Melissesages

Today I finally began a pretty important Get Ready For Baby project: packing my suitcase. Ordinarily, I don’t think pregnant women pack their bag for the hospital this early, but since I already went into early labor once, I think it’s best to be prepared. And, since we already had one hospital stay, we have a pretty good idea of what we need…well, kind of. Obviously, Tyler needs clothes, and I would benefit from some pajama-type things, a set of clothes for leaving, and slippers (or in my case, Crocs, because I don’t want to pack my slippers away yet). Tonight I gave Tyler a lesson in Which Toiletries to Pack, since I will most likely be incapacitated when it’s time to leave, and he’ll have to take over shoving my daily toiletries into a makeup bag for me (He doesn’t know this yet, but I’m totally going to make him run a drill tomorrow). I also spent some time today picking out a few outfits for Mattie for when it’s time to leave - I know the hospital will have her in their clothes most of the time, but a girl’s gotta have choices for her big exit, right? I’m also packing a little blanket that we can bring home and show to the dogs, which I guess you’re supposed to do so that they get used to the smell of the baby and don’t try to eat it later.

Let’s see, what else…I spent more than an hour today searching fruitlessly for our video camera, which was been lost since we moved into the house (this makes me insane - it was at my apartment and I know for a fact that it wasn’t left behind, so where is it??!! If there’s anyone out there who borrowed it, please call me immediately before I lose my mind), I’m pissed that I can’t find it, not because I want to TAPE THE LABOR ITSELF, which I would never do. I’m sorry, and I know it’s wrong to judge, but people who film their kids’ childbirths are just messed up. Seriously, I can see no advantage at all, except maybe as a really creative and disturbing punishment for when the kid is a rebellious teenager. But it would be fun to film the first time the baby meets her grandparents and aunts and uncles, stuff like that. I’m not giving up hope on the video camera yet.

I also spent some time picking out movies to have around while I’m in labor. This proved to be a lot more difficult than you’d think: I want movies available in case it’s a long labor, so everyone in the delivery room has something to do besides stare at each other and my vagina. Makes sense, right? But what kind of movie do you watch while awaiting the birth of your child? At first I thought something mindless and action-y, since we’re not exactly going to want to be reading subtitles and discussing deep themes in between contractions. But most of my action-y movies have cursing and/or sex in them, and my mom will hopefully be there, so not so much. Then I was thinking comedies, but when I had contractions before, it really hurt my stomach to laugh, so that was out. Tyler and I own a lot of movies, but if you rule out all R-rated movies, all comedies, and anything we’ve seen too recently (because the goal here is to distract me, which doesn’t work so well if I’ve got the movie practically memorized), that doesn’t leave a whole lot left. Plus, I wonder what I’ll think of the movies I watch afterwards - will I forever hate whatever we watch, because I associate it with the excruciating pain of childbirth? Or will I have warm fuzzies because it was the thing we watched during the birth of my child? It also seems like it should be a movie that I respect, a good one, because it just feels wrong to be watching some disposable piece o’crap like, I don’t know, “Monster-in-Law” or “Just Like Heaven.” It should be a movie that’s timeless and awesome. Or more accurately, several movies, since I’m made to understand that this labor business can take awhile. So to review, the movies we watch in the delivery room should be:

1. Not R-rated
2. Not something I’ve seen too recently or too often
3. Not a strict comedy
4. Seriously respectable
5. A movie that I might risk hating forever after this

Tough, right? Here’s what I’ve come up with so far: “The Illusionist,” “Eternal Sunshine,” and the first season of “Veronica Mars.” I’d like to bring more than that, but out of our hundreds of movies, those were the only ones that fit all the criteria. So, if you’ve got an idea for a good movie to pack, or if you can think of something else I need for my suitcase, please feel free to comment below.

In these boring times, the smallest errand can seem like an adventure. Yesterday I took a trip to the Happy Bambino, Madison’s hippie-esque, overpriced baby boutique. The Happy Bambino reminds me of the kind of places you see in LA - it’s all about being organic, naturally stimulating, locally made, etc. Their motto is “Bellies, Babies, Breastfeeding,” which pretty much tells you where their priorities are. The store is known for being the go-to place to buy slings, those personal carriers (read: big pieces of fabric) that you tuck your infant into to carry them around with you instead of a stroller. It’s also where you go if you want to figure out how to make your unborn child an organic raw vegan, take a class (seriously) in cloth diapering, or buy handmade wooden toys that have no connection to any cartoons, websites, or film franchises. In other words, it’s the Super Mommy Superstore, or as I like to think of it, the home of the Hemp Mommies.

