Stop and Smell the People

The Natural(ish) Bridge

Summertime means adventure time for Crowley, me and my boyfriend, Bob. (By the way Bob is the best boyfriend I ever had: quiet, strong, great looking and carries the baby everywhere. I’ll admit he is a stroller, even so…he’s still the best.) Anyway, as I learn about Crowley’s busy little brain and how it works…I can tell he likes to keep moving. New environments seem to light a fire under the little man’s development. So, since we are working on the words for animals, I thought, let’s go see them. So off we went to The Natural Bridge Zoo.

It’s about 35 miles north of Roanoke in Rockbridge County. Privately owned, the zoo has everything from zebras, bears, tigers, monkeys, giraffes to elephants (Crowley said ‘elephant’ for the first time). His favorite animals, by far, were the baby goats.

If you have kids and are in the vicinity, should you go? Why not? It’s $8 for an adult, Crowley was free. Is this how I would spend my free time if not teaching a child how to talk? No.  This is a place with tremendous potential but they don’t put a lot of effort into the exhibits or even educating you about the animals. That said, I am glad we went and Crowley had an up close encounter with so many animals. Friendly to off-roading strollers like Bob. He’s so dependable.

After we toured the The Natural Bridge Zoo, we headed down to the The Natural Bridge.. which is an enormous rock formation, carved out by a river to form a… well… a natural bridge.  Also privately owned, you’ll have to fork over a whopping $18 per adult to see the thing. It is handicapped accessible which means they load you into a rickety bus (think camp from your childhoods) and head down a bumpy, curvy road… bouncing all the way. Not a great idea to wear a low cut top, especially if you are still nursing. There will be a wardrobe failure.

The happy (and sad) part is, they have paved the whole path up to and under the Natural Bridge. This makes it a breeze for Bob but the pavement takes the nature right out of natural. But it is an awesome site. Absolutely enormous. And cool.

The tree canopy and water made this spot about 10 degrees cooler than the 97 degrees in Roanoke… which was a huge relief. And while this great natural wonder loomed over our heads, Crowley was more interested in talking an elderly lady out of her walker because that walker looked like a really good time!

Farther down the path is a historic recreation of a Monacan Native American Village. The path trades in the pavement for gravel which with a little elbow grease, Bob still handled well.

My feelings about the Monacan village? How can you disparage the very place where your son falls in love with a wigwam. And yet, I am going to. Again, major failure on the education front. Who were the Monacans? Where are they now? What happened to them? Etc.? I still have no idea the answers to those questions. There was a tool maker present and some college students dressed as Native Americans. So, it was fun to watch Crowley run around and explore, but would this village excite and adult brain? Sorry. Probably not.

We stopped at a little cafe at the foot of The Natural Bridge. And while the view was beautiful, better to bring your own food. I have never had a hot dog bun that was both chewy and wrinkled… until now.

I know this isn’t a glowing review. The truth is we had a wonderful time. We blocked out the onslaught of tourist chachka for sale and focused on all the natural we could find, having a good laugh along the way. Time well spent, another adventure in our catalog.

Crowley, Bob and I are home until the next trip… Anna

Unleaded, Please…

Crowley’s 15-month-old check up went well. Height… above average. Weight… average. New round of vaccinations. Everything normal until I asked this question.

“By the way, what were the results of Crowley’s lead test from his 12-month check up?”

“Let me check,” doc says as he flips through Crowley’s chart, “He scored a 4. Nothing to worry about. We worry at  ‘5′ and above.”

All I heard was, “He scored a ‘4.’”

And so the journalist in me bolted to the surface and the grilling began.

A ‘4′?

How could he have any lead in his blood?

Where is it coming from?

That’s only one sample, what if this blood sample represents the beginning of lead exposure and the number is climbing?

What kind of developmental issues occur at even low lead levels?

Will it clear his system?

And on and on and on and on. Even after I left the appointment the questions continued one after another in my head, growing louder and louder and truly deafening by 3 am.

Let’s start with what we know. According to my doctor, a level of ‘4′ is not harmful to Crowley’s development. That being said, it would be a good idea to find the source of exposure and eliminate it. The doctor recommended we look at the water in our house, drink bottled water in the meantime and gave us a prescription for fluoride. He also said that, in time, the lead will clear Crowley’s system.

On the way home, I cried. I don’t care what anybody says, anything above a ‘0′ is not okay with me. I felt like I failed in protecting my child. It was hard to get perspective. It just felt heavy. Totally unacceptable. And as I began to do my homework, I realized that fixing the problem wasn’t going to happen overnight… which I hated.

