8 months!

I thought I’d be really good at keeping a baby/pregnancy blog. I like to write out my thoughts, and I figured I’d have a lot of them during this new stage in life. But here we are, 8 months down the road, and there are only a handful of posts on here. It turns out that pregnancy has been one of those things that has been too personal for me to write about in minute detail. For the first few weeks, when I knew I was pregnant but there wasn’t much evidence, I would send emails to family updating them on the development. Now that the baby is more baby-like there hasn’t been as much to update on.

Pregnancy has been really different to what I thought. The first trimester was awful because I am not used to feeling unwell all the time. I complained a lot to a few choice people, but at the same time I knew I had it comparatively easy so I didn’t like to say too much. I managed to keep up with my 2-mile walks to work most days, although my friend Shilpa drove me home every evening. When I got home I would usually go straight to bed for a quick nap. I’d then spend the rest of the evening reading in bed or watching shows. I don’t remember doing much cooking or eating, because I suddenly had an aversion to almost everything except really plain foods like chicken, mashed potatoes, and pasta bakes. Fortunately I am constantly craving fruit, so I was able to get my 5-a-day no matter how sick was I feeling.  

Sometime in March my energy returned, just in time for me to prepare for our trip to America and the following family & friend visits. Now my energy is starting to wane again, but it’s different. Before, it did not matter how much rest I got—I was tired all the time. Now, I can actually get things done, but I use up my energy quite quickly. I’ve had to scale down on my 2-mile walks (from 4 to 2 a week), and my general “getting around town” walking pace is much slower. I can cook and do housework, but I can’t do much at one go. Even a relaxing day spent at a nearby heritage site had me tired out by 4pm. Still, I’m happy knowing that I can get things done in little spurts.

David has been great through everything. He has an insane workload but manages to come to all the relevant appointments unless there is someone else to go with me (thus my sister-in-law and my best friend both got to come to ultrasounds). He always ensures that I get enough rest and don’t overdo things without me catching on. I hate being constantly fussed over so this is really nice. He’s even relaxed his hatred of cellphones enough to carry one in case of emergencies. Basically, he treats me like a capable human being and lets me set my own limits, but when my limits are ridiculously low he doesn’t complain but just adjusts his own plans.

Health-wise, I think I’m actually healthier pregnant than I was before. I lost about 7kg between Christmas and my 12-week scan, and it’s not been until recently that I’ve gained anything. But since the baby now weighs about 1.6+ kg I figure a good portion of that is just baby-related weight. My vitamin levels etc are all normal, and best news of all is that I did not develop gestational diabetes. Given the number of diabetics in my family I thought it would pretty much be a given, but my blood sugar levels are nice and normal. I’ve been able to reduce my blood pressure with a few dietary changes, and basically everything is going on nice and normal.

Emotionally, I think I fall into the “keep calm and carry on” category (as a friend jokingly said to me yesterday). There are a lot of giant unknowns to be faced in the nearly immediate future. Some people thus reassuringly like to tell me about how stressful my life is going to be, especially with a baby thrown into the mix. The truth is that having a baby is going to make some things a lot more stressful, but other things will be a lot easier. It’s hard to keep the two things separate, so I find that I unfortunately let people’s negativity get to me sometimes and that’s a bit of a drag. My cousin Tara recently wrote a great blog post about anxiety vs letting God be in control. I need to keep reminding myself not to worry about a few months down the road, but just face down my problems as they crop up. Hence, keeping calm and carrying on.

David and I have chosen to live our lives differently than most, and it’s hard to go through major life events when you don’t follow the herd. The answers to my problems aren’t found any books except for St Paul’s letters (thanks for that, David). The easy way out is a constant temptation, but when I look back at all the other times I’ve chosen the road less traveled I can see that the short term stress of it all has been worth it. The easy way out often leads to misery. I can’t always, or often, remember my own advice and I’m not great at having positive faith all of the time. This past week has been really rough. It seems that every day since Wednesday has brought a new and negative, or at least shocking, surprise (not just in my own life). Add to that Britain’s gray skies and cold weather, and being positive has been damned hard. Still, I’m happy that I can look back on the past decade or so and see the positive changes in myself and my life. It gives me confidence and hope for the future.

And I don’t know what the future is holdin’ in store
I don’t know where I’m goin’, I’m not sure where I’ve been
There’s a spirit that guides me, a light that shines for me
My life is worth the livin’, I don’t need to see the end

Sundays

Sunday is one of my favorite days of the week. David and I both believe that it should be a day set apart, as much as possible, from the usual. We try to keep it as a relaxing family day whenever we can (which is most weeks).