I have no problem with the women who harbor these attitudes - for their own kids. If you want to give birth in a really big bathtub, use only organic hemp cloth diapers, or raise your child on nothing but organic Whole Foods, more power to ya (actually, that last one I’d do myself if I could afford it. Whole Foods = delicious). My problem is that the people who have these attitudes try to spread them around, often in a manner that suggests anyone who DOESN’T do those things is somehow less of a good mother. Actual conversation overheard while I was in the dressing room: “Honestly, I just can’t see why anyone wouldn’t have a home birth in this day and age.” (Gee whiz, lady, perhaps because you could give birth in a hospital instead? Does anyone think that if I’d had Mattie two weeks ago at my house, she and I would be okay right now? I didn’t think so.)

If any of the Hemp Mommies found out I had briefly considered not breastfeeding (gasp!) or wondered if it would be worth having a C-section to avoid the pain of childbirth (faint!), they probably would have me stoned to death with jars of organically made, locally grown baby food. And the thing is, I actually like a lot of what the Hemp Mommies have to say. I’d like to keep Mattie away from the Disney Channel and rampant, toy-obsessed consumerism for as long as possible, and I think the trend of brightly colored, quickly edited TV shows for babies has got to be connected to the recent wave of ADD. I’m very mindful of getting organic chicken without all the hormones added, and I plan to stagger her vaccinations just in case there really is a link to autism. I think cloth diapering is very noble, and I respect any mom who can manage it, though I just can’t bring myself to deal with all that baby poo every day (and to be fair, I doubt our wheezy old laundry machine could handle it).

Can’t we all just get along? Can’t I pick and choose the lifestyle I want to have for myself as a mother? I want to try using glass bottles, and I like my prenatal yoga class, but I think those sling things look like the perfect way to have someone run into you and squash your baby, or have the kid spill out and crash on the floor (and if anyone’s dropping Mattie, I always figured it’d be Tyler). And I think the idea of me giving birth at home is the stupidest thing I’ve heard since Tyler wanted to put a toilet in the basement (not a bathroom, mind you - just a toilet, thus turning the whole basement into his own personal litter box). There’s got to be some common ground here. Isn’t it possible for me to give my kid an occasional Happy Meal - with milk and apples, of course - without getting the Evil Eye and prayers to the Goddess from the Hemp Mommies?

I don’t know, but sometimes within the next six months, I’m going to find out. In the meantime, though, one thing I have to say for the Happy Bambino - they sure know how to sell a good bra. My original purpose in going to the store was to buy a new pregnancy belt (this support thing that helps hold up your belly, which in turns helps with back pain and stretch marks) and a new bra, since I was down to wearing the same one over and over every day. (I washed it. Jeez.) I found a great pregnancy belt easily enough, and was stunned at the options for bras: These are maternity/nursing bras, people, which means that you can buy them before the baby is born, for comfort, as I did, and then use it while you’re breastfeeding. Because they’re designed for nursing, these bras are incredibly complex - there are all these little straps and hooks so that a tiny portal can open for the baby’s mouth. There are also little removable plates in there, to protect (I assume) you from leaking all over your shirt, and I swear, a number of straps added just for the sake of confusion. If there was a really girly female Transformer (and really, why isn’t there?), it would transform into this bra, which I’m convinced was designed by NASA. It is, without a doubt, the most expensive bra I have ever owned, and the first one to actually kind of intimidate me (putting it on cannot be that different from putting on a parachute rig). But it’s sooooo comfortable, and I haven’t even taken it through its paces yet - wait until I have a baby and can see if the thing will actually Transform properly. Space Bra, your day will come.

You’d think that this entire time off work would be pretty dull for me, but up until now I’ve actually kept pretty busy. There’s always an errand to run, like to the grocery store or the library, or one day my dad came to visit, or I’ll accidentally sleep in until 1 (yesterday), or get motivated to work on the house. But today is the first day that I’m actually just bored silly. Sure, I could work on the house, or read, or watch a movie, but I’m not in the mood. I have Cabin Fever.

