random updates, last day edition

I'm happy to say that with this post, I am successfully fulfilling my NaBloPoMo promise: a post every day for the month of June, with the optional theme of "home". Whew. I feel tired just typing this. I have to admit I'm kinda glad it's over, but proud to see all these posts for June, too.

My friend Kelly has a secret. You can read about her not telling what that secret is here. Me? I know the secret. That beautiful glow she has is just the wonderful after-effects of throwing such a wonderful baby shower for her friend.

I have some good news to share soon that is not baby-related. I have to keep it under wraps for the time being, but I'm looking forward to sharing it with you soon. All things in due time...

Just when I thought the drama was really over, I am seeing those little pellets again. I am trying really, really, really hard not to freak out, especially when I find opened boxes of cereal and crackers around the kitchen. Breathe, breathe...

Lest you think that MySpace is just for the under-30 set, I just found out via Oprah that Tom Hanks has his own MySpace page. I'm not sure whether I'm amused or disturbed by this.

Anyone with any recommendations for a manly diaper bag that does not look girly, please let me know. The one I registered for on Babies R Us is always listed as "temporarily unavailable online", only the temporary part seems to have become permanent, and I can never find it in-store. I LOVE the diaper bag I have (thanks, Wendy!) but I'll admit the style I chose is a little girly for Jason. So I need something a little less me, a little more him. Bonus if it connects to the Internet all by itself, has GPS navigation, and changes the diapers for you.

probably because you're up so high

Normally, I'm not a fan of completely inane humor, particularly humor that seems to be equal-opportunity at offending just about every group of people out there. However, being married always changes things. Living with my husband has meant that every night at 10pm, almost without fail, whatever is going on in our house stops, or gets put on hold, or at least gets quieter, so that we can watch...

Family Guy.

I used to let him watch it and do other things, because I thought it was a dumb show. And then at some point, I must have been bored, or overheard the dialogue enough that I was somewhat familiar with the characters, the settings, and I sat down to watch. I must have sat down again to watch, and I was probably shaking my head in disgust the whole time, but at some point, I stopped shaking my head and started watching, and even started - you know - LAUGHING.

And now, unfortunately, when 10pm rolls around, I have to tune in, too.

Like I said, the show is pretty equal-opportunity about making sure every group of people is made fun of, ridiculed, or otherwise offended at some point. I still laugh. I know I'm probably not supposed to, but I do. And one of my favorite caricatures is Ollie Williams, the weather forecaster that has to be some kind of ghetto Al Roker. As badly stereotyped as he is, I can't help but think that life might be a little more straightforward, a little simpler, a little less verbose and complicated if we all adopted such succinct candor:

thank you

It's not often that I'm rendered absolutely speechless by the kindness of others. Normally, I can at least scrape together a couple of poetic sentences to say thank you. Today, however, words are failing me.

So I'll just say it with all my heart to the many people who made today so very special for me, who loved on me, who made me feel a little less nervous about becoming a mom, who blessed me with their presence and their incredible generosity today: thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I may have left today with a lot of blue- and green-colored "loot" in tiny sizes, but your friendships are the real gift to me. I'm proud to bring my son into such a wonderful group of people.

Much love,
Anne

activities not designed for this very pregnant woman

Bending down to pick up a cupcake off the plate placed on the floor. For a little bit of frosted bliss, I had to make at least four different positional adjustments in order to squat properly to get the cupcake. And it wasn't pretty.

Going to Magic Kingdom. EPCOT, oddly, was not as bad tonight, but from the moment we got on the crowded Monorail to visit Magic Kingdom, it was just down, down, down the hill of progress. First of all, I do not do well with crowds, even without the added pregnancy hormones, particularly crowds composed of sweaty, overtired families in ill-fitting clothes with bright sunburns and a bad case of We-Will-Get-Our-Money's-Worth-Itis. Second, Jason and I kept getting stuck behind rows of people who decide to walk twice as slow as the rest of the crowd, eight people across, with large double strollers and always with at least one member of the group being rather obese, waddly, and unable to walk in a straight line. However, the highlight of the evening was watching my life flash before my eyes as two different moms with strollers nearly ran me over at 80 mph in order to get a premium seat for the evening parade.

Trying to sleep. Which is exactly what I feel like I need more of these days, but I can't seem to get comfortable, ever.

Going to Wendy's when I'm really, really hungry. I have had the worst luck with that particular fast-food establishment: I'm always walking into a Bad Times Wendy's. It took - I kid you not - ten minutes just to get my hands on a baked potato and Coke, and I was only the second person in line, AND it was nearly ten o'clock at night, AND the person in front of me was only ordering a value meal for herself. Ten minutes.

Buying a Furminator and using it a very squirmy cat. While I will totally attest to the effectiveness of that comb (I am still covered with fur), it probably was not a good venture for a tired, impatient human and a tired, impatient, squirmy cat.

Trying to think of another activity that I probably should refrain from. I had more in my head as Jason and I were driving home from our date tonight, but I'm drawing a blank. Which might be why that perfect sixth activity I cannot do should be THINKING.

random updates: blank brain edition

I've been trying to come up with a meaningful, or humorous, or at least slightly interesting post all day. ALL DAY. No luck. It's just one of those days. I thought about a post imparting my sage wisdom about surviving nursing school, but I realized that it would end up being a lengthy, hormone-fueled treatise, and that's not very interesting or useful. I'm just grumpy and scatterbrained right now, and every idea I have for a post, even some short, random updates, sound more like negative complaints and whining.

So I'm going to barely fulfill my June NaBloPoMo promise with just under 30 minutes to spare, tell you that my brain will return with positivity and promise shortly, and head to bed.

Good night!

my Orlando

One of my favorite blogs, Slice of Pink, recently did a post called "My Davis", where she was able to brag on her hometown. It's a take on one of Real Simple's fantastic My Hometown series, but as only 14 cities are listed - and there are so many more lovely cities and towns to be profiled in the US - she took matters into her own lovely hands. Plus, she put out the call for other bloggers to respond with their own My Hometown posts, and I am answering the call! Here is My Orlando:

(Note: I live in a suburb of Orlando called Maitland, but as I am relatively new here and have lived in several suburbs of Orlando throughout my life - Maitland, Oviedo, Casselberry, and Winter Park - I didn't want to be too exclusive. So, here is my all-encompassing profile of all those places.)

My Orlando: Anne Vermeulen

Age: 31

Occupation: Registered Nurse

I've lived here for: 27 years, with some interruptions here and there

I live here because: my husband and I just bought a lovely house here, plus I work at the hospital downtown and our awesome church is just around the corner

My neighborhood: Maitland

My favorite restaurant: Hot Dog Heaven - we go almost every Saturday

If you go to this restaurant, be sure to order: french fries with your dog - best around

My favorite museum: Morse Museum in Winter Park - largest Tiffany collection in the world

My favorite tourist destination: Disney and New Smyrna Beach

Best insider spot: authentic Irish fare and cold brews at Fiddler's Green

My favorite area: Lake Virginia, scene of our first date

Best place to go shopping: Park Avenue

When you visit, don’t forget to pack: Sunscreen and layered clothing

But leave room in your suitcase for: treasures from the Sat morning Winter Park Farmer's Market

The one local cuisine you should try when you’re in town is: skip the Starbucks and grab some java and free wi-fi at Austin's Coffee House on Fairbanks

The best way to get around: by car

If I had to describe this city in one word, it would be: diverse - we are a melting pot!

