Book review: Pregnancy books

I had been reading online articles for months when I got pregnant, but I am a reader and a researcher and once I really was pregnant, I started building something of a library of pregnancy books. I never picked up a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting, as I was told that a lot of the book would just terrify me. Instead I asked friends for recommendations and ended up with a half dozen books to occupy me over the past nine months (and one week!).


Your Pregnancy Week by Week (5th Edition)
Glade B Curtis, and Judith Schuler

This was one of the first pregnancy books I bought. A friend had it during her pregnancy a few years ago, and I began calling it "the fruit book" at that time, because when I would call her to ask how she was doing, she would always tell me "This week the baby is the size of a grape" (or a strawberry, or a plum, or a peach), because each week the book gives you something to compare the size of your baby to. My favorite thing about this book is explained in its title: "week by week." This book gives you something new to read with each week of your pregnancy. Most other books only give you an update every month, which I found frustrating, especially early in pregnancy, when I knew things were changing constantly. Not that reading about it really makes a difference--I was still anxious no matter how much I read--but at least it gave me something to do.

My least favorite thing about this book is that it takes a very medical view of pregnancy and childbirth. Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised by that. After all, the cover does bill it as "the only best-selling guide written by a doctor." But other books I've read (including the Mayo Clinic guide listed below) take a more balanced view of out-of-hospital births. Is home birth safe? the authors ask in a text box on the subject. "By any doctor's standards, the answer is a resounding "No!" I am planning birth center birth, attending by a midwife, rather than a home birth, but I was still put off by this. The authors don't offer specific citations for the studies they mention that found home births risky. They also point out that risk of serious complications increases when a woman suffers from gestational diabetes or high blood pressure. They do not, in this section, mention that these women are at higher risk of complications in any birth setting, nor do they discuss whether home birth or birth center midwives will refer their clients to back-up physicians because of these higher risks. I do hope that in a future edition of the book, the authors will consider other research, including a 2005 study of low-risk women with planned home births, that found that the women had fewer interventions than similar women birthing in hospital settings and experienced similar outcomes.

Maybe it's strange of me to spend so much time thinking about half a page in a book, but this particular half page really stood out to me. Still, I found the book helpful overall, and I have recommended it to other pregnant women.


The Pregnancy Book
William Sears and Martha Sears

I confess that I have drunk the Dr. Sears Kool-Aid. And while I haven't yet had my baby, so I can't attest to his parenting advice, I have enjoyed the Kool-Aid so far. The Sears' philosophy of attachment parenting appeals to me, and I found their pregnancy book offered a more balanced perspective on pregnancy and birth options. I did not feel that they were pushing readers toward natural childbirth or judging those who opt for other alternatives. This book does only offer monthly snapshots, which I found frustrating at times. I do think it has a good index and makes a good reference book, though, so that even if you're experiencing something that's not discussed in your current month, it is easy to find what you're looking for.

This is another book that cites studies without actually citing the studies. The authors offer some numbers from studies to offer support for some of their claims, but they don't tell me where to go find the studies to read them for myself. As someone who really likes research and numbers, it hurts my heart to not have access to some of the details of the statistics they are quoting. I mean, at least give me the z-scores or something.


The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy
Vicki Iovine

This book was perhaps the least practical, in most senses, of all the books I read, but I did find it helpful. It's not helpful if you are having some concerns about something medical going on. It's great, though, if you want to laugh about pregnancy and hear some practical advice about what other women have experienced. And I didn't have the issue with wanting something more of a bibliography, because it's not the kind of book to offer up many studies to begin with.


The Expectant Father
Armin A. Brott and Jennifer Ash

I bought this book for Brian after reading some reviews on Amazon. He had been asking our midwife about books on becoming a father. He apparently meant actual parenting books, but I was unclear on what he was talking about at the time. Both of us did end up reading and liking this book. It doesn't go into a lot of detail on more medical aspects of pregnancy, but that was fine. They begin each chapter (one for each month) with lists of what your partner is experiencing physically and emotionally, a section on what's happening with the baby, and then a discussion on what's going on for the father. I found the sections on what the partner (that's me!) is experience to be fairly accurate, and what it listed for what the father was experiencing seemed reasonable to me. But the book also included more practical advice that isn't in the books targeted to women, such as a discussion of different types of life insurance and some information on various college savings accounts. I suppose these sections are in this book because it is aimed at men, and these are traditionally things that men deal with. Plus, it could give expectant fathers something to do while their partners gestate (that's a fancy word for nap and eat). But in our house I'm the one that generally handles that, so I found the information helpful in getting me thinking about what we needed to do (once I got over my momentary outrage that these people seemed to think it was my husband's responsiblity to deal with these things). And it got my mind of the gestating for a while.

As for the book's balance between "medical" and "alternative" practices during pregnancy and childbirth, I felt the authors did a fairly good job. Their discussion of issues such as out-of-hospital birth and natural childbirth methods didn't strike me as at all judgemental. It's also not a book that's heavy on the statistics and research, so I don't think it would help anyone make a decision about this sort of thing, but it does offer a way to start thinking about what you want to do.


Complete Book of Pregnancy and Baby's First Year
Mayo Clinic

A friend sent me a link to a State Farm website where you could send in your name and address and get a free copy of this book (unfortunately, I have lost the link), so I think it was totally worth what I paid for it. And I think if I'd paid actual money for it, it would have been worth it too. I would weigh this heavy book on my kitchen scale, but that only goes up to five pounds, and I think this book is heavier than that. When the book arrived, I did start to read it through, but I found some sections too difficult to read--in the early days of pregnancy, I really was not emotionally prepared to read about birth defects and chromosomal abnormalities. But it was my reference book for any concerns I had about medical aspects of pregnancy, and when we were weighing whether to go ahead with theAFP (triple screen), this book had the best discussion of what the test would actually be able to tell us.


Husband-Coached Childbirth
Robert A. Bradley

Bradley's book isn't a traditional pregnancy book as the ones above are, but it's on my shelf and I thought I would include it here, since I washed down my Dr. SearsKool-Aid with a glass of Dr. Bradley's Kool -Aid. Not having been through birth yet, I can't attest to his method of childbirth, although I can say that I feel more confident going into this because of reading his book and taking his class. Bradley was one of the first doctors to advocate for the presence of fathers in the delivery room, something that I take for granted at this point. His book isn't really balanced. While he does recognize that some women really need an epidural or other interventions during birth, his goal is to have women get through birth drug-free. The book offers helpful tips for parents-to-be on exercises to help prepare the body for labor and details at what to expect during labor.

I would also like to note here that the workbook that you are given when you sign up for a Bradley course could use some serious editing. The typos in there made me twitch.