And so the search began. We live in a house built in 1925. I sent a water sample to a lab for analysis. (Helpful tip: when picking a lab, pick one that doesn’t sell equipment to fix a lead issue. That way you can be sure the results are straight forward and not part of a sales pitch).

Whenever Crowley napped or went down for the night, I got busy researching lead.  I devoured medical journals and policy papers, including the Federal government’s exhaustive resources about lead. Here’s what I learned. There is NO safe level of lead in a child. Even so, most  medical guidelines say anything greater than ‘10′ requires immediate action. But not that long ago the threshold was even higher. Which tells me something: the more they learn about lead, the lower that threshold becomes. This only spurred me on to find the source in our house and eliminate it.

We tested all of the interior paint. We tested all of Crowley’s painted toys. We tested his crib. Everything tested lead free. We were stumped. It had to be the water. But that test won’t come back for 10 days! An eternity. And then it hit us!… Continue reading ‘Unleaded, Please…’

Hairy armpits anyone?

Now, I am not much for granola, hairy armpits or wearing clothes that were better left in the 70s… but if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em…. ‘cept for the un-necessarily excessive body hair and hemp moo-moos. If given a choice and a big fat wallet, I am going Jimmy Choo over Birkenstock.

I feel like I have been through an all out mommy assault. First, the new enormous study that is showing a link between pesticides and ADHD in children (the suspects are contaminated fruits, veggies, chemical laden front yards, etc.) rocked my world. Then CNN’s medical unit filed a report about toxins making it into the womb (suspects include household cleaning chemicals, air pollution, beauty products, personal care products, etc.). The concern is that the chemicals are interrupting brain development and the way our hormones function… two areas I really don’t want tinkered with. And I can’t leave out the fact that there is BPA in some of our canned food and drink containers.

Then the Gulf…  It makes me absolutely sick that we are poisoning our oceans. So without getting on a soapbox. I’ll just tell you about the changes I am making ASAP… it’s not perfect, but I feel much better.

1) Household chemical cleaners are OUT – I clean with vinegar, lemon and baking soda… and everything is just as clean, even the bathtubs (though it does require more elbow grease). I am also dusting and sweeping as often as I can, research suggests that many of these chemicals from fire retardant furniture, building materials, etc. settle into the dust. Upside? Mopping with vinegar and water really makes your floors shine! And smell like a house salad!

2) Shoes stop at the front door. No more tracking in pesticides and fertilizers from the great outdoors, mainly because as I write this Crowley is rolling on the floor and he will literally lick the floor a couple times today.

3) All organic diet. And as local as possible. First thing we’ve noticed.. the flavor of organic meat is much stronger and better. Plus supporting local farmers and farmers doing the right thing is fulfilling.

4) No canned foods of any kind. The BPA in plastic bottles is also lining some of our cans.

5) For Baby, we try homeopathic first… such as teething tablets. This, after the second Tylenol recall (we had four bottles of recalled product).

6) Personal care products (shampoo, soap, lotions, conditioners, tooth pastes, etc.) – free of any ingredient that ends with the word ‘paraben’ Free of phthalates and BPA. I started this when I was pregnant and am very glad I did.

7) No chemical fertilizer on our plants or lawn. This was hard for Mike but he’s 100% on board.

With every passing moment, I am getting closer to an anti-Made in China kick when it comes to toys. First of all, Crowley only needs about a quarter of the toys he owns. All this plastic from China… that I am blindly trusting to be safe is creeping me out. Don’t get me wrong; I realize I cannot insulate him from every threat on this planet. And I know every generation of children is subjected to something poisoning them. Today’s children are under a chemical assault form a thousand sources. It’s incredible and sad. From medicine to baby bottles to toys to food to the chemical residue left on our bathtubs.

I can do a better job if I just pay attention and work a little harder. It’s not a perfect system but it is a better one for me… Anna

More Birthday Pics!

One year old today! About this time last year… I still had 12 long hours to go!!!! Look for that edition of The Baby Diaries tomorrow. In the meantime, I wanted to share Crowley’s birthday with you!

Nobody rocks the birthday cake like Charlotte baker Haines Barksdale, owner of of For Goodness Cakes! The cake looked awesome… and tasted even better!

Aunt Rebecca sent the table runner for Crowley which added such a festive and thoughtful touch! Here’s a pic of the Birthday Boy!

The only two people who enjoyed the Birthday song more than Crowley…Mom and Dad!!

Many of you have been right along with us for most of last year! Thank you for celebrating this day and all the ones before!