I tell my friends to stay at: Westin Grand Bohemian - or with me

The one thing most outsiders don’t know about this city is: there's SO much more to this city than the Mouse

They say “Virginia is for lovers.” So fill in the blank: Orlando is for families

Want to post yours? Send a comment to Janet and she'll post on a permanent page with your Hometown profile.

war on the homefront

All those roaches I mentioned a while ago? We had the pest control guy come out the next week to spray them all dead, dead, dead. My kind, loving, compassionate heart simply does not extend to bugs. Particularly disease-spreading, scary-looking, good-for-nothin' bugs.

However, I still can't get the memory of a bug falling on my head out of my brain.

Roach 1, Anne 0.

After the bug guy came and sprayed his lovely roach-ridding spray, I've found several very dead roach carcasses. Finally, our house seemed to be inhabited by only humans and one feline.

Roach 1, Anne 1.

Were we really even? I'd had no more bug-on-head incidents. No unidentifiable poop pellets. No more reasons to scream in terror at 2am, or any other time of the day or night. It seemed it was all over.

Tonight was Taco Salad night. We really look forward to Taco Salad night, because it's one of our favorite dishes, a special favorite with Jason, and I get to win easy culinary accolades with minimal effort. Cook up some ground beef, add a few seasonings, grab some toppings, and throw it all over tortilla chips. Easy peasy.

I'm heating up the stovetop burners to cook the beef and warm up the beans, and there's this... odor. And this... scratching.

You know where this is going, right?

Yeah. One live, huge cockroach, caught in the burner, cooked alive.

Have I mentioned the appetite-killing effect of a flailing, burning roach, even when faced with some seriously yummy taco salad? Ugh.

It might seem that this was another victory for my 6-legged arch nemeses. (Nemesissies?) After all, before the burners were on, that roach was quite alive and apparently not the least bit affected by a house-wide roach spray. And the scent of Roaches Flambe? Oh, oh, oh.

However, I think I sent a powerful message to that underground community of bugs just waiting to terrorize me: if you mess with this chick, I WILL COOK YOU WITHOUT MERCY.

Roach 0, Anne 156.

HA.

tickled

Recently, our student pastor Norm asked the rest of the church staff for pictures of themselves when they were in junior high/middle school. You know, sort of a reassuring photo collage that Awkwardness Happens, that you do eventually grow out of it, and hey, compare the photos to the hip and handsome staff group of today!

Jason unearthed a whole bunch of photos to find one to give to Norm (Norm! Yes, I can't resist saying it a la Cheers), and eventually chose a pretty straightforward shot: no funny poses, no bizarre what-were-you-doing-THERE backgrounds, no tell-tale clothes reminiscent of Bad Fashion Days Past. He's just looking at the camera with these clear blue eyes, smiling as much as a middle schooler will let himself smile. It's a nice picture.

There is a picture I like better. He's not in middle school, so it doesn't qualify for Norm's (Norm!) Wall of Hormonal Angst. But I think it's my favorite of all:



That's Jason to the right, his younger brother Josh to the left. I don't know how old he is in this photo. I don't remember which state he was living in when this was taken, though I know this was the backyard where he used to raise chickens, and where those chickens would squawk and run around madly after being decapitated, terrorizing the neighborhood children. But I love the way he's holding himself because this is the EXACT pose he still takes today when he thinks I am about to launch into a major ticklefest with him.

Mostly, I love this photo because it reminds me how God knew that I like to settle into some major funks sometimes, and He knew that the one person who knows how to make me laugh harder than anyone else? The guy in the photo to the right, using a major ticklefest. This photo reminds me so much of his willingness to be goofy with me, to connect with me on a silly level that really extends so much deeper into the heart than just surface humor. I love how much I laugh with him, and how very easily I laugh with him, over silly things, every day things, random things. Just a few days ago, we were laughing hysterically together only a short time after one of my random pregnant life-is-too-overwhelming cry-fests, joking about naming our son Forceps. (Just say it out loud: Forceps Vermeulen. You can't help but smile.)

I love you, Jason. I can't wait for fifty more years of goofy smiles and laughter just when I need it most.

(And yes, you have permission to post a photo of me when I was young, too.)

missing you

I missed someone close to my heart for the umpteenth time at church today, and their absence pained me, mostly because I knew that if I asked where that person was, there was going to be the answer of "I'm too busy", "I'm overwhelmed with doing X-Y-Z", and "I'll listen to the message online later."

I can't tell you how much your presence is missed when you're not at church. It's not just a numbers thing, or filling seats, or having more voices to sing together when we're leading worship. It's not about filling your Christian duty, or going just because someone told you to, or a guilt thing, or whatever.

It's because this family, this community of people, well... they miss you. They really do. You are a part of the community. Whether you think your presence makes any impact or not, it does. While I'm always a big believer in active investment into your church community - serving in some way, no matter how trivial the task may seem - sometimes, even just being there is going to touch someone else's heart in a way that lets them see the face of God.

Maybe you see a friend who's having a hard time, and your presence lets them know that they are not alone (and hey, they've got someone to sit with, phew!). Maybe the sight of your worship, your adoration of God, sends a message to someone sitting near you, someone you don't even know, and that person thinks, Wow, I want whatever she's got going on. Maybe it's just that you wore really cool jeans to the service, and someone else is there for the first time, thinking that church had to be a stuffy, suit-and-tie-only affair, and they see your really cool jeans, and they think, this is somewhere I'd like to be, because you can actually dress like a real person. And a community - a family - flourishes and grows.

God's not up in the sky keeping tabs on how many Sundays you get to church and how many you miss. (Neither is our pastor, by the way.) And some Sundays, you won't be there. Illness happens - and I can verify that with my stuffy nose and cotton-ball-filled head right now. You go on a much-needed vacation. You have to work a weekend shift. Your car does one of these herky-jerky dances on the highway, and you spend your morning dealing with AAA instead of inside a sanctuary. It happens.

But staying away because life is getting overwhelming or too busy with other stuff calls for a readjustment of priorities. Believe me, I heard that loud and clear today when I realized that my incessant planning and obsessing over the upcoming arrival of my first child left me little to no time to hear that still, small, loving voice of the One I love most. Never mind, too, that taking an hour out of the busyness, even if you think you cannot spare one minute, helps to quiet and calm the chaotic heart and refocus back on Him, and all those other life things that pressed on you with unbearable weight are suddenly... lighter.

And I will only say this about listening to messages online in substitution for actual face-time with your church family: an MP3 player is no substitute for community. Never has, never will be. Imagine never hanging out with your closest friends, but promising to always listen to their voice mails, or look at their Facebook profiles for any updates. You get a paltry fraction of their lives, and they get... nothing. And a community feels the void and is that much less. The disconnect grows, you believe the lie more and more that you do not matter, your presence doesn't make any difference, and you stay away longer. Don't believe that lie.

It's just not all about you - it's about His bride, the church, and as imperfect and human and screwed up and plain messy as we the church can be, we need you. We miss you. We miss your interaction, your friendly smile, even just to hear that hey, we're having really crazy times in our lives, too, and thank God I'm not alone, we are going through this together, and He is always with us, too. Just setting foot inside the door and being there makes a difference, realized or not. Don't stay away any more.

history repeating itself

My heart is breaking all over again, watching the flooding struggles and breaking levees along the Mississippi, because I'm reminded of Katrina. I remember how helpless I felt to do anything, a thousand miles away and clueless about floods, except the only thing I knew to do: pray.



“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God” (2 Cor. 1:3-4)

things that made today really wonderful

In chronological order:

--I woke up warm and safe in my husband's arms. I love waking up with with him.

--Had a nice bowl of cereal, then zipped off to the ever-swank Mall at Millenia to get my hair cut. Haircut turned out AWESOME. Thanks, Kim!