New Year's Eve

I don't quite remember how old I was when I stayed up all night at a slumber party with girlfriends to celebrate the New Year, but at the time I was pretty sure it was the best New Year's Eve ever.

Other New Year's Eve celebrations sort of blend together in my head until one when I was in college when I went out to dinner in San Francisco with a guy I had a huge crush on, and then met up with a group of his friends for one of the big hotel parties. I was pretty sure that was the best New Year's Eve ever.

After college, Brian and I were living together, and we invited friends over for New Year's Eve. We had a spaghetti dinner at our house, walked along West Cliff, then went down to First Night Santa Cruz to count down to midnight at the clock tower. In the morning, eating breakfast with Brian and our friends, I felt content, pretty sure it was the best New Year's eve ever.

In 2001, Brian and I decided to get married on New Year's Eve. We planned a small wedding at his parents' house, with just family and a few close friends. The ceremony began just after midnight. In the morning when I woke up beside him at a hotel in Marina del Rey, I knew I'd just had the best New Year's Eve ever.

When we told people our wedding plans, many warned us that we would never be able to celebrate our anniversary properly because of the New Year's celebrations. I informed them that our anniversary was actually going to be on January 1, so it wasn't really an issue. But for the most part we have spent New Year's Eve celebrating our anniversary. Neither one of us is a big partier, so we generally just fix a nice dinner at home and drink a bottle of champagne. Sometimes we don't even make it until midnight. Then, sometime in the days just after New Year's Eve, we go out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate again. It's exactly the way I enjoy spending New Year's Eve and my anniversary.

Today is my due date. The baby seems uninclined to make an appearance any time soon. I've done even less to plan out a nice dinner for tonight than usual. (We did go to Rasika last weekend to celebrate in advance, in case the baby did deign to grace us with her presence in a timely manner.) We don't have gifts to exchange--no wood, nor silverware, or anything else--because it didn't even really occur to us. The odds of me staying awake until midnight are slimmer than usual. All we care about is spending all the time we can together while we eagerly wait for our new family member.

I'm pretty sure this is going to be the best New Year's Eve ever. And an even better year lies ahead.

If I saw me coming down the street, I'd probably be tempted to make a comment, too

According to all my pregnancy books and the websites I read, I should be tired by now of having people make comments about my body. I've actually been pretty impressed with how well these authors can describe exactly how I'm feeling throughout the pregnancy, but on this one they're wrong. I have yet to received a comment that has bothered me. Well, there was the time, back when I was five months pregnant, when a woman at work asked me if I was sure I was only having one baby, given how much I was showing for that point in the pregnancy. That had me more worried than offended, though, and my ultrasound a week later cleared up the concern.

Maybe it's because most of the comments haven't seemed offensive at all. Some even make me smile:

"Lookin' good," my bus driver on my evening commute greeted me one day.

"Not much longer now, sister," said the Post Express man outside the Foggy Bottom metro as he handed me a paper.

"Looks like you're getting close," said my bus driver on my morning commute said, after lowering the bus to make it easier for me to get on.

"If I'm facing my door, I can tell it's you coming, because I see your belly first," a coworker teased me.

And my favorite, from a hobo on M Street last Friday night: "Jingle belly, jingle belly, baby's on the way!" (I actually laughed at that one, and then I gave him the change I had in my coat pocket.)

Just a little update

Some people are blogging every day in November (which I really love, because I like knowing there will be something new to read every day. This is only the third time I've managed to come up with anything to say. I'm afraid I just haven't thought of much worth saying.

Brian and I spent a quiet Thanksgiving day at home together. When I was growing up, Thanksgiving dinner always took place at my family's house, and I loved it. I think mostly I loved that my cousins were coming over, and we could all sit at the kids' table and have a grand time. I remember the house being full and hectic and warm and happy, and I love that feeling and miss it. But I was also thankful to have this quiet holiday at home this year: to spend the morning lying in bed Brian and the cat, all snuggled up together, while the baby stirred and kicked inside me; to call a pregnant friend to see how she was doing and hear that she had given birth to a little girl the night before; to spend the day in the kitchen with Brian, cooking some of our favorite foods, listening to music (thanks, Lauren!), drinking sparkling pear cider, and just enjoying each others' company.

Friday was a beautiful day--sunny, with temperatures in the 60s--so we ventured out for a nature walk (well, waddle) from River Bend to Great Falls. I discovered that even an easy, 3.5-mile, mostly flat trail can be a bit much when you're eight months pregnant. But it felt so good to be outside in the fresh air, actually getting to move my body. The falls seemed full after the recent rain. I'll post pictures soon.

Saturday I think we were mostly pretty lazy. I don't remember Saturday, to be honest, which is actually a pretty good sign it was a pleasant, lazy day. We spent the evening at a leftovers party with friends, visiting with some people we hadn't seen in awhile, some we had, and some we'd never met before. We enjoyed ourselves immensely, and I managed to stay awake until midnight.

At the leftovers party, one of my friends mentioned wanting to go see "The Nutcracker" at the Kennedy Center. The Post had given the performance an excellent review earlier in the week and I was eager to see the Joffrey Ballet, but it was only in town through the weekend, which Brian and I wanted to take easy, and I knew Brian wouldn't be that into the idea of the ballet, so I hadn't said anything about it to him. Suddenly I had a date for the ballet. We bought tickets for the following night.

I think it may have been the most amazing performance of "The Nutcracker" I've ever seen (the only other two productions I've seen have been the Oakland and San Francisco Ballets'), although that could have been because it had been so long since I'd seen it. But everything about it seemed perfect, from the moment the orchestra began to play the familiar music and Dr.Drosselmeyer in his dark cape made his way across the stage, to the sparkling costume and exquisite dancing of the Snow Queen and the slow grace of the Coffee from Arabia.

It was hard to come back in to the office on Monday morning. I got out of bed at a reasonable hour and made it in by nine (and even settled straight into work, thanks to having made a list on Wednesday afternoon in order to avoid my usual post-vacation work routine--a morning spent puttering around the office wondering what on earth it is they pay me to do here), but I thought good thoughts about the time between my last day of work and the arrival of Sticky.

***

A nice little exercise

On Sunday, the Post ran an article about happiness. It began by describing an exercise in which you end each day by thinking of three good things that happened that day and why they happened. I've been trying to do that ever since.

Last night as I settled down to sleep I ran over the days' events in my head and quickly came up with three things to be happy about:

• I visited with a neighbor I hadn't seen in a while on the bus and train on the way to work.
• At work, I had to learn how to do something new in SAS, and I figured it out on my own and it actually worked.
• I got home from work to discover Brian in the kitchen preparing what turned out to be a fantastic minestrone.

