By Kelly
There are days, as a SAHM, when I’m tempted to be less than thankful.
I look around at the mess in the living room and the spilled pasta in the kitchen and the bad attitudes on the sofa (also known as my children), and I feel itchy and grouchy. My jeans chafe on my growing belly, and my heart chafes at the shrinking of my world.
I want to run away, as in physically get in my car and retreat to a quiet coffee shop where adults talk in quiet voices and jazz plays in the background and I can hear myself think. (“Hello? Anyone in there?”) But since I believe Big Bad Government frowns on grown-ups leaving three children alone, I do the next best thing: I grab my laptop and go online.
And it’s here, as I read through my Google Reader and peruse Twitter, that I remember how blessed I am. Because of the this fabulous fellowship we call the blog world, I am not alone. And you people – you remind me of good things. You encourage me – literally, you infuse me with courage.
Because of the wonder of the Internet, I can read about how an American living in Africa is reminded of our everyday richness. I can nod my head in affirmation at the thought that “in excess, there is emptiness.” (What an awesome reminder two days before Black Friday.) I can cry at the realization that in the Divine Paradox, the pendulum swing between immeasurable joy and unspeakable grief can be quick and, ultimately, safe. I can even laugh my head off at the companionship we parents share when our children refuse to sleep.
In the grand scheme this virtual camaraderie, is a small thing. I realize that. I am blessed because I have a God who loves me, who encircles me with His presence. I am blessed because I have three children and one on the way. I am blessed because God restored my marriage.
But I am also blessed because of you. So thank you. Thank you for being part of my Internet world, for offering me your friendship and your time and your thoughts.
I am awash in riches.
What blessing, big or small, are you most thankful for this year?
Kelly also blogs at Love Well.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Pregnancy Journal: The Spinach Can Wait
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| From 5 Minutes for Parenting |
By Kelly
I remember my first pregnancy so vividly.
I remember being snarly and sick and wanting to die, TO DIE, during the first trimester. (Note: Some things don’t change.)
(Another note, and yes, I realize this is my second, but I’m pregnant so I think I’m entitled: During that first pregnancy, I was teaching a high school media class – which means I taught teenagers to shoot and edit video and we watched “The Matrix” a lot and I was still one of the worst teachers in the history of teaching – and I shared an office with a 22-year-old male teacher who was absolutely sweet and adorable in an Eddie Haskell kind of way. One day, when I was particularly grouchy and whiny and I was laying my head down on my desk every 10 seconds and groaning, he gently asked, “Are you OK?” At which point I got up, walked straight to our office door, slammed it, whirled to face him and snapped, “I’m pregnant!” Poor boy. Up to that point, I had never seen that kind of fear in another human.)
So where was I? Oh yes. First pregnancy. Memories.
I remember being so overjoyed once I hit the second trimester to realize that I got my life back, I tried to do everything right for that little one inside of me. I followed all the standard advice. I exercised. I took prenatal vitamins. I stayed away from sushi. I tried to eat a balanced diet. And for the first time in my life, I ate an inordinate amount of vegetables.
My habit was to eat one cup of raw spinach (which is a lot of raw spinach if you pack it in) each day, whether I liked it or not. I considered it my afternoon snack. It didn’t taste all that great, without dressing or icing or chocolate. But every afternoon, you would find me at my desk, dutifully munching along like a cow with her cud, until my plastic baggie was empty of greens. And I did it all for my baby.
By the time I was pregnant with my second, I was less diligent with diet. I didn’t even pretend to exercise. (I figured it was enough I was chasing a toddler all day.) I ate lunch meat and even the occasional hot dog.
And these days, now that I’m pregnant with number four? Well. Let’s just say I might consider a balanced diet one that doesn’t shift on my McDonald’s tray as I carry it from the counter to the ketchup bar. And vegetables? I haven’t had a naked vegetable since September. They make me gag.
I know it will get better. I’m just now entering the second trimester, which means I have lots of time to regain my sense of self, my sense of propriety, my sense of healthy living.
But right now? I’m so happy to be nausea-free, I think I’ll have some ice cream. I think the baby will be just fine with mint chocolate chip.
The spinach can wait.
Kelly blogs about her family, her faith and her love affair with food at her blog, Love Well. She would also like to point out that her oldest child is very, very smart, which she credits to the spinach.
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Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Pregnancy Journal: Milestone
By Kelly
I’m 13 weeks pregnant today.
Depending on which pregnancy book you read, I’m either at the tail end of the first trimester or on the cusp of the blessed second.