Last pic… what happens when Mommy isn’t watching…

Baby Diaries: Preggo decorates for the holidays!

Welcome to a long overdue installment of Anna’s “Baby Diaries.” Here’s how these work: Anna writes them and I get to add my 2-cents wherever I like. My thoughts will be in [brackets and bold]. Enjoy…

Baby Diaries: Preggo decorates for the holidays!

You don’t often realize you are a lunatic in the moment, especially when you are six months pregnant. Just ask my friend Liz. Last year she was pregnant too. Not only did she address all of 2008’s Christmas cards, but she also addressed 2009’s! (Because, duh! Obviously she would be too busy with a baby and everything that had to be done before the baby was born!) [Welcome to my world.] As for me, this time last year, I could only think about one thing and one thing only! It wasn’t Christmas cards. [Again? Sweetie, a man my age has to pace himself. This is how we got pregnant in the first place!]

But, the thought antagonized me every time I went up and down the stairs… [She just can't resist me.] It’s the banister. It’s so bare. [Oh.] It needs a garland. [Crap. This is not going to be the night I was hoping for.] Not just any garland, but a magnolia garland. And not just any magnolia garland but a home made magnolia garland.

Only problem? We don’t have any magnolia trees in our yard.

I use the word ‘problem’ loosely because for Preggos, there are no problems…. I mean seriously, these are just things to add to Mike’s ‘To Do’ list! [Wait. Here’s where I say, “Welcome to my world.”]

“Hon?” Surely he knows what’s coming. This is how all of my requests begin with one word ‘Hon.’ [Requests? The question mark at the end of her sentences is merely formality.]

“Yes?” he replies. I don’t even know why he answers. He should really just run for his life! [Thanks for the tip.]

“Um… well… I want to make a magnolia garland for the staircase banister.”

“That sounds beautiful.” He wouldn’t say that if he knew where this was headed. [I knew. I was lying.]… Continue reading ‘Baby Diaries: Preggo decorates for the holidays!’

The Baby Diaries: Curiosity (and burning booties) killed the cat…

[For those of you new to StopandSmellthePeople, Welcome! This is our latest installment of the Baby Diaries. My wife, Anna, has written her take on going through pregnancy with me (plot spoiler alert – it was awesome – she loved it). Once she’s done writing, I put my spin on things with italicized bolded black letters in brackets. Enjoy!]

The Baby Diaries: Curiosity (and burning booties) killed the cat…

Mike and I had a lot of questions during our pregnancy. A lot of questions. An eternal fountain of questions. Each seemed as urgent as the next. As they popped up in our neurotic heads and our every worry-driven conversation, we dutifully typed them into our iPhone notepad, building a long list of curious absurdity that we regurgitated at each doctor’s visit.

I would like to say that all you people out there only egged us on. You know who you are. The ones that ask questions like this, “Anna… you’re about 5’2,” right? You are so teeny!!!! Do you think will you be able to deliver the baby naturally?”  It’s their nice way of saying you are so small… are you small everywhere? You can see the wheels a spinnin’. They look at your big belly. Must be a big baby in there. How exactly is this going to work? [Well, you see, it all starts with a couple glasses of wine and some Barry White music…]

And so our next doctor’s visit would go something like this, “Doctor, so people have suggested I won’t be able to deliver the baby naturally because I have a petite frame. Is this a dumb question? I mean will I have to have a C-section?”

And really you have to give it to the man. How on earth does he keep a straight face through these visits? One couple after another all scared to the point that their brains are no longer involved in the process.

Mike and I were sitting in his office, iPhones out. The doctor said, “Some women have what’s called contracted pelvic bones. That can affect their ability to deliver naturally. But the fact that you are petite has nothing to do with whether you have contracted pelvic bones.”

And that’s when I heard it. The inhale. Crap! Mike is going to say something. He just took in a breath to fuel whatever is about to come out of his mouth.

I looked over. His right eyebrow shot up into an arch. He furrowed his brow like a Las Vegas heartthrob-has-been, and said in a voice to fit the part, “Soooo, Doc…” Pause. Pause. He moves his head from side to side like a used car salesman, “you’ve seen her pelvic bones…. Continue reading ‘The Baby Diaries: Curiosity (and burning booties) killed the cat…’

Baby Diaries: Road Trip!

I always have to say this up front for your SASTP newbies: My wife, Anna, writes “The Baby Diaries.” When she’s done she turns me loose to make my comments in [brackets and bold]. Heeeeeeere’s Anna…

For starters you need to know I am sitting in the “massage chair” as I write this – Mike loved this birthday present so much, he sat in it too long and bruised his back. So I am keeping the chair warm. Don’t you love it when a plan comes together?