--Went to Motherhood Maternity, walking around and swishing my beautiful new 'do back and forth, to find not one, but two adorable dresses to wear to my baby shower. This is very notable because I have traditionally NOT been able to wear dresses because they never fit me right, being larger on top than I am on the bottom most times. Having a big ol' preggo belly has evened all that out. Plus, the dresses were on sale.

--Continued to swish my hair all the way to Shannon's house, where I had over two hours of good girl-talk time, as well as giggles and smiles from two very cute toddler boys. Highlight of the visit: hearing simultaneous toddler giggles as I pretended to "eat" Elmo. Toddler giggles are audible gold.

--Left Shannon's house, still swishing, and made a call that ended with an appointment for tomorrow to have a free 3D ultrasound done, thanks to a coworker's sister who is in training to do 3D ultrasounds and needed guinea pigs. Score!

--Ended the day (swishing hair, of course) with excellent shrimp pad thai and spring rolls with several good friends, plus getting to find out one of my dear friends is ENGAGED. Lots of giggling and dancing and screaming ensued and probably made a few other restaurant patrons choke on their satay, but whatever. Congratulations, M! So happy for you.

I'm still swishing my hair and typing away as my cat snuggles next to me on the oversized chair, waiting for my husband to get home from an all-guy event at our church so we can resume my feeling warm and safe in his arms again...

Happy sigh.

diary of a mad pregnant woman

Thursdays have become special days to me over the past several months because they mark the beginning of a new week of pregnancy. I anticipate them like a child anticipates their birthday, and usually by the preceding Monday or Tuesday, I'd already be telling people I was that week plus a half ("I'm 30 and a half weeks") or "almost" the next week. I'm surprised I haven't already gone completely whole hog about it and tell people things like "Yes, I'm 30 weeks, 5 days, and 4-1/2 hours along!" I probably would, except that requires more math skillz than my hormone-riddled brain can muster right now.

Speaking of those hormones, I've noticed that for as dull as my short-term memory has become, as clumsy as my limbs have operated, as much as my attention span has made permanent vacation lately... ooh, look, a flower! Pretty. Hmmmm. Wonder if it's going to rain again. Maybe I should wear a different pair of shoes. Shoes are fun to shop for. Let's go shopping.

(large reminder kick from baby)

Oh, oh, sorry! Anyway... for as much as I've been foggy-headed, distracted, and clumsy, some of my finer sensitivities have become more, well, sensitive. And when I say sensitive, I mean that sometimes I get convinced that people exist just to make me feel bad.

For example:

--A lack of RSVPs to an event of mine has me totally convinced that NO ONE LOVES ME and EVERYONE THINKS I AM A HORRIBLE, OFFENSIVE, GREEDY PERSON. Never mind that I am the World Champion of Lazy RSVP'ing and always forget to do so myself, no matter how much I am looking forward to said event.

--My husband usually leaves his rather clean dishes to "soak" in the sink, rather than putting them in the dishwasher. Lately, this has meant I AM TO BECOME SOLE DRUDGERY MAID FOR ALL WHO LIVE IN THIS HOUSE. Never mind that my own dirty dishes lay in a unclean heap just beside the sink.

--My cat refuses to come snuggle with me during a thunderstorm, and I am immediately convinced I AM A FELINE REPELLANT and SHE HATES ME. Never mind that she always, always hides somewhere dark and isolated during thunderstorms, because she is a scaredy-cat like that.

--A former patient of mine - with whom I spent inordinate amounts of time over several weeks to make sure he felt comfortable, pain-free, and accommodated for all his needs - sends our nursing staff a huge bouquet of flowers, several bags of Hershey's candy, and a lovely thank-you card for all the kindnesses he received during his extended stay with us. He does not mention my name in the card. HE IS A ROTTEN JERK WHO IS UNGRATEFUL AND FORGETFUL AND SELFISH. Never mind that I eat several handfuls of the candy, and that the thank you's are just as much for me as anyone else. (Or that it's actually my job to be nice to my patients.)

--Traffic on the highway is worse than usual for 7:45 in the morning heading away from the city, and several cars cut in front of me to try and make the gap between present location and destination that much shorter. This, of course, means that ALL DRIVERS ARE INCONSIDERATE, RUDE MORONS and it's going to become so bad so fast that soon, EVERY DAY I WILL BE IN AN ACCIDENT. EVERY DAY. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Never mind about my own driving skills, or the fact that these drivers have been like this for eons, or that it's just the nature of Orlando traffic.

Can you imagine how, well, uneven this has made the quality of each day for me? One minute, I'm celebrating the Supreme Miracle of Life growing within me. The next, I'm cursing everything and anything, crying into my soup and wishing I'd never been born onto this hate-filled rock orb called Earth. It's rather exhausting.

And if you mention anything that even remotely agrees with me about all of this, I will suddenly burst into tears on you and know in my heart that YOU THINK AND ARE CONFIRMING I AM HYPERSENSITIVE, THAT I DO NOT DESERVE TO LIVE, AND MUST BE BANISHED TO A DARK ROOM SOMEWHERE AWAY FROM HUMANITY BECAUSE YOU THINK I AM SCUM.

(Seriously, I may have just eliminated all chances for anyone ever leaving any comments ever again on this blog.)

my head is in a fog

But oh, people, I am a happy woman because the elements that made up today decided to be in harmony with me. The sun did not shine too brightly. In fact, it rained for quite some time, although there was no accompanying crashing thunder. The neighborhood was quiet. There was no evil Lawn Care Minion wielding a weed whacker within a 2-block radius, causing me to harbor evil fantasies about what I might do with said weed whacker to the guy using it. Even Crouching Tiger, Hidden Fetus decided that it was time to keep the tae kwon do to a minimum and just squirm around inside of Mommy instead of kick and jostle around.

And so, after two extremely difficult nights of working - difficult mostly because I just couldn't get any sleep in the days before them - I got the very best gift ever: 9 hours of pure, unadulterated SLEEP. Only woke up once in the middle of it because my bladder felt like bursting from filling up so much during all that sweet, sweet dreaming time. No interruptions, not even from inside my own body. In fact, Little One was so good and still and polite within my uterus that I had a moment of panic just minutes ago after the alarms sounded, and I poked and jiggled my entire abdomen in a most unattractive way to hopefully wake the kid up, to which he (thankfully) responded with some familiar sharp kicks to my ribs and diaphragm, did some huge somersault inside of me, and probably hit his own snooze alarm. Man, he's gonna LOVE me as a teenager.

In addition to all this blissful sleep I got... do you ever find yourself feeling absolutely trapped in a situation you feel you cannot escape, and the sort of despair it brings about, how everything associated with it makes the bile rise in your throat? And then suddenly, though it's not right in front of you (yet), there's someone holding this beautiful open door that you just found out you can walk through relatively soon and get out of the mess you're in? And how it very ironically makes your current situation SO MUCH EASIER to deal with... and that if it had always been this easy to deal with, you might not have wanted to get out of it so much in the first place?

I'm being deliberately vague here, I know. The ball is rolling, but I'm not quite sure of the direction, and until I am, I guess I'm speaking in gross generalities here - forgive me. But I am excited, Jason is excited, and I'm hoping I can actually use some specific, detailed words to describe the excitement soon. To quote Martha: it's a good thing. And I'm looking forward to sharing it with you soon.

