Random On My Mind

Raisin has developed an aversion to weekend naps, so we are trying to get her to at least have some "quiet play time" instead. Overheard this Saturday during our first attempt at "quiet play time:" "Mommy? Mommy! MOMMY!!! Dinah, Dinah, Dinah, Dinah [a reference to her new book about a shiny choo-choo train named Dinah]. Elmo. Baby. Baby Elmo! Mommy? Mommy! MOMMY!!! Mommy, back! Mommy, Raisin! Mommy, Raisin sad!!! Mommy! Daddy? Mommy!"

It's going well, I think.

The new baby (Raisinette? Craisin? I've got nothin') has a heartbeat! Did you know that in the 8th-9th week of pregnancy, some women experience some normal very light bleeding as pregnancy functions are transferred from the corpus luteum to the placenta? I didn't know that, which resulted in a pretty severe freak-out and a trip to the midwife. (How severe of a freak-out? After being reassured by hearing the heartbeat, my systolic blood pressure went down almost 15 mm Hg.)

Bonus: relief seems to greatly reduce the not-just-morning sickness. The midwife also recommended papaya extract. Anybody tried this with any success?

In Which I Start Out Trying to be Funny, But End Up All Maudlin Instead

You know what's great about pregnancy? Nobody wants to mess with me. I'm trying not to expect special treatment (except at home, of course -- sorry DH), but damn if I don't get it anyway.

I told a friend that my plan for healthier eating had been shot to hell by the not-just-morning sickness. This friend, a total food puritan, responded, "oh, you just need to pamper yourself right now!"

Last Wednesday, I called DH when I was leaving work. He was supposed to go to class that night, but I knew there was no way I'd be able to take care of Raisin alone -- too sick. So, he skipped class. Last night, he apologized to his group for missing last week, and explained what had happened. They fell all over themselves to say that under no circumstances should this class take precedence over the needs/wants of a pregnant wife. Dude.

I've even had managers at work (not my manager, mind you -- but they still outrank me, so it counts) tell me not to worry about work projects. I'm growing a baby. Work can wait.

To a certain extent, I agree with this philosophy. I know my limitations, and I'm willing to scale back my expectations of myself while my body deals with the stresses of pregnancy. At the same time, I'm scared to think that everyone is giving me this much license. I worry about taking unfair advantage. I worry about lowering my expectations too far. I worry about jeopardizing projects and goals on which I've worked hard, but that now are taking a backseat to what's going on in my uterus.

Fortunately, this time around I have one person who will not (cannot) cut me any slack. Raisin needs Mommy to draw stick figures in soap crayon on the bathtub walls, whether or not I think I'm too tired. She needs Mommy to cut her chicken nuggets into bite-sized pieces, even when the sight of them churns my stomach. (Daddy has different jobs. This post is about me. Me!!!)

She doesn't yet understand what's changed about me, or how it will impact her (that's another post waiting to happen). So for now at least, she just doesn't accept any change in me at all. I think I'm relieved by that. It's like there's a piece of my life that hasn't been completely transformed by this pregnancy, and I guess I really need that, at least until I start feeling better and can reclaim some more of myself.

So Proud

If DH and I are to disagree about something (in a very civil and I-statement-oriented way, of course), it's likely to be the degree of cleanliness required in our home. I am of the opinion that dishes should be washed, clothes picked up off the floor, and closet doors and dresser drawers closed by the end of each day. DH is of the opinion that my obsession with hiding our mess from ourselves is, um, silly.

Yesterday, while dressing Raisin, DH pushed her dresser drawer closed only 3/4 of the way. Raisin shoved him aside and refused to let him finish putting on her clothes until she had finished closing the drawer.

Then, last night, she spent her entire bathtime "scrubbing" the tub with a washcloth.

I love this kid.

Good Times, Really Good Times

Ah, the early days of pregnancy. I'd forgotten the joys of becoming nauseated by sounds (and just about anything else). I didn't remember what it was like for my stomach to be hungry while my brain rejects the idea of food -- any food.

And sleep -- sleep is awesome too, what with the not being able to get comfortable, and the getting up to pee in the middle of the night. I'm only 7 weeks along -- I don't even have a belly yet! But I've still had to get out the trusty body pillow, which DH loves (he called it the blockade pillow today, and he's not wrong).

The hormonal emotional swings are also fun for the whole family. Oh, and the exhaustion. Check, check.

I am a delight to know these days. Please come by, you'd be in for a real treat.

The Giveaway Clue

For the answer to the riddle, we'll turn to another of the 20th Century's great literary minds, Phoebe Buffay:

Are you in there, little fetus?
In nine months, will you come greet us?
I will buy you some Adidas...

A Riddle

Metaphors

by Sylvia Plath

I'm a riddle in nine syllables.

An elephant, a ponderous house,

A melon strolling on two tendrils.

O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!

This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.

Money's new-minted in this fat purse.

I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.

I've eaten a bag of green apples,

Boarded the train there's no getting off.

**If you figure this out and by some strange fluke know my parents, please don't tell them. We're having dinner with them tomorrow and I want to tell them in person. :)