Okay, on with the latest installment of “The Baby Diaries.”

Some women cry when they are pregnant. [Um, when they’re pregnant?] I mean they open up the floodgates, sound the tsunami alarm and ride the wave of endless heaving sobs. Not me. No, my raging hormones turned this preggo into a laughing hyena. Just about ANYTHING could set off my giggling fits which were uncontrollable bouts of laughter that contort your face until you look your absolute ugliest… and you can’t stop laughing. And since you are pregnant… laughing this hard, well, it means you are probably going to release a toot of flatulence… and pee just a little, too. [Charming.] Although you would normally be horrified, you find this funny too and the cycle keeps spinning. Bottom line, you had better find a bathroom quickly.

But when I sat in my Dr.’s office a little before Christmas, it was no laughing matter. We were talking about whether I should make the trip to see Mike’s family in Ohio the day after Christmas (also my birthday). It would take some TEN hours in the car to get there. Well, it’s ten hours for normal people. But when you are six months pregnant and you stop every ten minutes to go to the bathroom, it could take a lot longer.

“Dr., are you sure I should make the trip to Ohio. That’s a long time in the car. Perhaps it’s not good for the baby?” I asked, very concerned (and hoping for a certain outcome.)

“You’ll be fine. Just stop every couple of hours and walk around,” he said. [He saw right through her.]

“Dammit!” I thought to myself. Mike was in the room so I had to hide my displeasure. [THAT was trying to hide it?]

“Anna, have you been there before?” The doctor asked. (Looking back, I think it was planned. I think he and Mike worked it out before hand. I walked into a trap.) [So you're paranoid too? Lovely.]

“No,” I said. That’s right. World’s worst daughter-in-law because in the nearly three years of marriage, I had somehow never visited Mike’s hometown.  It’s a strange thing in my family. We love to be together. The married-ins complain all the time that we Crowleys are one sided in our affinity for all things family because…we never visit theirs. I write this with a scrunched up nose and squinted eyes and that say, ‘I’m sorry but I can’t help it…sort of.’ [So pathetic.] But it got to the point, that even my own aunts took me aside and said, “Anna. Marriage is about sharing. You need to go to Ohio. I am sure they are talking about you behind your back: ‘Mike got married and his wife has never come to visit.’ You don’t want to be thought of as a Southern you know what!” [NEVER!]

And please don’t get me wrong. Mike’s family could not be nicer, more welcoming or kind. [Here’s a tissue to wipe that brown stuff off your nose.] I just have issues. And those issues were compounded by the fact that during my pregnancy, if I could have become a shut-in, I would have. I hated leaving the house. HATED IT! My protective instincts were in over drive. So a ten-hour, multi state trip seemed like a life-risking event. Ahhh pregnancy.

The morning of the 26^th, Mike and his son Trevor and I piled into the car and headed north. I volunteered to drive the first leg. Think less martyr, more control freak. [Think TOTAL control freak.] And I don’t know, but somewhere around West Virginia, my mood lightened up and a simple highway sign triggered a laughing fit. We were approaching Gassaway, West Virginia. Gas-away. Call me a 12-year-old, but the earthquake started. [I’d like to apologize to all 12 year olds for this sweeping insult.] I unleashed a belly laugh so hearty that it was hard to keep the steering wheel steady. Trevor and Mike looked over at me with horror. What happened to the prim and proper, rules oriented, type “A” Anna? Who was this? Toot! Toot! Pee Pee! I just kept laughing. [I just kept chanting under my breath, 'Please don't kill us, please don't kill us, please don't kill us.']

“Help me!” I managed to squeak out. “It hurts.” More laughter. More swerving. Mike and Trevor now look scared which only made me laugh harder.

“Anna! Get off at the next exit!” Michael shouted. [I wouldn't call it a shout as much as a last gasp cry for life.]

The next exit was Gassaway! This sent my laughing fit to the next level. My stretched out abdominal muscles ached. I gasped for air. And I kept laughing as we rolled into a gas station. The belly laughs gave way to giggles and finally deep breaths in and out. It was over.

And so the drive went. Drive. Stop, walk, bathroom. Drive. Laughing fit. Repeat. For Trevor, it became a game to good to resist. What could set me off? Could he set me off? And he did.