(No, I'm not referring to this pregnancy, either, though I am really looking forward to that ending in about 9 weeks so I can meet this cute little acrobat in my belly...)

just wondering

Dear Person Who Was Driving a Blue Van With "Children First" Specialty License Plates:

Did you really think you were putting your "children first" when you sped through a completely-red red light and cut off a woman and her child in her Honda, only to get one car ahead and end up waiting 5 minutes at the next red light 300 yards away? Did you put "children first" when, after Honda Lady honked her horn at you, you flashed her the middle finger rather defiantly for a good 15 seconds in full view of your kids, hers, and anyone else who happened to see the entire sordid event?

Didja?

Hugs and kisses,
Anne

organically speaking

I went with my friend Maruxa to a meet a friend-of-a-friend who sells a bunch of varieties of cloth diapers out of her house. It was a nice time: we had a chance to see and feel different types and brands, ask questions, see the diapers in action on her 3 month old (who pooped and peed several times for us so that we could see exactly what the diapering entailed), and just relax for an hour or so. Some things I noticed about Leigh, the cloth diaper seller lady:

She is not super-organic.

She drives a regular car, not a hybrid, and her husband pulled up in a mammoth SUV just as we were leaving.

She is as busy and as stressed and as multi-tasking as any mother I know (working or stay-at-home) and yet somehow managed to cloth diaper all 4 of her children.

Cloth diapering? I know, I know. It's so very green and earthy and hippie of me, isn't it? Makes you think I'm going to denounce deodorant, bike everywhere, and buy only locally-grown organic produce. I promise you I am not. Particularly the part about deodorant.

Just by twittering it this morning, I received several rather, um, interesting replies within about an hour or so of mentioning my cloth diaper perusing, the most notable calling me "idealistic" and "naive".

Sigh. To be honest, it hurts a little. I didn't see that coming. THAT would be the naive part.

I shouldn't be surprised, really. I think I would have had the same reaction only a few months ago myself. Cloth diapering, before recently, made me think of confusing folding patterns, huge safety pins, and handling poop with my bare hands on a regular basis. It also screamed old-fashioned, expensive and highly inconvenient. However, I am happy to report that from what I saw and experienced - first-hand, I might add - this morning, none of that is true. Cloth diapering has come a loooong way from when I was a baby. What I saw was easy, convenient, and in some cases less work than an Elmo-printed plastic diaper. Behold the ease (and these are the "hardest" of them):


I don't know this guy - this wasn't from this morning, but it was a great video I found online of using cloth diapers.

And even easier:

BumGenius

I haven't totally made up my mind one way or the other. I've done a LOT of research into it - there are pros and cons to both sides - and I'm not sure that we ever have to make a firm, absolute stand one way or the other. Lots of parents do both, and in the end, we're going to do what works best for us. Frankly, I've been both highly encouraged and highly discouraged within the space of three hours, and I'm still processing all of that, too. A good friend e-mailed me during this time, too, and mentioned that she no longer cloth diapers: she loved them, but couldn't stand the misconceptions everyone had and the lack of support she got (in particular from sitters and childcare places). I don't know that I'm ready to fight that uphill battle yet. Being a new parent is going to be hard enough without having to defend my diapering choices to everyone.

Please hear me on this: I do not think that disposables are the Plastic of Satan, nor do I think anyone is less of a parent for using them. I don't believe for a moment that I'm going to get through the pre-potty-trained phase of any of my kids without ever using a disposable, even if I do decide to cloth diaper. I know, to some degree, the reality of parenting when both mom and dad have to work, and no, I don't expect everyone to be okay with using only cloth, even if I personally think it's easier and a better choice. You have to be flexible. And maybe I'll hate cloth diapering, which is why if we do it, I'm not going to spend a bazillion dollars at the outset, but just a few to see if I like it.

But I just can't figure it all out in one afternoon. I've been given a lot for my brain to chew on - and people, it chews slowly these days. So I'm off for yet another nap to prepare for another three nights of working, and maybe to lick my wounds a little bit.

If you've cloth diapered, I would love, love, love to hear from you. Particularly if you did it from the start and how you managed to do it while everyone thought you were completely insane for even trying it in the first place.

getting ready for some James Taylor music...

Yesterday, Jason and I ventured over to the local women & infants hospital to get a one-day crash course in Lamaze. Yup. Everything you ever wanted to know - and a few things you probably never wanted to actually see - in less than 8 hours of class time, including a lunch break to Moe's. I wasn't sure what to expect going in, but it turned out alright in the end. My favorite part was seeing all the expressions on the men's faces - or rather, the (singular) expression: total and complete fear. You would think it would be the first-time-moms-to-be with that expression, wouldn't ya? We're doing the bulk of the work, right? No, every woman in that class just looked relieved to have found the right classroom in the maze of the hospital floorplan, find a seat, and rest their legs. The men, on the other hand, kept glancing surreptitiously around the room, giving each other these looks that clearly stated, it's not too late to ditch this and do 18 holes, dude. You in?

In Jason's defense, he was the one male who looked completely at ease. After all the horror stories I bring home from my shifts on a trauma floor, I think I pretty well convinced him that labor and delivery was mere child's play in comparison (oh, we shall see, I know - stop laughing...).

The class was taught by a male RN, which is no big deal these days, except that he was a labor & delivery nurse for something like 15 years, and the only male L&D nurse ever hired at the hospital (and people, it's a LARGE hospital). And he was this ex-military guy with a long salt-and-pepper ponytail who jingled his change constantly in his pockets while he lectured - and did I mention he lectured for 8 hours? - and instead of concentrating on listening to pain relief options and possible birthing positions, I was mostly thinking of the 286 ways I would go completely berserk if the RN spending their next 12 hour shift with me was this Change Jingler while I was trying to relax and breathe.

As with every class like this one, we ended up watching some rather lame, 20-year-old videos of expectant parents, live births, and even a few C-sections. Speaking of those C-section videos, have you ever heard the sound of blood simultaneously draining out of the faces of 30 people? It was quite loud, I tell you, and just slightly amusing to me. From my perspective, the videos were quite un-gory... but then again, I see freshly burned skin and exposed bones on a daily basis, so what do I know?

Aside from some momentary face-smacking reality of just how messy and bloody birth can really be, most of the lame videos featuring Dorothy Hamill Hair were actually quite positive and reassuring: normal, happy birth outcomes are the norm and the majority of experiences. You've probably seen something similar, even if you've never attended a birthing class: calming folksy guitar music in the background, the video montage of tearful moms snuggling in bed with their newborns while Dad kisses Mom's head in relief, maybe a syrupy song lyric or two about the sanctity and wonder of Motherhood.

And wouldn't you know, the class I expected to be somewhat boring and information-only? It got me pretty excited about this whole birthing process. Everything. The pushing, the begging for an epidural, the wild grimacing, the folk music montage - all of it. Truthfully, I haven't had much of an opportunity lately to think much about that part - between getting settled in to our new home and the stresses of my job, I've been more inclined to just head for a long nap than to wonder at the marvel of the growing belly. My mom, who is chin-deep in the same grueling nursing program I did a few years ago, hasn't really had the time or resources to be all excited and ooh-ahh with me over this first pregnancy even though she lives in our same house; I have no sisters, and most of the rest of my family is scattered about the country. With all of those factors combined, along with the blessing of a physically-easy pregnancy so far, I could easily forget that I was even pregnant, much less well into trimester #3, were it not for the constant kicks and undulations going on in my uterus. Going to Lamaze class was like a huge red sign: Yes, you are SOON TO GIVE BIRTH. And it's going to be MIND-BLOWING. I'd kind of forgotten all of that, somehow.

