Lunar Eclipse

I am told there is a lunar eclipse tonight. Well, techinically it's at 2 a.m., and it's the first one since 1638 to coincide with the winter solstice. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what this means, though it sounds very Shakespearian to me. I suppose if I am up roaming around my house tonight, I will probably make my way to the balcony and check it out. It's got to be more interesting than re-reading Facebook status entries.

We had a wild weekend and now that I know it's the lunar eclipse, it makes sense why we were all out of line. We did get our mini-van this weekend. It's really fun. I feel like I am driving a barge down the road, but it feels safe and happy and spacious. So far I have driven it about 4 miles without incident, so I am feeling pretty confident I'll be the master of the mini-van in no time. I am a big fan of naming a car so we were trying to think of the right name for our silver Honda Odyssey. My last car was named Sadie, then we named Jeff's car Grady so my offering for this car is "M'lady." It's a long, sleek, classy ride. It can't be just some prosaic 2 syllable name. Of course I want the name to rhyme with our previous cars. I am sold on M'lady, but Jeff does get a vote.

Actually, Jeff observed recently that trading in his old car for the mini-van means we have let go of one of the last vestiges of our pre-marriage lives. He bought Grady (Grady didn't get his name until I came along) in 2005 right before starting as a full-time lawyer. He and Grady had some good times, including a long road trip down South to play in some golf tournaments. (I believe Hooters was a sponsor of one of them....also, before my time.)

So, here we go: deeper we go into Commitment Land and middle age and parenthood and a scores of things I never thought I would see, experience, smell or live through. But here we are. I think alot about that series of studies charting marital satisfaction, which shows that there is a precipitious drop in marital satisfaction upon having children that does not rebound until the first child goes to college. Today, I think Jeff and I are kicking that study in the ass and then running over it with our mini-van on the way to Costco with a screaming baby who is angry we won't let her ride in the van without a seatbelt. Sorry, Study, but it beats the hell out of zooming around to spin class and T.J. Maxx all weekend, allegedly without a care in the world.

Did I have a tighter body then? Yes.
Did I have more freedom then? In some sense, yes.
Did my freedom come with a loneliness and aimlessness that I hope to never face again? Hells yes.

Myth Busters

I really thought it was a myth. I have heard parents talk about using pajames with zippers so that their children can't get into their diapers. Naive little old me always thought, "Gee, can't kids explore their bodies? What's the big deal, Puritans?"

Here's the big deal: There may come a day when your little precious angel is crying during nap time, but you and your devoted husband think she will settle down any second. Well, the seconds will turn into about 10 minutes and you will decide the situation needs some attention.

You will enter Little Precious' room and you will swoon from the stench. You will reach out to grab your little Preciousa/o and you will see that said Angel is covered in poo because the smart, snappy little onsie you bought her was easy to unsnap, allowing for unfettered access to the diaper and all its glory.

It happened. It's not a myth. Sometimes a cry is just a cry; sometimes a cry means, "Mom, I just poo'ed and smeared it all over myself. Can you come here for a sec?"

Doula In Da House

The doula, Juli, has been hired. I am very excited about having this piece in place. We met Juli when Sadie was 2 weeks old and she came over to help with breastfeeding. I was so tired and out of it that I barely remember her visit. She has helped two of my friends have very positive birth experiences and I am optimtistic about how having her support can help us have a great outcome.

I am happy to report that she's very gentle and non-militant about the whole process. She wasn't thrilled that my doctor has said I should come to the hospital the minute I go into labor. Juli's theory is that if I am able to labor at home for a while and stay comfortable in an intimate environment, then I may progress more rapidly. I asked her what we can do at the hospital to try to create an atmosphere that will have the same results. She said that we can huddle up in the bathroom, where she will light special tea lights. In her experience, being in the bathroom is a way to have some privacy and intimacy and to keep the hospitalness of it all at bay.

Then, she offered this tidbit: If all else fails and the doctors and staff aren't "leaving us alone," we can have Jeff take off his shirt.

I wasn't sure I heard her correctly. Did you say Jeff should take off his shirt?

According to Juli, if Jeff takes off his shirt then the staff will leave us alone because they will have no idea what we are doing in there. Honestly, I am still not sure of the purpose of Jeff taking off his shirt, but I love the idea so much we're doing it no matter what happens. Even if I go in for a C-section, I am having Jeff spend some time without his shirt on. Maybe to join me in the very revealing and exposing process of giving birth. Maybe because I happen to enjoy the view when Jeff takes his shirt off. Who cares? It's funny as hell and we are totally doing that. That one suggestion alone is worth the $900.00 we'll pay the doula for her services.

