27 Weeks

Here's the report from 27 weeks:

Feeling: HUNGRY

Craving: Mangos, peanut butter and grilled cheese, gluten products served warm with butter

Reading: Born to Run by Christopher McDougall (not the best pregnancy book I have never picked up, since it inspires me to run, and that's just plain physically impossible these days)

Looking forward to (short-term): Getting in bed tonight

Looking forward to (long-term): Sitting in my house holding both of my babies and teaching them to fetch me things I need

Highlight of the week: Scrabble game (post to follow)

Lowlight of the week: Feeling under the weather and having bad sleep for 3 nights running. (So cruel is that Mistress of Sleep)

Shock of the week: My wedding ring still fits. (WOOT)

Weepy moment of the week: Sitting quietly with Sadie in the rocking chair this morning, watching the sunrise and feeling Meatball kick.

Ready for: A vacation (16 days and counting)

Anxious about: DELIVERING THIS BABY

Sad about: The Republicans winning so many seats on Tuesday

Proud about: My commitment to public transportation even when the blue line takes FOREVER to come and I need to get home to relieve Zenia because Jeff is out of town.

November 1, 2010

Not to beat a dead philly, but my son is due in 3 months. That's only 13ish weeks. Those 13ish weeks include a family vacation through the great southwest United States, the holidays (Thanksgiving, Hannukah, Christmas, New Year's, Diwali, and Kwanzaa). Excuse me, but who said time could fly like this?

We just passed Halloween and I am feeling a mix of pride and dismay that I have not had one single piece of Halloween candy. How can that be? I think it's because 1. We didn't buy any candy for trick-or-treaters, which made it tricky indeed when the doorbell rang last night. (Jeff put some Welch's fruit chews in one of Sadie's porta-potties and gave them out. Trick! and Treat!). 2. Also, when your child is only 15-months old and doesn't really know what candy is, then you really can skip the candy parts of the holiday. We had a blast this weekend though. Saturday I insisted we suit up and go to a pumpkin patch in the City, but I didn't read the fine print that said the Pumpkin Patch activities were over by 2. Thus, we we arrived looking for some pumpkin loving at 3:30 p.m., there was not much left other than some sad, scarred old pumpkin hunks and some hay bales. Luckily, again, Sadie had no idea what we thought we were going to find, so finding a swing and some kids to play with at the playground was just fine for her.

Sunday we dressed our first-born up as a chicken and went to a party. I am still dismayed that Sadie let us dress her up in a funky fleece costume that she gamely sported for several hours. The party was a nice break from the joint nesting project that Jeff and I engaged in on Sunday morning. It's called CLEANING OUT THE CLOSETS so we can move the office to the fourth floor loft and give the third-floor office to Meatball. Oh lord, the stuff that Jeff and I have held on to. Man, if I got a dollar for every stupid thing I bought at Ann Taylor Loft I would be able to buy a farm full of chickens. That's the thing about my former BigLaw job: at almost every single second I felt entitled to BUY whatever I wanted, because often, the ONLY perk of the job was the ample paycheck. (Don't ask me what my excuse is now, because I left BigLaw and rate myself as a 7.5 on a scale of 10 for job satisfaction, but believe me, I do have an excuse.)

Anyway, somebody who's lucky to find my load at the Salvation Army could seriously put together about 50 different outfits all from 2007-2009 Ann Taylor Loft Collection. There is also a hot pair of hot Citizen For All Mankind jeans that I am certain will never fit again. And, believe me when I say, "fine by me." Or, believe me mostly.

Ok, you know I am lying, but who needs jeans sitting upstairs in a perfectly nice office mocking me when I am busy building a brain and raising my little chicken daughter? In the spirit of full disclosure, here's a slice of my particular insanity around my body that is a totally true story:

Me: Hey, guess what I did today when Sadie was napping?

Jeff: What?

Me: I tried on some pre-pregnancy jeans. [REMINDER: I am 26 weeks pregnant. Almost to third trimester. That makes me officially INSANE and probably in my eating disorder.]

Jeff: How'd that work out for you?

Me: Um. It worked about halfway up my leg.