Why do I want to go out so badly? Because I can’t. In the last 24 hours, Madison’s gotten over a foot of snow, and there’s more coming tonight. My car looks like it’s wearing an enormous white blanket, and while I’m not necessarily snowed in, there’s nowhere to go - almost everything nearby is closed, and I don’t need any groceries. All my friends are at work and/or live too far away to feasibly drive in these conditions. Even Tyler and I’s baby class, which was supposed to start tonight, is cancelled (first class is supposed to be a tour of the hospital anyway, though, and we pretty much have that one down).

Boo.

On the bright side, I’m finally, finally writing again, as of last night. I thought my leave of absence from work would be the perfect chance to work on, and maybe even complete, my book, but as I said, it’s been pretty busy. Last night, though, I finally sat down and worked on some plotting stuff, and started back in. Hooray! It felt great.

Other than that, there’s not much to post about on my side of things. I spend my time doing chores, watching TV, playing on Webkinz (yes, I know, but I’ve been honing my checkers skills) , running errands, reading, etc. And that’s about it. Last night I had my first real exercise since the hospital, at my prenatal yoga class. I like the class okay - the positions we do are pretty gentle, and it’s nice being around other pregnant women - but I gotta say, the instructor is a little more into the Eastern Religions side of yoga than I’m comfortable with. At the end of the class she wanted everyone to do a singing-chant together…I respectfully declined. This is why I like Pilates better - yoga gets deep into the spiritual stuff, whereas Pilates was invented by a German dude during World War 1. It’s about the exercise, not the spiritual well-being. I have nothing against spiritual well-being, but it’s not exactly something I seek out during an exercise class.

Last night Tyler and I ventured out to get our Christmas tree. It is, by far, the most beautiful tree I have ever owned personally. It is, of course, a real tree (I have nothing but scorn for fake Christmas trees - shame on you people), it’s about eight feet tall, and a Douglas fir, and just gorgeous. Tyler and I walked around the freezing cold lot for ages, going back and forth, and then I found this one way on the far side of the lot. I called Tyler, and we had one of those awesome couple agreement moments where we both looked at each other and went, “That’s the one.”

I don’t know that Tyler entirely understands my fondness for Christmas. I think it has a lot to do with the concept of tradition - I’ve had many changes in my life, lived in different places, etc. And I’ve been in vastly different places for the Fourth of July, my birthday, school, etc, but there’s always been one stalwart constant: Christmas. Every year, I know exactly what I’m doing on Christmas Eve, without fail. It’s always the same, and always wonderful: when I was little, it was because of all the presents and getting to play with my cousins. Now that I’m older, the presents are nice, but there’s not much I respect more in life than the tradition of the holiday: buying and wrapping presents, baking cookies, making travel arrangements, all the intricate details that are just the preamble. On Christmas Eve, we have lunch at my Aunt Stacy’s, and all the cousins goof around and play video games and watch trashy daytime TV. Then everyone goes home and gets ready (those with small children go to the 4:00 church service, to see/participate in the Live Nativity), and we gather again by 5 at my house for Christmas Dinner. There’s always a ham, which is always delicious, and recently the older cousins like myself have also been permitted wine, which adds a fine hazy sheen to the proceedings. After dinner all the kids whine and run around impatiently while the grownups take their sweet time doing the dishes, and then we all troop over to my grandmother’s for presents. This is hilarious - ten minutes in, the floor is so covered in discarded wrapping paper that you have to keep an eye on your small child. After presents, we go the candlelight service at church, and then go home to await Santa.

I could go on - there’s another whole day of this stuff - but the point is, it’s always the same, and I love it for that. I think we all know that Christmas, as it has been for more than 25 years now, can’t go on like this forever: eventually people will start to pass away, or the cousins will start marrying off to people who want to partake in their own families’ traditions instead of ours (we’ve been lucky so far - six of us have grown up and gotten married or in long-term relationships, but nobody’s missed yet), and then it will start to disintegrate. Along with that deeply ingrained tradition, Christmas has a sense of enjoy-it-while-you-can for us. I can’t imagine doing anything else, and there’s not much in my life I wouldn’t rearrange in order to make it.

Unfortunately, Christmas for me is a little up in the air this year. With my recent health scare, the doctors have forbidden me to travel for the next few weeks. But I made a deal with my doctor - she’ll see me on the Friday before Christmas, and if everything looks good I can go, as a special exception. Hopefully that will work out, but there’s a chance I might miss this Christmas for the first time in my 25 years of life. Scary.

