No one ever mentioned this...

It was a fun filled weekend - Jeff's parents came to visit, and we packed our time accordingly - baseball game on Friday night, pedicure and shopping (the ladies) or beer festival (the lads) on Saturday, takeout Thai food and an evening on the patio (Saturday night), lovely dinner with friends on Sunday. So why did I spend much of Sunday in a funk? The thing that no one ever told me about, and therefore the thing that might just be isolated to me, is how pregnancy sometimes makes me feel like an observer of my own life, where I exist in the periphery, trying desperately to engage and failing more often than not. I find myself feeling utterly superfluous, wondering if anyone would even notice if I slipped off to a corner somewhere to read.

When Jeff, trying to help, asks me "well, please tell me what you'd RATHER be doing" all I can do is look at him blankly, with the rather lame reply that honestly, the most appealing activities to me lately have been curling up with the New York Times and a glass of iced tea, going to yoga, or just…sitting quietly, thinking. Yeah. I am a laugh-a-minute kind of woman these days.

I am, by nature, an introvert, but I've always enjoyed quality time with friends and family. I adore entertaining. But lately, I feel myself disconnect from what's happening around me as I turn inward, my energy and focus and drive moving to the presence of this little baby whose kicks and flutters and turns both startle and comfort me in equal measure. I find that I do best in smaller groups, so that dinner with friends remains enjoyable, but in a larger crowd I feel myself floating away, unable to add to the conversation and (perhaps rudely) unable to even pay attention to what people are saying.

When discussing this with my mother on Sunday afternoon, she pointed out that perhaps this is a natural self-protection mechanism, which was something I hadn't considered before (and isn't it just the absolute gift of mothers everywhere to point out the obvious when you need it most? Thanks mom!). It makes sense, though, that at a time when you need extra care that you would crave the safey of a quiet space. Or maybe it's just me. Regardless of the cause, I hope that friends and family alike can overlook my detachment and know that I'm sure to come slamming back to reality in just a few months time, but for now, I'm afraid I'm hopelessly in the clouds.

Better Half

I've been contemplating the phrase "my better half" for some time now. I suffer the dual blessing/curse that comes from the fact that this phrase utterly and completely describes Jeff. It's a blessing because the man I've chosen to partner with is, in so many ways, well….I hesitate to say better, because it smacks of self-loathing, but perhaps I will go with more polished than I am. It's a curse because admitting this is obnoxious and it hurts my ego.

I was emailing back and forth with a girlfriend earlier today, and we were talking about taking baby-care classes. I mentioned that Jeff might grumble over the amount of classes that I signed us up for, and she wrote back that maybe Jeff, like her husband, would "realize he never thought not to leave a baby alone with a string and that made him realize he knows nothing and how scary that is." My only response to that was, well, no, that sounds more like something I would realize, not Jeff. I have absolutely no fears about the type of parent that Jeff will be. When faced with a stressful situation (say, a baby crying non-stop for hours), Jeff approaches the topic calmly, with the wisdom to know that eventually, this will pass, and for now, we must make do. Whereas I, when faced with the same situation, would most likely be found curled up in a corner, muttering "make it stop, make it stop." Jeff doesn’t raise his voice or freak out or suffer from low blood sugar symptoms that turn him into a raging monster from hell. He is also a better cook and is more organized than I am. He even likes little kids, whereas I just feel awkward in the presense of anyone under the age of 10 (I know, I know, it's different when it's your own kid, but who is to say I won’t be some bizarre exception?).

I'd like to think that having a child is going to bring out some inner zen-mother, wherein I morph into some graceful, even tempered creature who can tackle the most difficult child rearing tasks with a calm head and a wise heart, but I have the distinct feeling I'll be leaning on my better half even more than I do now. I hope he's up to the task. Because I'll most likely be in the corner somewhere with a twitching eye, pondering the strange ways of babies.

(Un)Quiet Weekend

Jeff has been telling (warning) me lately that I've been pushing myself too hard, that I seem, at times, to have forgotten that I'm pregnant. I have, for the most part, brushed this off, with the explanation that I've enjoyed a relatively easy pregnancy (blissfully easy, really), and I see no reason to slow down. Until, that is, I woke up this morning with a screaming headache and swollen arms and feet, utterly exhausted and feeling like complete, well, to be blunt, shit. I called into work sick, and spent the rest of the day in bed. I expected that I would feel better quickly, but I rolled out of bed around noon, foraged for food, read a little bit, and crawled back into bed a few hours later, where I promptly fell back asleep. I am feeling better, but I have a feeling that I need to pay attention to my physical self a little more closely to avoid a repeat performance.