We usually go to Mass at the Cambridge Catholic Chaplaincy, Fisher House. David often reads at the 9am Latin Mass, which is a bit painful when the alarm goes off at 7:30am but is always worth it. The Latin Mass is beautiful, with tonnes of chant and not many people. It also has the benefit of being over by around 10:15am, which leaves us with most of the day free. However when David is not reading our good intentions of going to the 9am Mass usually fall short and we either end up at the 11am English Mass or, if it's been a really late night and David has a work deadline, we go to the nearby church of St Laurence's.

After Mass we always go to the Cambridge Market. David browses the book stall, which he so regularly frequents that the seller always puts books aside for him when he knows David is collecting a certain author or series. Sometimes we buy a snack at the market, and almost always we end up going for coffee at one of the cafes nearby. Lately it's been Starbucks, because they have the best selection of non-coffee drinks (for me) and David says all the coffee downtown is rubbish so Starbucks is no worse than anywhere else. Besides, it is the only place in Cambridge where we can get donuts similar to the ones we get in Canada.

After a continental breakfast or snack before lunch, we almost always head to the nearby Oxfam book store. Between the market book stall and the Oxfam store it is a rare Sunday when we return home with empty hands. Sometimes we get groceries, but other than that we just try to get home with enough afternoon left to enjoy. I usually make lunch, something quick but delicious that doesn't require much work. And then we spend the afternoon reading books, and I usually do some baking and eventually make something for supper. No English Sunday Roast for us, usually. Instead we generally have something lighter. Tonight I am going to attempt eggs benedict, with a side of roast asparagus. I've already done my baking--there is a chocolate fondant cake chilling in the fridge (but it won't be set until tomorrow, so we're going to have pineapple tonight).

We almost always watch a movie together on Sunday nights when we eat dinner. Lately I've been on a big gangster/spy/action movie kick on Sunday nights so we watch something in that genre. By midnight I try to get to sleep so that I'm not too exhausted at work on Monday. But this weekend is a bank holiday weekend, meaning I have Monday off, so I will probably stay up later than usual.

David has a thesis chapter deadline this week, so today has been slightly different as he has spent most of the afternoon working in his office. I entertained myself by watching The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and working on the shoes for the baby's baptismal outfit. I've cut out all the pieces and am now just embroidering a pattern of larkspurs onto the tops. The baby has been fairly quiet today, aside from kicking me, hard, several times at Mass and performing circus maneuvers when I nibbled on some chocolate.

Soon, hopefully, the cold and rain will blow away and we can start spending Sunday afternoons having picnics and going for walks to pubs along the river, either by ourselves or with our friends. But even if it stays cold and rainy all summer, I hope to get as much enjoyment as I can from these near perfect days.

the start of the home stretch

I'm nearly 28 weeks pregnant. Baby and I have made it to the home stretch. Baby is officially a baby now, or at least officially a human being with some rights... I meant to write a post about this when we achieved a 'viable pregnancy' at 25 weeks, which means that according to UK law I would no longer be allowed to abort my child, but it's probably lingering on my desktop with the other five posts I haven't finished writing...

Anyway, 28 doesn't seem like such a high number (after all, it's my age), but when I realise how few weeks are left I sort of hyperventilate and have a mild panic attack. Then I email Madeleine, because she just laughs at me and tells me that everything is going to be alright and then usually says something insightful which makes me relax. It's lovely to send out panicked emails--it's like a blog post except you know that the comment you get in return will just be helpful instead of anxious advice.

My life is pretty anxious by turns, which I'm not going to go into here because in my experience talking about things with no tangible solution tends to make them worse rather than better, since it just leads to people trying to be very helpful by speculating advice. From what I can tell, everyone on the planet feels a lot of anxiety about certain things in their own life, and when given the chance these tend to get projected into my own. It's not like people do this on purpose, so please don't think I'm complaining, it's just that we respond to others by latching onto the things we can understand, or if we can't understand, by trying to imagine how we'd feel in that situation. Comments like "I don't know how you can do it, I certainly couldn't" are perhaps meant to inspire confidence, but usually leave me just second guessing myself. There are a lot of what ifs that I don't have the answers to. I just try to trust God and not freak out.

