsible) father is around. Maybe it’s just me, but it really seems like, no matter how hard she is kicking beforehand, the instant I say, “Mengyao, want to feel the baby?” she stops. Meng thinks this behavioral trait is going to continue post-partum.

Besides the little one’s constant growing, there is really not a whole lot going on. My main source of income is being a professional granddaughter (they pay me to take them places), I‘ve managed to keep my room tidy on a daily basis, the nursery is more like a room where things are getting shoved, and last Monday we shaved the dog. Not much excitement… except for the dog.

Well, I just saw the mailwoman leave a box on our doorstep (my new room’s location has it’s advantages), which means that my package is here! (There’s something exciting. I cashed in some banking points for an Old Navy gift card and bought some more maternity stuff. My next post will probably be about pants.) I’m going to go see what the magic mailwoman has brought me!

IT'S A GIRL!

Now that the secret is out...

Sorry I haven't been posting. It's pre-finals week, and I'm moving next weekend. As soon as things are more settled, I promise I'll be a better blogger.

I should also apologize to all the people I'm not going to be able to see before I leave. I want to see you all... there's just not enough free time in a semester.

I'm off to dream about baby shoes.

Better now, but why does the world smell funny?

I realized today that most of you out there probably think I am still in a comatose state. Not the case. On the 9th (day after I last posted) I went antiquing with my dad. That was good, got me out of the house, and we got to spend some quality time together, which we don't usually get that much of. I also spent a day with my mom shopping, got to have dinner with various cousins, and went to a family pizza potluck on Saturday night. Time well spent, I believe. Lots of free food.

I didn't want to come back to school when spring break was over. REALLY didn't want to come back. But I did. I have to finish this semester, or I'll feel like I've lost something. On Sunday my parents and I packed up my freshly done laundry and toted it all the way back to Chicago. They were good enough to help me unpack, which was awesome because if Mom hadn't been there to motivate me, I doubt it would be done yet.

That night after they left, I felt the baby move for the first time. This marks a drastic change in thinking for me. They tell me it's kind of early for me to be feeling that sort of thing, (I'm somewhere around week 13) but nothing in the world could have felt like what I felt the other night. It was kind of like, when you have one balloon inside another, and the one on the inside bounces against the side. It also could be likened to how a coke can might feel being filled with carbonation... So now when I think of my uterus, I imagine a coke can. But anyway, I felt it. It moved. It made itself known to me. I'm starting to get excited for this. I'm starting to feel this less as an intrusion on my life. I mean, it's a little person! It's a healthy change of thought that I am glad has finally come. It's a lot easier to deal with pregnancy now that I'm a little happier about it.

A few other changes are happening. I have to use the bathroom a lot. This change has happened, literally, overnight. Sunday, I felt normal. Monday, I used the bathroom at least every two hours and it's been that way since. So that's been... inconvenient. (Yay for kegels!) Another drastic change is one that has surprised me to no end. Both yesterday and today, when my alarm went off at 8 a.m., I got up. This isn't usual for normal me, let alone pregnant and usually sick me! And it's not a, hit the snooze, hit the snooze again, drag myself out of bed, consider lying down again and stumble into the bathroom kind of wake up, either. It's a genuine, "There's the alarm, I'm up!" feeling.

The third change is my middle, which has been gradually looking more and more like a fanny pack when I wear pants that button. Wearing jeans for long periods of time has become really uncomfortable, in fact the only pair I've worn in the past three weeks are what I consider my "fat jeans." I've finally ordered new lounge pants. I am now sporting fleece, velour and jersey in fashion worthy colors. As far as an actual bump, it's barely there, but there just the same. I've not noticed a difference in weight, but yesterday I took a soaking bath and definitely noticed a difference in water displacement.