It doesn’t matter greatly to me. More important is that I’ve passed the 12-week mark, because that’s how far along I was in 2007 when I miscarried.
I don’t think it’s unusual for anyone who’s gone through pregnancy loss – be it an early miscarriage, a late-term death or even a stillbirth – to breathe a sigh of relief when they pass that date where everything changed. (See the touching 19-2 post at I Should Be Folding Laundry for proof.)
It’s a strange thing, but for some reason, our minds and hearts attach great significance to making it beyond that milestone. Intellectually, we know it doesn’t mean things couldn’t still go wrong. We also know the date of the last loss doesn’t necessarily have value. Statistics tell us 20-25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage these days. (In that sense, I’m right in line with the numbers, since I’ve been pregnant five times and one ended in a miscarriage.) So it doesn't matter, really, when we miscarried. It rarely means all our pregnancies will have the same sad end.
But cold statistics don’t ease the pain. A baby lost is a baby loved, a baby missed. Our mother hearts grieve that we’ll never get to know that little one this side of heaven.
Maybe that’s why we attach significance to the passing of this anniversary. Not only is it a way for us to move on and secure more hope for the baby we are currently expecting, it’s a way for us to remember the ones we miss.
And that's a milestone worth marking.
You can read more about my miscarriage here. But if you’re dealing with pregnancy loss, I also recommend you read this post by Molly Piper, who’s little girl was stillborn at 40 weeks. It’s also helpful for anyone who’s walking down the path of grief with a friend.
Kelly blogs at Love Well.
I’m 13 weeks pregnant today.
Depending on which pregnancy book you read, I’m either at the tail end of the first trimester or on the cusp of the blessed second.
It doesn’t matter greatly to me. More important is that I’ve passed the 12-week mark, because that’s how far along I was in 2007 when I miscarried.
I don’t think it’s unusual for anyone who’s gone through pregnancy loss – be it an early miscarriage, a late-term death or even a stillbirth – to breathe a sigh of relief when they pass that date where everything changed. (See the touching 19-2 post at I Should Be Folding Laundry for proof.)
It’s a strange thing, but for some reason, our minds and hearts attach great significance to making it beyond that milestone. Intellectually, we know it doesn’t mean things couldn’t still go wrong. We also know the date of the last loss doesn’t necessarily have value. Statistics tell us 20-25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage these days. (In that sense, I’m right in line with the numbers, since I’ve been pregnant five times and one ended in a miscarriage.) So it doesn't matter, really, when we miscarried. It rarely means all our pregnancies will have the same sad end.
But cold statistics don’t ease the pain. A baby lost is a baby loved, a baby missed. Our mother hearts grieve that we’ll never get to know that little one this side of heaven.
Maybe that’s why we attach significance to the passing of this anniversary. Not only is it a way for us to move on and secure more hope for the baby we are currently expecting, it’s a way for us to remember the ones we miss.
And that's a milestone worth marking.
You can read more about my miscarriage here. But if you’re dealing with pregnancy loss, I also recommend you read this post by Molly Piper, who’s little girl was stillborn at 40 weeks. It’s also helpful for anyone who’s walking down the path of grief with a friend.
Kelly blogs at Love Well.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Pregnancy Journal: The Heartbeat
By Kelly
I still remember the first time I heard my baby’s heartbeat.
It was January 5, 2001. I was sick and miserable. I had never been sure I even wanted children. Now, deep in the throes of first trimester yuck, I was even less sure.
My husband accompanied me to my first OB appointment. We had no idea what to expect. I went through the usual pre-visit routine – urine sample, weight check, blood pressure, please enjoy this lovely paper gown and wait for the doctor.
When the OB came in, she asked a few questions then informed us she wanted to check for the baby’s heartbeat. We had no idea how far along I was – long story – so we were both surprised and intrigued. She squirted the goo on my stomach, plugged in what looked like a toy microphone and pressed it into my abdomen.
It took a minute, but then we heard it – the tell-tale sound of a baby’s heartbeat in utero.
And my life changed forever.
I wrote in my journal later that day:
Shock and awe. I’ve never gotten over it.
This past Friday, at my 12-week OB check, I got to hear this baby’s heartbeat. It took a while to find, but all of a sudden, there it was. Loud. Fast. Strong. “Woom-woom-woom-woom.”
My OB grinned. I grinned back.
And my own heart began to beat in time with that little one.
I hope I never get over it.
Kelly is currently expecting her fourth and final child. She blogs about her life, faith and family at Love Well.