What's going to happen to my children with a mother this vain?

In my defense, that is not all I did when Sadie was napping. I also took a shower (nice to have a clean mommy) and I organized the growing pile of clothes for Meatball (nice to have a mom looking after your sartorial needs) and I read some of my latest book (nice to have a mommy model literacy for you).

On a completely unrelated note (is there any better kind of note?), today is the 29th anniversary of my paternal grandfather's death. John Callaway Tate of Forreston, Texas. His death was my first great loss and I was so upset by his passing when I was in 3rd grade. It was upsetting to see my dad cry and to worry about my grandmother living in this big farm house all by herself. It wasn't my last loss, but it was the first and there something about the first one. I had never really been to a funeral before and it was simultaneously so sad and so stimulating-- riding in a limo with my grandmother from the funeral home to the graveside and all those people all around for days. I remember sitting on my grandmother's lap and all her friends from the farming community were around her talking about my grandfather. I thought it was great to have everyone around telling these funny and happy stories. I just wished my grandfather didn't have to die for us to be together eating Ona June's cherry cheesecake and sharing so many good things. I remember telling my cousin, Susan, who is a few months older than I am, that Grandaddy's passing was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I think I remember she had a lawn chair on her head when I was trying to engage her in this conversation. She and my brother were playing a game on my grandmother's porch and my philosophical musings were not exactly part of the game.

Frankly, I was dying for someone to talk with me (no pun intended) about death and loss and grief, but I didn't know how or who to ask. I would get my chance later in life, but it makes me think of something very important now that I am a parent: I want to give Sadie and Meatball a chance to talk about anything they want or need to as they are growing up. Especially the hard stuff that I actually may not want to talk about. I want to give them space and language and signals that it's ok to ask questions or have feelings or wonder where people go when they die and what happens to the people they leave behind.

Let's see: We started with happy pumpkins and ended on a morbid note. That sounds about right.

Happy All Saint's Day.

Phone Conversation Over Lunch

Jeff: I gotta tell you something.

Me: Ok. What?

Jeff: Zenia says she thinks she saw a <<<<<<<******>>>>>>>>>>>> (too muffled to hear).

Me: She saw a what?

Jeff: A mouse?

Me: In our house?

Jeff: Yes.

Me: Where in our house?

Jeff: In the kitchen.

Me: Is she sure? Was she drinking heavily or taking 'shrooms? Might she be hallucinating?

Jeff: I am pretty sure she saw it. She came to tell me right after she saw it.

Me: Ok. Well. We're moving.

(He thinks I am kidding. I am not. It's either me and my babies or the mouse, I don't care how freaking cute Ratatouille was.)

26 Weeks Today

Here's what I can say about being 37 years old and 26-weeks pregnant:

I am SO tired. It defies logic that I could hardly hold my eyes open after routinely getting about 9 hours of sleep at night, but here I am, and I am tired.

I looked up the stats on being 26-weeks pregnant and found out that the fatigue is because of all the weight gain. I laughed at that one. Sounds a little simplistic to me. How about the hormones? How about the creeping anxiety about having a little baby around to keep alive for the rest of my life? How about the potential C-section anxiety? It definitely is exhausting carrying myself and Meatball around, which is why when I go home from work I play with Sadie on the carpet, then I rock her to sleep in her cozy chair (and usually doze off with her) and then lay on the couch until it's time for bed. I don't even cross the street on the yellow lights anymore because it might require me to pick up the pace. Forget it. Mama surrenders to the SLOW DOWN.

I know you have been wondering what celebrities are also pregnant right now. I have been trying to keep track of the celebriety bump watch so that in the future I can remember to feel smug when my kids turn out better than, say, Celine Dion's, even though I am not a Las Vegas hot shot with a headlining show of my own. And the Divine Ms. Dion just had twin boys, who are 2 days old, and yet unnamed. Apparently, she's having trouble deciding between French and English names. Um, they are twins, how about one of each? The report I read said she gained 40lbs and didn't care about losing it before she returns to Sin City in March. I don't believe a word of any of it, but I am waiting to see what she names her boys.

