Terror

Today is the first day of my third trimester.

Terrifying! Completely terrifying! Everything’s going well, everyone’s relatively healthy, I’m relatively comfortable, I’m learning as much as I can about labor and childbirth … but there are just no preparative measures that can calm the terror.

Yesterday, while still on vacation, I got sick in the morning. Pain and nausea and difficulty breathing. Before I’d recovered, I foolishly traveled south to a family home in Beaver Dam, which is just on the Arizona side of Mesquite, Nevada. I was overheated, underfed, tired, and just stupid. I started feeling better after drinking about six bottles of water, planting myself on top of an air conditioning vent, and hearing some good gossip (the best medicine). When I get a surge of adrenaline it’s amazing how much energy I have – but at the same time my tolerance levels have become astonishingly low. I’m not very patient or tolerant of intolerance, and won’t notice how miserable I am until someone mentions that I’m flushed and panting like a dog.

I’ve been very wary of swelling – because for me, vanity is a great solace. And so far, I can’t surely say that there has been any irregular swelling, in my legs or arms. But now I’m in the third trimester! The first trimester is supposed to be awful, the second a breeze, and then the third is supposed to be awful again. My thus far unmarked belly is supposed to become an abstract splattering of stretch marks, with a terrifying linea negra splitting me down the middle. My legs are supposed to become the size of tree trunks, with vericose veins wrapping around them like snakes. I’m supposed to waddle and lose my jawline and have contractions. Terrifying! Already putting on pants or tying shoes is a brobdingnagian task.

I should be grateful that these are the least of my worries. I couldn’t ask for a better pregnancy, or a more active, constantly reassuring baby. Every doctor’s visit has been perfect, and yet I’m still terrified that after my next appointment (on Tuesday), everything will tumble downhill, and I’ve wasted my beautiful comfortable second trimester moping and avoiding. But really, my vanity is the string holding everything together. If I lose it, I’m afraid I’ll break right in half. Vanity is what makes me accomplish things, what makes me interested in other people. It’s my brand of self-confidence. If I don’t like what I see in the mirror it won’t be long until I stop laughing at my own jokes or reading my articles and patting myself on the back.  It’s a short road to an inferiority complex and a life without meaning.

I try to be as aware of that road as I can – because if I’m aware of a personal trait (barring physical or mental illness), I’m in control of it. The more aware I am of how dangerous it would be to lose my vanity, the harder I’ll hang onto it. It’s a precious commodity. Today I’m saving my life by getting a trim, a new hair color, and an eyebrow wax.

This is difficult for me to write – I don’t like sharing with people very much. I haven’t practiced, and so am pretty terrible at it. But there’s something so liberating about being open about things – not caring who knows the truth. I’m not to that point yet – I don’t want anyone to know the whole truth – but every step towards transparency takes more stress away than it adds. I should mention that my main inspiration in being so open on a personal blog is Ev’Yan of Apricot Tea. Hers is also a fashion-y blog, but she is so honest about her life and relationships.  Sure, it can be honestly called a meeting of exhibitionism and nosy surveyance, but it’s helpful. Comforting. I used to dislike blogs like hers, but reading a well-written personal account is … well, it’s important to me.

I should mention two other blogs that I love who are also very very open about their personal life: Pacing the Panic Room and Dustpan Alley.

Sigh. I feel better now.

Ten on not-Tuesday but who cares, really?

I haven’t done a Ten on Tuesday in about an eon. This is bad because people like people who are consistent. But it’s good because I’ve got about an eon of archived posts to choose from, and can weed out the lists that I don’t have good answers to. This one’s taken from April.

It was originally titled “Ten signs you’re getting older,” but this presents problems. First of all, I don’t exactly know who “you” are. My readers aren’t a specific demographic, as far as I can tell. Also, this blog isn’t about “you.” Honestly I enjoy writing about myself so much more than I enjoy writing about other people. So the title has been changed:

Ten signs I’m getting older

1. My dad is practically 60. He’ll be actually 60 in November. How old do people have to be to start getting social security?
2. The whole pregnant thing.
3. I’m tempted to mention college, but I’ll probably be there for years. It will be a sign of age when I graduate. Because I’ll be 30.
4. Every time I do something irresponsible or immature I feel a little more guilty for having done it.
5. Several of my close friends are married. A few of them have babies.
6. I have 7.5 nephews and 1.5 nieces. The niece that has already been born is … like 16 or something. Very old. Wearing makeup.
7. I can cook a few things without creating any major disasters.
8. I have a birthday coming this month. Yikes.
9. I’ve officially run out of bookshelf space. Books are now being stacked near bookshelves. This sounds very college dorm-y, but the truth of the matter is that I caved in to book-stacking after seeing Martha Stewart do it. So it’s grown-up, I promise.
10. I harbor a genuine fear of getting any older.

