Category — Occupation (Pregnancy)

No baby yet.

Just because I know that’s the first thing on your mind. Jeez, don’t you think about anything else? Me? I’ve moved on. Just because this baby prefers the inside doesn’t mean that I have to think about the birth every day, hope for labor to start, jump up and down a little, complain unceasingly about how uncomfortable I am, look at my new stretch marks every day to see whether they’ve grown…

See how composed I am?

Anyways, it came to my attention that I missed my third anniversary of keeping this blog.

I am endlessly glad that I started it. Here I have grown as a writer, I have kept records of years of my kids’ lives that I might have otherwise whined my way through, and I have transitioned through major things with the help of my blogging community friends. Thank you so much for reading and commenting, and there are things that I maybe wouldn’t have been able to get through without you.

Community is a grand thing.

Like the way I can tell you about the fact that the water hasn’t come for three days now, and we are hauling water out of the well, and you’ll sigh and sympathize. (Maybe. Maybe you’ll say, “buck up, woman, what did you expect when you moved to India?” And then you’ll say, “we’re hauling? Don’t you mean, Chinua’s hauling? He’s the one who needs our sympathy. And you should be glad that you have a well.” And then I’ll say, “See- that’s exactly the kind of thing that I needed to hear! Now I’m going to go kiss Chinua- or the Well Man, as I’ve begun calling him.”)

So, since I’m celebrating doing this blog thing for three years, I’ve been peering into my archives and picking out favorites, which you can see in my new Favorites tab up there. See it? I have a looooonnng way to go and they are in no particular order right now. Maybe later I’ll put them in a comprehensible order. For now, just be blessed by the chaos.

And for my present, if there are any lurkers interested in delurking… I love you! Leave a comment, if you’d like.

That’s all. Have a lovely day and think of me when you turn your tap on.

I think I forgot, somewhere along the line, that I am pregnant.

Or maybe I forgot that pregnancy ends with birth.

Doesn’t that hurt?  Right?  I’m scared.

And then after you don’t get to sleep a lot, right?

And there’s milk, I remember the milk.  Lots of milk.

Oh yes, and the newborn cheeks and the sweet smelling breath and the kissable forehead.

And there are those little grunting scritching noises.

And the lack of heartburn.

And the curled up bug on your chest.

I guess I can do this birth thing again

(A tablet is a thing you write on and it makes the marks right on the computer like magic!)

PS: While I was uploading these pictures the water came back.  Jaya was not happy with how much we paid to have it fixed.  She says we should have asked her first.  Which is true.  But I am going to take a shower tonight and to me that is all that matters.

Over it. Over it.

I’m totally whining, but I’m at that point. I would like to have this baby now, thanks.

We got a kick out of this:

Not pregnant.

Just kidding!

I know, it’s not really that funny. But the backs of my elbows are pretty funny, don’t you think? And my glasses are a bit crooked, since someone in the family (maybe me) sat on them or something. That’s funny, too.

Right before I had Leafy, I took some time to write out all of my birth stories. It was a good preparation for another birth experience, and I felt so happy reading through them again, just now.

If you are interested, you can read them too.

The Blackberry Baby

The Ladybug Baby

The Redwood Baby

All of our kids have been born in memorable places, at memorable times. We’ve been blessed by their arrivals, three sweet times, and it helps me through my hip pain (have I mentioned my hip pain?) and general complete discomfort right now to read about the wonderful end results of this thing called pregnancy.

Of course, I do have the kids themselves to remind me of the joys of babies. The kids, with their love and cuddles and sweetness and demanding voices and shrieking and fighting and running the opposite way when I am too big to get up and run after them (Leafy). Oh. Um. Sorry. I may be a little exhausted right now.

Seriously, I know that I am a woman blessed, and my kids are my favorite people in the world.

Now, if only I had a little more energy…

(Chinua snapped the photo, a few weeks back.)

Well, today I was planning to just go ahead and write a post. I felt inspired! My hands were twitching! That can be a good indication that I’m ready to write again, as is the fact that I fell asleep thinking up this seriously strange post that I do believe I’ll write someday.

Anyways, I got ready to write my little posty-poo, and saw that I have somehow lost the ability to upload photos. I assumed that the latest version of WordPress had caused my version to no longer work. I guess I’d better upgrade- finally, I thought to myself.

