Let's talk about real life and love

The blogs, you ask? Where are the blogs? The blogs are in my head, but my head has been out of order for the past few weeks. Apparently, the growing baby has brought along a surprising side dish: immobilizing migraine headaches. I've been in the ER three times. I've had an MRI. I've been on every pregnancy acceptable medication known to science. So five doctors, two blown veins, one nursing student chasing me with a catheter, and many sleepless nights later, I was referred to a neurologist who knew exactly what to do. Headache is still slightly there, but I can walk and see now. In a few more days, I'll be as good as new. Or at least as good as the expanding child will allow me to be.

The one and only benefit of this ordeal has been that I've had the time to notice some things that happen around me. Usually I'm too busy or hormonal to see them. But let's talk about true love for a bit.


-My husband dropped absolutely everything yesterday to take me to my neurology appointment. My family doctor said I wasn't fit to drive, so Jere walked out of work, drove the 45 minutes home, and proceeded to help me get into the tub. He had called on his way, and I was in tears because it was Monday, and I'd been sick for two Mondays, which means the sheets hadn't gotten washed. And I cried over it. So while I soaked in the tub, he stripped the bed and put the sheets in to wash and dry. And when we got home from the neuro, he made the bed and put me in it.

-Jerry has sat through all three trips to the ER with me. All at night. All on nights before he had to work. He even pushed me around in a wheelchair this last time, and answered questions when I couldn't form coherent sentences. He fell asleep face first at the end of the hospital bed.

-He keeps the fridge stocked, and constantly checks to make sure I'm getting enough fluids.

-He checks on me every 15 minutes while I'm resting. I usually don't need anything but company or a water refill, but he always checks.

-He's been a great sport about takeout food. It's hard to cook when you can't even walk straight, but there's always something to eat.

-He worries constantly about two things: my calorie intake and my fiber intake. When you're not particularly hungry due to a migraine and vertigo, it's hard to eat enough to satisfy an avocado sized baby. This has prompted him to bring home things like granola snack mix and ultra fiber cereal and a whole lot of steak.

-He keeps me, the baby, and himself rolling in cookies and milk.


-He washes his own uniforms, and never says a word when we're out of towels.

-The poor man has skipped numerous trips to the gym just to get home to be with his sick, moody wife. This may not sound so big, but after 4 years at VMI and 23 years in the Army, PT time is sacred.



-I told him the baby can't actually hear him talk yet, so he's taken to making vibrating noises on my belly, convinced the baby can feel it. (I get an extra big smile at that one)

-He loves his mama. Maybe that doesn't sound like a way that he loves me, but trust me, it is. The two call each other several times a week. I pray my kids love me like that when they're grown (not to mention I pray to have even half the class my mother-in-law has as I get older).


-Jerry has no idea how to clean a kitchen. If it's not growing things, it's not dirty. However, he sure tries! And I get to be treated to a beautiful sight everytime I walk in there: the dishwasher is always either loaded or unloaded. I've never had to ask. It just happens. And it's a prettier thing than snow covered mountains or white sand beaches.

Today's lesson: It's difficult to see how much a person truly loves and cares for you until you're unable to care for yourself. And unable to walk yourself to the bathroom, for that matter.

I am truly loved and truly blessed. And am now going to have myself a cookie.

Organization + Planning + Etiquette = True Love

There's something so beautiful about plans. Something enchanting about lists and clean lines and everything in its place. I've spent some time planning my friend Kelli's bridal shower lately, and I'm enjoying it so much! Today I addressed the invitations. Is there anything prettier than a stack of neatly addressed invitations?

Let's delve further into this obsession with neatness and niceness. I'm a planner. I keep a calendar on the wall, buy birthday cards six months ahead of time, and finish Christmas shopping in October (if not sooner). I have a box in the closet filled with presents so that I'm always prepared just in case I forget (not that I ever give myself that opportunity).

What's that? Is that a giant etiquette book? And what is that stacked next to it? Is that.....no way. A stack of ridiculously expensive stationary?! Oh, yes it is. I love the feel of good stationary between my fingers and under my pen. It gives me happy shivers. And having the answers to all my questions about the proper way to address said stationary before I send it off at my fingertips makes me absolutely giddy.