7.2.08

Too lazy rebellious today to work with the real non-web camera, move the laptop from its regular perch, edit the photos, or even move that jar of Skippy out of the frame.

I’ve prettymuch been posting every day that I get dressed up to see people. Which really says something about my social life. BUT – I went out of town for the weekend and did bring/wear post-worthy outfits. However, once I got to my destination, I realized that I went there to be surrounded by highly religious folk. Inner-beauty folk. So I figured the coolest way to be cool was to look like you don’t care about looking cool. So no pictures. I took seven pictures total – one of a blurry mountain, two of my dad looking like a badass driving the Porsche, and three of geese.

The smile is aimed at Winston. The dress was probably a poor choice, seeing as today is terribly terribly rainy. I wore a black cotton trench coat when I went outside, and I’m considering taking a hat out with me tonight. Not sure which hat. But really, this outfit is terribly boring. I figure it’s post-able because it’s not that one pair of jeans that still fit me with a t-shirt. Oh! Also, I got those shoes at this adorable and unbearably warm thrift store in Green River, Utah, on the way home from Colorado. The kind of thrift store that has no air conditioning and used to be a gas station and sells shoes for fifty cents each. It was lovely, but unfortunately so hot that I had to leave rather quickly.

Belly! Little miss baby has been kicking and stretching so much more these last couple of days – she’s getting really strong. Her constant stretching and uterus-exploring makes me make the kind of faces that compel strangers in the supermarket to ask if I’m feeling well.

I might do a post about Colorado soon. I’m thinking a bulleted list, plus a picture of the geese.

Conversations with my cat.

Me: “Winston, do you want to feel the baby kick?”
Winston: “If by ‘kick’ you mean ’scratch mah belly’ then yes.”

Puppies.

6.19.09

Everything is thrifted

2nd visit to the chiropractor was today, and I feel much much better now. I got dressed yesterday as well, but it was basically the exact same outfit. The pendant is a sliced up geode. Because I’m from Utah, and we love our geodes.

Today makes 24 weeks! It isn’t much different than 23 weeks. But the baby weighs almost a pound and kicks all the time, and is about 8 1/2′ from crown to rump, if books are to be trusted.

Lovefest: Pastels, quotes, and a pregnant chick

As usual, the photos are the links.

I really love this. I want to get some white tights and find my missing oxford, and wear pretty dresses. Found at The Fashionist.

No picture for this one, but I love Gala Darling and I love Jonathan Safran Foer. Beautiful convergence here.

Coolest pregnancy photos ever! She’s over 30 weeks, now, but today marks the beginning of my 24th weeks. Found at Pacing the Panic Room via I *Heart* You.

6.16.09

Vest: Thrifted (same as yesterday); Necklace: Thrifted; Tank: Gift from mom, bought at Target; Jeans: Thrifted (and unbuttoned); Sandals: Thrifted

Last night was awful and I want to complain about it. Feel free to skip over all the text here – I probably would.

I’ve always had back/neck problems (I went to a physical therapist every week for almost six months for my neck and it didn’t fix it), and being pregnant has really aggravated them. I can’t sleep on my back, and I can’t use my neck-stretcher long enough or often enough to make much of a difference. The neck-stretcher is pretty self explanatory – I strap my head in, lay down on the floor, and pump it until there is about 15 pounds pulling my head away from my body. This separates the vertebra and stretches the muscles/tendons/everything else. Yes, it is sexy. Usually works pretty well, but right now I can’t lie on my back without cutting off circulation because of my big fat belly.

Anyway. On to last night. I put off going to the chiropractor for too long, and it caught up with me. I felt uncomfortable but functional at a late-night breakfast at Denny’s, but about 45 minutes after coming home my neck became insufferable. I couldn’t lie down, I couldn’t sit or stand because holding my head up made it worse. I took a couple Tylenol, tweeted about it, and hopped in the shower. Doctor says the only pain relievers I can use are acetaminophen, caffeine, and heat. After the shower I tried to get back to bed, but really it had only gotten worse. So I walked around the back yard for about half an hour, trying to think of solutions that didn’t involve me having to wake up my dad – we live in the same house, he in the main home and I in an attached mother-in-law apartment. This was at about 2:30 a.m.

