All about Button

(L to R: Amy, me, Karla & Megan.) This photo was taken at my dear friend Amy's baby shower on March 7, 2010. You can see my round belly pretty clearly in this pic. I feel HUGE! Amy is due April 14 and I am due June 2. These girls are like family to me. We—along with our friend Tonya who lives out in Idaho—have been friends since elementary school or junior high.


When I was pregnant with Adam, I wrote him a letter every month, referring to him affectionately as gender-neutral “Wee One” since we didn’t know if we were having a boy or girl. I wrote about how I was feeling and what I was doing and how scared and excited and anxious I was and my hopes and dreams for our firstborn.
I feel guilty because I haven’t done that this time around with “Button.” It’s not that I’m unexcited about this pregnancy, and it’s not that I don’t have the same hopes and dreams for Button, but I just haven’t had it in me to write. Everything about this pregnancy has been different than when I was pregnant with Adam in 2007, and when I say everything, I mean everything.
For one, I didn’t get a little plus sign when I peed on the stick until the end of October, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember the date of my last period. Prior to that I had taken two pregnancy tests (one in September; one in October)—both with negative results—so assumed I had missed my period and was feeling tired because I was training for the Twin Cities 10 Mile race and was running a lot more than usual. I took a third pregnancy test on a whim one night only because we happened to have an extra one in the cupboard and I had been talking about my “weird cycles” with close friends earlier that day. Adam was asleep and Aaron was at volleyball, so it was just me and the stick. I waited a few minutes and checked it, thinking I was going to toss it in the garbage can like I had the others, and HOLY CRAP! I may not be good at math but I know what a plus sign looks like. The worst part was waiting for Aaron to get home from volleyball so I could show him. He was just as surprised/happy/nervous as I was.
We knew the exact date we had conceived Adam. With this one, I had no idea. I had already made a doctor’s appointment for my annual exam, so I knew I could talk to my doc in a week or so. At the appointment, I told my doctor my predicament, and hoped she wouldn’t think I was a complete idiot for not being more in tune with my body. I mean, I have friends who can tell when they’re ovulating (really?!) and I couldn’t even tell that I was pregnant! She reassured me that I wasn’t an idiot. She did a routine pap, asked a few questions, then gently felt above my abdomen, right above my pubic bone. “Your uterus is much larger than what it would be if you were only a few weeks along,” she told me. “Let’s get you an ultrasound today.”
Unfortunately, the ultrasound lab was booked for the rest of the afternoon, but I was able to make an appointment just three days later. For three days I worried without having a legitimate reason to worry. What if I received the bad news that my pregnancy wasn’t viable? Isn’t the statistic like one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage? Now that I knew I was pregnant I was actually pretty psyched about expanding our family.
I returned for my ultrasound and was overjoyed to hear the ultrasound tech announce, “There’s your little baby! And there’s a good, strong heartbeat!” I think any woman who has had a fetal ultrasound can tell you that it’s surreal when you see a living being on the monitor and that the living being is INSIDE YOU. She did a few measurements and then said in the same casual tone you’d use when talking about the weather, “It looks like you’re about ten weeks along.”
Say what?!?! DID YOU JUST SAY TEN WEEKS?!? Like, I’m-almost-done-with-the-entire-first-trimester ten weeks? I was in shock.
She printed out the ultrasound photos of our cute little inch-long baby and wished me luck. Ten weeks?!?! I stepped outside to call Aaron at work. Ten weeks?!?! He was just as surprised as I was.
The doc wanted to go over my ultrasound results that same day, so I waited around for another hour and went into her office with a huge smile on my face.
She wasn’t smiling.
She told me there were some things that looked “concerning” on the ultrasound and she wanted me to see a specialist right away. I came down off my high pretty damn fast. Concerning? I’ll blog more about that experience later … the gist of it was that the doctor was worried that our baby’s intestines were growing on the outside of his/her body and I needed to see a maternal fetal medicine specialist—and maybe even a genetics counselor— before we’d know anything more specific. I have never been so terrified in my life. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t concentrate. I obsessively googled terms that I shouldn’t have been googling without knowing all the facts. (Sometimes too much information can be a bad thing.) I hope I never have to go back to the maternal fetal clinic—it’s where all the high-risk pregnancies wind up—because it is so nerve-wracking when you’re wondering/worrying about your developing baby. It makes you feel totally helpless.