Looking back over the weekend, I can sort of see what led to the Monday rundown:

Friday night: Met out with Pat & Sinead at Psycho Suzie's (no photos, unfortunately). So much fun catching up with friends at one of the best drinking spots in the Cities. Of course, no drinking for me, but we still made it to midnight, enjoying the company and the conversation.

Saturday: Early morning yoga, lunch at Davanni's, a bit of a walk on Grand to run errands, then a trip across town to see the Dragon Boat Races. Never did get a good peep at the Dragon Boats except from afar.







Saturday Evening: Headed to a housewarming for good friends, Nick and Stacie. Marveled over the size of their new home, which would eat our house for a snack!

Sunday: Long walk out for breakfast/lunch (Highland Grill) in the humid heat, which hit us like a sauna.





Once home, gave up and sat in the air conditioning, every once in a while wandering outside only to quickly skitter back into the house, muttering "too hot, too hot." Waited for the heat to die down, then took advantage of the remaining sunshine to grill up Sunday evening dinner (steak, grilled romaine, grilled bread, corn). Determined to enjoy the evening, we ate outside, although we were sweating the entire time. Finally threw in the towel and headed inside to eat strawberry shakes in the forgiving air conditioned house.




Apparently, this very normal weekend was just enough to push me over the edge. Good to know, I guess...I'm planning on adding in more naps and perhaps an earlier bedtime next weekend, in the hopes that I don't have another Monday crash.

Fourth of July

We're having one of those stretches of unbelievable weather that (almost) makes you forget about Minnesota winters. So while we didn't get to spend the holiday on a lake or at a park, the utter perfection of the sun and the sky and the food and the friends made the holiday seem like just that...a perfect summer celebration.

We spent Friday and Saturday night at barbecues with friends, stuffing ourselves on other's hospitality (egg rolls and pork chops at Han's, brats and ribs at Chad's) and enjoying the ease of summer gatherings.

Sunday morning found us at the Farmer's market in St Paul, buying sweet peas and flowering perennials and huge batches of fresh greens. A garden was planted (this only took three years of complaining about the side of the house and a whopping 21 dollars to fix...we're nothing if not efficient!), and another impromptu dinner eventually ensued.

The actual fourth of July was low-key, which was just what we (or at least I) had in mind. We went on a 6+ mile walk, then out for lunch at the Cheeky Monkey Deli, then came home, where I promptly passed out on the couch in some sort of post-walk-pregnancy-haze. An hour or so later I was able to rouse myself, and we dragged some cushions out to the backyard, where we gorged ourselves on watermelon.




We lazed about and licked our fingers.




We talked hazy dreams about Taylor 2.0




Later, we shelled peas, and found a perfect three peas in a pod.



We lit fireworks.



We ended the evening with the best plan ever...watch fireworks from the back roof! Surely we would be able to see the downtown fireworks from such a high vantage point! Alas, we are apparently situated in the worst spot for fireworks watching in all of St Paul, but we did discover that the back roof is surprisingly comfortable, plus there was all the fun of being on the roof and no one is even yelling at us about it! Look mom, no hands!



All in all, a most wonderful holiday weekend.

This Old (Small) House

Lately, the concept of home has been on my mind. Jeff and I live in an old, arts and crafts style bungalow. It has beautiful woodwork, plaster walls, and all of the charm (and frustration) that comes with older homes. We've done our best to make it our own, and we love it. It is also quite small. Not terribly small. But small. Especially in comparison to what many people who live in areas with better real estate prices or lower property taxes or more space in general are used to. Since becoming pregnant, we've fielded several comments regarding the size of our home, with the message being that there is certainly just not enough space here for us to be comfortable, especially once the baby is here.

But here's the thing...I just don't agree. Truth be told, I've always loved smaller homes. Our home is warm and cozy and we use EVERY SQUARE INCH of it. There is no "company only" room (I used to date a guy whose mom had a special room in her enormous house that no one was allowed to go in, and I never understood the point of it, this strange perfect all-white room that no one ever used). Yes, we've had to come up with, um, rather creative solutions to address our lack of storage (peg board is amazing). And yes, another bathroom would be lovely, as would some extra square footage in the kitchen, where we seem to spend most of our time. But is it worth it to risk being house-poor for a few extra square feet? Would we use the extra space? Or would it just be more space to furnish, more space to clean, more space to take time away from the things that fill our lives now, mainly each other and friends and books and brewing and cooking and soon enough, baby tending? I suspect that, as with many things in life, more is not necessarily better.

We've assessed what we have, and we've decided, that for now, small is what works for us. This decision makes me feel calm and at peace and grateful for my (small) lot in life. I'm also on the lookout for more creative storage ideas, so if you have any, send them my way.