So, by that time I couldn’t stop crying, which was just making it worse, and I couldn’t think of any good solutions – there are no 24-hour chiropractors in Utah Valley, and it seemed silly to go to the hospital because of neck pain that I should have fixed days ago. So, I woke up my dad.

My 60-year-old father is really the best man I’ve ever met. I like him more than I like Harry Truman, Barack Obama, and Winston combined. Even though he shouldn’t have to be the guy who has to wake up because the pregnant lady can’t sleep, he didn’t complain once. In fact he encouraged me to inconvenience him as much as possible whenever I feel like it. He massaged my neck by hand for at least 20 minutes, even though it’s a pain in the ass and I know he hates it. And he did this with a recently severely injured hand.

Since my apartment was out of hot water, he let me use up all of his, which helped a bit more because his shower has great water pressure. Afterward he offered to give me another massage, but I said I could just go to bed. I was totally wrong. Without any heat or pressure it just got worse, and I had to wake him up again about an hour later. This time he used a device specifically made to massage backs (thank goodness he can’t turn down a good clearance), and it helped so much. It was kind of cool because the baby would kick a lot when he was using the massager – I think she could feel or at least hear the vibrations. Dad then loaned me a heating pad and vibrating pillow, and with the help of these two things I was able to get two precious hours of sleep.

After the two hours, I took another shower in the apartment, and another in the house. Then I was at least able to lay still in bed without crying or fidgeting until dad got me out of bed and drove me to the chiropractor.

The chiropractor – a wonderful, polite, to-the-point old man whom I would recommend to anyone – scolded me slightly for not coming in earlier, and then twisted me up like Emily Rose. And now I’m feeling much better.

Being pregnant really sucks sometimes. Any tips would be appreciated.

6.15.09

Everything is thrifted.

Eh, boring. I’ll probably stay home all day, so I mainly got dressed for the sake of the blog.

Yikes. That’s a terrible angle. But yes – the belly’s still big. Especially when I dress it in bright yellow. (Remember this dress? See me looking much better in it here.)

A word on sleeveless skirt-dresses: It’s difficult to find a bra that works with sleveless skirt-dresses, because often even if you’re willing to let some straps show, the bra becomes very obvious under the dress. Wearing a skirt as a dress opens up your wardrobe in wonderful ways, but the elastic just above the bustline really makes everything bunch in odd ways. My solutions:

• Vest it. It really makes the silhouette less worrysome. Your boobs can go basically wherever they please and the vest covers it.
• Buy a bandeau. This gets rid of the weird bra-cup drama, which you can witness in the post I linked to earlier. However, unless your body is extremely obedient, the girls will seep a bit further from center than you want. This is especially heinous if you want to belt it. I’m sure there are some bandeau bras with underwire out there, but … they’re not usually in thrift stores. So I have no idea.
• Get a bodyslip. This is what I’m wearing above – it’s basically a cylinder of spandex, with a bit of shaping between the boobs. You still have the side-seepage problem, hence the vest. And of course this would only work if you’re relatively small-chested.

6.9.09

Everything is thrifted.

I’ve got to conduct an interview later on tonight, and that is a reason to get dressed. Reasons like this are few and far between these days – I actually really love it.

The dress is a white negligee mumu from the thrift store, with the sleeves and yoke cut off. This is actually a very clever trick to get an infinitely flexible dress for hardly any money at all. Thrift stores tend to price old ladies’ nightwear on the low side, and even though they may be horrendous on the rack, a pair of scissors can fix that in a matter of minutes. This particular dress had an awful quilted insert yoke with a bright floral design. With some dresses (like this one), I’ll leave the yoke. Sometimes you have to draw the sideseam up a bit, or the armpits are huge. But other than that, it’s terribly easy. Next time I buy one I’ll perhaps maybe if you’re good do a tutorial.

This is the first post using the remote on my new (ish) camera! I’m still getting used to it, obviously.

I was able to close the vest this morning, but that became an impossibility after breakfast. Still, I like the vest-over-dress thing. I used to use it primarily to slim my silhouette, but it’s nice unbuttoned, too. Also, I’ve been really really missing the boots/tights/cutoffs/men’s buttonup combo. I want to wear it every day. But it’s too hot, and too few of those things fit.