betterbutter

hail, hail, the gang's all here!

Friends, meet Henry.

Details, forthcoming.

Percocet, thank you.

proving that i can complain about things other than pregnancy

Still here, friends. Still pregnant. I'd much rather talk about cilantro though.

For the last nineteen days the American grocery store, the cheap grocery store, has been out of cilantro. I know this because I have gone almost every one of those days to check on the status. Nothing. The Japanese grocery stores don't carry it and, worst of all,  I cannot make posole without it. Frankly I'm just not accustomed to this lack of choice. It's my red, white and blue right, right?

The American within me is pounding her fists against such injustice. She says things like:

What do you mean I don't have the option to take my business elsewhere?

This is a monopoly and that's illegal and I'll sue you!

My incessant complaining about the cilantro debacle in combination with my never-ending pregnancy prompted Joe to plant some cilantro seeds. Indeed that was a clever and thoughtful way to get a respite from my jabbering. And while nothing has sprouted since the implantation two days ago, my hope has been restored. I just may have cilantro again. Viva El Cilantro!

The case of the missing cilantro is not my only concern with the American grocery store. By concern I mean complaint but I'm trying to give the impression that I do things other than complain. But lately that's not true. I digress.

There's a tipping racket abrew at the American grocery store which is made all the more remarkable in a country where tipping just doesn't happen. And the Japanese customer service sans tipping is some of the finest around. Among a long list of Japanese things I'd like to import to the U.S.A.customer service lingers in the top five along with convenience store onigiri. If you have designs on visiting these parts do stick customer service in the PRO column.

So after your groceries get bagged they immediately get transferred to the bagger's cart which is not your cart which means that you are not at liberty to push your own cart out to your car and unload your groceries for free. Instead the bagger and his cart follow you and do what you could have done except now it's not free. If it's not an option to have my groceries carried for me then doesn't it follow suit that I shouldn't have to tip for that service? In the store there are several prominent signs learning you that these baggers work for tips. I didn't hire these folks and I don't have a choice about partaking in their service yet I am responsible for their wages?

Another injustice, I tell you. The American in me feels betrayed.

blame it on the rain

There's no earthly reason to summarize the list of self-inflicted wounds I've granted this here body of mine. As an older version of my same self, I get it and I also don't get it and sometimes I still even ache for that girl. And then some days that girl fits right back into my life and there I am biting my tongue to bits and loving, craving, needing each sting. The wisdom I have on this subject is fairly Hallmark and I'm satisfied with it. My take is that most of us handle stress and anger and frustration and disappointment in one of three ways. Sure there's crossover and other slants on the topic but I prefer to keep these boxes simple and neatly labeled.

1. People who push all their uglies out on those around them.

2. People who keep their uglies inside and punish themselves.

3. People who tackle their uglies and move onward and upward.

No need to get all dark and shadows on you. That's not my point exactly.

It's just that Eli is beginning to sort out which of the three camps he belongs to. So far he hasn't exhibited much in the way of being able to handle frustration or fear or anger in a balanced fashion. He tends to inflict pain on others or himself. While I'm at a loss for how to handle him when he pushes other smaller kids on the ground or gives a good unannounced swat to a stranger's face, I don't feel genetically or historically bound to it. But when he takes glass bottles and bangs them against his head or bites himself or intentionally runs into the glass window, then I feel exposed and responsible and shattered.

This he gets from me, I think.

He's so young yet I know. This is likely all a stage. And so and so on.

But this morning when he bent down like a triangle and repeatedly bounced his head off the floor because he couldn't get the lid back on the yogurt container, I cried from a faraway and hollow place. I snatched him up and snuggled him senseless and promised that I would do my best to guide him towards a healthier way to handle all the fast balls that come his way while I'm around. I have certainly learned some of that myself.

This is me three days past my due date. For the love of all things shiny and pink and light, I need less time to ponder my poor, over-extended belly button. Somebody tell me to get over myself.

But nicely. I cry easily these days.

drat. phooey. shasta. damn.

Apparently Henry hasn't finished his list of things to do in my uterus. Perhaps he's a real tidy boy and wants to put things back before he leaves for drier pastures. Or perhaps he's scared to let go of the comfortable routine he's made for himself in the womb. It's hard to say what's holding him back but the doctor assures me that there are days, maybe weeks, between Henry and his birthday. That pretty much  renders the baby conversation a dead end. So until I disappear unannounced or can't stop myself from complaining ad nauseum about how my belly button may rip and split me open like a cherry tomato, until then, I will change the subject.