Someone recently described me as relaxed and calm. I laughed. I've learned many things from my mum, and one of those things is how to pretend you're comfortable when you really are not at all comfortable. I am not a person who has been given the gift of small-talk, but I do have a pretty good sense of humour (I assume that's what all the laughter around me is for) and a sort of keep-calm-and-carry-on attitude (or make-do-and-mend) when thrust into uncomfortable situations, or when speculating on dealing with unpleasant situations. I have inherited a fair dose of Eastern European realism (some dare to call it cynicism or even negativity) but I hate being surrounded by negativity, stress, or unproductive griping. I'd rather try to see the humour in the situation, at least when I'm giving my public face.

So, 28 weeks. To cope with the AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH EVERYTHING IS CHANGING BABY LACK OF SLEEP PRECIOUS SLEEP moments I made a list and did some googling and began to feel mildly in control of the situation. When the list fails to calm me, I think about my long line of Mennonite descendants being kicked out of this country and that country and still managing to have babies and all that while wearing long skirts and having to milk their own cows. I think about one of my uncles, whose baby-crib was an apple crate (if my mum can be believed). The wisest people I know all seem to agree on one thing--what babies and children need most of all is a loving family.

communications and role models

Every week, unless he's been traveling or we've recently chatted on video-phone, my dad sends me an email. For the last three years or so I have kept copies of each one, although he's been doing this since I moved away from home.

My dad's emails, and letters, are usually in point form. I think he's getting more and more comfortable with email sending, because over the past few years he is getting more and more jokey in them. He also emails my brother, so sometimes we compare notes on the funniest things he's emailed. He's got quite a sense of humour and over the past few years he has discovered that he can actually express it in email, although sometimes he is just inadvertently funny.

From 2001 until 2011, when he passed away, I kept up a somewhat regular correspondence with my dad's brother, Uncle Ike. For reasons no one knows, but which I often ponder (and sympathise with given my own reclusive personality), he had not really spoken to anyone for years and the letters he wrote to me were a rarity. I find it really interesting to compare his long, prosy, descriptive letters to the short ones my dad writes. Their handwriting is a little similar, and they often write about the same things (what they've read, what the weather is like etc) but their styles are completely different. Then again, perhaps that is the difference between writing someone every week and writing them once or twice a year.

My dad's emails are as regular as clockwork, aside from the aforementioned considerations. Without fail, whether or not I've had time to reply to the one from the previous week (or weeks!) I get a new email each Tuesday or Wednesday (I think he still relies on my mum to actually get them sent from the outbox). When I phone home I mostly talk to my mum, and dad is good at sitting in on a video call but not actually setting one up/answering it so were it not for these weekly emails we wouldn't talk as much.

For most of my life my dad has been my hero, or something like that (I'm not really the sort of person to have 'heros' or 'role models'). I'm fortunate that I married a man who loves and respects my father as much as I do, because it means I've never had to compromise on my opinion. Even now that I'm an adult and can see people's weaknesses as well as their strengths, the fact that my dad is human doesn't diminish who he is in my eyes. He's always been a great father--he taught me my first acts of defiance (learning to stick my tongue out), let me make meals of chocolate syrup when mum wasn't home to stop me, and played endless games with me when he was not at work (sleigh rides, wheelbarrow rides, catch, board games, magazine puzzles). We share a love of books, religion, and history which is great, especially when we're on a family vacation as it means no one has veto power on those things.

The Baby is set to make its appearance in about three months. I keep wondering, and occasionally worrying, of what sorts of parents David and I will be. Both of mine are awesome (and listening to others' stories, I'd wager they are better than most!). The one thing I really hope is that the baby grows up to love and respect David as much as I love and respect my dad.

an organisational evening

There’s lots that I probably should write about, like Christmas, my trip to America, and Easter. But for the first time in over a week I have a clear head and a burst of energy, so I’ve been organising things against the day when I am back to living in a foggy daze of exhaustion and lethargy. Jetlag is never fun. Jetlag when pregnant, easily exhausted, and working full time is a particular type of hell. It greatly impedes my ability to focus on anything other than need for sleep.

Tonight, however, something is working again in my head. Maybe it was the giant iced coffee and cream egg I had for breakfast. Maybe it was the two mile walk. Maybe it was even a reward for choosing healthy[ish] Chinese food (no deep fried stuff!) over greasy pizza when given the option of ordering take-out for dinner. But whatever it is, I managed to finally have The Talk (about finances) with my husband, which was then followed by a second burst of energy used for Organising Baby’s Stuff Etc.