All I've really done is think of the good things that happened--I haven't really bothered to worry about the why. I don't know if doing this will increase my overall happiness, but I think it will make me more conscious of the good things in my life and aware of little things that are pleasing, and that can't be a bad idea.

Perhaps I need some retail therapy to help me recover from my retail therapy

I bought a car seat yesterday.

That may not seem like a big deal. Today it doesn't even seem like a big deal to me.* But yesterday as my mouse hovered over the button to submit my order, I worried: What if it wasn't the right car seat? What if buying the car seat now jinxes things? Then: What if the baby comes early** and I don't have a car seat? CLICK.

Hi, my name is Elizabeth and I am experiencing pregnancy-induced insanity.

I am finding that I am a strange mix of ready and not ready to have a baby. In spite of all the aches and pains I've complained of over the past seven months, I think this has been a pretty easy pregnancy, and I've truly enjoyed being pregnant. As recently as a few weeks ago I was saying to someone that I wouldn't mind being pregnant forever: I love my round belly; my skin is clearer than it has been in years; when the baby moves, it's like she and I have our own secret; everyone is nice to me; and I nearly always get a seat on the Metro. What's not to love? (I mean, besides the sciatica, the waking up to go to the bathroom every 3 hours, no wine with dinner, the fetal foot wedged uncomfortably against my liver***...) Over the past week or so, though, I've felt that begin to change. I still love being pregnant, but I no longer want to be this way forever. I want to meet this little girl. I'm ready to me a mom.

Except, oh. my. god. Me? A mom? What the hell was I thinking?

So in an attempt to control the uncontrollable, I am spending money (carseat, bassinet, wee clothing) and scheduling things (hospital tour, infant cpr class, breastfeeding class,**** the cat's checkup so I can talk to the vet about helping her adjust to the baby). I suppose it's a kind of "retail therapy." I have no idea whether any of these things will help. Well, I expect the things I'm buying will, as I'm told that I can't bring Sticky home without a carseat, and letting her go around in just a diaper in December and January would probably be frowned upon. I think all the classes are just the Type A side of my personality coming out. All of these things are things I planned to do awhile back, things that I've been researching for months. But now that it's time to put those plans into action, I'm suddenly anxious. Planning I like; decisions are still scary.

All I can say is that it's a good thing the baby will come when she's ready. If we had to wait for me to make up my mind, we'd all be in trouble.


*Okay, I might be lying about that a little. I still think it's a big deal. It's just that I've managed to lower my freak-out level to something more manageable.

**By the end of the week I will be 50 days from my due date. Not that I'm counting or anything. Or expecting her to show up promptly.

***Actually, that foot there is probably one of my favorite bits of this whole thing. The whole pregnancy thing, I mean. Not of the baby. I don't have any sort of weird attachments to particular parts of the baby. Although I would like her to have all of the required parts. Not that Sticky's feet aren't wonderful; I saw them in August on the ultrasound. Very wee and perfect.

****Dude, did you know there were entire classes on how to breastfeed? Or that anyone needed such a thing?

Travel journal: California

Brian and I just got back on Sunday from a week-long vacation in California where we visited our families. Since I'll be far enough along by Thanksgiving and Christmas that the airlines won't let me on the planes (and I suspect my midwife would also think it a bad idea), we thought we'd get a trip in now.

Our flights to California were smooth and uneventful. We flew through Dallas, and only had to move down a few gates to get our next plane. Our Christmas trip last year was much better: after landing in Dallas, we boarded the little train to go on to our next terminal. We were in the first car, by ourselves, and we stood up at the very front, watching out the windows, leaning into the turns to pretend we were driving, and making sound effects. When we finally got off the train at the gate that our next flight would be departing from, we realized that at some point a few other people had boarded that car--mostly men in business suits. Oops. We laughed and ran away. No, seriously, we're totally grown ups who are ready to have a child.

Town on a wide open shore

We spent a good portion of our first full day with friends in Playa del Rey. At first the plan had been for them to come out to brunch with us nearer where The In-laws live, but when we arrived last Saturday and to clear skies and temperatures in the 80s, I called my friend Aly and invited myself over to her house instead.

Sunday was a little cooler than Saturday, but I was actually glad of that. We walked from Aly's house through some wetlands (which were rather dry) down to a bistro near the beach for a big brunch, then went from there for a walk down along the beach.

The weather was great, the beach beautiful, and the opportunity to hang out with Aly was wonderful. But the best part was Brian getting a chance to talk with Aly's husband. The last time we'd seen Aly was at Christmas, a few weeks before the birth of her son. Aaron talked with Brian about fatherhood and babies, and I could see Brian's relief that Aly and Aaron were having a normal life with their baby.

Surgery

Awhile back I asked The Mother-in-law, a surgeon, if it would be possible for me to view an operation at her hospital. I've never had any desire to be a doctor, but I'm interested in health and health care and thought it would be interesting. Plus, ever since I met The Mother-in-law seven or eight years ago, I've been intrigued by surgeons: I mean, here is a normal person who opens up a living human body as part of her daily life; that's pretty impressive to me. I've seen a video of a breast lumpectomy without much squeamishness, so I thought I would be able to handle it, and she agreed to try to work something out.

When she first told me that she had arranged to take us with her to the hospital on this trip, though, I started to worry. I was worried that seeing an operation would make me even more afraid of having to have a c-section, or that I would become squeamish and faint (I've never fainted at the sight of blood before, and even watch the needle go in when I have to have blood drawn). By the time we were there, though I was looking forward to it.

At the hospital, Dr. Mother-in-law picked an operation that seemed to her like a good one to view: the removal of tumors from a bladder for biopsy. We put on scrubs and booties and caps over our hair, and were led into an operating room where the surgery was already in progress. The surgeon and resident showed us the endoscope they were using, and we watched on the television screen as one of them removed a piece of tissue and cauterized the place where it had been. They kindly explained to us what they were doing. I was absolutely fascinated.

As a bonus, we also got to go down to pathology, where they showed us how they made slides of the samples that were sent down, and sat with us at a microscope to show us the different layers of tissue and what they look for to determine theinvasiveness of the cancer. As the pathologist pointed to different parts of the cells we were looking at, I was surprised at how much I remembered from my high school biology class--it wasn't a lot, but I knew what he was talking about.

Halloween

The trip was timed as it was so that we could spend Halloween in southern California with The In-laws. Halloween is a big deal in their neighborhood, and I'd never seen it for myself, and Brian hadn't been since 2000. (That year, when I told my mom that Brian was away to spend Halloween with his family, she asked, "What's his last name? Addams?")