Um, well, yeah.

Looks like I'll need a moment to reacquaint myself with other subjects.  Go ahead and talk amongst yourselves.

somebody is late for a very important date

I'm overly gestated so bear with me, pretty please.

Most things that are due come with due dates. Those due dates have meaning. If you turn in a library book past it's due date then you get fined some pocket change. If you turn in a term paper after the due date then your grade goes down. Unborn babies aren't hip to these rules yet. That means that today, which is Henry's due date, there is really no promise of his arrival. This situation is beyond my control. I have not an ounce of leverage here. There is nothing to hold over his head. Plus I want him to like me so I won't be laying down rules within his first precious hours of life outside the uterus.

Yes, I know his arrival is impending but I'm uncomfortable with this waiting thing. I don't much like a surprise. I have unwrapped and re-wrapped Christmas presents and manipulated friends and family into disclosing anything closely resembling a surprise. I want dates and arrival times and itineraries. I want to make plans and back-up plans and emergency plans for when all other plans fail. I demand charts and graphs and phone lists. And cooperation!

Instead I am making a grocery list for the week full of sandwich-like meals that can be put together with or without Henry. I am yielding to Henry and his unannounced arrival. As it probably should be. I managed to control Eli's birth so this surrendering  is truly a lesson I need and am reluctant to learn. Sometimes I am relaxed and open to the mystery of his birth and embrace all the unknowns of it. Then I get caught up in how he really ought to be born on the 17th or the 20th as homage to my friends who were born on those days. Also, if he goes past the 21st then he'll no longer be a Gemini and I just don't want that to happen. I want a Gemini son not a Cancer. I just don't want any kind of Cancer in the house. These are petty details but in my weaker moments I cling to them and think that I should push for an induction to get Henry out on a day that I desire in a birth sign that I desire. And it all seems fairly reasonable until I type it out.

Hi, I'm controlling and selfish.

when the hell is blast off?

We are waiting for Henry to make a shove towards the exit. He's three days shy of his estimated time of arrival. I know these due dates are approximations but they might as well be bonafide promises. Every day after the 13th I will consider him late. I won't hold it against him forever but my patience will run thin. That mostly means that Joe will suffer my non-stop whining and crying and moaning. So Henry, your timeliness is appreciated. I do not want to delay the gratification of you for even a day.

I did not have any labor signs with Eli so this is new turf for me. He was a week late followed by induction and wrapped up with a c-section. I'm hoping to go as close to hippy as possible this time. No induction. No knives. As for the drugs, I'll enjoy them. That's why I'm not a good hippy. That and I love Target.

According to every source I can get my hands on, I am showing some signs of early labor.

1.  There is some tolerable cramping about the belly. It comes and goes in no clock-able fashion but it did wake me up several times last night.

2. There are sharp, shooting, over and done with pains to the crotch-al region which must be Henry's head (full of unruly brown curls) grinding up against some central nerve I own.

3. There are charlie horses in my high inner thighs that would embarass you to be seen with me in public. These horses demand an immediate downward-facing dog position no matter whether we're in the grocery store or the pool.

I can't wait to know what it's like to HAVE a baby as opposed to having one removed. I want the show to start now. It's raining. There isn't a ton I feel like doing. Henry's aafely within the range of Gemini. Joe's home for the weekend. Now would be an excellent time for the boy to arrive.

Tick, tock.

every one is gentle in reality

Damn rain. It just won't let up. These days Eli and Maltsby prop themselves in front of the windows and bang and pant their grievances to all the passersby. Only a couple of more weeks of the rain and then ABRACADABRA it will vanish. Presto chango. So we've been told.

Meanwhile, I can't get The Cat in Hat out of my mind.

The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sait in the house
All that cold, cold, wet day

Meanwhile, my Grade A cousin, Marie and Raehan are bringing  rays of cheer my way with a virtual baby shower. How incredibly dandy is that? You all, you pummel me with thoughtfulness. I'm beaming.

Meanwhile, every one is gentle in reality. You and all the monsters. Thank you left and right and up and down. Bring on the wisdom, friends.

if you're happy and you know it

Proof that I am not nesting but instead laying around counting my fingers. As for Eli, the boy can stomp his way around any mess.

knick knack on my gate

On with the countdown showdown between Eli and Henry. Eight days out. We'll start with now and finish with then.