The day we were there a visibly pregnant woman was sobbing loudly in the lobby. You don’t typically see sobbing pregnant women at your ob/gyn. (not in the lobby, anyhow) From what Aaron and I gathered, she had probably just discovered that she had miscarried. She was absolutely devastated. A doc came out to the lobby to give her directions to the hospital, where she was advised to “check in immediately” after she left the clinic. We overheard the doc saying something to the couple about a D&C. A close college friend also had to have a D&C after a miscarriage and I was curious what it stood for. Here’s an explanation, courtesy of www.americanpregnancy.org: “D&C, also known as dilation and curettage, is a surgical procedure often performed after a first trimester miscarriage. Dilation means to open up the cervix; curettage means to remove the contents of the uterus. Curettage may be performed by scraping the uterine wall with a curette instrument or by a suction curettage (also called vacuum aspiration), using a vacuum-type instrument.”
It sounds so cold and clinical (I guess most medical procedures are). What it doesn't explain is the psychological damage—and utter heartbreak—a mother experiences when she loses her baby.
The poor lady was hysterical and her husband was trying to speak in a soft, soothing voice to calm her down and she kept babbling about how she’s going to have to pull her preschooler from school and who was going to watch him and his teacher already didn’t like her and what was she going to say to everyone?
My heart broke for her.
I was a bundle of nerves going into that ultrasound. I was on the track team in college and I used to get nervous before races, but those nerves were nothing compared to these nerves. Those nerves were baby bunnies; these nerves were T-Rexes. I give those doctors and nurses a lot of credit, though. What a hard environment to work in—day in and day out—and they were GOOD. They were kind and friendly and efficient and reassuring.
I felt like I was holding my breath until we had the ultrasound and the tech said, “Everything looks just fine, the intestines are exactly where they’re supposed to be.”
Everything looks just fine. Those have got to be four of the most beautiful words in the English language. Thank you, God. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
The specialist came in to go over the results with us and told me that all babies go through a period of development when their intestines sort of bubble outside the body before going back in through the umbilical cord, and because my doctor probably didn’t typically look at ultrasounds before 12 weeks, she wouldn’t recognize this as normal. She then asked me if we wanted to do a first trimester screening blood test and ultrasound, to identify the baby’s risk for specific chromosomal abnormalities such as Down’s Syndrome, Trisomy-21 and Trisomy-18, “because I was at the advanced maternal age of 35 and I was already at the clinic.” After what I had gone through—worrying and agonizing about what could be wrong, beating myself up about the situation—it took me all of .2 seconds to announce, “No, no more tests.” I wasn’t going to put myself through that again. If something was wrong, we’d (hopefully) hear about it at our 20-week ultrasound. And even if our baby had a chromosomal abnormality, we wouldn’t terminate the pregnancy, so why bother with the test?
The whole experience was a real wake up call that all of the stars have to be perfectly aligned in order to have a healthy baby. I will never take that for granted again.
Other differences with this pregnancy: I was MUCH more nauseous (but only threw up twice, both times in the evening), I started showing much sooner (normal the second time around, after everything has been stretched out), I had terrible backaches in the second trimester, and I get up constantly to shift positions or go to the bathroom, sucking the energy right out of me. I went to a Guster concert at the zoo when I was 38 weeks pregnant with Adam—at the end of July—and I hardly thought twice about it. I remember having to sit while everyone else was standing (annoying peppy little college kids) but I don’t remember thinking it was all that unusual that I was there. And it was an evening concert. And I ENJOYED it!
Now I get tired if I try to stay up past 9 p.m.
I also feel like my belly is more cumbersome than it was with Adam. I’m carrying my weight differently. There are days when I wish I could hand my belly to Aaron and say, “Here you go! YOU carry this around for awhile.”
The thing is, I know Aaron would do that for me if he could. He has been unbelievably supportive during this pregnancy, just like he was the first time, maybe even more so because now we have Adam to care for/entertain. He makes dinner when I’m tired, gives me back rubs just because, and humors me when I get “cravings” (yesterday = I had to have a root beer float). I feel sorry for pregnant women who don’t have a supportive spouse.