In a few weeks, I get to wear a pretty tarp dress, eat yummy cake and ice cream, play games, and be all giggly and excited with some of my closest friends and family about this next step of being a woman. I'm looking forward to it. And just a few weeks after that, I get the chance to be the woman with the bad hair and the forehead-kissing spouse, holding my newborn son. And though I might be screaming my bloody head off, clutching the nurse's uniform and asking WHERE ARE THE DRUGS, WOMAN, I hope I can savor every last minute of it. Or at least the newborn part, anyway.

Speaking of that undulating belly? Check it out:



30 weeks, in our backyard (yay! We have a backyard!).

oof.

Long, long day of Lamaze. Good class. Lots of stories from it. But I'm completely wiped, and though I am writing this so I can still fulfill my NaBloPoMo promise, this post is completely inadequate. I don't like writing that I can't write squat right now, but it's the total, honest-to-blog truth.

To make up for it, tomorrow I will give you the full class scoop in a nice long post, plus a photo of The Belly.

Until tomorrow, my dear friends, I am signing off before I fall asl... zzzzzz...

Ew. Ew. Ew.

Incredible Somersaulting Baby in Utero and I woke up pretty hungry last night around 2am. Not terribly convenient, especially since we were desperately short on anything easily edible in the kitchen, but I happened to find one remaining Blue Box in our cupboards, so all was okay. Plus, there's something really serene and peaceful about being up at such an hour: I don't feel the obligation to do something useful, as most of those activities involve noise-making (like washing the dishes, vacuuming, etc.), and since the TV lineup at 2am is, uh, less than stellar, I usually end up sitting in the quiet, tapping away on my computer. Quiet can be very soothing. So can tapping. I know I don't have too much longer to enjoy such uninterrupted solitude, so I try to enjoy it now while I can.

So I'm making my mac n' cheese snack - and, I'm so not kidding you, the baby starts kicking wildly the minute I open the box and start cooking, as if in hungry recognition of all the mac n' cheese meals that sustained him and I during the early months of my pregnancy - and I go to get a strainer for the pasta once it's cooked. And THAT is when that calm, serene peacefulness I was trying to enjoy was put to an end.

Roach turds. In my cupboard.

Okay, so I didn't know they were roach turds when I first saw them. I've never had to deal with roach turds before, so how would I know? But I see these little pellets, and I get suspicious, and the next thing I know, I'm actually Googling "roach turds" and "roach poo" while my macaroni finishes cooking. The Internet sadly confirms it: yes, these are ROACH TURDS.

Can I tell you how very sick I felt at that moment? Still hungry, but sick too? Ugh.

I decide to look up some more options online to deal with the roach turdness while I eat my macaroni. (I do have a stomach of steel, yo.) I go to grab the strainer, and out falls - yep, you guessed it - a ROACH. A very alive one, and not small at all. He (she?) jumps to another nearby bowl in the cupboard, frozen still, looking at me while I'm just staring at it like some bizarre human vs. bug standoff. I slowly back away, hearing old Western movie standoff music in my head, and go to the laundry room to get the bug spray we keep there.

When I open the door to go to the laundry room - because in this house, you must step outside briefly and then back inside again to reach the laundry room, don't ask - I'm greeted with another late night surprise: a roach FALLS ON MY HEAD.

At this point, it is all I can do to keep from screaming. Is someone filming this? Am I really just part of some low-budget horror flick? This is insanity. Gross, disgusting insanity. Nature is totally messing with the freaked out preggo lady.

I managed to get myself together enough to get Kamikaze Roach out of my hair and squashed under my flip-flop, get the bug spray, come back and completely soak Dirty Harry Roach (and all surrounding kitchenware) with bug spray, and break out some spray bleach to clean up the few little roach turds left. By this time, my snack, the Blue Box I was looking forward to eating, was total mush in the pot. I was still kinda hungry, too, so I actually finished making it with completely soggy noodles and ate it.

It wasn't very good, though. In addition to the sogginess, I kept looking around with every single bite, sure that there was some Head Honcho Roach, ten feet long with long scary tentacles and holding some sort of vendetta against humankind, waiting to spring upon me while I sat in my living room at an hour when Humans should clearly be asleep and the Bug World reigns supreme. It didn't help that I continued my Roach Googling, only to find out more than I ever wanted to know about the pestilence and disgusting grossness that roaches spread around your house, like diseases and putting you and your family at risk for food poisoning and stuff. There's nothing quite like reading about food poisoning from roaches when you're eating the World's Most Processed Food Ever after having had a huge multi-bug face-off.

I think I could be permanently cured of any urge to eat after going to bed. I don't want to see what's waiting for me in any other cupboard.

Now, I'm sure you are all equally disgusted, and I've probably alerted some sort of Internet sensor that will send DCF out to my house just for posting this, but people, I have Jason calling around RIGHT NOW to get some industrial-strength pest control out here. When it was the occasional, random roach, I would worry about how much it would all cost to call pest control and be sort of procrastinaty about it all. At this point, though, I would sell some vital organs just to get the bugs away. Anything, dear God, anything. Just get the bugs out of my house forever and ever, world without end, Amen.

And the only turds I ever want to find again are ones from my son when we let him run around without a diaper. Even then, maybe not those. A Turd Free Zone.

love/hate, home edition

Well, I at least need to TRY and make this about home, seeing as home is the month's theme. Here we go.

love: we have our own washer and dryer now - no more quarters! Plus, they're really quiet when they run and all my clothes come out so much cleaner than those cramped machines at the old apartment complex.

hate: I don't like admitting where we bought this wonderful new washer and dryer set. It's only slightly embarrassing. I'm not naming any names, but let's just say that if you didn't buy your appliances from this particular store, you paid too much. Sigh...



love: listening to the rain showers and thunderstorms while I rest for the next shift at work each afternoon - the feeling of coziness of being inside is indescribable.

hate: did I mention that roaches don't like the rain? And that they tend to take shelter when it does rain? And that shelter happens to be our house? Spoils that cozy mood a bit.


love: we are just a few houses down from an old college friend of mine - who has three young kids and is an experienced mommy to consult - as well as countless other friends-practically-family within a five-minute radius in any direction from our house. Yay for community!

hate: not having had one moment to spare to actually go and visit with these friends. Stupid work schedules!


love: Holy freakin' belly, Batman! 30 weeks today! My abdomen is truly taking on a life of its own, growing and swelling and even undulating all by itself. I feel so womanly when I look down on it... and lately, it's hard to miss.

hate: (I'll be back to fill this part in... right after I finish peeing. AGAIN.)


love: finding my childhood best friend after losing contact for over 20 years. Hi, Maureen! Good friends are always like coming home. I'm really looking forward to get to know her again.

hate: uh, she's in DC. That's, like, a bazillion miles away.


love: off to the swanky Mall at Millenia for some cutting and styling of my hair tomorrow! It's starting to look very moppish...

hate: any idea's for a Father's Day gift for a new father-to-be? I'm stumped.

a night nurse's mostly altruistic prayer before heading off to work

Dear Father,

Let me give my patients the best nursing care possible tonight. Bless my hands and provide healing, comfort, and reassurance through them. Bring peace to each patient, and let them know in their hearts that they are exactly where they are supposed to be, that they are being cared for, that they are safe and have no reason to worry. Make your presence known to them in real and tangible ways, even if they are confused or comatose. Bring peace and comfort to their families, their friends, and let my actions reveal that no matter what, the Great Physician is taking care of them and their loved one.

But Lord, if all else fails, grant me access to enough drugs to let them sleep through the night.

Amen.

perfect baby things for new parents

One random update: I just passed my 200th post on this here blog. I can't believe I had that much to say.