Now as in June 5th, 2006:

I demand that the freezer get itself  full of frozen, healthy meals that can feed us for weeks post-partum. I don't want any helping hands to worry about making food. All available helpers should pour over Eli and Henry and moi. And somebody is going to need to take Maltsby for a walk here and there. All morning I have been fretting over recipes. I'm mostly empty-handed.

So you all cook, right? Do you have anything that is easy enough to make in bulk, freezes well, is full of veggies (or fruits or whole grains or nuts) and does not contain cream of mushroom soup?

Help a pregnant lady out, would you?

Then as in January 11th, 2005:

My body is not my own anymore. It aches, strains, groans and wakes without permission from me. It's almost rude. I do remain in control of showering and eating but everything else is determined by Eli. This is natural. This is natural. This is natural. I am as excited to meet Eli as I am to have my body back in whatever shape it is returned to me. Is it too much to ask to know when it will be returned to me? I'd like a specific date and time. Now. 

Eight lessons that pregnancy wants to teach me

Fear is a choice. And it's been an easy choice for me when no one is around to tell me to quit nursing it.

All the unknowns won't kill me.

Having patience is the only way to stop the unknowns from killing me.

Nine months has been a decent amount of time for me to wrap my mind around who I'm becoming. Mom.

Eight hours of sleep a night is no longer necessary or realistic. Four or five may be just as good.

Managing my own life has been good practice (or the only practice) for managing little Eli's life. Same basic principles. Eat well, sleep, love, learn, trust, let go and risk. Obviously, I haven't had very much of his life to practice with yet. Soon.

The physical body transformation of pregnancy is not fun for me. I have not embraced or unearthed the beauty of the pregnant body.

I'm able to reproduce. The science of pregnancy catches my fancy. My systems are a go therefore I must be fully operating human.

I don't claim to have learned all of these lessons. Not even close. Pregnancy just set them all neatly at my doorstep. I'm still scared of plenty and impatient with many. It's a new awakening or angle on some persistant life lessons. I'll keep up my studies and work on being a better and better me. I hope I'll recognize myself from day to day.  

knick knack on my spine

I have nine days until Henry's due date and then another week before an induction is mandated by the medical powers that be. I would like to avoid the induction since it increases the risk of my uterus rupturing. I am interested in keeping that risk minimal. I don't like things to rupture in any fashion especially not body parts. So here we are nine days away from this slippery little due date. These last days are unfolding nothing like a travel itinerary. I cannot complain if the arrival is delayed or early or if there's turbulence or if my seat is uncomfortable. I just need to surrender and let Henry be Henry. And I'm pretty okay with that. More okay than I was with Eli at this very time. Not that I remember how I felt because this memory of mine is a weak and unreliable muscle. But I wrote some stuff down while it was happening. And, whoa, that was a different story.

Here's where my head was nine days before Eli's due date which was really sixteen days before he made his bald debut.

In the early months, I wondered if Eli had all of his limbs. After several ultrasounds and doctors assured (and reassured) me he was intact, I then worried that he didn't have command of those limbs. No longer. The boy has full command. In fact, he is entirely capable of moving each limb at the same time rendering me momentarily crippled and sick to my stomach. It is unfortunate that no one else is around to witness his talents. Should you care to take a gander, my schedule is open for the next nine days.

Now back to the fanfare...

Nine questions that won't stop their asking

What exactly do I want to eat? 
Will Eli have hair? If so, what color?
Will I think he's cute no matter what?
Is he healthy?
Am I ready to use my breasts as a food source?
Can I make it to the end without any stretchmarks on my belly?
Why is the due date so much more concrete than Eli?
While delivering, will I say or do things I regret?
What if I am never able to wear my old clothes?
When will Joe come home?
Will Maltsby be a good big brother?
Do I believe in maternal instincts? And will they kick in?
When it finally occurs to me just how enormous and real this endeavor is, will I survive?

That's more than nine but, believe me, this was a short and above-board list. I'm practicing restraint and modesty is all. I'm under the impression that that's what a good mother would do.

I sure was wound tight, tighter, tightest.

While I have questions this go round, I am not haunted by them. Also they are much more concrete. Where will Eli go while I'm in the deepest throes of labor? Will I have to have another c-section? How long will it take me to recover from whatever type of delivery I have? My questions today are more immediate. I'm less focused on my ability to be a mother.  I'm definitely curious to concerned about how I'll balance two and a marriage and a dog. But it isn't consuming me.

This is all good news. It's like I done and grew up a smidge.

Stay tuned tomorrow for a NOW and THEN comparison of eight days before the due dates. The Eli versus Henry countdown shall continue. Get here early though. The house will be packed.