Most recently I failed the one-hour glucose test and had to go to the hospital for a three-hour fasting glucose test—which, in two words—sucked ass. I had to fast the night before, drink 10 oz. of a sickeningly sweet sugary drink on an empty stomach (at 7:30 a.m.), have my blood drawn four times (to be fair, the phlebotomist was friendly and super fast at finding the vein/drawing the blood and even with all those needle pokes, my arm was hardly sore or bruised afterward), and sit in the lobby of the medical lab—you can’t walk around or it will alter your test results—for FOUR HOURS. I will forever be grateful to Aaron for surprising me that morning and showing up at the lab to keep me company. I had originally told him to go to work since I would just be “sitting and waiting and getting poked a few times” and he needed to save his time off for when the baby came and he’d be bored and I’d just read a book while I was sitting there and I’d be fine and blah-blah-blah but he said he could tell I was nervous (mostly about the blood draws on an empty stomach, I was worried I was going to pass out) so he came to show his support. It was nice to have him there with me while I waited between blood draws.
The first blood sample was to test my “fasting blood glucose level” and each subsequent blood draw, taken on the hour for three hours after that, was to test my blood sugar levels—after having downed the glucose solution—over a period of time.
The worst part of the entire test was the 15-20 minutes after I drank the glucose solution. I had to drink twice as much solution as the one-hour, in under five minutes. I didn’t mind the solution when I only had to drink 5 oz. in the doctor’s office, I mean, it tastes like Fanta—and really, who doesn’t like orange pop? But to drink double that amount, on an empty stomach, in five minutes …well, it was tough. After I slammed it I started feeling shaky and nauseous and wondered how I was going to make it through the rest of the morning. I closed my eyes and rocked in my chair and was glad Aaron and I were alone in the waiting room so I didn’t have to feel self conscious and I was glad when he put his hand in mine as a sort of endearing “I’m here for you” gesture. I rocked and rocked in my chair and hoped the feeling would pass … and after a few minutes it did. If I threw up, I knew I’d have to come back another day and start from the beginning, but I can’t blame my body for being confused. I’m sure it was like, “What the hell are you doing to me? You haven’t had a bite to eat since dinner lat night, and now you’re flooding me with sugar—at 7:30 a.m.! You treat me like this and I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen, lady. You’re gonna get sick!”
The office administrators were very kind. They made sure I had one of the two comfortable chairs in the waiting area (reserved for mamas-to-be), they brought me warm blankets, they gave me control of the remote, they regularly peeked out from their perch behind the front desk to ask if I needed anything. It was nice to feel mothered.
I tried to read my new book, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (key word = tried. I just couldn’t concentrate), Aaron read the paper, and we both kind of watched TV (nothing too thrilling on). Eventually another pregnant girl came in, accompanied by her mother-in-law, and sat down across from us so I spent the rest of the morning eavesdropping on their conversation.
After my last blood draw at 11 a.m., Aaron and I both received $5 meal tickets to eat lunch in the hospital cafeteria while waiting for the results. I don’t think a piece of pizza ever tasted so good in my life! (At least while I was sober.)
I had a cookie and Diet Coke, too, just in case I failed my test and had to alter my diet. I was more worried about having to change my eating habits (no carbs? No sugar?) than I was worried about checking my blood sugar up to four times a day by pricking my finger.
After lunch, we had some time to kill before my lab results were ready, so we decided to look for the maternity ward. We knew we wanted to deliver at that hospital (it was close to home) but had no clue where the birthing center was located. A nice official-looking woman must have thought we looked lost and stopped to ask if she could help us. We said we were looking for the maternity ward, so she chaperoned us to the proper part of the hospital and even arranged for us to have an impromptu tour. After our tour, I’m actually kind of excited to deliver there. I like that you get to stay in one room throughout labor, delivery, recovery and postpartum, I like that it’s a secured hospital, and I like the fact that there is very little turnover in terms of staff. The rooms were spacious and the bathrooms were awesome. (The one thing I wanted to do after I had Adam was take a bath.) Bonus that the family waiting room has a kitchenette, computer, and flat-screen TV, the décor was modern and warm and inviting, and the rooms were CLEAN.