33 Weeks

Well, today we turned 33 weeks pregnant and to celebrate I had some extra heartburn tablets. Don't say I don't know how to ring in a new week. Everything seems to be proceeding at a healthy pace. A few days ago Jeff took away my wedding/engagement ring because my swollen, sausagey fingers were being gouged by them. I tried to hide that from Jeff because I really want to keep my rings on, but he made some good points, such as how they would have to cut them off my fingers if they got stuck. Fine, fine. So now I am wearing my cheapo 15.00 ring that Jeff and I got in Greenwich Village on our babymoon before Sadie was born. It's a little big, but probably not for long. If memory serves, those last 6 weeks of pregnancy are all about swelling in places where there should be no water.

So there's that to look forward to.

In other news, the blurb about being 33 weeks pregnant says at this point, I may have trouble sleeping, breathing and sitting. Well, then, how's my tennis game going to be? I am pretty sure that all I do is sleep, breathe and sit.

Speaking of tennis, we took a very positive step for the family this weekend. We joined a tennis club, which has excellent babysitting for wee ones. I won't lie, I have never picked up a racket in my life so the tennis wasn't the draw. The babysitting? Well, that was a dealmaker for us. Jeff is going to get into tennis, which should play on all the strengths that make him a scratch golfer. (Yes, 2 years and 2 weeks into marriage and I still pretend like I know what a "scratch" golfer is. Sue me.) There's a gym attached to the club where Mommy will do her thing, which, for now, is called "walking gingerly on a treadmill." I haven't broken a sweat since October, except when I got the flu last Friday and almost fainted during group therapy. I try to keep things interesting as I spend my time breathing, walking and sleeping.

Anyway, we did our first family run to the club last Sunday. I would say we got some mixed results. I dropped Sadie off in the babysitting room. Of course I was terrified she would not want me to leave and that she would cry and protest at the top of her lungs. However, the minute she walked in to the play area she forgot all about boring old mom and went to play with the other little girl. I was so shocked that we didn't have a scene that I just backed away quietly and went to sit by the fire and read the paper. (Having just gotten over the flu, I wasn't going to visit any treadmill last weekend.)

Jeff reserved a practice lane to hit some tennis balls. When he was done, he came to find me cozily lazing by the fireplace reading the Style Section of the NYT. He looked like hell. I have never seen him so pale and glassy-eyed. What the hell do they do to you in the practice lanes, I wondered? The short ending of the story is that Jeff finally came down with the flu that Sadie and I had been battling and he christened our new tennis club with the contends of his guts.

We're so big time.

While I was waiting for Jeff to get himself together, I looked out over 4 indoor courts as people who looked like good tennis players to me lunged for balls and zigged and zagged all over the court hitting those flourescent balls. I have never given tennis much thought, but I have to hand it to the sport: they have very cute outfits for the ladies (those skirts? are you kidding me? How cute is that?) and it seems very social. As in, you can't play tennis alone. I am beginning to make space in my fantasy future for a few cute outfits and some tennis matches with ladies who will become my gym BFFs. Right now the only person woman I know who belongs to the club is literally an ace tennis player, so I have to work up to her level. I'll play with her when I am in my 60's. Til then, I will plot my maturation from solo marathon runner to congenial tennis player.

Ultimate Pregnancy Tip

When you have a soul-destroying job at a BigLaw firm, it is reasonable and self-affirming to look for a new job that would give you soul a chance at thriving and soaring, instead of shriveling up each day you went to your office.

PLEASE NOTE: If you do find a job that gives your soul some room to (1) heal and (2) sing, you may want to take it on the theory that (1) you deserve a non-soul-destroying job, (2) it will lead to a better quality of life, (3) it will improve all of your relationships because you will no longer be exposed to a toxic work environment, and (4) you will be that much closer to your professional destiny.

HOWEVER, if you happen to be about 4 weeks and 2 days pregnant when you accept said new job, you should be aware that when it's time to take your maternity leave, you may have to accept that your maternity leave will be UNPAID. As in, during your leave, you will not receive any remuneration for your "services," and you will spend your entire maternity leave watching your bank account dwindle.

All this is the price for not eroding your soul day after day.

The advice? Maybe if you find yourself in this situation, you could negotiate before you take the job to have some sort of payment during maternity leave. That way you can avoid having a conversation at 32.5 weeks pregnant wherein the HR director of your office has to come in and tell you that during your maternity leave, you will receive exactly bubkus for being on "maternity leave."

It's funny, I remember going to pre-natal yoga before Sadie was born and meeting teachers who were telling me that their maternity leaves were unpaid. I thought that sounded so draconian and unjust. I also remember distinctly NOT taking a job at a federal agency because the maternity leave was unpaid. (Ok, there were like 7 other, more important reasons, but the non-paid maternity leave helped seal my rejection of that offer. We'll forget that I still sometimes pine for that job, until I think about what I would have to do as a federal regulator. Another story.)