Anyway, back to why I'm posting now: I'm passing the buck because I just read one of my favorite bloggers, Maggie at Mighty Girl, and as the mother of one of the world's cutest toddler boys ever, she just wrote a wonderful list of some very useful stuff for new parents. I've linked to this list as a guide for myself when we start stocking up more for things for our upcoming son. I've also linked to help out my friends who've asked me what I would like for a shower gift and have received nothing but blank stares, drool, and incomprehensible mutters because I have NO idea what to tell them. It's also a link for those of you who know someone who's about to be (or already is) a brand-new parent, because it seems like everyone is pregnant these days, and new parents need all the help they can get!

Perfect Baby Things for New Parents

random updates, the I'm-so-tired-I-can't-see-straight edition

I'm beginning to realize just how difficult participating in NaBloPoMo is going to be, particularly when I (and Baby Acrobat in Utero) wake up for my third exhausting 12-hour shift in a row - a shift where I run around like a maniac and get my rear-end kicked - and realize that I need to blog something that doesn't just say "Yo. Here. Now go away." Sigh...

I'm trying to cast aside my need for new technology, new playthings, new stuff I probably don't actually need... but heaven help me from skipping work and making a beeline to the Apple store for this. Twice as fast! Half the price! How can I resist? All it needs is to come in a pink version, and my willpower is GONE, people.

Hormones of pregnancy at work: I'm know my last name isn't Dinglehead, Birdypoopy, or Tootlemuffins... but last night at work after having my last name badly maligned by yet another co-worker trying to pronounce it - someone I've known for almost a year now, I might add - I began to get a little paranoid about my son's first day of school and what he's going to hear. Will he grow up thinking he's a "Vermillion"? Is there any way I'm not thinking of that you can make that name into something funny and tauntable? Is it too late to change our last name to "Jolie-Pitt"?

She's called me a good writer before, but sometimes I think that's like Ernest Hemingway saying Danielle Steel is talented: my amazingly talented friend Kelly updates her blog pretty much every day, and she's both funny and thoughtful in her posts. Go check her out if you haven't already. (PS - Ernest Hemingway is dead. Kelly is not.)

Speaking of the hospital, work has not been easy lately. At. All. My husband, however, deserves the biggest shout-out of all for loving on me and taking care of me when all I can do some days is wake up in a stupor, throw my scrubs back on, and stumble out the door (and blog, of course). Cooking dinner, doing laundry, cleaning up after everyone, AND taking time to rub my back and tell me how proud he is of me. My cup runneth over.

And on a happy note: when I sit, you can watch my stomach bubble and jiggle all by itself these days. It's pretty amusing, and it looks a little like Alien. Kudos to my sweet yet-to-be-born son for adding humor and levity to almost any situation just by moving around.

I can't resist this face

It's a good thing she's so cute, as she is the producer of the World's Most Disgusting Hairballs and Barf Wads, usually on either a) freshly cleaned carpet, b) freshly cleaned blankets, or c) freshly cleaned upholstery. Never on tile. Never on easily cleanable surfaces. No, that would be too convenient and not require her to turn on such doe-eyed charm to win me back over...



I couldn't imagine home without her, though. Barf wads and all.

the cop-out post for today... yawn...

Please forgive me for resorting to a list, a borrowed idea, rather than a real post. Thanks to some incredible fetal acrobatics involving my bladder as a makeshift trampoline and my spine as a high beam bar, sleep did not come last night. I tried everything: pillows, repositioning, walking around, trying to sleep sitting up in the recliner. Nothing. Nada. I think I finally passed out in time for a few brief hours of shut-eye after I decided that being “energy efficient” was a load of crap and turned the thermostat down several degrees (because on top of everything, I was sweating rivers).

And as I am still completely exhausted and facing the first of three nights of long, long shifts at work, I’m thinking a meme list is about as good as it’s going to get for me today. There. I am fulfilling my June NaBloPoMo promise to write a post every day, and you might learn something new about me in this.

Or, just wait 24 hours and I’ll post something new.

-----------------------------------------

Do you hate the last guy you had a thing with? Quite the opposite: I married him!

When is the last time you took a nap?: I’m thinking right now would be a great time to do that.

Do you only drink bottled water?: I can’t afford to be that choosy. I do try to run it through the Brita, though.

What are you listening to right now?: Jason playing video games and my stomach growling.

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?: Jess – I had to cancel our lunch date and I really, really miss her. Hi, Jess!

To send you a Myspace message?: I deleted my MySpace account. Long story, but at times it felt like high school all over again, and I really don't have thick enough skin to handle reading unfair comments about myself on other peoples' pages.

What's on your mind most today?: Wondering how I can get my husband to make me some more food, trying to get some sleep before I have to go to work tonight, surviving the shift, trying NOT to think about how it is the first of three 12-hour shifts in a row… on a weekend…

Do you talk about your feelings or hide them?: Both. Usually the latter, I’m afraid, but if you get me to talk about them I will NEVER SHUT UP.

Do you wear makeup?: I try. If I don’t, I get a lot of comments like, “Are you feeling okay?” and “Wow, you’re really pale.”

Are you missing someone?: I am. Several someones.

Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?: Maybe not in every situation, but in general, yes

What instant messaging service do you use? I’m a confessed Twitter tweeter… plus Facebook now and then.

Would you date/hook up with your brother's best friend?: Uh, NO, unless he considers his best friend Jason, and then in that case, oh yeah.

Have you ever had a panic attack?: only once. Horrible. But it served as a great wake-up call to change the direction of my life.

What color is your hair?: dark brown with hints of red.

Who was the last person you talked to in person?: my mom and Jason

Is your phone right beside you?: Nope. Charging at the other end of the house.

What do you do before bed each night?: Either read, or fart around on the computer, or snuggle and talk to Jason.

What does your best friend(s) call you?: Just Anne. Nothing too interesting.

Would you prefer a thunderstorm or for it to be snowing?: This one is for Clint: SNOW, of course. ALL the time.

Who do you call the most?: Everyone knows I am horrible about calling people – I hate being on the phone. So the answer to this is… no one. Although there are several people I should be calling right now!

What is your pet's name?: Missy, aka Stinky, aka Sweetpea, aka Dork.

What were you doing 4 hours ago?: tossing and turning and praying for sweet death rest.

At what age did you learn to ride a bike?: I think I was 8… Dad?

What's your favorite holiday?: Christmas, but I love all holidays, particularly if they earn me a day off…

Have you ever gone to a concert?: Many

Ever dyed your hair?: Yes. Not since being preggo, though.

Do you have any siblings? Do you get along?: 1 brother, and we do get along during the rare moments we actually see each other.

Do you cry a lot?: Lately, YES. Damned pregnancy hormones and a crappy situation I’m dealing with make it even more

Would you rather date Leonardo DiCaprio or Matt Damon?: And I’m not even saying this because I’m married to the bestest, sexiest man ever, but, uh, neither. I never liked either of them. Leo looks perpetually 12 years old, and Matt Damon looks EXACTLY like my cousin. So the prospect of dating either one of them is very creepy.

Are you good at keeping secrets?: Most of the time!

Do you crack your knuckles?: Occasionally.

Do you give special ringtones to certain people?: My phone doesn’t do that. And I don’t like talking on the phone anyway.

Do you drink soda?: Yes. Way too much Coke.

Can you remember your last dream?: I think you require sleep to actually dream…

Have you ever done something you told yourself you wouldn't do?: Yup. Many things.