Also currently pregnant:

Penelope Cruz
Mariah Carey (maybe)
Christina Applegate
Alicia Keys
Toni Collette


Oh, and Dr. Julia Ray, our pediatrician is probably pregnant, because I saw her reading labels on cereal at Trader Joe's looking impossibly DARLING like one of those women who happened to swallow a basketball. Sadie's 15-month appointment is tomorrow so I'll find out if that was her checking out the Puffins on Saturday.

I have to rest up because Meatball's crib and dresser are showing up on Friday. To prepare for this furniture onslaught, Jeff and I sold my old bed and nightstands (Pottery Barn sleigh bed) on Craig's List last weekend. (Ok, Jeff did the selling, but I contributed because I bought them in the first place.) Now, we have room to move the office furniture out of Meatball's room so we can go into full SOCK MONKEY overload. I can't wait to see it all come together. The room is a disaster right now, so we have our work cut out for us. And what, with me sleeping 9-10 hours a night, I see lots of overtime in Jeff's future.

Who CAN you date?

A quick perusal of this blog indicates that I have been more vocal about who my children cannot date, but haven't really given any guidance about who they CAN date.

Let's talk about that.



We all know you can actually date anyone you damn well please. Eventually. While under my roof, both of my children can date either boys or girls, hopefully within a 5 year age range while still under the age of 18.



Let me be explicit: this is not an episode of Glee. I DON'T CARE WHETHER YOU ARE STRAIGHT OR GAY OR BI-SEXUAL. I don't need my kids to be happy all the time, or popular or straight. I don't care if you are gay for one second. By the time you are figuring out your sexuality, Don't Ask Don't Tell will be repealed (hopefully) and "coming out" will not be such a big freaking deal. I can't wait until sexual preference is as bland a fact about someone as his or her height. I hope the next Supreme Court Justice is gay, and I hope there is absolutely no press about it, because really, WHO CARES who about the genitals of Justice's partner? I care about the Justice's mind, his or her experience, his or her politics, and his or her position on the issues that I really care about. It be nice of there were no allegations of sexual harassment lodged against the putative new Justice, as this country doesn't need that again.



On the one hand, my children's sexuality is really none of my business. On the other hand, I love them and something being none of my business has NEVER stopped me before. It's certainly not stopping me during motherhood.



Also, it's 2010 and whether they are gay or straight I only hope my children can date people who can teach them lessons (the fun kind and the hard kind) and who make them laugh (and cry) and who add to their life stories, which, at the center is THEM, though I may try to stick my head in the frame more than they will like.



This is all on my mind because today there is a nationwide movement to recognize how bullying gay teens has led to devastating consequences, including an alarming increase of teen suicides. We were supposed to wear purple today to support anti-bullying efforts and to commemorate the lives of young people who's pain over their sexual preference led them to their deaths. I already know from watching Sadie get hurt over and over again in hundreds of small ways, that I can't prevent my kids from hurting. And, after a few playdates where Sadie bit another child or stole toys from other children, it's clear I can't entirely prevent my kids from hurting others. I wish I could. I can't. All I can do is make it clear in any way I know how that I accept my kids' and their choices and I love them and I hope to create a home full of tolerance and joy and celebration of all kinds of different people. Regardless of what happens to them as they venture forth to school, or chess matches or gymnastics or knitting circles, they will have a home that is free from bullying and shame around sexuality and expressions of "difference."



So, to sum up:



My kids are still not allowed to date David Hasselhoff, but same sex dating will be cherished and respected just like opposite sex dating.

AND NO TEXTING WHILE DRIVING to anyone of any gender.

Is it just me, or is ETSY.com a little wacky?

I don't even know what to say about this print I found on etsy.com when looking for sock monkey decorations for Meatball's room.

What does it mean?

I am pretty sure it would scare a child if he was hung in his room, right?

It makes me laugh, but I am not sure I am getting the joke.

The "M" Word

All weekend long I perseverated about a mistake I made at work. So great is my shame about this mistake that I am hesitant to even disclose what it was. I have a million justifications for why I made the mistake, but not one of them makes me feel better. (Though, I do, now and again, enjoy telling myself I am a "good person" with a "good heart" even though I make mistakes at work.)