Morning gave way to afternoon and we began driving through darkness Somewhere around Pittsburgh. My maternal instincts returned. As heavy rain started to fall, I couldn’t help but feel a great deal of anxiety. And when a low fog clung to the miles of highway in front of us, I was sent over the edge. Danger. It’s a terrible feeling when you are pregnant. Instinct + hormones + emotion + fear = one crazy preggo in the passenger seat. It’s best not to talk to us in this condition. There were even tears, but finally we pulled into the driveway of my sister-in-law’s and walked through the door.

My first stop was the bathroom where I cried for five minutes straight. [Good times.] Over what, I have no idea. But I cried, wiped my face and came out to greet everyone. And no sooner did I finish my hellos that Mike’s sister whipped out a fully engulfed birthday cake that she made just for me.

It was my first clue that I am a self-absorbed jerk. Mike’s family is selfless and so considerate. I felt completely enveloped by love and support. It was amazing.

The fait accompli was when Mike’ sister showed me to my room and I slipped into softest flannel sheets I’ve ever touched in my life. I snuggled in as the electric blanket kicked on and thought, “I am in heaven. I will stay here and have my baby.” [Fait accompli? Who are you trying to kid?]

We had four wonderful days with Mike’s family that included a raucous family dinner, a beautiful tea/baby shower, and long talks around a fireplace. In fact that’s where Mike and I were sitting, when I had a just taken a too large a bite of cake. He whispered, “Get enough cake there?” Instant laughing fit. I thought I would choke. Mike’s sister asked, “Is Anna okay?”

“Yes,” he said, “but I should probably help her off the couch so she can get to the bathroom.” I made it in time. Mostly.

[I swear if they would simply bring an actual pregnant woman into high school classes and have her laugh uncontrollably until she farts and pees herself, teen pregnancy would come to an end.

This concludes yet another classic real-life diary from our pregnancy. Thankfully, today the baby and I are the only ones who toot and pee unexpectedly. And, I'm thrilled to have the baby to blame it on.

If you’d like to read all of Anna’s “Baby Diaries” just click that phrase in the Word Pile in the right column.

Peace… MR]

Going from being something to doing something…

The other night, Mike asked me, “Got any ideas on what I should write about?”

“Yeah,” I thought (and thought it out loud), “Why don’t you write about some of the stuff we need to get rid of… (I was thinking about the giant, strange Ostrich egg he brought home from a story and so many other of his weird mementos I have no idea where to put).

To be completely honest (whispering now), it’s the last and final step in my “re-decorating” efforts since we eloped in 2006. Mike’s accused me of getting rid of only his stuff since we got married. I will never admit that.

Back to the topic at hand… getting rid of odds and ends. Mike took it a step further and listed the washer/dryer and some other items “FREE” to a good home.

What started out as the makings of a random and fun blog, led to something unexpected and so much deeper. Not long after Mike posted his blog, a SASTP native, Ramona, responded immediately: “Mike, do you still have the washer & dryer. My favorite charity in Rock Hill is needing a washer. It is a home for abandoned, abused and neglected kids.”

It was a lightening bolt moment for me. Because ever since our baby Crowley has born in March I have struggled with two things: How can I protect my baby from all earthly dangers? And how on earth do parents hurt and neglect these little miracles?

I know that every new mom has a period of adjustment to motherhood mixed with some powerful hormones. While some struggle to make the leap from corporate career to full time mom, others struggle with returning to work, others have trouble bonding immediately with baby. Each mom is different.

For me it was a strange mix of two experiences. I fell immediately and completely in love with Baby Crowley. From the second he was born, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and protect him completely. As a career woman, I was a news reporter. I saw what can go wrong. I bore witness in a most intimate way.  And so a big part of the experience of becoming a mom was a flood of unconditional love for my son…and complete terror in the middle of the night. It was painful. Some nights, tears would roll down my cheeks as I nursed my baby because I had to accept the truth that try as I may, I can’t protect him from every horror in this world. It’s just not possible. That experience was like falling in love and grieving all at the same time. I have never experienced anything like it.

So I focused on the breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Know that right now in this moment Crowley is safe and healthy. You are okay and you have everything you need to protect him right now. My focus was on getting through these moments.

Then in the last couple of weeks, after speaking to my dear friend Kara Finnstrom  about her coverage of the Jaycee Dugard case and in reading about the tragic shooting this week in Charlotte of a pregnant teen , again I started to think about how much we need to protect our children… all of our children, particularly those who are most vulnerable. I was poised to jump from just getting through these very private moments to taking a bigger step.

And Ramona, a woman I have never met, was the catalyst. Her simple response to Mike’s blog moved me from this cycle of thinking and worrying about it… to actually doing something about it.