I love order. I love proper behavior. I may swear like a sailor at home, but when out in girl world, as someone so sweetly put it to me yesterday, I am "classy." Playing by the rules is just as fun as breaking them.

Though I am prone to reset the table in restaurants when it's not properly done when I sit down.

And our child had better come out of the womb expecting routines and slightly psychopathic organization. We don't even know the sex of the baby, but he or she is already well set up with a neatly organized dresser.

But wait! What is THIS? Is that my DESK????

Today's lesson: Everyone has a dark side. Despite the bookshelves organized by subject and the very neatly addressed stationary that leaves my mailbox, I, too, have a wild side. I mean, it's only a messy desk, but inside I feel like it's the ultimate rebellion. *grin*

The things people say

The "glowing" face of pregnancy.

First off, let me say that my husband has accused me of neglecting my blog. He apparently doesn't know what's going in my world if I'm not writing. My apologies, but I wasn't in a great big hurry to recount to you all the miseries of pregnancy's glorious first trimester. To sum it up: aching back, headaches, morning sickness, evening sickness, random crying, cravings, and one episode of hitting my husband with a water bottle. Don't worry, he didn't suffer any ill effects, unless he strained himself laughing.

And now, to start you off, I'm going to link to one of my favorite blogs. Go. Read it. But don't get lost over there, because it's very possible to do so. Be sure to come back. :-) I'll wait...by the way, I'm comment #125.

http://thepioneerwoman.com/blog/2009/07/amanda_jacksons_wig_redux/#comments

Reading Ree's blog this morning plunged me deep into thought. Why do we say these things? And I'm far from perfect. I haven't made her particular blunder, but I've certainly had my share of moments where I wanted to sink down into the floor. And thank you, Ree, for reminding me of all the blogs I've wanted to write about this over the past few weeks. I'm just now finding the energy again.

Ask before you rub! This is me and Feisty. She lovingly invited to rub the belly for pregnancy luck, and it completely worked.

I've been getting pregnancy comments from everyone, most of which are very welcome and appreciated. I am completely in love with the girl at my uncle's birthday party who, upon hearing that I was not only pregnant, but constantly nauseous, recommended some Preggie Pops, which is morning sickness candy. I love hearing the congratulations and the "you're glowing" comments (thank you, Ericka, for actually being the only person to say that). I even love being told that I'm going to be a great mom, mostly because sometimes I have my doubts.

And in a case like Ree's, I even found it adorable when my grumpy grandfather put a hand on my belly and asked, "You carrying twins in there?" Though it prompted a shirt change.

This is the only man who can get away with twins comments, got it?

But I am really self-conscious these days. I had joined a messageboard of pregnant women who were all due the same month as I am. It was all going well until someone started a post asking if anyone else was losing weight. What started out as her being concerned turned into a line of responses bragging about how much weight each of these women had lost! Responses ranged from a couple of pounds to 15! I felt so discouraged, because I've gained a portly 3 pounds. Then a woman had the audacity to say (and I sort of quote, but not really), "There's NO reason for ANYONE to have gained ANY weight in their first trimester."

Um, excuse me? Didn't I read somewhere that in women of normal weight, a gain of 3 to 5 pounds was normal? And that any weight loss isn't exactly ideal for that baby?

Now I understand that morning sickness can make some women lose weight during the first trimester. I've heard a lot of horror stories, and was fully prepared to be constantly ill. But I consider myself lucky that I've been able to choke down meals and hold down my prenatal vitamins. It involves holding still and waiting for the room to stop spinning each time I take a bite, and trust me, I've fallen asleep on the bathroom floor more than once. But I sucked it up, which doesn't mean I'm stronger or more determined than other pregnant women. It just makes me darn lucky that I wasn't so severely ill that I couldn't eat. Really, really lucky. So lucky that I've been able to gain that completely healthy three pounds. But try telling me that on a fat day.

The other series of thoughtless comments have come from, *GASP*, my husband himself. I'm calling the poor guy out here, and fully invite him to defend himself. Let me preface, he's been 95% wonderful. He goes to the store almost nightly on his way home to fulfill my cravings, rubs my feet and back, makes a ton of grilled cheese and chocolate milk, and puts me to bed everynight when I start to hunch over the computer. But that last 5%?

-"Wow, you look really pregnant today!"