I still remember the first time I heard my baby’s heartbeat.
It was January 5, 2001. I was sick and miserable. I had never been sure I even wanted children. Now, deep in the throes of first trimester yuck, I was even less sure.
My husband accompanied me to my first OB appointment. We had no idea what to expect. I went through the usual pre-visit routine – urine sample, weight check, blood pressure, please enjoy this lovely paper gown and wait for the doctor.
When the OB came in, she asked a few questions then informed us she wanted to check for the baby’s heartbeat. We had no idea how far along I was – long story – so we were both surprised and intrigued. She squirted the goo on my stomach, plugged in what looked like a toy microphone and pressed it into my abdomen.
It took a minute, but then we heard it – the tell-tale sound of a baby’s heartbeat in utero.
And my life changed forever.
I wrote in my journal later that day:
I’m not exactly a pregnancy novice. I mean, almost all of my close friends have been through this process before me. So I knew that people talk about hearing the heartbeat in terms normally reserved for the Second Coming. I really didn’t think that I would be that extreme.
But it was really an amazing experience.
Maybe it was extra-special because we weren’t expecting to hear it. But when [the doctor] moved the sonar microphone over to my right side and we heard that distinctive “woom-woom-woom” … well, it blew me out of the water.
Then, to make things even more otherworldly, the baby moved – and of course, I didn’t feel a thing! It was so weird to lay there and think that I have whole other human being living inside of me – and I can’t really tell.
Wow. I’m still thrilled.
Shock and awe. I’ve never gotten over it.
This past Friday, at my 12-week OB check, I got to hear this baby’s heartbeat. It took a while to find, but all of a sudden, there it was. Loud. Fast. Strong. “Woom-woom-woom-woom.”
My OB grinned. I grinned back.
And my own heart began to beat in time with that little one.
I hope I never get over it.
Kelly is currently expecting her fourth and final child. She blogs about her life, faith and family at Love Well.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Pregnancy Journal: Baby Bump
By Kelly
So I’m finally hitting the 12 week mark with this pregnancy, and the first trimester fog is starting to lift, thanks in part to the miracle combo of Unisom-B6.
And I’m already showing.
Hello baby bump, hello awkward glances from strangers who wonder if I’m truly expecting another baby or just dipping into the Halloween candy reserve a little too often.
I don’t remember showing this early before. Ever.
With my last pregnancy, I didn’t wear maternity clothes until I was near 18 weeks. Granted, my first and second trimesters were in the summer, and summer clothing is more casual and loose-fitting.
But still. Twelve weeks and I’m already pulling out the maternity shirts.
Color me surprised.
Some friends who’ve heard me puzzle over my new, ummm, shape, have pointed out, in the kindest way possible, that it’s only natural. Not only am I older (I’m even of advanced maternal age), my abdominal muscles ain’t what they used to be. So it makes sense that they took advantage of this weak moment to get in touch with their California roots and hang out.
It reminded me of the wise words I read in my favorite pregnancy manual.
So tell me. I’m not alone, right? Someone else out there must have needed maternity clothes before they’ve even had their first official OB check. (Mine is Friday.)
Kelly is currently pregnant with her fourth and final child, a journey she's chronicling here at 5 Minutes for Parenting with the Pregnancy Journal. You can read her personal blog at Love Well.
So I’m finally hitting the 12 week mark with this pregnancy, and the first trimester fog is starting to lift, thanks in part to the miracle combo of Unisom-B6.
And I’m already showing.
Hello baby bump, hello awkward glances from strangers who wonder if I’m truly expecting another baby or just dipping into the Halloween candy reserve a little too often.
I don’t remember showing this early before. Ever.
With my last pregnancy, I didn’t wear maternity clothes until I was near 18 weeks. Granted, my first and second trimesters were in the summer, and summer clothing is more casual and loose-fitting.
But still. Twelve weeks and I’m already pulling out the maternity shirts.
Color me surprised.
Some friends who’ve heard me puzzle over my new, ummm, shape, have pointed out, in the kindest way possible, that it’s only natural. Not only am I older (I’m even of advanced maternal age), my abdominal muscles ain’t what they used to be. So it makes sense that they took advantage of this weak moment to get in touch with their California roots and hang out.
It reminded me of the wise words I read in my favorite pregnancy manual.
Generally, the stomach of a woman who has had a baby before will pooch out about five minutes after conception, and she will look obviously pregnant in the first three months. Most of us pregnant with our second or subsequent children have never failed to comment on how big we got immediately. It must have something to do with the stomach muscles not ever being as taut again after the first pregnancy has yanked them apart.