Ramona connected us immediately to the Children’s Attention Home in Rock Hill, SC. It’s an organization, which provides emergency shelter to children who are abandoned, abused and neglected. They care for children from newborns to teenagers. And they need support!  Just a few hours after Ramona posted the comment on the site, the Children’s Attention Home had our washer/dryer, a gas grill, toaster oven and even Holiday decorations.

Ramona, it felt great! Thank you for your comment and for helping us a make a difference. I feel profound relief from my own worry and empowered by becoming part of the solution even in this small way. I will stay committed to your favorite charity. What they are doing is amazing.

These children need us. If you would like to help, log on to their site for ideas and contact their volunteer coordinator directly. Not from around here? Check into children’s charities in your own area. So many of these organizations are facing massive funding cuts and need as much support as we can give them.

I’m on board! Are you?… AC

Baby Diaries: The Mother-in-Law Edition

Anna’s latest installment. For you newbies, She writes these and my thoughts appear in [brackets and bold.]

I should have seen it coming… even when we were dating. Mike told me he’d spend hours upon hours writing for his TV series. That he would slave away at the keyboard morning, noon, and night. In these fits of writing, he only eats Cheerios.

“Well I am making a lasagna for a friend,” I said, “why don’t I make a second for you. I’ll drop it off and you’ll have some real food to eat.”

“Oh, no,” he told me, horrified, “I am sorry. Your offer is as sweet as pie, but the only lasagna that will touch these lips is that made by the hands of my Italian mother Giovanna Santa-Maria…” the long list of her names kept going as I sat there in the kind of shock that arrives when you realize you’ve fallen in love with a mama’s boy. It wasn’t pretty. [If you’ve had my mom’s lasagna, none of this would seem odd.]

Oh, yes, I should have known. [HellOOOOOO! I am the baby of the family! And so adorable! Just ask my sisters.]

A scant three and half years later, we were sitting in the doctor’s office, looking at our baby’s heart pounding away on the screen.

It was the tiny bright light in the corner of what looked like a dark rock. There’s our baby!!!! I fell ever more in love with that pea-sized munchkin with every flicker. After the ultrasound, we met with the doctor.

“How are you feeling? What symptoms are you having?” he asked. [Great, Doc, and you? What? Oh… my bad.]

“I feel great. A little tired and out of breath, but I don’t feel sick at all,” I answered. And I said it with pride. Type-A’s can be so obnoxious. I can say this because I am one. And it’s like we never learn that we can’t be perfect and we can’t control everything. [Um… I can vouch for her.] We just keep trying like nervous little hamsters. Having just hit the retirement button on a successful but power driven neurotic career, I believed my pregnancy and mommyhood would be executed with the same level of perfection… by sheer force of will of course! (Those of you in recovery at Perfectionists Anonymous try not to laugh.) That’s right… week 6 of pregnancy: no sickness, the perfect amount of weight gain, healthy eating, moderate exercise… I wanted to be the poster child of pregnancy. In other words, I was setting myself up for a long, hard, and hilarious fall! [I don't remember the hilarious part.]

Surely my doctor had seen it a hundred times. “Well, as far as morning sickness is concerned. You’re not out of the woods just yet. You might have some bad days ahead of you,” he said.

Oh, he says that to all the Preggos. I am different. He will see.

On the way home, a hunger tsunami washed over me. I looked over at my sweet husband, “I am starving!”

“Where would you like to stop?” I know he’s thinking restaurant, but I am thinking grocery store. I must eat many things. We parked the car and decided it was best to divide and conquer. I needed, in such a desperate way, a little bit of everything… I made my way around the store, feeling so very excited about my perfect pregnancy. My thoughts turned toward the nursery. As I walked by the piping hot ready-to-eat soup station, I thought, “I am going to start on that nursery tonight and the first thing….”

It hit me like a brick wall at 100 mph, an invisible, odoriferous fog of soup steam. I was swimming in it… drowning. The nausea ran through my every vein. “ Holy crap, I am going to puke right here in aisle three!”

There it was. That doctor jinxed me. I wasn’t just sick in the morning. I was sick all day. Eating healthy? Gone. I ate whatever I could keep down. Chicken soup. Ginger brew. Bojangles (the chicken leg kids meal with two packets of honey, please). Moderate exercise? Gone. I was too sick. No, I sat on the couch and watch soap operas while feeling each little bubble of fat collect on my thighs… one by one… till I couldn’t count that high. Laundry? It was in a pile. Housecleaning? Mike’s new job. [New?]