Anyway, the fact that I might not make Christmas this year has made me all the more obsessed with it. I’ve been playing Christmas carols, decorating, persuading Tyler to get the tree, etc. (this is, no doubt, not helped by my recent increase in spare time - yesterday I was so bored I started putting temporary tattoos on my stomach. Hilarious, but kind of sad, too). I’m not like, wearing reindeer sweaters and running around tell ing the nativity story to strangers or anything, I’m just celebrating in my own way, dragging Tyler in my wake. Because next year, I’ll have a baby I can introduce to the holiday, and even if it’s not the one I had, I’m going to make sure she has a tradition she can count on for her whole life. Because there’s nothing like knowing, every year, exactly where your place is, no matter what else has happened to you. Mattie will have that, no matter what.

With all the craziness of the last week or two, Tyler and I have been stretched pretty thin. We’re both capable of having fun with just each other, in the house, but when you’ve been house- or hospital-bound for days, it does start to suck the fun out of things. On Monday, I decided that Tyler and I really needed a Date Night.

I’m a huge believer in Date Nights for the married or terminally committed. It’s not just because I like to go see movies, which I do, or because I like eating out, which I also do. I think that doing dinner and a movie when you’re already committed to each other is crucial because it gives both parties a chance to relax and be the fun, non-stressed version of themselves, which is theoretically the person that the other party fell in love with. When you go to dinner, or go to a movie, you both get to be exposed to something outside of the day-to-day routine, and apart from your regular worries. Right now, for example, Tyler and I are both worried about how we’ll be paying for me taking a month off work, not to mention the extensive hospital bills we racked up last weekend. We’re also both really concerned, of course, about my health and Mattie’s health, whether or not we’ll be able to go to Chippewa for Christmas (okay, that one’s mostly mine), how to keep the dogs from jumping on my stomach, whether Melissa will lose her mind in daily isolation, etc. This, you can see, would be an excellent time for a Date Night.

Unfortunately, I just don’t have that kind of clearance right now. I’m off bed rest, but I’m supposed to take it easy and, based on an experimental trip to Shopko yesterday, I get tired and stiff very easily. And then my belly starts to hurt - I don’t mean my stomach, the part where hunger and fullness and contractions and baby kicks happen, I mean my belly itself, the outside. When I’m vertical for very long, I start to feel like the balloon that’s been stretching out under my skin is threatening to stretch farther than my skin will allow. This is not a great feeling.

So, in lieu of an actual date, I decided to just tag along with Tyler last night when he went to go pick up more stuff for the nursery. That’s right: we had Date Night to the Home Depot.

Ah, the Depot. It’s Tyler’s favorite place in the world right now, with his current obsession with home improvement. Going to the Home Depot with Tyler is kind of like going to a bakery with a diabetic. Or just a kid at a toy store. He wants to buy everything, and a usual exchange goes like this:

Can I buy a miter saw?
No.
A table saw?
No.
What about just a router?
How much does it cost?
$100?
No.
Well, what if it only cost $60?
No.
What if it only cost $15?
No.
What if it cost $5?
Sure, show me the router that costs $5, and it’s yours.
(brief pause while Tyler pouts)
Tyler, what would you even use it for?
Well, a router is really cool because you can make all these designs with the wood-
I understand, but what would you use it for, like today?
You mean right now?
Yes.
Umm…(talking really fast) well, nothing right NOW, but in the future I could use it to make all kinds of cool-
No.

At this point, I sort of feel obligated to go with him whenever he goes to Home Depot, just to keep him in line. (Want more metaphors? He’s like a reformed philanderer in a brothel. An ex-pothead at a marijuana convention. Augustus Gloop at Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. You get the idea) But surprisingly enough, we had a great time last night. We looked at Christmas stuff, wandered around until my belly hurt, discussed exciting topics like where to hang up a paper towel holder in the kitchen, and so on. We even tried to make me a spare key to Tyler’s car, finally (interesting sidebar: Tyler’s Corolla, which I generally think of as a piece of shit because of the shit-like condition in which he keeps it, is actually sophisticated enough that there’s a chip hidden inside the car key. If you try to start the car with a chip-less, copied key, the engine won’t turn over. Who knew? I would have newfound respect for the Corolla if this wasn’t just generally another pain in my ass. Stupid car.) And just for fun, because we were having such a great time, we followed up the Depot with a stop at Copps for a few essential groceries.

Who said married people don’t know how to have fun?

Sigh.