I just don't get that excited about Halloween. I love Christmas and Thanksgiving and my birthday (what? It's like a holiday for me. And less than two weeks away now.), but Halloween just doesn't hold my interest, much to Brian's disappointment. After seeing a South Pasadena Halloween, though, I can see how one might be excited.

Nearly all the houses on the two blocks I saw were quite well decorated. Brian and his dad strung a dummy up through a tree, so that it could be dropped in front of people as they came up the driveway. A coffin that was lit up opened and closed as a mechanical skeleton hand pushed on it. Other families had put up orange lights on their houses and bushes the way some people put up Christmas lights. I saw one house that had the windows all glowing orange, which I thought was a nice effect. Another had a creepy looking monster in the window, and at one a woman dressed as a white witch sat beneath a spotlight on the walk up to the front door.

For me, the best part was accompanying my best friend and her son trick-or-treating up and down the street. James (aka Mr. Incredible, at least last Tuesday) is four now, and was shy at first, but opened up over the course of the evening. I guess sugar has the same effect on him that wine has on me. He was a little wary of some of the houses' creepier decorations, but he seemed to have fun. At most houses he would run eagerly up the walk to the front door (although he did take interesting routes to avoid monsters on lawns or bats hanging from trees) and join the other kids there in collecting some sugary loot. Whenever possible he would take the candy in his hand, rather than let the adult put it into his bag. If it did end up in his bag, he would crouch down and dig it out when he returned to where we were waiting, so he could hold it up and say "I got this kind!" and ask what it was called.

We went up two blocks, and as we worked our way back on the opposite side of the street, the crowds began to pick up. Swarms of parents waited at the foot of each driveway, and children lined up outside doors. When we returned to the In-laws' house, we had to wait in line in order to approach the front door.

By the end of the night, The Father-in-law and Brian had tallied over 1700 little beggars, and at one point they had been coming at a rate of 12 a minute.


A cloud shifts, the plane lifts

The next morning, Brian and I flew up to spend the rest of the week visiting family and friends in the Bay Area. We had planned on driving up the coast, but after I discovered the week before that just sitting in a movie theater for two hours left me stiff and in pain, I booked us on a cheap Southwest flight. I hadn't flown Southwest since Christmas, and I always forget that the whole thing is a little less formal than other airlines, what with the flight attendants singing over the speakers and all. This time we were also told that it was the pilot's last flight: after 32 years of flying, he had reached mandatory retirement age. The flight attendant asked us to wait around after we landed and give him a round of applause when he exited the cockpit, which seemed like a reasonable request to me.

As we were approaching Oakland, she came over the speakers again, reiterating her request and also informing us that Southwest likes to make a big deal of a pilot's retirement, so the airport fire department would be meeting our flight and spraying water over the plane from either side. I thought that was a nice touch, but mostly I was just glad we had been informed in advance. No matter how smooth the flight and gentle the landing, I would have freaked out a bit, I think, if I'd been surprised by firetrucks hosing down the plane.

Taking pregnancy brain to a whole new level

On Wednesday I meant to double check which company I'd ended up renting a car from, but when I logged into my email, I forgot. As we approached Burbank airport, The Father-in-law asked me about it again.

"I forgot to check, but I'm sure it was Enterprise," I said. I did remember being on the Enterprise website. And I remembered that it hadn't been Alamo or National that I rented from, although I have used them in the past.

Brian hauled our suitcases onto the rental car shuttle in Oakland. On the ride to the cars, I listened to a woman talk about an Assembly race and felt comfortably at home. We waited in line at the Enterprise counter, while I glanced over at the National counter from time to time: both companies have green logos. Enterprise had no reservation under my name and no more cars. National didn't either, but they did have a Cadillac we could rent for $140/day.

We sat down on a bench to think. There was pay wireless, so I could check my email that way, but I decided to call The Sister instead. (That makes her sound like a nun, doesn't it?) She kindly logged into my Gmail account and searched for "rental car," "car," and "Enterprise."

Nothing. Except that I had rented from National back in July.

I went back inside the building where Brian was waiting and told him what The Sister had found. He patiently went up to each of the rental counters that didn't have a long line to confirm that we didn't have a reservation with them and ask about the prices of their available cars. The cheapest was $39.95/day. I was pretty sure I had reserved a car for $25/day, so he pulled out his computer and I did a quick search. I discovered that Dollar (which had a long line, so he hadn't checked there) had $29.95/day. I made the reservation, wrote down the confirmation number, and went to wait in line, fingers crossed that the reservation made it into their system promptly. While we waited, I thanked Brian for not being cranky at me about my mistake.

"And at least this makes a good story," I told him.

"I'd be too embarrassed to tell anyone," he said.

Yeah, well.

Where we came from

When we moved from Santa Cruz to the DC area four years ago, we were lucky that Brian's company was willing to allow him to telecommute. The arrangement has worked out pretty well, but I know he likes to get back to see his coworkers live and in person, so we headed down to Santa Cruz for the day to have lunch with them and to visit with another friend.

It was a drizzly, gloomy day when we arrived at the office. Brian requested Mexican food for lunch, and rather than taking us to one of our usual Santa Cruztaquerias , one of his coworkers suggested La Costa, a casual place in Davenport. Eight of us headed up the coast, and we seemed to be the restaurant's lunchtime rush, although the man that had picked the restaurant assured us that during the summer they do better business with people driving along Highway 1. The food was good. I had my usual, simple bean burrito, but they were able to make vegetarian enchiladas at Brian's request, and he raved about the mole sauce on them. I had fun listening to everyone joke around, and just enjoyed the appearance of the people we were sitting around the table with: nearly everyone was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and ahoody . I miss the casual atmosphere of Santa Cruz (although when I was temping there I always managed to end up placed in offices that were formal enough that women who wore skirts needed to wear nylons; I didn't wear skirts much). I know that I could wear jeans and ahoody to work if I wanted (provided there weren't meetings that day), but I think I would feel too out of place.

The drive up the coast those few miles was wonderful. We had been at the beach only a few days before with Aly, walking along and looking out at the sparkling water, but somehow thegrey , choppy water here was even better. Maybe it was more familiar. We stopped at the home of one of the coworkers on the way back to the office. Or, more precisely, we stopped at the site where he and his wife are building a new house. He led us into the house, point out where different rooms would be, and we climbed up to the second story. While the others investigated what the construction workers were doing and admired the craftsmanship that was going into the building, I stood in what will be the master bedroom, looking through the window over the cypress trees and the farmland to where the cliffs drop off to the ocean.