Anyway, I think there's a good lesson here for myself and my kids and anyone else looking for a morality tale. I could have stayed at BigLaw job (presumably, though not a foregone conclusion) through this second pregnancy, but how small would my soul and my professional life be? Considering half of my former department has gone to greener pastures, I am not sure what it would even feel like to be there. Sure, I could have taken another maternity leave on their dime and gotten some pretty generous bi-weekly checks and probably a bonus. But would it be worth it? Maybe that's not even the right question, since I changed jobs and it's over and done with now.

It would be nice to continue to get paid during my maternity leave. It's not going to happen this time around. I am happier that my day-to-day life is less toxic and more fulfilling in every way. My vision is more about professional fulfillment than about those damn bi-weekly direct deposits.

32 Weeks Pregnant

I just googled "32 weeks pregnant" to see what developmental milestones Meatball and I are reaching this week. Here's the first line I saw:

"Your baby can now produce sweat."

Um.

Yay?

Why is a baby sweating in the womb, anyway? Another, apparently less headlining-grabbing feats this week is that the baby has a fully functioning digestive system, which he'll need to eat my "cooking."

As for my milestones, I am "supposed" to be gaining a pound per week and looking foward to increased constipation, shortness of breath and moodiness. Without giving the details, let's just say I am on pace for my milestones.

Little Meatball moves all the time and wakes me up at night with his jabs. I love it. The other day he jabbed me so hard when I was walking around that I lost my breath. He's lucky I am a fan of aggression.

We are meeting with a doula on Saturday to go over our birthplan, which includes trying to reach the holy grail of vaginal birth after C-section. My doctor is on board, though she did have a discussion with me about all the things that "are not in my control." She must have sensed I was hoping to exert control over the situation in ways that may not be realistic. I have no idea where she got that idea. Maybe when I told her that I was going to have a pain-free vaginal birth after pushing for approximately 47 minutes.

Oh, Dr. Gupta, you have no idea. You simply have no idea.

Baby Brother

Sadie is doing her training for being a big sister. She has fully mastered the art of hugging and kissing and being gentle. While she does not always heed our pleas to be gentle, she has proven she does know how. We have about 8 more weeks to work on her big sister training. I think I am going to get her a baby boy doll and a little mini-stroller, so she can get excited about the prospect of having a little baby around. I will try to work on teaching her the concept of FOREVER, since that's how long her baby brother will be staying with us.

Though, to be honest, the real training is for me to learn how to prepare Sadie for who's coming and how to transition from a one-child household to a two-child household. I can say without any shame that I have no idea how to do that, but I am not above asking people with close families how they do it.

This weekend holds big milestone events for our household. I believe the crib will be put together. I have done several loads of laundry for Mr. Meatball and we may pull the trigger on the mini-van. There is still a little issue of the double stroller and a few other pieces of equipment, but we are over the hump and moving fast.

Speaking of equipment, I have done some research on vaginal births after a C-section and I am working on getting my equipment in shape. I talked to a doula today with whom we will have a meeting to talk about our birth plans. I only cried 3 times during our 10 minute conversation, so I am sure she has a very good idea what kind of condition I will be in as this birth gets even closer. She really understood that the C-section was traumatic for me and said that her goal, regardless of what kind of birth I end up having this time, is for me to be safe and NOT traumatized.

I hate that word: "trauma." I hate that trauma had anything to do with my experience of birth with Sadie. I don't believe it has affected our relationship negatively, but it's a huge regret that simultaeous to meeting Sadie my guts were splayed out in an operating room, which was all followed by a panic attack. The doula I spoke to today told me about the results of two studies: In one study, they surveyed people living in Manhattan shortly after the 9/11 terrorist attacks and found that 9.5% of experienced being traumatized. In the second study, they found that in sample of women (unrelated to the 9/11 attacks) surveyed about their birth experiences, approximately 9.7% of them reported feeling traumatized.

I feel validated by that data and happy that my there are doulas out there who understand what kind of emotions might be coming with me to the hospital when the time comes.

In other news, I pee about 3 times every hour, which means at all times, I must be wearing comfortable shoes. I saw a friend today during lunch hour and he said my shoes reminded him of the nuns from Catholic schools. Naturally, I took offense and pointed out that my very comfortable shoes (that actually do have a little wedge heel) have a darling little flower near the buckle and told him that if he could find a nun wearing a shoe was cute as mine I would return to the Catholic Church as a full tithing member this Sunday.

Don't EF with me and my shoes.

New cravings have crept in as well. Everyday this week for lunch I had at least one serving of baba ganoush. I can't seem to get enough of its eggplanty goodness. And wheat toast, pita, bagel products. Good lord, if there is something tastier than toasted doughy wheat products with butter then ship it to me C.O.D. I am hungry all the time. Meatball is on pace to gain about 3-5 lbs from here on out so it makes sense that I am going to have to do my part.

Peeing. Eating wheat bagels. Interviewing doulas. Supervising the nursey preparations.

It's a sweet, sweet life.