Four Weeks to Go. (Installment #4 from Baby Greiman)

Mom,
You’ve done some weird things lately. And I’d like the world to know what just what you’ve done.

1. You’ve sung to me in the middle of the night while I am trying to enjoy my 15th round of hiccups.
2. You’ve cried while rocking-in what I assume will be-my rocking chair. For no reason. While holding an ancient stuffed lamb with an internal jingly bell in its head. Should I be concerned that you are not emotionally stable?

3. You keep trying to work out and I keep telling you to stop it. I don’t like it. Even these 3 mile walks are not my cup of tea. Can’t you tell I’m trying to sleep in here?

4. You’ve videoed me while I was trying to get comfy in your tiny belly. Could you expand a little and give a brutha/sista some more room?

5. I have a list of things I need to get done when I get “on the outside”. Do you think we could speed this process up a little bit-why do insist on keeping me inside?

6. And last, but not least, you’ve taken to eating huge amounts of vegetables. I’d like a burger once in awhile-with cheese, ketchup, pickles and lettuce. I appreciate you cramming me full of folic acid and vitamin A. But, I have a feeling the lineage of the Greiman’s raising angus cattle has somehow crept its way into my blood. Sorry, veggie mom. I’m a carnivore. And I’m hungry.

 

Other than that, I’m totally happy and can’t wait to meet you and dad. I think.

Love,
Baby G.

Yes, I’d love to hear your horrible birth story…and other things.

This bump in my front has received unsolicited advice, thoughts, stories, warnings and the-world-is-ending-for-you notifications. I’ve had the Quick Trip lady tell me that I’m too small to be 34 weeks along and that possibly I’m wrong on my due date-or something is wrong with the baby.

I’ve received advice from a well-meaning Sprouts employee that I should eat unpasteurized cheese because it will help my child build up immunities (that’s a big: “thank you but no”, by the way).

I’ve been told that I’m crazy for not wanting the drugs given to most mothers during birth and that of course, I’ll change my mind.

And that I’m weird for wanting to cloth diaper and that this desire won’t last long. That I’ll realize I’m missing out on life for me and baby without Baby Einstein’s “must-have walker”. And, that if I make my own baby food, my baby probably won’t be receiving enough nutrition.

All of these things are tolerable. However, the one thing I cannot get out of my mind are the horrible birth stories I’ve been told-mostly from complete strangers. Their water broke at the state fair while at the top of a ferris wheel, they bled out and almost died, oh-also the baby almost died, the doctor didn’t know what he was doing, the cord was wrapped around the neck, and they labored for 3 days straight.

My question is why do tell a perfectly happy pregnant woman all of the terrible things that could go wrong? Is to help her increase her faith (I would have to say no) or to show off the invisible badge earned through an extremely painful and traumatic ordeal?

It’s like telling a virgin the night before she weds that she’ll just have to “get through it”. Which is helpful. Which happened.

I may appear tough to you (or not). However, I’m a fragile little egg right now. It’s not that I don’t value what other mother’s have been through. But, let me get through it first. Then, we can swap stories all day long. I’d love to hear about the bloody placenta that fell from the doctor’s hands, the hemorrhoids and the elusive sleep that never came for the new mother.

Seriously. I’ll brew the coffee.

Vintage Drums and Dates

Biceps is the best husband ever. Hands down. Bar none. Don’t argue with me. He’s been that way for the entirety of our almost 13 years of marriage. I married up, and most of my family wouldn’t contradict that point. They know I’m right. With all of that said, Biceps is also a very focused man.

With baby #1 on the way, he has taken to a “nose-to-the-grindstone” mentality with work, school and providing for our family. The man never rests. Except from 11 pm to 5 am. Then–he’s out like a light and no amount of kitty wrestling, house alarms sounding or excessive use of the bathroom by yours truly (thanks Baby G) will wake him.

We’ve been needing a little getaway before Baby G pops out into the world. However, I knew pulling Biceps away from his focus would be difficult.

Enter a craigslist for sale ad for Vintage Ludwig Vistalite Drums in a city just two hours away. As a wife, I just hit the jackpot.

Nothing motivates a musician more than the drums they’ve always dreamed about. Within hours, Biceps had found and secured a night at a Norman Bed and Breakfast.

This beautiful little house was very affordable, it was all ours (no weird interaction with the owners or other guests), and stocked with yummy snacks.

The best part was-they did not decorate with dolls, doilies or victorian pictures. Thank goodness.

If the weather hadn’t been so stinkin’ freezing cold, we would have used the hammock, the hot tub and the fire pit provided. Instead, we looked at it longingly from the safety and heated security of the inside-while eating cookies.

Biceps actually relaxed from his overwhelming schedule and donned a robe and house shoes. He sat for hours looking at old pictures with me and talking about our future with Baby G.

Biceps bought his drums and we got our inexpensive, much-needed getaway. Take note ladies-if you are needing a getaway with your special man-pray that God prompts your hubby to look one more time at craigslist. And then pack a bag.

The Not-Uncomfortable Baby Shower

I know. The title of this post is a double negative. I know what this means in writing terms. I am aware of what I am doing. At least-I am aware of what I am doing right here, right now. Ask me again in five minutes and my mind may have wandered to some far-off place that is filled with baby anxiety, onesies and tiny socks.

Anywho-I want to address the title as both a double negative in writing terms but a title that is a positive point to my weekend. Let’s add up these positive points:

(1) There were no tiny sandwiches and I bought huge paper plates. (3 points, plus 10 bonus points). This allowed me to eat A LOT.
(2) There were both men and women involved, allowing for easy conversations and a party atmosphere. (5 points)
(3) There was a lot of leftover food-which I am still munching on. (4 points)
(4) It was at my house where I feel most comfortable using the bathroom ten gazillion times. (7 points).
(5) My parents, friends and family all chipped in and helped to pull off this large event. (17 points)

(6) People either lied to me or they did really have a good time. Even the ones that were hoodwinked by their female spouses to attend a “19th century lecture on Russian politics”, only to find out it was a baby shower. (3 points for hoodwink creativity, 5 points for the husband not holding a grudge to the hoodwinker).
(7) The food “made up” for being hoodwinked by aforementioned person. (2 points)
(8) There were no awkward baby shower games. (100 points)

(9) I got to see so many people I care about in one blow, opening up my calendar for the next month.
(18 points plus 2 points for not feeling guilty about this fact).
(10) I didn’t wear shoes-the whole night. (60 points).

That comes up to a grand total of….anyone have a calculator and a non-prego brain? Please answer below.