End result? Well, it is always nice to have a mature and calm discussion about money, especially after an expensive vacation in America. I console myself over the cost by reminding myself how much things *would* have cost if our interests lay outside tasty but affordable food, mostly-free museums, cheap opera seats, and used books. As a North American, it seems a bit silly to have spent my big vacation for the year (or at least the only one I have planned) seeing parts of America, but at least the Europeans I know are jealous. And although I’m really quite distraught that it is unlikely that I will make it to France, Italy, or Croatia before Everything Changes, this is less for financial reasons and more because soon I will not be allowed on airplanes.

Baby-wise I’ve been itemising the Stuff Baby Owns list, creating a Stuff Baby’s Been Given list (complete with notes of which people will require thank you cards), and a Who to Notify How list so that when I go insane from lack of sleep and post-partum depression either my husband or my mother will be able to see that at one point in time I was a logical, rational creature who knew which people to call, email, or send post to. One less thing to figure out once the brain fog descends.

I’m pleased with the gift list idea, which I realise is not rocket science and has been undertaken on the back of envelopes at many a shower. I was never one to worry, much, over receiving an actual thank you card. I realise that there are people who, through no malicious intent, even through no intent at all, will take years to send out thank you cards, people who may never actually ever send that card. I know firsthand how difficult it is to get all the official wedding thank you cards out in a timely manner, and how absolutely frustrating it is when people start chasing up their thank you card when two months haven’t even elapsed and you haven’t even received the photos, which were supposed to go with the cards, until a month or so after the day... I get that. But what does bother me is when nothing is said—no in person, no email, no text, not even a facebook message, by the time month four (or so) rolls around. And I do try to be reasonable. It’s redundant in many circumstances to give an in-person or email thank you and then send a card. I like post, so when I hear nothing for the first four-to-eight weeks, I’m willing to assume that there’s a card in the mail and that you also hate doing things twice. Which is cool, because waiting two months for a pretty card is totally worth it. When we hit three months, I remind myself that overseas mail can take awhile and a three-month delay is not unreasonable depending on the circumstance (see wedding example above). But when we reach four months, or when it is something that obviously wouldn’t require a card but would require some acknowledgement, I start getting edgy. I blame the postman, if I shipped it. I wonder if your friends or family are secret thieves, if I left it at your house/event. And when I’ve exhausted those lines of external blame, I have no one left to blame but YOU.

This has happened to me a few times in too-recent-memory. And I’m certainly not trying to lay the blame OR pretend that I’m perfect at sending out what etiquette demands. I’m sure there are some sarky blog entries about wedding gift-giving etiquette that could probably make me blush with shame (and if you think I deserve to blush with shame, let me assure you, dear reader, that I could probably write the same sarky blog entry because people’s best intentions often get sidetracked. No excuse, but I’m going for the judge-not-lest-ye thing here). But I found the lack of so much as a facebooked thank you annoyed me a lot in recent cases, particularly as some items had been posted and I therefore had no idea if they’d arrived. As some important documents had been posted in the same post trip, I was plagued with worry that nothing had arrived (which would have had serious financial repercussions), and therefore had to do a dreaded follow-up in one of the cases just to reassure myself. So I am hoping that, thanks to my gift list, created in excel (because that’s what winners use), I will avoid becoming a hypocrite and will actually get things out before three months, or so, elapse. If you’ve sent me something, and you’re reading this, you’ve entered into a contract to give me three months. I can’t always afford stamps (seriously) or get to the post office (and since ya’ll live overseas I actually need to weigh the post before I can buy a stamp so yes, this is a legitimate excuse), and then it takes 7-14 days for post to cross the sea & continent so I don’t think three months is too unreasonable. And if you’ve given me something in person, and we’re close friends or family, chances are I thanked you then and you’ve forgotten now that I’ve gotten your blood boiling, thinking about people who never, ever, say thank you.

Last Trip of the 'Summer': A Day in Ely

I was very fortunate to find that the English summer stretched well into October, so that I was able to enjoy a few weeks of warmth and sunshine before the grey of autumn completely set in. It was lovely to be back in Canada, but it also rained for most of the three weeks I was back and therefore sunny England, with its bounty of autumn produce, was more than welcome.

To celebrate my return, David and I decided to take a day trip away to Ely. Ely is only fifteen minutes from Cambridge by train, meaning that we don’t need to stick to any sort of schedule when we go there. So we woke leisurely on a bright Saturday morning and wandered in the direction of the train station. We decided to stroll down Burleigh Street, a route we do not usually take, and this decision led to the first articles of plunder for the day: cobb nuts & figs from a street vendor, and coffees from our friend’s coffee shop.