After lunch Brian and I headed downtown by way of West Cliff Drive, and I thought about the countless times we'd walked there when we were living in The Circles. Everything seemed the same. I thought about how much I wanted to move back to the area. Then I thought about lack of jobs in public policy and the cost of homes.

We met up with my former writing professor at Caffe Bene downtown, just around the corner from his former haunt, Jahva House, which is now a brew pub. I had been disappointed to see that Jahva House was gone when I was there last December, but I enjoyed Caffe Bene, which I'd never been in before. After a nice visit, we said good-bye and headed up to campus, in search of some cute slug gear for Sticky.

It was nearly dark when we reached the main entrance, and as we drove up the hill, the fog was setting in. We were lucky enough to find a metered spot in the Bay Tree lot, and I thought that I was glad to have worked on campus for a couple of years after graduation; otherwise I would have been completely shocked by the changes around campus. (I was surprised to see that the apartments across the street from the bookstore had been completed, although that probably happened some time ago.) I picked out a Fiat Slug tee for Sticky to wear next spring, and Brian vetoed the $20 slug slippers I had my eye on. We also bought a poster of Natural Bridges that we saw near the register, since that was our favorite beach when we lived there, and because it was done in a style we both liked instantly.

We were tired and ready to go home, but we wanted to wait out the rush hour traffic, so we went back downtown. We wandered up and down Pacific Avenue, going into Chefworks, Bookshop, Logos, Streetlight, and the hat store, noting the new stores--both chains and shops that proclaim that they are locally owned--that have opened since the last time we were there. Finally we grabbed slices of pizza at Pizza My Heart and sat in a booth, just like we used to do back when we were in college and then when we were living in town afterward. On other visits to the area, we've both been a bit disappointed, perhaps because we've idealized the town in some ways. But on Thursday night we were both content and thought that this was a place we wouldn't mind living in again.

The next day we headed off to Berkeley to visit friends. We spent the afternoon at the home of some friends, eating a delicious lunch of spicy black bean soup andchiles rellenos on their patio, and then met up with another friend when he was finished with work for dinner (Indian) and a stroll down Solano Avenue. It just felt good to be around people I've known forever. And to eat spicy food without getting heartburn (although a banana I ate the next day just about killed me with the heartburn).

I lived in Martinez my entire life until college, but I rarely ventured across the bridge to Benicia. Not that that's surprising: Benicia isn't exactly full of tourist attractions. But on Saturday, Brian and I met up with some friends for lunch there, and spent some time walking around the downtown area. We walked down onto the pier for views of the water and the surrounding hills (and the smokestacks of the refinery back in Martinez), and strolled back up First Street past antique shops and the old state capitol. I still don't think of it as a tourist destination or some place I'll be hanging out a lot, but it was cute and not a bad way to spend breezy afternoon.

Older than I once was, and younger than I'll be

I'm going to be 28 in a couple of weeks. I've got a master's degree and a salaried job. I've been married for almost five years now. I am about two months away from having a baby. Most of the time I don't feel very grown up, though.

Saturday night I sat at the dinner table in the house I grew up in. My dad was there. My sister and her fiance (she's getting married! That sounds much less nun-like) were to my right. Brian was to my left. And my brother and his live-in girlfriend sat across the table from me. It seemed a little surreal. I suddenly felt old. When did we all grow up?

Where my thoughts escape

I experienced homesickness on this trip, which surprised me. By the end of a week away, I am usually glad to be back in my own house, but this was different. Our first night in California I laid down beside Brian in his parents' guest room and began to cry because I wanted to go home. "I want to be in my bed and see my cat and have my pillows," I whimpered, knowing I was sounding ridiculous, but totally unable to help myself. I was tired and hormonal, and Brian was very patient, and comforted me each night as I went through the same thing.

Sunday night when we got out of our cab, I felt a surge of energy, in spite of the long day spent traveling (we left Martinez at 5:45 that morning) (the fact that I slept for nearly all of the flight from Dallas to Washington probably helped). After spending 10 minutes on the couch letting the cat jump back and forth from my lap to Brian's as she rubbed her face against ours and tried to groom us, I got to work: I unpacked, started the laundry, sorted the mail that arrived while we were away, paid some bills, and made a list of things to do this week. I even did the dishes after dinner without complaining. It was all very boring and felt very good.

The time difference kept me up for a long time, and the cat woke me up frequently, having returned somewhat to her natural nocturnal ways while we were gone. But I was back at home in my own bed.

I was going to wait to post this until I had sorted and uploaded photos. But then this would never get posted, and The Sister informs me that opening this page to see "More Squashy Goodness" every day is getting old. So for her sake, photos will have to wait. Halloween pictures are posted here; my jack-o-lantern is the one with the spider.

Dimensions

I have always been adamantly pro-choice. Depending on the discussion at hand, I will argue in favor of Judith Jarvis Thompson's violinist perspective, take the position that even if it is a life, it’s okay to terminate a pregnancy, and support the legalization of late-term abortions. I attended to March to Save Women's Lives on the Mall a couple of years ago, and I always write cranky letters to my conservative senators whenever NARAL or NOW sends me an email alert.

But while in some debates on social issues I find it nearly impossible to see the other side of the issue (How does letting gay people get married threaten the quality of others’ marriages exactly?), when it comes to the abortion debate I can see where the other side is coming from. After all, if I truly believed that abortion was murder of a human being, I would feel a moral obligation to work to make it illegal, too. I think it was my ability to see the other side of the abortion debate that made me briefly question my beliefs last year after I miscarried.

I’m not sure what brought the idea to mind initially. I was lying in bed in the middle of the day, looking out the window and listening to the hum of the air conditioner while I let my mind drift. Suddenly I found myself wondering: if I am grieving like this for a nine-week-old fetus, how can I argue that it wasn’t a life? How can I believe that it’s okay to end a pregnancy on purpose if I’m this sad to see this one end for no apparent reason?

It didn’t take long for the answer to occur to me. I knew that I wasn’t grieving the loss of a life. Not yet. I was grieving for the loss of the hopes that I had attached to my pregnancy. For the plans I had made for my baby's arrival in April. For the transformation of my life and my self that I had looked forward to so eagerly. I wasn't grieving for "Elvis" (um, I'm apparently into the stupid fetal nicknames), but for the baby I had hoped Elvis would one day become.

Reading Sundry's post earlier this week about how having a child has tranformed her thoughts on abortion made me realize that I am still thinking about these things. It comes to mind on occasion when I feel Sticky kick my liver or shift so that I can feel her back through my belly with my hand. And once I give birth and hold her for the first time, my perspective may change again. I don't believe I will change my position on the legalization of abortion. I simply believe that it will add another dimension to the way I think about it.