And you know what happens when you put a Type-A on the couch with no energy and major nausea… we turn on ourselves and those close to us. [Ahhhhh the joy.] We are dangerous when we are bored and useless. [No comment.] But eventually I was too sick to even be a danger to others… or as my husband found out… to even know that others existed at all.

“Hon, I think I have a sinus infection,” he said. His voice was weak and nasally. “My head is pounding,” he started to list off the symptoms. And I know it’s terrible, but all I could think was, “Please get away from me and my baby!”

I stifled the urge to come right out and say it. Instead, I offered up a half-hearted, “Do you think you should sleep in the guest room? So I won’t wake you up during one of the 40 times I get up to go to the bathroom?”

He gave me a dead pan ‘I see right through you’ look, grabbed his pillow and got out.  I must have fallen asleep watching Lifetime television [again…] but when I woke up at 6 AM, the Preggo Puke-A-Palooza was in full swing. It was without question my sickest morning. And Mike was incapacitated in the other room. Who would help me? Ginger brew? Chicken soup? I think we are out and he can’t even go to the store. A crisis was brewing. There was only one man who could help me now. Dad. I pulled my face out of the toilet, dialed him up and gave him instructions. Help was on its way. [You called your daddy? Do you need help with your homework, too?]

I climbed back into bed, propped myself up on a soft mountain of pillows, and zeroed in on a 1990’s Lifetime movie. I am going to be okay. My phone rang. Oh, it’s Mike’s mom. I am about to get a load of sympathy.

“Hello.” I delivered my line with a subtlety that says, “ I am about to die.”

“Anna, It’s Mama Giovanna. Dear, how are you?” Her voice was like a warm hug wrapping itself around me, wiping the sweat from my brow. I had Dad on the way with reinforcements and Mama Giovanna on the phone about to praise for me for my motherly sacrifice for her perfect unborn grandchild.

“I am so sick. I have been throwing up all morning,” I say it like I am five years old and helpless. [Like?] Any second she is going to pour on the sympathy.”

“Is Michael taking good care of you?” she asks. I can tell she would pounce on him if the answer were to be ‘no.’

“Well,” I say, “ I haven’t even talked to him this morning.” I pause, another wave of nausea, “I had him sleep in the guest room. He is sick, too. I don’t think it’s good for him to sleep near me and the baby. I think he may even have a sinus infection. He says he’s never felt so bad in his whole life.”

“Well, Honey,” she says with such a motherly sweetness. I can tell she is about to set free the praise-a-Preggo worship sermon. Especially when you take into account, that my dad is having to take care of me. “What you need to do,” she says. I am listening so closely. “What you need to do is go to the grocery store and get him some grapefruit seed extract.” [Love that woman.]

What?!?!?!!? Him!?!?!?! You mean Michael? Did you hear me? I am over here puking my guts out to bring his baby into this world. He’ll be fine. He doesn’t need a thing. [Chop, chop woman! I have needs!]

“Honey? Did you hear me? Grapefruit seed extract. Now that’s not grape extract but grapefruit seed extract. You don’t want to get those confused. It’s grapefruit seed extract.”

“Okay,” I say, dumbfounded, “I’ll be sure to get right on that.” Somehow I got off the phone, calmed my disappointed self down and napped. Clearly I was not going to the store.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened with a very sick Mike. He had a smile on his face. “My mom just called. She wanted to check and make sure you got me that grapefruit seed extract!” My mouth dropped wide open, making room for the enormous breath I would need to take in order to say “how could she? How dare she? Can you believe?” As I inhaled, he burst out laughing! And so did I! And then I marched downstairs to collect the soup and ginger brew my sweet dad dropped off!

[Okay enough from daddy’s little girl ranting about the mama's boy!]

PS. Now that my little man is five and half months old… I know that when the day comes that he should want to move out of our house… after I uncurl myself from the fetal position in which I’ll be crying, if he should so much as sniffle, I will be on his front door to address his every need… and I mean this in the sweetest way, God help the woman that stands in my way : ) Just sayin… [Have him try the grapefruit seed extract…]

[Tune in next week when Anna says, "I look huge in every dress I have!" And I lovingly respond, "Fat's a loaded word. I'd say you look chubby. Or large and in..." Uh-oh.  MR]

Want to check out the rest of our baby diaries? Click here to read Part one: My wife’s take of 9 pregnant months with yours truly… and Part 2: She drags me toBreastfeeding class and Part 3: Infant CPR meets disco!… and Part 4 – finding out the sex of our baby. Enjoy!