What would you do if you saw a person fall down a flight of stairs?: What I’d love to tell you is that I’d immediately rush to their side, show an outpouring of empathy and love, and employ my superior trauma nursing skills to bring them to a state of wellness in a matter of seconds. What I would actually do: curse silently and think,”I’m not even on the clock…”

Do your best friends know your family?: Yes.

Do you still talk to the person you fell hardest for?: Every day. He still has my heart.

What is bothering you right now?: Trying to muster up the courage to have a very difficult conversation with someone. I am so very non-confrontational, but it must happen, I’m afraid.

Who else is in the room with you?: Jason. Video gaming. Saturday mornings are nice like that.

Where did you last sleep other than your house? On a snowy mountaintop, in our friends' guest bedroom.

a typical scene at our house

sharing and having faith

A few weeks ago during a brief, rare moment of calm at work when several of us nurses had a moment to sit down and catch our breaths between patient crises, a coworker of mine and I started shooting the breeze about our families. She asked what my husband did for a living.

(Side note: I am always tempted to say that he has a "normal day job", meaning he does not go to work at the same hour that rats scurry out of their holes to forage for nightly food scraps... but I digress:)

I told her, "He's the Administrative Director for our church," which was naturally followed up by the question, "Where do you go to church?" I tell her. And when I tell her it's a non-denominational church, she asks me with complete honest curiosity, "What does that mean, non-denominational? I grew up going to a Catholic church that I hated, and I didn't know what that was about, either." And I found myself at a complete loss. I stared at her, sort of open-mouthed and dumbfounded, and stammered out something lame like, "Uh, well, it means that we don't belong to a particular denomination." Equal confused look on her face, and then the inevitable, "Well, what is it that you BELIEVE, exactly?"

Struck dumb. I was struck DUMB. I don't remember what I told her in response, but it wasn't the intelligent, theologically-rich response I was racking my brain for, nor was it the honest, heartfelt, simple explanation of the grace I've received in my life. No, it was something I probably wouldn't want to reprint for the world to see here on this blog. It likely involved a lot of hemming, hawing, and "I'm not really sure..." statements. Whatever the answer was, I think my coworker came away more confused than anything. There was shrugging of shoulders and confused smiles involved on both sides, and then a patient call bell went off, and the moment was gone in the flurry of the night.

I have offered up prayers in the past that God would send someone just like her to my doorstep - or, in this case, to my nurses' station - someone who is genuinely, sweetly curious about my relationship with God, who asks a simple question about why I believe what I believe, why I follow Jesus, why I sing songs to Him and about Him in praise, why my life is any different and any more worth having than someone who gets to sleep in on Sunday mornings and whose only encounter with a Bible is to move it off the hotel nightstand. Someone who isn't demanding a intellectually solid argument of the existence of God, someone who isn't looking to cut me down, but someone who is genuinely searching, seeking, interested to hear what God means to me. That moment at the nurses' station felt like one of those beautiful, fragile Faberge eggs people collect, handed to me ever so delicately (albeit unexpectedly) and I DROPPED IT.

The busyness of the night prevented me from dwelling too much on the moment - truthfully, I'd sort of forgotten about it all until a few days ago when, of all things, I was logging onto my computer and getting my Twitter messages and updates. A good friend of mine writes about having lunch with another one of my good friends, and he says of their time together, "God is doing great things through that girl." I totally agreed. And then I remembered.

I think that, deep down inside, I really want someone to affirm me and let me know that God is doing great things through me, too. It's not because I want another person's affirmation just to make me feel better, but to have confirmation that I am not spiritual milquetoast, a bump on a log who goes through life just trying to not ruffle any feathers or get anyone upset or angry. Sure, I wish that I hadn't suffered such an acute episode of Brain Fart when my coworker approached me about my faith, but even more than that, I wish that the Brain Fart episode was just an isolated incident of a jumbled tongue and not pointing to the bigger spiritual void in my heart.

I wish that I was more certain, had the confirmation in my heart that God was indeed doing great things through me, no matter whether someone else said (twittered) it or not. I wish that I didn't care so much about offending other people or making them feel uncomfortable, or always trying to find the correct, polite, balanced thing to say. I wish I could use the term "radical" when describing my faith. I wish that I didn't feel like the only one in the small group of church staff and spouses who struggles every single day to find the desire to meet with God, particularly when things are going poorly and I turn to just about everything and everyone else for relief first. I wish that just simply quieting myself before God didn't feel so complicated to me, so ridden with guilt that I've been away for so long, so unsure of what to say or do or read in my Bible. I wish that I didn't feel like such a phony when I get up each Sunday to help lead my church in worship, wondering if everyone (particularly my bandmates and aforementioned church leadership people) can see right through me. I wish that when someone asks me what I believe, I search my heart and not my brain for the right words, and that I would find a simple love and faith resting right there, not cobwebs and empty worries.

I wish that writing this felt easier, but confessions by their nature are never easy. Nor are they altogether comfortable when you know your audience includes people from whom you've tried to hide your spiritual immaturity/immobility all this time, though I suspect it was probably never well-hidden, like a huge red pimple on the end of one's nose that even the best makeup job cannot completely hide. It's gone through several drafts and several more moments of wondering what sort of comments I'm going to get back, whether there is head-shaking and pity on the other side of the computer screen, whether judgment lies in the shadows.

This wasn't the post I intended for today, but it feels like the beginning of a journey back home. And that's what this month is all about - home. Admitting all of this is bigger than I can adequately put into words, but I'm tired of carrying it around on my shoulders and blithely blathering on about smaller stuff as if it doesn't affect every thing I do. I'm tired of not being able to do this on my own, or of my own willpower, though I would have NEVER admitted that's what I was doing before now. I'm laying it down for you, laying it down in front of Jesus, and I'm ending this post now to go sit quietly and listen to Him. I'm hoping He'll take it from there.

See you tomorrow...

making herself at home

I love my cat, Missy. I think I love her most because she is so very like me, and how can you not love something or someone that is like you? She is finicky, talkative at times and unashamedly antisocial at other times, loves a good nap, loves loving attention even more, can be quite moody, and loves a good snuggle.

She is also highly resistant to change, as am I, even when I ask for and put a downpayment for that change to occur. Moving has been a test of patience and emotional endurance for both of us, human and feline alike. We have both looked at our new surroundings, wrinkled our noses, and adopted an expression that clearly states, I don't know about this.

If the car ride over from the apartment to the house the day we finally moved in was any indication of her future behavior, we were sure we were done for. Missy howled and yowled all 6 miles from one home to the next, expressing at constant intervals her displeasure at Being Moved and likely drawing stares of concern from passing vehicles (because yes, she was THAT LOUD). How dare these humans interrupt her calm, orderly, lazy little existence? Me-OW.

And so am I. When life throws me a curveball, I whine quite a bit. I probably catch my share of stares as well. And I throw my hands up, begin a tantrum, and ask God why this has to be so hard, why couldn't life have stayed as it was, I was nice and comfortable there, didn't You know? In Missy's defense, I wasn't too pleasant the first few days I spent in this new house, either, complaining about the retro wallpaper, the monster-sized bugs that seemed to be everywhere, the kitchen cabinets that didn't allow me to put anything underneath them onto the counter (like a coffeemaker and a microwave, among other things). I wanted to go back to that apartment I spent three years wanting to get out of.

Missy was moved from a rather cramped apartment to a much more spacious home, and that home now contains a sun room that she has claimed solely for herself. It has her food, water, and litter box, she can lie on the soft plaid armchair relatively undisturbed while birds and crickets chirp just outside the glass windows, and it has the added bonus of being about 10 degrees warmer than the rest of the house. For a cat who has had to wearily adapt herself to a living environment bordering on frigid just so that her humans could be comfortable, this room is clearly heaven. And her humans were so excited to see her enjoy this room so much, they just can't stop taking pictures of her in it, or coming to love on her while she poses in a queenly fashion on the armchair, waiting to receive her loyal subjects.