Sugar rush

I was warned that the glucose tolerance test wasn't fun. Most of my friends complained about the sweet drink that they were required to drink. No one, though, thought to warn me about the sugar high you can get from gulping down 50 grams of glucose in about 2 minutes. More specifically, they didn't warn me about how it feels to have all that sugar wear off 45 minutes later.

So the routine test for gestational diabetes at my prenatal appointment on Tuesday was a bit of a surprise. I actually liked the drink: it just tasted like flat orange pop...or flat orange pop with a couple extra teaspoons of sugar mixed in. Then I had to wait for an hour to have my blood drawn. The first part of the hour went quickly because I was called upstairs for my check-up. But when I returned to the waiting room to sit, I realized I couldn't concentrate on my book at all. I was tired, hungry, queasy, dizzy. At least I got to make the office staff laugh by being (apparently) the only woman in the history of the practice to ask for another glucose drink. (I was sure that more sugar was the only thing that would make me feel better ever again.) They denied me, but the PBJ I'd brought along with me for after the blood draw did the trick.

Other than that, the appointment was good and easy. I am measuring about 29 weeks, which at 28 weeks is just fine with me. Sticky apparently had an early growth spurt, because at 22 weeks I was measuring 26 weeks. She's leveled off since then:at 24 weeks I was at 28. I guess we're leveling off now, and I'm not actually going to have an 18-pound baby. My blood pressure is lower than it was when I first got pregnant and I've gained less weight than I thought (when I started outgrowing some of my maternity clothes, I was worried), but still a healthy amount. As of now, I will have visits every two weeks instead of every four. That will be reassuring: I like to go in as often as possible to hear the fast little heartbeat.

Perhaps I should just get used to being embarrassed

I was talking to someone at work the other day and stopped mid-sentence when Sticky gave me a good hard kick. Delighted with the movement, I waited for another.

"Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, yes, sorry. What were you saying?"

"Well, you were saying..." I felt my face grow warm, as he reminded what we had been talking about.

Apparently a baby kick has the ability to completely reboot my brain. The next three months should be fun.

More nesting and other miscellany

Brian and I survived a trip to Ikea over the weekend. That's right, we are both alive and still married. Not only that, but we survived putting our new dresser together (no fighting and Brian only swore a little bit), and didn't even have to make a return trip as a result of missing or broken pieces. The Swedish furniture gods must have been smiling down upon us.

The store was amazingly calm for a Saturday morning. We got there just after it opened, found parking easily, wandered the store without being overwhelmed by crowds, and were able to bring the car around to the loading area without any problems. It was quite the contrast from when I first introduced myself to the gargantuan blue monster just off the freeway in Emeryville. That was shortly after it opened, and apparently everyone in the bay area needed cheap Swedish furniture. I was by myself, and somehow managed to enter through the exit. Since I didn't know anything about Ikea at that point, I was confused about why everyone was so excited about a big warehouse of flat cardboard boxes filled with furniture pieces. Eventually I found my way to the showroom, where I was overwhelmed by crowds as I moved in the opposite direction of the big arrows on the floor. I was never brave enough to return to an Ikea until after we moved to the east coast, when we made the mistake of attempting to buy new furniture the same weekend that all the new students did. That trip required about 3 return trips, all of which I made Brian do on his own on his way home from work. (I'm not entirely sure that Potomac Mills was on his way home, but he was the one who was taking the car each day, and his job was in Vienna which is in Virginia and Potomac Mills is in Virginia, so I assumed they must be near each other. My concept of the layout of this area still leaves something to be desired.) So making it through the store so easily was something of a relief. And we only came out of the Marketplace with three things we hadn't planned on buying.

Plus, now I have a cute little dresser that will be used as a changing table and can hold all of Sticky's cute little clothes. My nesting instinct is once again temporarily satisfied, even if I didn't convince Brian that we need a new dining room set. I figure all I need now are diapers and a carseat. That's all one really needs to have in order to have a baby, right? Well, and boobs to feed her with, but I've decided not to shop around for those and just use the ones I've got.

***

(Who needs a segue when you can just put three little stars up there and change the subject? Worked for Herb Caen.)

(Ha. I just compared me and my blog to Herb Caen.)

I've always believed in the mind-body connection, but in the past year that I've been regularly attending yoga classes--what I think of as real yoga classes, not just stretching classes--the connection has become even more clear to me. In my first trimester I was incredibly anxious most of the time. I continued to attend my yoga classes, find that they helped me relax for the hour and fifteen minutes I was there, and that that relaxed feeling often continued with me for a few days. I struggled with the balance poses, though. I've always been able to find my balance fairly easily and enjoyed the challenge of poses like tree and eagle. But during May and June, I felt incredibly shaky in those poses, often moving closer to the wall in order to give myself more of a sense of security

Yesterday I woke up in a foul mood for no apparent reason--the kind of mood that would have me bursting into tears when Brian asked me how I was feeling. I coaxed myself out the door to my prenatal yoga class, telling myself and Brian that yoga would straighten me out. It didn't occur to me until the teacher had us move into tree pose that my mood would affect my practice, but as I began to shift my weight onto my left leg--usually the side where my balance is the best--I felt wobbly. It took a few tries before I could remain in the pose without tipping over. Balancing on my right leg was even more of a challenge, and even in a warrior flow series I felt shaky.

Today I woke up in a much better mood. I'm going to a regular hatha class tonight, and I think my balance is going to be better.

***

My short term memory seems to be fading. I print a document, leave my office to pick it up from the printer, forget what it was I was doing, go into the kitchen to get a snack, and then return to my desk. Then someone else finds my document on the printer and brings it to me. I keep a notebook of all my phone calls at work, but I think I am going to have to record the details of all the in-person conversations I have as well.

***

I saw my first Monty Python movie over the weekend. Somehow, all I'd ever managed to see were Flying Circus episodes. A friend in college had a box set or something of those, and Brian and I spent a weekend with the flu our senior year crashed out in front of the TV watching those. Anyhow, the movie was hilarious, and I don't know how I went so long without that silliness.

***

Brian and I have met with a couple of doulas recently, and we settled on one easily. I had worried that we wouldn't like the same person, but in the end it was no trouble at all. One woman we met with for what we assumed would be a 30-minute interview. We talked with her for two hours and thought she was fantastic. Another came by our house over the weekend. Within a few minutes of her arrival, both Brian and I knew that we wouldn't be able to have this woman attending Sticky's birth. I feel like such a freaking hippy for saying this (but hell, I'm talking about doulas, so why not?), but the negative energy she gave off left me stunned. I have a feeling that she and I agreed on most things, but her approach to things that she didn't like were hostile andaggressive . We spent about half an hour with her, and after closing the door behind her, we looked at each other and said "Not her." At least she helped make our decision simple. And it was nice to know that Brian and I are on the same wavelength.