- "The Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy: Or Everything Your Doctor Won't Tell You"
So tell me. I’m not alone, right? Someone else out there must have needed maternity clothes before they’ve even had their first official OB check. (Mine is Friday.)
Kelly is currently pregnant with her fourth and final child, a journey she's chronicling here at 5 Minutes for Parenting with the Pregnancy Journal. You can read her personal blog at Love Well.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Pregnancy Journal - To Sleep, Perchance To Dream
By Kelly
I woke up this morning and saw Corey standing in the middle of the bedroom getting dressed for work. The kids were bouncing on some cushions on the floor, which they undoubtedly stripped off my white reading chairs in the corner. I struggled to get out of bed and join the party, but I was so groggy. My eyelids just wouldn’t stay open. I actually ended up walking around the room with my eyes closed, wondering why I couldn’t shake the woozy.
And then I woke up.
No one was in the room but me. I was laying in bed in sweat-soaked pajamas, struggling to distinguish reality from my dreams.
Such is the sleep of a pregnant woman.
I crave sleep during the first trimester, not only because I’m extra-tired, but because sleep offers the only sure respite I have from the nausea. So I sleep as often as I can. I go to bed at the earliest time possible. I nap every afternoon with my toddler. I’ve even been known to fall asleep during a showing of “Sesame Street” and/or the Vikings-Packers Monday Night Football game.
But for all the benefit of sleep, it’s the dreams that make headlines.
Last night, I dreamed I was living in a small town on the shore of Lake Superior. It was winter and everything was white and snowy and desolate. I was trying to talk Joel Flieschman, he of “Northern Exposure”: fame, into walking out on Lake Superior since it was frozen solid. “It’s what the locals do,” I assured him. He said he’d prefer to go somewhere not so windy (and it’s true, towns along the Great Lakes are boisterous in the winter) and talk “eye-to-eye.” (Like that even makes sense!) I was explaining to him that the only way to get away from the wind was to go up and over the hill when I woke up.
I had two other bizarre, Technicolor dreams last night, but I don’t want to bore you with the details – although I could, because I remember them vividly.
The point is, we pregnant women dream strange dreams.
I can’t figure out if it’s because our bodies are freaking out on us, possibly causing a tidal wave of hormones in our brains to rewire our normal REM patterns. Or maybe it’s just because we wake up all the time to pee, thus making dream recollection an easier feat.
Either way, I bet you still remember your most bizarre pregnancy dream. Hit me with it. And if it includes obscure (but beloved) TV characters from a hit show in the 90s, you get bonus points.
Kelly is currently expecting her fourth child, which means she has a lot of pregnancy dreams stored in her gray matter. She blogs at Love Well.
I woke up this morning and saw Corey standing in the middle of the bedroom getting dressed for work. The kids were bouncing on some cushions on the floor, which they undoubtedly stripped off my white reading chairs in the corner. I struggled to get out of bed and join the party, but I was so groggy. My eyelids just wouldn’t stay open. I actually ended up walking around the room with my eyes closed, wondering why I couldn’t shake the woozy.
And then I woke up.
No one was in the room but me. I was laying in bed in sweat-soaked pajamas, struggling to distinguish reality from my dreams.
Such is the sleep of a pregnant woman.
I crave sleep during the first trimester, not only because I’m extra-tired, but because sleep offers the only sure respite I have from the nausea. So I sleep as often as I can. I go to bed at the earliest time possible. I nap every afternoon with my toddler. I’ve even been known to fall asleep during a showing of “Sesame Street” and/or the Vikings-Packers Monday Night Football game.
But for all the benefit of sleep, it’s the dreams that make headlines.
Last night, I dreamed I was living in a small town on the shore of Lake Superior. It was winter and everything was white and snowy and desolate. I was trying to talk Joel Flieschman, he of “Northern Exposure”: fame, into walking out on Lake Superior since it was frozen solid. “It’s what the locals do,” I assured him. He said he’d prefer to go somewhere not so windy (and it’s true, towns along the Great Lakes are boisterous in the winter) and talk “eye-to-eye.” (Like that even makes sense!) I was explaining to him that the only way to get away from the wind was to go up and over the hill when I woke up.
I had two other bizarre, Technicolor dreams last night, but I don’t want to bore you with the details – although I could, because I remember them vividly.
The point is, we pregnant women dream strange dreams.