Oh, I have worked hard to take the sting out of this mistake. It's been cardio justification.

I tell myself it was a clerical error; that there are MUCH worse mistakes for a lawyer to make; I am new to this job; my former job had a whole department to catch these kind of mistakes; I am a good person; even if I get fired for this mistake, I have been honest about my time and never sent any personal packages on the firm dime; I am still a good mom; I look both ways before I cross the street; I didn't know any better.

None of this is helping. I still stew about it. I had a glorious fall weekend with Sadie spending time with friends and taking walks. Every now and again I would have a spasm of anxiety when I would think about my mistake. Then I would wonder what the colleagues who will inevitably discover my mistake will think. Before I knew it, more than 3 minutes of reverie about this mistake had passed, which was 3 minutes less of my time with Sadie.

So.

So how can I possibly teach my kids that making mistakes is part of life and not the end of the right to live as a free citizen? I can't imagine how I could truly impart a lesson that I have yet to internalize. Can I show them what it's like to be a lifelong reader? Sure, I am almost always reading a book. Can I show them how wonderful exercise is if done in moderation? For the most part I can model this. But kids are smart and I know that no matter what I say about mistakes, and lessons, and building character, they are still going to see me stewing about mistakes and they will probably get the idea that they should too unless I change.

Here's the mistake I made: We filed a brief (a court paper, for those lucky enough NOT to know what a brief is) in state court here in Chicago. Easy enough. The partners on the case work in NY and were looking to me as their "expert" on local procedure. (The wisdom of that choice is a subject for THEIR blogs, not mine.) As the expert, I was asked if there was a page limit on the brief we filed. I remember looking in the state court rules and even logging on to Westlaw to verify that the state court rules do not have a page limit for the brief we were filing. "Fire away."

Well, thanks to footnote 1 to the brief filed by the other side, I learned that I was wrong. Apparently, the Judge has her very own set of rules that says parties may NOT file briefs in excess of 15 pages without permission.

Gulp.

Really? The other side had to put that into a footnote?

In addition to hating the fact that I make mistakes, some of them public and some of them the subject of a footnote in a brief, I also hate this part of the law: the picayune, rigid formal rules. Is it the end of the world that our brief was an extra 4 pages? No. Is the rule there for a reason? Presumably. Does it make me stupid that I didn't know to the look at the Judge's local rules, considering I never practiced in state court before July 2010? Certainly not. (As a sidenote, I will say that I hate that there are so many platforms in legal proceedings for parties to shame one another, not to mention how Judges often abuse their positions of authority to shame litigants.)

Anyway, the whole point of this is to examine yet another way in which being a parent of children I really love has magnified little character "quirks" (or "defects") that are miserable enough for me to deal with, but seem like poison when I think of passing them on to my kids.

Here's how I would want my kids to think of and feel about a mistake they made:

• available to learn the lessons from the mistake;
• feel grateful for the chance to learn from a mistake;
• understand they just because they make mistakes, it doesn't mean they ARE mistakes;
• happy that they are not as perfectionistic as their mother;
• able to let it go and enjoy the rest of their big lives;
• find supportive friends and family (THEIR MOTHER) who can help them get perspective on the scope of the mistake and the process of correction, if applicable.

I assume it's got to start with me. I am almost over this mistake. Jeff says I will make many more mistakes before it's all over. Part of me honestly thinks that I wouldn't make mistakes at work if I didn't have a job, but that's probably part of a longer conversation. Jeff seems much better at keeping perspective when he misses something at work. Maybe my kids will get his genes if there is a genetic component to this process. If not, they'll have some good company with me. We'll pour some organic milk, talk about our mistakes, write them in a leather-bound book we'll call the MISTAKE BOOK so that we never EVER forget our errors, and vow to read the book together every night until we no longer make mistakes. Instead of reading Harry Potter and Charlott's Web at night, we will read about our mistakes over and over again hoping the memory will keep us from making more mistakes and adding to the book.

I know. I know what you are thinking: You're jealous I am not your mother.