***

It makes me happy that there are nice people out there. I worried when I got to the Metro this morning and saw "MAJOR DELAYS" in red letters on the screen. My sciatica was killing me (I blame Ikea), and I didn't want to wait forever for a train. I only waited a couple of minutes, though, and when I boarded the crowded train, a woman promptly smiled and stood up to give me her seat. Most of the time, especially in the morning, I don't take a seat when it's offered, as I don't really feel like I need it. But since my seven-minute ride took half an hour, I was relieved to be sitting down.

But not so embarrassing I won't tell the Internet

You know what's embarrassing? Being caught crying in your office by a coworker.

But what's more embarrassing is trying to explain to said coworker that you are crying because you are very hungry and you just want to go to the kitchen and heat up your lunch, but someone recently reheated some fried chicken and the smell in the kitchen and hallway makes you too sick, and having the coworker offer to go fix your lunch for you.

And yes, I totally took her up on that.

Career change

We now return you to your regularly scheduled all-pregnancy-all-the-time programming.

I quit my job.

Okay, I didn't really. I am still here, still working away. But this week I gave notice to my direct bosses that I do not intend to return to work after maternity leave. It seems early to make this decision, but because of the way the work in this office is funded (all grants and contracts), I felt my bosses needed to know sooner rather than later.

I've been surprised how ambivalent I've been feeling since I made this "official." I've known since long before I got pregnant that I was going to stay home. It's what I want. It's what Brian wants. When I first announced I was pregnant, a couple of friends asked what I was planning to do about maternity leave, and I told them happily that I was planning on "maternity quitting." But whenever I was asked at work, I was non-committal, refusing to say one way or another what my plan was. Now I've said it, and while I am happy with my decision, I am somewhat anxious about it: I really enjoy my job; I am still paying off student loans for the degree that helped me get this job; and I have no idea what it's really like to be a mother. But this is what I want, for myself, for my family. (Oh, crap! We're going to be a family!)

I am a planner. Maybe I don't take it to the same extremes as some people, but I like to know what's going to happen in advance. Well in advance. And I like to be the one making the plans to make things happen. I don't like letting go control over plans. But I figured out this week that actually finalizing plans actually makes me a bit crazy. I guess that's why I plan a trip six months in advance, only to buy plane tickets two weeks before I leave.

So we have contingency plans. Lots and lots of plans to help settle my neurotic, hormonal mind. Right now the plan is to stay home for a few months and see how that goes. If it seems like it is the right decision, we'll stick with that. If I find that I am the kind of person who is just not cut out for being a stay-at-home mom, then I will can look for another job. I am leaving this job on good terms, but I think if I do want to continue to work, it is time for me to move on to another experience. That may mean moving back to the west coast; that may mean staying put in the DC area. I feel okay about that uncertainty because there is a plan in place for either of those options, as well as for the option of having me continue to stay home with Sticky.

It seems as though I've got all my bases covered (although I know there must be something I've leaving out), which means I can direct my anxiety toward reorganizing the rest of our closets.

Nesting

I always thought the "nesting instinct" was sort of made up, or at least that it would only set in during the last couple weeks of pregnancy. But last Friday when I was getting ready to leave work, I remembered how messy the house was and began to cry. I mean, I'm going to be bringing a baby into the house in four months. I don't know how to give birth or be a mother. But I clearly am going to be awful at it if I can't even keep my house clean. When I told Brian about my crying spell over the messiness, he was sympathetic and woke up on Saturday morning ready to do my bidding to get the house clean. I felt much better after that.

Until Monday morning. I went to get a towel out of the linen closet and realized how disorganized it has become. I sat down right where I was to cry for a few minutes, because dude, HOW CAN I BRING A BABY INTO A HOUSE WITH A DISORGANIZED LINEN CLOSET? Everything has since been pulled out, sorted through, and returned to its rightful, organized place. I have a sling, a few cute little outfits, and organized sheets and towels. What more could Sticky possibly need?

Expectations

My body image issues seem to be subsiding. Now that I am growing more and even strangers are able to tell that I am pregnant, I am more able to accept my changing body--at least visually. Instead of wondering if people think I've been making too many stops at the donut shop, they know that I'm pregnant, and that's a wonderful thing. (It also helps that my colleagues come by my office to ask how I'm feeling and tell me how fantastic my hair and skin are looking.)

But still I am struggling to accept the physical limitations that pregnancy is putting on me: I keep finding myself frustrated with things I think I ought to be able to do. Things I used to be able to do. A hike a few weeks back, on a trail that I found somewhat challenging (mostly because of my fear of falling) in April, left me limping with pain in my lower back for two days. In a recent yoga class, I discovered that plank pose, which has always given me a good arm workout, actually requires a fair amount of core strength--which isn't something I seem to have a lot of these days, not with an aching back and abs that are moving out of the way to make room for the baby. Speaking of abs, I used to be able to do 500 crunches. Now? Yeah, not so much.

"You just need to adjust your expectations," Brian keeps telling me. "Let go of your expectations," my yoga teacher says. "Practice non-attachment." Easier said that done, but I am slowly but surely taking their advice. While the rest of the yoga class does six sun salutations, I do four, moving at my own pace, putting up-dog in place of plank and cobra, rising carefully from my forward bend to avoid dizziness. I am cautious around the house, requesting that Brian carry laundry up and down the stairs for me, so that I don't do in my back again. I once walked a marathon, averaging a pace of 16 minutes a mile; now I walk a flat course on a treadmill, barely making it two miles in 40 minutes, so that I can keep my heartrate under control.

I figure this is good practice. All this letting go of expectations must be a rehearsal for motherhood.

Milestone

Yesterday on my commute home, someone offered me a seat on the train.

I was so suprised that I refused her offer.

Okay

When I went for my ultrasound last Friday, I was signing my file and noted the last date on it: “August 25, 2004,” I had written beside my name. I pointed it out to Brian.

“I don’t think I was thinking very clearly when we were here last year,” I told him. “I got the year wrong.”

I hadn’t been thinking clearly. I was terrified. When I signed that file it was part of the paperwork before the ultrasound to find out why I was spotting. I was nine weeks pregnant and praying silently that everything was going to be okay, even though I knew it wasn’t.

We had seen a heartbeat about two weeks before—a small, regular flicker on the screen—so I knew what to look for when the grainy black-and-white image appeared on the screen.

It wasn’t there.

I went home that afternoon to wait to eat ridiculous quantities of Ben & Jerry’s and wait to miscarry. I told my bosses, who didn’t know I was pregnant, that I was sick and I would be out for a few days. That was on Thursday. I didn’t miscarry until Sunday night.