And then I broke my blog.

And then I had a panic attack, partly because I was trying to fix my blog at the same time as potty train my two-year-old. NOT SMART. There may not be two more frustrating things in the world than web code and two-year-old boys who are leaping between the potty and the toilet, refusing to pay attention and finally peeing on the rug.

Web code probably wins the pull-your-hair out competition, though.

So, then, yes, I burst into tears. I was pretty afraid that everything was gone. I was mostly afraid for the three years of writing that have gone into this website. I felt a little like throwing up. And my husband stroked my face and was nice to me. And I hit myself in the forehead a few thousand times.

And then suddenly, I fixed it. But, as you can see, it’s still slightly broken. There are strange messages written all over the page. What can they mean? And I still can’t upload any photos.

However, it will have to wait, because I’m tired and pregnant and wanting to hang out because today is the first day of our family reunion. Remember, though. I’m no professional.

Pregnancy update: I’ve reached the point in this whole pregnancy schtick where I have two companions who make themselves known at many moments during the day.

The first is, of course, my wittle baby. Tap tap tap, he/she says. Tap tap wriggle. It’s code for I love you.

The second is heartburn. And it burns burns burns, the ring of fire. It’s code for you are going to regret eating anything at all. Ever.

I have a new post on Burkina Faso up at LJUrban. And I haven’t been making it known here everytime I post, so you can see the archives here if you’ve missed some.

Can I just say that I have scrambled eggs in my head instead of brains? Packing scramble. Today I waved goodbye to a bookshelf, which made me feel like I am getting somewhere. It was one of those weird full circle things that happens sometimes, with those of us who have lived at the Land. The bookshelf was in Elena’s cabin, until she gave it to some people who lived in another cabin, and then the next people who moved into that cabin inherited it, and then they gave it to me. I brought it here when I moved, because it is a good little bookshelf, and then today, I called my friend Elena, and asked her if she wanted a bookshelf. Turns out that she and the bookshelf have been friends before.

See what I’m saying? Scrambled eggs.

Throw three young children into the packing mix and it is not always that pretty. Add the fact that I’m practically comatose by 9:00 PM, and you have an impossibility. (And a rhyme!) I’m also ordering things like backpacks and sleeping bags online, while deciding which books to ship, and which ones to store.

However, I had some high points today. Sitting on the floor singing alphabet phonics songs with Leafy and YaYa. The little cuddles I snuck in with all three kids today. The kids painting on paper with their shirts off. And THE BOMB Spanish rice that I made tonight.

When I was pregnant with Kid A, I had a thing for Spanish rice. I traveled from Taqueria to Taqueria, looking for the perfect rice. If only I had the recipe then that I have now.

I have no fancy pictures for you, but if you love rice, and you love Spain, you might just love this recipe.

Ingredients: 1/4 cup cooking oil
2 cups long grain rice (I used white)
1 onion, diced
1 bell pepper, diced (I used red)
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 3/4 cups chicken broth (no msg)
3/4 cup tomato sauce
2 tsp salt

In a skillet that has a lid that fits, sauté the rice in the oil at medium high heat until it is golden brown. You’ll need to stir it quite a lot. Throw the onion and the bell pepper in when the rice is golden brown, that’s golden brown, and sauté them for a few minutes, then throw the garlic in too and sauté it for a few minutes.

(The garlic will burn if you leave it too long, I know this to be true.)

Now pour (don’t throw) the chicken broth, tomato sauce, and salt in (you can throw the salt if you want) and turn the burner up to high. Bring the soupy ricey stuff to a rolling boil, and let it boil for a couple of minutes, then turn it down and simmer with the lid for twenty minutes.

That’s it. Oh gosh, it’s sitting in my fridge right now. What do you think, should I fold laundry? Or eat more Spanish riczzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Snore.

Kid A, with his face pressed against my belly.

“Hi Muffin.
I’m your big brother.
I love you.”

I am still fighting with this monstrous headache, so in the interest of keeping it positive, here’s my list of why this pregnancy rocks.

1. I’m sleeping through the night. Didn’t happen when I was pregnant with YaYa, or Leafy really, for that matter. Sleeping through the night when you are pregnant is a nice perk. And I guess I should say, mostly. There is the occasional bad dream (Kid A), wet bed (YaYa), or lost pacifier (Leafy) to deal with. But I didn’t sleep through the night a single time from the day Kid A was born until the day we moved to the Land when YaYa was fifteen months old and she decided she liked the quiet of the woods. Of course, at that point, I was almost ready to have Leafy.

2. We don’t live in one room. This is the first pregnancy that I’ve experienced where I haven’t been sharing a room with my snorkly kids. (Snorkly sounds like this: snorkle, sniff, cough, snorkle.)

3. I have a comfortable bed. First time, yo! With Kid A we slept on a futon that was the consistency of cement. Why we did this for so long I cannot fathom. Oh yes, we had a blank space instead of a bank balance. But still, the floor would have been more comfortable. And then there was the bunkbed with the quarter inch foamy on top of metal rails. Oh, you don’t really want to know. But now. Well, I’ve already told you how I love our mattress. (Sultan Husted from IKEA, if you want to know. We just have it on the floor. Perfect.)

4. My Superstar Husband has truly learned how to be a the Superloving Husband of a pregnant woman. Emotions? He can handle them! Do I need space? Take the space you need, baby! Dying and you can’t move another inch? He’ll pick up tacos on his way home! This is not to say that he doesn’t still need reminders. Or that he has in any way improved in the Valentine’s Day sector. But then, neither have I. And everyone needs reminders.
5. I have a washer and dryer in my house, that I am not sharing with twenty people. This is a first. This is not undervalued by me.
6. I’m not changing diapers. JUST KIDDING! Ha ha ha ha, ho ho hee. Not changing diapers. Chuckle.

7. Spiced tortilla chips from Trader Joe’s. Today I bought three bags of them. Three bags.

So, I’m bearing in mind that this is all short lived. Soon I will be quite possibly sleeping in a tent on the ground with my entire family, wondering why I complained about that futon. Then again, I have been longing for this kind of travel for years, so maybe reason 8 that this is the best pregnancy so far is that I will walk through this one in many different countries. I’ll remember that when I am craving salsa in a country where salsa does not exist.

Is a pickle with a slice of Jarlsberg cheese wrapped around it considered food?

Why is my eyelid twitching all the time?

What will help me stick to my schedules instead of writing them out and then ignoring them?

Does googling endless queries about mosquitoes and shipping containers count toward preparing for a big move?

Why do my children take great joy in pretending their basmati rice is a pile of little worms (maggots) while they eat it?

What does it say about you if you realize that the only piece of furniture you don’t want to leave behind is your mattress? (and memory foam topper?)

Speaking of sleeping, how does one rid oneself of crazy tormenting dreams about mean people?

Why does the movie Anne of Green Gables soothe me so? And why did I think the acting was perfect when I was a kid?
Where did YaYa’s other pink sock go?

Why does Leafy swing from cuddly saint to terror child?

Why does Kid A swing from melancholic tyrant to sunny delight?

Who poured my glass of juice down the drain?

Where do those tiny K-nex go?

Why is exfoliating so delightful?

Why are my dreadlocks so linty? (I’m going to write a song called lint in my dreads. It goes, Lint in my dreads, Lint in my dreads, I’ve got lint in my dreads, lint in my dreads, like that. Maybe I’ll add a verse that goes Trying to get it out, trying to get it out…)

What it is about a down comforter?

Do I like Chinua’s face better with a beard? Or shaved?

How tall will my kids be when they’re done growing?

Why is it so hard to find a decent cup of tea in a coffee shop?

How do people find time to style their hair? Maybe they choose to do it because of the lack of lint?

How many years will it take me to knit this sweater?

Am I the only one who is repulsed by sweets when I’m pregnant?

Did you know that my friend Chad is turning eight this Leap Year? Which means he’s really thirty-two? (I could actually be wrong about that. I think that’s what’s happening.)

What’s the funny sound my van is making?

And finally, whose idea was it to put cheap plastic toys that are really candy dispensers next to the cash register at Target, causing me to have to have a discussion about what is cheap vs what is quality every single time we go?

And whose idea was it to invent a toy for little girls called Bratz? Who does that help?