I can’t figure out if it’s because our bodies are freaking out on us, possibly causing a tidal wave of hormones in our brains to rewire our normal REM patterns. Or maybe it’s just because we wake up all the time to pee, thus making dream recollection an easier feat.
Either way, I bet you still remember your most bizarre pregnancy dream. Hit me with it. And if it includes obscure (but beloved) TV characters from a hit show in the 90s, you get bonus points.
Kelly is currently expecting her fourth child, which means she has a lot of pregnancy dreams stored in her gray matter. She blogs at Love Well.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Pregnancy Journal: "Morning" Sickness
By Kelly
Welcome back to the Pregnancy Journal here at 5 Minutes for Parenting. You can find more information about this project here.
You know those medical professionals who say each pregnancy is different?
Hogwash. In my experience, it’s hogwash.
Each of my pregnancies – and this is my fifth – have been identical. I start out fine, excited and a little mystified at the reality that I’m pregnant.
A few days after I test positive, I start to feel queasy.
And two weeks later – almost to the hour – I’m laying on the couch, nauseous to the point of moaning, wishing I could just throw up already and get it over with so I could have a few minutes of relief.
But I don’t throw up. This is my particular brand of pregnancy. I’m just nauseous 24-7 from week six to week twelve.
As far as difficult pregnancies go, I know this is a small cross to bear. I have a good friend who is due in early December, and she’s still throwing up an a regular basis. Technically, she has hyperemesis gravidarum, which is the medical term for throwing up every five minutes. During her first trimester, she required an IV of fluids to keep her hydrated and an IV of Zofran to help her make it to the shower. She’s doing better now. We see each other at school, and she’s upright and smiling and able to walk her kids to class without having to rush to the bathroom.
So I know it could be worse.
But as my friend told me, that’s a small consolation when you are laying on your couch in misery, and you know dinner needs to be cooked but you’d rather die than touch raw meat at the moment, and your kids are hungry and tired of watching TV for entertainment and no one is coming to rescue you.
When my sister-in-law was pregnant last year, I sent her an e-mail asking how she was holding up.
She e-mailed back: “I’m rotting from the inside out.”
Yes. That’s it exactly.
Pregnancy. It’s not for wimps.
So how about you: Did you suffer from "morning" sickness? Or are you one of the lucky ones who escaped this pregnancy hurdle? Tell me your story. It will distract me from my misery.
Kelly is currently 10 weeks pregnant, which means she's nearing the end of the nausea fog. Once the fog has lifted, she plans to blog regularly again about her family, her faith, foibles and her favorite foodsat her personal blog, Love Well.
Welcome back to the Pregnancy Journal here at 5 Minutes for Parenting. You can find more information about this project here.
You know those medical professionals who say each pregnancy is different?
Hogwash. In my experience, it’s hogwash.
Each of my pregnancies – and this is my fifth – have been identical. I start out fine, excited and a little mystified at the reality that I’m pregnant.
A few days after I test positive, I start to feel queasy.
And two weeks later – almost to the hour – I’m laying on the couch, nauseous to the point of moaning, wishing I could just throw up already and get it over with so I could have a few minutes of relief.
But I don’t throw up. This is my particular brand of pregnancy. I’m just nauseous 24-7 from week six to week twelve.
As far as difficult pregnancies go, I know this is a small cross to bear. I have a good friend who is due in early December, and she’s still throwing up an a regular basis. Technically, she has hyperemesis gravidarum, which is the medical term for throwing up every five minutes. During her first trimester, she required an IV of fluids to keep her hydrated and an IV of Zofran to help her make it to the shower. She’s doing better now. We see each other at school, and she’s upright and smiling and able to walk her kids to class without having to rush to the bathroom.
So I know it could be worse.
But as my friend told me, that’s a small consolation when you are laying on your couch in misery, and you know dinner needs to be cooked but you’d rather die than touch raw meat at the moment, and your kids are hungry and tired of watching TV for entertainment and no one is coming to rescue you.
When my sister-in-law was pregnant last year, I sent her an e-mail asking how she was holding up.
She e-mailed back: “I’m rotting from the inside out.”
Yes. That’s it exactly.
Pregnancy. It’s not for wimps.
So how about you: Did you suffer from "morning" sickness? Or are you one of the lucky ones who escaped this pregnancy hurdle? Tell me your story. It will distract me from my misery.
Kelly is currently 10 weeks pregnant, which means she's nearing the end of the nausea fog. Once the fog has lifted, she plans to blog regularly again about her family, her faith, foibles and her favorite foodsat her personal blog, Love Well.
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