Baby Diaries Part 4

Here is Anna’s fourth installment of our baby experience. As you know, my thoughts are in [bold and brackets.] Want to check out the rest of our baby diaries? Click here to read Part one: My wife’s take of 9 pregnant months with yours truly… and Part 2: She drags me to Breastfeeding class and Part 3: Infant CPR meets disco!

~~~~~~~~~~~

When you are pregnant it’s like your belly (and your most personal health details) become Central Park.

You are a gathering place for strangers. [I would like to point out that all of these strangers are women.] They touch you. They touch your belly. They want to know all kinds of personal information about you: is it your first? When are you due? Are you sleeping? Are you sick? Heartburn? Increased sexual appetite? Once you pass the verbal part of the exam, they give you a good “going over” with their eyeballs. They are looking for a swollen face, pimples, clear skin, an expanding backside, big bosoms, a high belly, low belly, cravings and what type of food you are holding in your hand. And all of this leads to one thing… an unsolicited, unwanted-but-coming-anyway prediction on whether you are having a boy or a girl. [Someone explain to me why women who have been pregnant do this to women who are pregnant? Did you forget how annoying that is?]

The process is a fertile ground for faux pas like, “Honey, you look so sick… girl babies make you sick.” “When you are pregnant with a girl, you are pregnant all over, even in your butt. I think you are having a girl! Believe me. I am never wrong.” “Your hair is as dull as dishwater. You are having a boy.” [Can you people just shut your yaps!]

And on and on it goes. At first you think these people are crazy and you ask them not to touch you. Then at some point, in the passing weeks, they break you down. Suddenly you are keeping a tally of girl predictions vs. boy predictions. And then your final step into Crazyland, you start to believe these people might be on to something. And sadly I made that final step. [She jumped in headfirst.]

Everyone thought I was pregnant with a girl. And, naturally, so did I. There was but one dissenter: Cousin Tyler. Oh, Tyler has 100% accuracy rate for sex prediction. [Um, you might want to rework that sentence.] She says it’s a feeling that comes over her. She just knows. And she knew I was having a boy. Kinda hard to argue with that except she’d been outvoted. And if you are wondering who was right and who was wrong and is there something to Cousin Tyler’s feeling… then they’ve gotten to you.

When our find-out-the-sex ultrasound appointment rolled around, I could barely stand it. I knew one thing; we were stopping by Bo Jangles on the way for a tall Coca Cola to get that baby hopping. There would be no “hiding” during my appointment! (You may wonder if Bo Jangles is paying for these little mentions in our blog! No! It’s just that the chicken leg kid’s meal was an integral part of my pregnancy…like a crispy fried birthing partner.)

So with the baby rocking and rolling in my belly, we walked into the doctor’s office with my dad in tow. The three of us would find out together that we were having a girl and the very serious argument over her name could begin! [We’re still arguing over a girl name.]

Before my ultrasounds the same thing happened every time. 48 hours before, two feelings would completely take over: excitement to see how this little miraculous creature was growing and anxiety that something would be wrong. When this ultrasound started my nerves were on agitate.

So there we were, the three of us and the ultrasound nurse. I hoisted myself onto the table, exposed the belly and waited as the lights dimmed and the show would begin. Would I cry? [Duh.] Would Dad? Would Mike? [Duh.] Little girls are special. They need to be protected. How would the two most important men in my life respond? And wouldn’t Trevor be the best big brother to a little girl?

“There’s the baby’s brain. Everything, looks good, Mom.”
“Okay, I see the four chambers of the heart,” she said. Wow. It never occurred to me until then that I was responsible for the baby’s brain, heart, etc. Holy crap! [Let’s go lady. Get to the genitals and put us out of our misery.]

“The baby has long legs and arms,” she said, moving around my belly, checking out every part of our little girl.

“Oh, dad, what’s that? Can you see it?” [What the?]

And my husband, in his special wordsmithy way, stumbled upon the most beautiful and sentimental words to describe what he saw… to tell me that we were having a girl: “It’s a bat and balls!” He screamed. “It’s a boy! I need to sit down.”

We all cried because for the first time, we were looking at Crowley! He was just a little peanut, just months away from becoming the sweetest, cuddliest mama’s boy on the planet! [He is totally and pathetically in love with mommy.] Finding out the sex was an epiphany… if only slightly tainted by this realization: all of those people who told me I was pregnant with a girl were just trying to tell me I was fat!

[Okay. That wraps up this report from Crazyland. Good times. Good times. MR]