And so it is with me. Sure, I may whine and cry when change comes my way, but when I finally stop stamping my feet and hollering long enough to look around, I'll always find that God brought me to a place much better than where I was before, even if the process of change was hard and might have hurt. He knows what I like, and He knows what is best for me.

I'm beginning to really love this home, too. I think I'll go look cute and lie on my head for a while myself...

just a note

In case you were wondering...

That last post had nothing to do with "home", except maybe that I wrote it from home. Neither does this post have any relevance to "home", except that I keep typing that word to emphasize what this post is NOT about.

But the lovely Eden over at NaBloPoMo reassures me in her FAQ section that I don't HAVE to stick with the monthly theme every day. Just post every day.

And here, my friends, is my extra brownie point for the day, because this is post #2 for today. Two posts in ONE DAY.

Somebody get me some Chinese food to celebrate my awesomeness.

what no one told me about pregnancy (so far)

... that urinating would no longer be the natural, taken-for-granted act it is for most people, but a wild contortionist experience involving grotesque body twisting and maneuvering to get my bladder into peeing position.

... that I would have to repeat the contortionist process only 3 minutes after completing the first one, and then again 5 minutes after completing the second one.

... that my patience and tolerance for others' behavior would be inversely proportionate to my expectation of their patience and tolerance for MY behavior.

... that every time I'm asked with a snicker, "So, craving any new foods lately?" it would irritate me so much that I want to reply, "Yes. YOUR HEAD. WITH PICKLES. Happy now?"

... that these kicks that started out so sweet and cute in my belly would actually be so strong now as to jiggle all my abdominal fat around in a very unattractive manner and make me feel not unlike Sigourney Weaver from Alien.

... that I would grossly fail in my quest to be Serenity Mother, Goddess of Calm and Sweet Light and instead want to staple things to the heads of everyone who says something either stereotypical or blazingly ignorant about pregnancy and the female body.

... that Babies R' Us could simultaneously dazzle the wits out of me while also bringing me to blubbering tears because of all the CHOICES. My God, the CHOICES.

... that I would have to buy new, even larger work uniforms only 3 weeks after having bought the first set of new, larger work uniforms.

... that this once very career-oriented, paycheck-lovin' woman would pull a 180-degree switcheroo and do just about anything to be able to stay at home with Upcoming Baby all the time.

... that morning sickness isn't limited to the first trimester (seriously? Are you kidding me?).

... that finding a large, very alive cockroach in our bedroom would almost instantaneously jump from "we should probably call pest control in the morning" to "we're all going to DIE, life is MEANINGLESS, I should have never have thought to bring another human life into this CRAZY, TROPICAL BUG INFESTED WORLD", complete with blubbering tears and snot rivers.

... that my husband's tenderness and patience through my irrational tear-laden anxieties would make me cry even harder out of gratitude. (Ladies, eat your hearts out. He's the BEST.)

... that I would ever be so in awe of what my body could do, this amazing ability to produce and sustain new life.

... that I would finally, triumphantly outdo my husband, Eater of Hot Garlic Everything, in the contest of who has the stinkier farts. By a LONG SHOT.

leaving home to head home

I do not like moving. At. All. I have moved at least once every 2-3 years for the past decade of my life, so clearly, the urge to relocate to a new place must be strong enough to override the disgust of moving. But I still don't like it at all. I don't even like saying the word: MOVING. It should be one of those words that puts your kids into time-out just for saying it, a word not appropriate for polite, civilized conversation.

Still, that's what Jason and I did over Memorial Day weekend. Some weeks earlier, we'd signed papers and officially bought our first house, a nice 3/2 in a neighborhood we both adored. The downpayment alone was probably more money than we'd ever seen or dreamed of, but everything came together, the stars were aligned just right by God and our dream of homeownership became a reality with a cashier's check and about 5000 signatures. We'd been tired of sharing walls with other people, tired of apartment life, tired of the asphalt parking lot view just outside our bedroom window, and we were ready to get the hell out of Dodge.

When it came time to leave the apartment and start moving into the new house, we were eager. Packing all those boxes even seemed (slightly) easier than in times past. Stuff trickled over from the apartment to the house in small carloads during the week, and then the big move brought all the big furniture, including the infamous bookcase, to our new home. We even had some time to paint the nursery for our son before moving all two pieces of furniture in there (these pictures are kinda dark - more will follow in future posts, brighter and hopefully with furniture included):








Finally, the day came this past Friday to turn in the keys to our old apartment and leave for good. We'd just spent the past two days painting our bedroom and the living room back to "antique white" (per the apt complex rules), wondering why we'd ever had the urge to decorate in any way, particularly using dark-hued paint. We were tired, sore, and ready to be done with commuting back and forth from one place to the other. So saying good-bye to apartment life should have been easy, right?

Maybe not as easy as I'd hoped.

Handing in the keys meant closing the door on 3 of the best, richest years of my life. This was, after all, the place where "you and me" became "us", where Jason and I began our journey of married life together. We'd learned each others' rhythms and quirks living together within those walls. We'd cooked and eaten countless meals together in that cramped galley kitchen. We'd welcomed within those walls the cat that would go down as the Most Photographed and Most Spoiled Animal in History - a title she still carries proudly to this day, I might add. We dreamed big dreams together there, including one day moving out and owning our own house. We'd dreamed of expanding our family there, and it was in that apartment we'd found out we were pregnant for the first time. And a second time. And, finally, a third and good and "sticking" time.

I'll be the first to shed sentimentality about objects and remind you that memories are made and held together in the heart and mind, not in bare walls and empty rooms. But even I found it hard to say goodbye, because Jason and I called that place home for over 3 years, and closing the door for the final time on "home", even to then head to our new home, was more difficult than I expected. It was God's generous provision for us, and it had served us well, even when we yearned for more space, less noise, easier commutes, and investing our money rather than throwing it away each month on rent. It was the place I'd longed to get back to after a long shift at work, after battling a rough time in Orlando traffic, even (secretly) after vacationing away or enjoying a night out with friends.

I know that someone else, maybe another set of young newlyweds, is preparing to call that apartment home soon. It's not our home anymore, and as I sit in my half-renovated bedroom typing this, I do feel very much at home in our new house. I'm excited to bring my son to our home from the hospital in a few months. I'm a little sad he won't ever know the home we had there in that apartment, but he will have his own memories, his own happy times, in these rooms here. And I'm particularly excited to be here with Jason, 3 wonderful years under our belt together as husband and wife, and make many more years of wonderful memories within these new walls that have now inherited an old, familiar name: HOME.

home

NaBloPoMo - that's National Blog Posting Month for the uninitiated - is usually every year in November. The challenge is simple: write a blog post every day for the entire month. Simple in concept, but deceptively difficult to pull off. If you do, you get the satisfaction of a full month's worth of blogging, as well as possible prizes.

I used to have the whole year to gear up for November. But now, the lovely folks at NaBloPoMo have made every month a different theme. This month, the theme is "home". And since we're just getting settled into the house we just bought, I figured it was time to bite the bullet and take the challenge a few months early, before I have one hand maneuvering a diaper pail and the other juggling a handful of pacifiers.

I'm sure that as we are navigating through our first full month as homeowners, I'll have plenty to talk about. And if I'm extra sweet, I might even post some pictures for you. Because I'm awesome like that.

See you tomorrow.