The last change I am hoping is temporary. At first I thought it was something I was wearing, maybe some article of clothing or something I got on my hands. But after fifth person didn't smell anything, I concluded it must be me. All around me I can smell goldfish food. No joke! I've heard of this before, women smelling things during pregnancy. My roommate used the term "olfactory hallucination." It's most disturbing... and of all the smells to smell! I mean I could understand the smell of salt, musk, or perhaps even capers, but goldfish food? So that's confusing. If anyone could shed some light on that, it would be appreciated.

In the meantime, college is definitely back in full swing. Now I need to do some writing that will actually get graded. Ta ta!

The 1st post: Communication and Morning Sickness

Some conversations are just not meant to happen over the phone. Conversations such as these may include, but are not limited to, "I ran over your cat on my way to work this morning," "I don't think this relationship is going to work out," and "So... I'm pregnant." I guess I knew that when I started to call my mom last month. This wasn't planned, wasn't wished for, and (as far as my parents knew) not a possibility. You might say it came as a shock. You might also say she expected it. You know about mother's intuition...

As of now I am about two months pregnant. Other aspects of my life include college. I am a junior and a theatre student in Chicago. This pregnancy changes everything. I'm due in September, so I'm going to lose at least a semester's worth of time what with labor and all the other baby-having technicalities. I should also say that I'm terrified.

I have come to terms with all of this surprisingly fast. I suppose, between classes, homework, and directing a one-act in the upcoming theatre festival, I don't really have time to think about how screwed up my life is at the moment, but I really do think everything is going to be okay. My family is well acquainted with crises, which has included heart attacks, strokes, personality-changing traumatic brain injuries, and cancer. "A pregnancy, a baby, is not a crisis." That's what my mom said the day after I told her.

Despite my mental disposition, my body is not doing so well. For several weeks, any commitment before 10 a.m. was not a possibility. I haven't felt so sick for so many consecutive days since I got my wisdom teeth out, and even then they gave me drugs! The "morning" sickness has calmed down significantly. Unfortunately, I have begun feeling violently ill somewhere around 8:30 p.m., "night" sickness, if you will. I think being fully awake for the misery makes it decidedly worse.

My methods for dealing with morning sickness have been slowly and steadily evolving to an art. First of all, I constantly have a bottle of ice water with me. Something about the cool, unoffensive liquid seems to calm things down in the digestive area. (There was about a two week period where I almost lived off apple juice and saltine crackers.) I'm also working on keeping small amounts of food with me at all times. These come mostly in the form of crackers, chips and apple slices. I hate the fact that I can't eat like I used to. Being in college and in an apartment, it was so much easier to deal with when I was too tired, too busy, or too broke to eat. I'd just make some pasta or rice and will myself to operate on no protein. That doesn't work anymore. My body is completely dictating my consumption patterns. (At this moment I am at work eyeing up a package of Easy Mac...)

If I do not eat when I am hungry, I get sick. If I overeat, however, I get sick. Also, sometimes when I eat (like earlier today when I had an amazing slice of Chicago deep dish) I get sick just because. Greasy foods are completely out. Sugary foods are... well, old habits die hard. Slowly but surely, however, my semi-sweet chocolate morsels, spoonfuls of Nutella (if you don't know what it is, go buy it, sold next to the peanut butter), and pixie sticks are being replaced by fresh fruit, toast with cinnamon and sugar, and club house crackers. My only real problem has been soda... like I said, old habits. Whenever I drink soda, particularly dark sodas, I feel sick at the end of the day. I need to just not drink it... yeah.

Somewhere in this, the first post of this blog, I should tell you all what I hope to accomplish here. I think it's pretty clear that I'm not taking the short way out. I'm going to stick this out to the end. Whether that means keeping this child as my own, or giving it to someone else to raise, I don't know. But I have seven months ahead of me, and I know that somewhere out there, there are other girls going through the same thing. So I hope that maybe they stumble across College Baby Bump in their web-surfing and know that they're not alone. I don't know where life is taking me right now, and it's frightening, but I'm going to be okay. We're all going to be okay. Trust me.