I had decided Sunday afternoon that I would call the next morning to schedule a D&C. My fear of the anesthetic had made me decide to wait, but I was tired of waiting. I was ready to move on. I planned out the next couple of days as the cramping became harder to handle. I alternated between forcing myself to relax into child’s pose and pacing my bedroom, as I attempted to slow down my breathing and deny what was happening.

And then there was blood, lots of it, and the blood and the pain were something of a relief. At least I wasn’t waiting anymore. At least I wasn’t going to have to go to the hospital.

I took three more days away from work. Even though only one person in the office had known I was pregnant, I couldn’t bear to face anyone. I spent the days reading the news about Hurricane Katrina, eating ice cream, and talking on the phone and IMing with a couple of friends.

I didn’t want to talk to most people. When we told friends and family what was happening, we made it clear that I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone. But I needed those friends. Those friends who promised me that things would be okay. Who let me talk about it. Who let me talk about anything but it. Whatever I needed at that moment.

At least I wasn’t surprised by the intensity of the grief I felt. It seemed reasonable to me. It took awhile to work through, which also made sense, and when I began to reach the other side of it, I was very conscious of the change. I wanted to go out with friends again. I could look around me and appreciate the world. I wasn’t full of hate that I didn’t have any place to direct. I don’t think I was clinically depressed during those weeks, although I know Brian and my friends worried about it. I think I was dealing with grief in the only way it can truly be dealt with, and in the end I was okay.

***

It wasn’t until months later, until after my original due date had passed, that I got pregnant again. Sometimes I wonder about that connection. Knowing that day was my due date was sad, but I didn’t become depressed the way I had feared I might. I was simply very conscious of it, and I felt relieved when April 1st had come and gone. Getting through that date was freeing. I didn’t have a baby. I wasn’t pregnant. But I had made it and I was okay.

And then I was pregnant.

I was ecstatic and terrified. It had been too soon to test, but I had. It was too soon for the test to show a result at all, but when I looked down, there it was. I am not one who is willing to wonder if that second line is really a line. It was a digital test and it said “pregnant.” I was shocked.

Crying is my response to a lot of different emotions. I cry when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm confused. But when all those things hit at once? I freeze. It was four in the morning, and I was frozen. For an hour I sat, not thinking, not crying, not feeling. It wasn't until I woke Brian up and told him and felt his arms around me that I cried.

I told a few friends almost immediately—the friends that I knew I would need in case something went wrong again. One of them asked me how I was feeling about it.

“I’m okay,” I said.

“Really?”

"Well, I alternate among being blissfully happy, being in complete denial, and freaking the righteous fuck out. Which I think averages out to 'okay.'"

I was totally serious, and it’s completely true, even though typing it makes me laugh. I was terrified, but the joy of being pregnant won out. The checker at Whole Foods complimented my necklace, and I burst out with the news that I was pregnant. I called to schedule my first prenatal exam. I started thinking about baby names.

But every day I worried. Even when I would eat to settle my upset stomach and then feel sick ten minutes later because I had eaten, I would worry that it was all in my head. I felt guilty for being so afraid. The baby deserves for me to be happy. He deserves for me to love him, I told myself. And I did love him. That wasn’t something I could stop myself from doing, no matter how afraid I was.

Now “he” is a “she.” I’ve heard her heart beat. I’ve seen her little feet. People are starting to be able to tell I’m pregnant just by looking at me. Still, I’m anxious. But I just felt her wiggle.

Let the gender stereotyping begin!

It's a girl!

Ship-shape

I didn't think I'd have to confront body image issues while I was pregnant. Certainly I expected to be concerned about getting my normal shape back after Sticky is born, but worry about it now? When I'm barely showing? That's a bit of a surprise. Maybe that was naive of me.

Over the past couple of years as more of my friends have begun to have children, I’ve heard some of them complain about the weight they’ve gained, worrying that they’re getting fat. “You’re not fat,” I tell them. “You’re growing a baby. You look fantastic.” I didn’t understand how they could worry about their weight while they were pregnant. Then, back in June, I put on my favorite jeans and couldn’t get them to button. I knew I was pregnant and that I was supposed to be gaining weight. And in some ways I was pleased to know that something was really happening. But when I looked in the mirror I didn't really look any different, so I just felt fat.

I’ve never been obsessive about my weight. If I realize that I’ve been overindulging and that my clothes are feeling a little snug, I stop eating ice cream and start going to the gym a couple of times a week. I’m never what you’d call skinny, but I’ve found a size that I’m comfortable with and that I can maintain while still satisfying my love of all things sweet.

But I guess I'm a little more weight-conscious than I thought. Whenever I read in my pregnancy book about what I ought to be weighing at a certain point and realize that not only have I stayed within that range, I’m at the low end of the range, I breathe a sigh of relief. I carefully study photographs of myself and this new body to see if the weight's all in my middle or if I'm gaining all over. Floating around in the pool provides temporary relief from the heat and my sciatica, but I have been reluctant to go because it means going out in public in a swimsuit.

It is getting a little bit easier to accept the weight gain and changing shape now that I am feeling (and looking) a little more pregnant (although not enough that anyone's offering me a seat on the bus), rather than just tubby in the middle. Walking by a shop window last week, Brian pointed out a dress he thought I would like, but added, "I guess that probably wouldn't really work for you now, would it?"

"Nope. The waist is...well, it has a waist. And my waist is sort of...missing right now." And I could laugh about it.

Lesson learned

Even if it is beautiful and cool in the morning and there are views along the river that look like this:



and you get to see lots of little animals like these:









it's not a good to hike on trails that require you to climb over a lot of things like this:



if you look like this:



My back hurts. A lot.

Mt. Shasta

Last weekend Brian and I went to Mt. Shasta to attend a friend's wedding (which was the most beautiful wedding in the history of weddings, I'm pretty sure). I had never been there before, and I'm very sorry that it was such a quick trip to the West Coast, as I would have liked to spend more time exploring such a spectacularly beautiful area.




We stayed at the Shasta MountInn, which I selected based on the exclusively excellent reviews on TripAdvisor.com, where we had a view of the mountain from a cozy bedroom. The owner, David, is an incredibly kind man. When I called to make the reservation, he asked whether we were coffee drinkers and how long we were staying in the area. After we arrived, he made sure we had good directions to get to the wedding. The next morning, we sat and talked with him in the kitchen while he prepared a delicious breakfast. And when we left, he asked us to send him an announcement when Sticky is born. I actually think I'll take Sticky back there one of these days.

Also, I think I'm starting to look a little bit pregnant: