Beauty in Difficulty

If there is one good thing I can say about pregnancy (and as of yet, I certainly don't have very many...) it is that I love the way that this process is binding my husband and I together, strengthening the bond made previously.

I hear that doing difficult things is good for you.  We have had quite a lot of difficulties in our short 3 years of marriage.  (Good heavens!  Has it only been 3 years?)  From the beginning it was rough.  I am fully aware that many people's beginning years are far worse than ours.  But ours have had their... uncomfortable moments.  It reminds me of going to the doctor and getting poked and prodded, and they ask me how I'm doing.  I'm uncomfortable.  It could be worse.  There is a 10 on that pain scale.  So I tell them I'm fine, and I just try to deal with it until it's over.  Going directly from the honeymoon weekend to living in his grandmother's mobile home with my father-in-law sleeping across the hall, things were uncomfortable from the get-go.  I was grateful, certainly.  But I also wanted a house, (or a mobile home, or an apartment,) with no one else in it.  After a couple of months our place was liveable, so we were able to move.

I will spare you the details of our next year and a half, but suffice it to say...  It was still uncomfortable.  And throughout all of that time, I cannot say that I enjoyed the difficulty one bit.  My husband and I fought about things.  Sometimes they were worth it, and sometimes they weren't.  In the first 6 months of marriage I remember thinking, We fight way more now than we ever did when we were dating.  What is wrong with us?  I no longer think anything was wrong with us.  I hear it happens to most couples, and that first year and a half were hugely stressful.  I contribute most of the fighting to that.  I dwelt in a constant state of mild depression and complete overwhelmedness, (which spell check tells me is not a word.  I disagree.)

Since we have relocated and gained a broader emotional/physical support system, things have been easier.

Enter our little Jelly Bean.

As you can read in my previous post, and if you've ever carried a child, you certainly know...  This is most definitely one of the hardest things I have personally done.  I am almost always an emotional wreck, and I am extremely needy.  (You know those people who want to lock themselves away in a room while sick and stay in there until they feel better?  I'm not one of those people.  I just want to cry while you hold my hand.  No, I'm serious.  That's really what I want.)

Since nausea set in in week 6, I haven't cooked a real meal.  Our house is liveable, with what my mother calls "discernible paths."  I wash clothes when we run out of underwear.  Or jeans.  Or socks.  Needless to say, my husband has to do most of the things around the house that get done, and he has to do them after a full work day.  So the difficulty is mutual.

But throughout all of this, there are these little moments that I will cherish always.  Moments like the ones where I erupt in tears, and all we do is hug, because really, what else is there to be done?  When I look at him and say, "I know we had plans, but I just don't think I can make it today," and he looks at me and says, "Okay, we'll stay home."  And that's okay.  When in the middle of the night and he's dead asleep, he rolls over and rubs my belly.  (And it's adorable.)

Through most of the difficulties that we've had, I've felt like there was some force trying to tear us apart.  (And undoubtedly, there has been.)  But this time, it is so special to have this difficult little growing life driving us closer together.  It is supernatural in all of the good ways. 

And it has only just begun.

Confessions of a Pregnant Woman

My husband and I have been married for 3 years, and for the first time we have an answer to the annoying, and seemingly incessantly asked question by our peers, parents, friends and students.  "When are you going to have kids?"  Surprising in the first year of marriage, annoying in the second, hurtful in the third after 9 months of hoping for conception.  But we now have an answer.  April.  We will have a kid in April!
Now, to get past all of the nagging questions about whether we prefer a girl or a boy...  While sure, one gender may be a little less intimidating than the other, why waste time hoping either way?  We have a 50/50 chance, and setting ourselves up for any kind of disappointment seems silly.  Do not talk to me about Chinese fertility calendars, threaded needles, what position the child was conceived in, etc.  (And that last part is none of your concern.)  I will bypass the ridiculous tests and quizzes.  I do not want to pee on Drano crystals.  I'll find out the "old fashioned way," (maybe not so much...) and just wait for the sonogram.

Already in month 2, I've had the thought many times, I thought this should have been easier.  Amazing that something the size of a poppy seed, (half a pea, pinto bean, cherry) can so forcefully change the way you do life.  Routine no longer agrees with my body, as it seems to demand things NOW!  Otherwise, I pay for it later, bowing before the porcelain throne.  I have an alarm set for 2am so that I can eat, in hopes that I will wake sans the compulsion to cradle my "puke bucket."

Nothing is the same.  Heaven knows mornings are not the same.  Church is not the same.  Sex is not the same.  House cleaning...  God, please forgive me for making my husband live in a pig stye.  Cleaning requires standing.  Standing causes nausea.  Not even sleep is the same, which seems kind of silly, considering there are no outward bodily changes.  It's not lack of physical comfort that causes my nights to be weird.  It is the dreams.  I have always had weird dreams, but never before have I had such strange dreams about food.  I've dreamed in detail about a deliciously iced, pink-and-white marbled peanut butter cupcake made by a friend.  My friend told me I could have one, but that I had to buy any additional cupcakes I wished to consume, about which I was completely dismayed.  (The cupcake never happened, but it should.)  I dreamed that I threw a stomping, fist-banging fit in a restaurant because my order was not taken soon enough, and I was pregnant and starving.  I've dreamed that rather than serving wafers and grape juice for communion, our pastor decided that we would have a buffet, (a la Golden Corral.)  Not only was a buffet moved to the front of the sanctuary, but our pews were modified with railing to slide our trays, in order that the guests could eat and listen to the sermon simultaneously.  Strange, strange, strange...