When we arrived in Ely we went straight to the market. It didn’t take long for us to pick up some artisan edibles—treacle tarts, fresh bread, jam, and a freshly cooked donuts (an English specialty). David then spotted a sign for a book sale, so we wandered to a nearby museum to browse the sale. The books weren’t worthwhile, but while we were there we spotted another sign, this time for the Ely AppleFestival.

Someone got in trouble at the museum!

This is probably how David's Olde English Forefathers dressed (complete with gun for shooting and clubbing)

The English do festivals really well. There’s always plenty to see and do, everyone is in a good mood, and the weather usually complies. After browsing at some antique shops along the way, we found the apple festival on a strip of park across from Ely Cathedral. The mummers were out in full force, filling the air with jingles and bangs. The festival itself was mostly a collection of various booths selling all manner of food, drink, and crafts. The largest booth was, of course, the apple booth which had over thirty different types of apple on sale. I bought a variety bag and got to try some of the English varieties that never make it into our local stores. David hit up the cheese booth, which was selling a variety of goat’s milk cheeses, and then there was also hot cider to drink, cold cider to buy, and the toffee apple stand.

Mummers!

Apple Festival

Never before in my life have I had a toffee apple. My mum doesn’t like candied apples, so it was not something we had as children. David rectified this by buying me the largest, most toffee-and-nut coated apple that the stand could sell. I didn’t eat it right then, but when I ate it the next day I can tell you that I saw what I’d been missing all these years!

Shopping and walking had made us hungry, so we stopped for lunch at The Lamb Hotel, which has an excellent pub on the ground floor and is becoming our go-to place for lunch when in Ely. Then we went to Topping & Co bookstore, which led to the spending of serious amounts of cash. Topping & Co is one of the few new bookstores that I will actually spend money in. They source excellent editions of books and usually have signed first editions for sale. You can get complimentary tea or coffee while you browse, there are no sales people hovering around, and the staff are very knowledgeable about the books and their authors. My prize for the day was a signed first edition of the illustrated 100^th anniversary Secret Garden. It was signed by the illustrator, of course, as the author clearly did not have the foresight to produce 100-anniversary-copies before her death. True to form, David left with a couple of sacks of signed first editions.

Complimentary tea & coffee

View from the upstairs at Topping & Co.

With such good weather, and such a successful day of shopping, the only thing left to do when we got home was to stack up all our treasures and photograph them for posterity:

Nearly half-way there

At almost 19 weeks I’ve been starting to increase my baby organising. I take advantage of email coupons, so that I can buy expensive posh baby things on the cheap, I spend too much time researching products like travel systems and nappies. I bombard my mother with emails about things I have for the baby, things I want for the baby, and questions about things the baby might need. Life is quickly becoming all about baby.

The Media tells us, in various ways, that this is what happens. It comes up all the time by both parents and non-parents complaining that kids completely take over people’s lives. It comes up in the advertisements I keep getting to my inbox with all sorts of suggestions of what I need to plan for, think about, and worry over. I notice that, more and more, my main line of thought is BABY. The strange thing is that this obsession makes total sense to me and it doesn’t even bother me.

My future is a big unknown blank (or black hole as I style it in my more pessimistic moments). In fact chances are that if you want to really piss me off right now, you ask me questions about ‘the future’. The only certainty I have is that, barring a disaster, in about 21 weeks a certain little person will have made an entrance into this world. Compared to all the big scary earth-shattering questions in my life, Baby is something positive to think about. If you don’t want to talk about Baby, you could also stick safely to topics such as books I am reading, shows I am watching, music I am listening to, etc. You get the picture.

Not knowing how I will feel on a given day is another reason that Baby overwhelms my thoughts, because Baby is often the cause of me needing to cancel, or not attend, various social events. Pregnancy has shaken my world with its various symptoms of unwellness. Already I am more-than-heartily sick of hearing “enjoy this time” which for some reason is the response people think is appropriate to give any time I mention feeling ill or exhausted. This response is always given by people who are no longer pregnant. It’s like me telling a PMSing and heavily-cramping woman to enjoy those symptoms of their reproductive cycle. I love knowing that there is a little person growing inside of me, and I am thus far willing to forgive Baby’s habits of jumping on my bladder, pinching my colon, sucking up my air-supply. When I notice that my ‘bump’ has gotten bigger, I even forgive the days of exhaustion that usually precede this. But when I am in the middle of feeling exhausted, ill, or starving but unable to eat, don’t tell me to enjoy this. The most I’m getting in those moments is utter gratitude to God for my general good health, gratitude that I suffer because I am growing a life and not because my own physical health is failing.