-"Between your big hair and acne, people are going to think you're a pregnant 12 year old."

-"Is that your boob all the way down there?"

Now, I know he means well and is trying to commisserate with me and make me laugh. But there's a difference between me saying these things, and him saying them. When I joke about them, I'm voicing my own insecurities and looking for reassurance (which he's good about, I swear, when he's responding to me). But the out of the blue comments? OUCH! And he learns his mistake pretty fast when I burst into tears. Ugh, I hate hormones. Hate hate hate them.

He's a wonderful husband. He's going to be a great dad. Unless we have a girl, and she gets to be a teenager and asks, "Dad, do you like my new haircut?" And he'll make her cry. Just you wait. :-) But I love him.

Today's lesson: Have you ever heard that you should think about what you're going to say for 10 seconds before you say it? Well, the pregnancy book my husband is reading told him to wait 45 seconds just to be safe. I think it's pretty sound advice for anyone!

Unexpected end

I have pictures of our days in Rome.

I have pictures of Vatican City.

And I have pictures of the Colosseum.

I even have pictures of the Trevi Fountain.

But of all the photos from Rome, my favorite was not one that I took.

And it was a complete surprise. I'm due in February.

Today's lesson: It's not original, and it's not witty. It's simple.
EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED!

If I didn't miss my husband, I'd never leave Santorini

Can you even describe it?


We wandered the narrow streets, surrounded by white washed buildings, only to find that the best view was just outside a dress shop. What a lucky shopowner.


And the second best view was from the restaurant where we had orange Fanta, pasta, and moussaka.


Then we wandered the streets, eating gelato.


Today’s lesson: They say you can’t go home. The truth is, you can go home, but you can never go home the same person you were before you saw true beauty.

I need a day off!

Karalyn and I spent this cruise running at full tilt. Touring ruins, mostly, in the summer heat and humid air. The jet lag was still kicking us over a week into our trip, and the ports were starting to run together in a blur. So it made me happy to realize that in my foresight, two months ago, I had planned for this burnout.





We spent three hours at Tsambika Beach on Rhodes. I tried to stay fully covered and under my umbrella, but it just got too hot and the water was too inviting. I don’t swim. I am ridiculously afraid of water. But Karalyn got in first to prove that you could go out for yards and never have it touch above your waist. And it was so clear and calm that you could see the little fish swimming around your toes in the soft yellow sand. Magic.

Today’s lesson: Even in the midst of a vacation, sometimes you need a vacation. Don’t feel like you need to see it all. Sometimes skipping what’s considered “important” can prove to make you appreciate the places you visit even more.

I lied.

I have seen someplace more crowded than the Acropolis on cruise ship day. And it is Kusadasi, Turkey.

I’ve actually been here before, toured the exact same places. I wanted to share them with my sister. But the last time I came was in November, a year and a half ago. It was winter, and freezing, but the spaces were empty and wide open, and I was free to explore without getting elbowed and smacked in the head.

Our first stop was the house of the Virgin Mary. This is the home in Kusadasi that the Vatican recognizes as the place where Mary spent her last years. It’s a bit of a pilgrimage for some Christians, and the first time I went, I was touched by being there.

Not so much this time, as it took standing in a line four people wide to get into the tiny house. Nightmarishly hot outside.

But this time I remembered to bring a tissue, because next to the fountains of holy water is a wall of wishes. You write down a wish on a tissue, think of your wish while you’re praying in the house, then go down the hill and tie your wish to the wall.


And then it was on to Ephesus. Where Karalyn got to see this.


This is a carving of the goddess Nike. For those of you who have known me awhile, you know we had a Great Dane growing up who was named Nike. She was the best dog we could have had, especially after the long line of bad luck we’d had with puppies. Nike lived a long and happy life, but my sister had to put her down not long ago. Our beloved dog lives in my mother’s curio cabinet, as they had her cremated so she could be with them no matter where they move.

Karalyn saw a couple of Nikes on this trip. This one. And the one in the museum at Olympia, which they wouldn’t let her pose with.


Nike was the goddess of Victory. But our Nike was the victorious one, making us fall in love with her after so many bad experiences. She is truly missed.


Today’s lesson: It can sometimes take traveling halfway around the world to finally come full circle and close the doors on your grief.