My husband swears I am crazy, although I feel the same way about him.  Is it possible that the husband can be hormonal and irritated?  Because I assure you, it's not me.

But as I write all of this out, it is far easier to feel hopeful about it, because this all just sounds like the hormonally-crazed rantings of a pregnant woman.  And that is kind of comical, because I was somehow convinced that I was above it.  Guess not.

Please bear with me as I am somewhat antisocial.  I am taking a break from the general public beyond my necessary duties of work and volunteering.  It's not you, it's me.  It's all me and this little cherry sized alien inside me.  And by all means, if you do see me, do not ask me how I feel.  I'd rather not think about it.  If I feel good, I'll let you know.  Otherwise it's safe to assume I wish I had my puke bucket.

About Me

The last time I faithfully kept a blog was around the time I graduated high school.  A lot has changed since then, and I feel the need to reintroduce myself to the world wide web.  (Or as I like to call it, the webbernet.)

I grew up in a strange, but beautiful family.  I was homeschooled my entire childhood.

There is a certain stigma that the homeschool community carries, and it looks something like this. 

But my family was different!  Well, maybe not so much.  My brother might have looked kind of like that...

I do feel the need to clarify that I am not a brainiac.  I did not attend the national spelling bee, neither did I get into college when I was 12.  Some homeschooled kids are smart like that, but I think those kids have a lot more self-discipline than I did.  And possibly crazy parents.  I spent most of my time wishing I was in public school, because I craved social interaction.  My family considered me a social butterfly, which may have been true by their standards, but only because I was so starved for friends.  

My mom owned a small business in the community, and working the shop was counted as part of our education.  In high school I did my mom's books for about a year and a half.  We carried on more conversations with adults than with kids our age.  So adults loved us, but kids tended to think we were kinda weirdos.

To a certain extent, this is still the case with me.  While I consider myself to be pretty well socially developed, and yes, I am capable of participating in conversations with people my own age.  Most people who meet me are actually surprised to hear I was homeschooled, but then give me this look like, "Oh.  That makes so much sense."  People almost always think I'm mature for my age.  Mature and... well... different.  (Which is still just another word for weird.)

Some of my friends refer to me as "an old soul."  I don't believe in reincarnation, but I see their point.  I tend to be more connected with an older way of life than most of my friends.  I value silence in the house, (my husband and I used to fight about the TV frequently.)  I know how to knit, crochet and spin, and was learning these things since I could count my age on one hand.  (I mentioned that my mother owned a business.  I failed to mention that I can technically say that I grew up in a yarn shop, because it was based out of our house for years.)  I know how to can, and have stories of peeling apples until my hands were brown.  I love a good county fair!  These are just a few of my old lady attributes.  They are an intrinsic part of me.  Most people either love them or hate them, but most will notice them within a couple of conversations with me.  I cannot separate myself from them, no matter how my husband sometimes wishes I could.  (And when he dies, I will undoubtedly be the infamous cat lady of the neighborhood, sitting on my front porch in a rocking chair with my basket of cat hair-covered knitting.)

My husband and I are an interesting couple.  They say that opposites attract, and this is true of us.  While I am very pointed and sarcastic on my blog, I tend to be much more soft spoken and non-confrontational in person.  My husband says what's on his mind, regardless of whether or not people take offense at it.  He is a product of the public school system, and proud to be so.  Our getting together is somewhat of a miracle, because previous to dating we both had decided that a strictly platonic relationship with the other was all that the future would hold, and that was just fine.  The following are actual thoughts, and in my case, spoken feelings.  "I am so glad that God did not call me to marry that guy."  My husband's thought-  "I would never date her."

Our relationship was, in a sense, the beginning of my understanding how most teenagers and young adults think.  My vocabulary was modified, not so much adding words as changing the way that I said things.  While I was aware that certain things could be twisted to resemble sexual innuendo, I had absolutely no idea that 85% of the things that I said were a that's-what-she-said joke to the rest of society.  I read some of my blog entries and cringe at how my verbiage must have been perceived.

My husband is a technology lover.  Me?  Not so much.  I appreciate some things.  Cell phones are awesome.  The DVR is pretty cool.  Netflix is the best!  But there are a lot of ways that I just feel like technology makes things unnecessarily complicated, and I just have a hard time with them.  This blog, for instance, has been (and will continue to be) completely changed to keep up with the times.  All my husband's doing, of course, because I have a hard time working the thing. 

While there are many, many quirky things about me, the last thing that I will say here is that I love to talk.  I have a certain Anne of Green Gables quality.  I have had many a conversation after which I think, Would it have killed me to shut up?  I tend to ramble and come to a verbal conclusion the long way.  For this, I apologize. 

You will get to know me better in my (hopefully) upcoming posts.  But until then...