After noon, we headed back up to the lab to see if I had gestational diabetes. I was called into a room where a woman showed me four different numbers on a sheet of paper that were all below what medical professionals consider abnormal readings. “I can’t tell you that you don’t have gestational diabetes because I’m not a doctor, but I can tell you that your numbers look good,” she said with a smile.
YES! Another small victory!
That test was a week ago. Next up = an appointment in two weeks when I will receive the Rho(D) immune globulin—aka RhoGAM shot—because my blood type is A negative. Apparently about 15 percent of white folks have a negative blood type (O, A, B or AB), which doesn’t usually mean anything to me but is apparently a big deal during pregnancy. I had to have this shot when I was pregnant with Adam, too. Basically, what this means is that your blood either has the “Rh factor” or it doesn’t. If you have the Rh factor, then you're Rh+ and you have nothing to worry about. But if you don’t have the Rh factor, then you’re Rh- and this, my friends, can be bad. Your Rh- blood could recognize the Rh factor as an intruder to your bloodstream and basically attack it. RhoGAM contains enough Rh antibodies to trick the mother's immune system into not attacking her fetus's Rh-positive red blood cells. If your baby is Rh+ and your blood mixes with your baby's and you didn’t get the shot to protect you, then your body could view your baby as a foreign invader and shortly after delivery your newborn could develop a potentially deadly condition called hemolytic disease of the newborn, or HDN. When we had Adam, Aaron and I had a doula (labor coach), Peggy, and Peggy told us that she vividly remembers the days when she worked in L&D, before RhoGAM was regularly administered—and witnessing the devastation of HDN.
Give me the shot!
So … I have 11 weeks to go before my EDD and I hope the rest of my pregnancy is uneventful! I can handle the back pain, I can handle the heartburn, I can handle the ugly stretch marks and itchy skin, I can handle the jabs and punches and kicks that literally take my breath away, I can handle the interrupted sleep cycles, I can handle the shortness of breath, I can handle the embarrassing ‘pregnancy brain’ moments (like putting my pants on backwards last week and not realizing it until 1:45), I can even handle the occasional weird pregnancy side effects like pelvic pain (I slept with a pillow between my legs one night and the consequence was waking up with debilitating pelvic pain … I’m pretty sure I resembled a 90-year-old woman hobbling around) and hip pain (I couldn’t sleep last night my hips were so tender, and what do you do if you’re not supposed to sleep on your back or your stomach and it hurts to lie on both your left and your right side? Sleep while standing on your head?), but I HATE the mental agony of waiting. Forty weeks is a long time to be pregnant! And even though it’s a long time to wait, I do not want my baby to arrive before it is “fully cooked.” Button still has quite a bit of developing to do in-utero!
And whether he/she arrives at 37 weeks or 41 weeks, I know one thing for certain: My heart is ready to meet this baby.

Shine on me

Yesterday, when I was outside pumping gas in this lovely five degree weather we've been having (I love Minnesota!), a striking young woman a few pumps down called over to me, “Congratulations on your pregnancy! That baby’s gonna be a real blessing!”
I smiled at her, said thank you, then joked, “I can hardly button my winter coat!” (Why couldn’t I just leave it at thank you?)
“Some women get a pregnancy glow, but girl, you absolutely SHINE," she told me.
“Thank you,” I answered, blushing.
As soon as I hung up the pump and drove away, I called Aaron to relay the compliment. I felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. Guess what, honey? Your wife doesn’t glow; she shines!
When you’re pregnant and cycling through a limited maternity wardrobe and your belly is big and round and your boobs have their own zip code and your skin is itchy and stretching and you can’t go up a flight of stairs without feeling winded and you aren’t sleeping well and you aren’t feeling exactly, um, sexy … a compliment goes a long way. The kindness of that one stranger made my whole MONTH.

The Joys of Parenting

I finally, finally, FINALLY have time to breathe after nearly a month of insanity over here at the magazine. If I could have a few cocktails after work, I definitely would! January consisted of a belated out-of-town Christmas party, a work party, our 20-week ultrasound (thankfully everything looked alright), a trip to a cabin in Webster, Wis. with Aaron’s brother Josh and girlfriend Anita, three days of wedding-related activities for my friends Julie & JT’s stunning Jan. 22 wedding (I was her personal attendant), another wedding the following weekend for my close friend Megan’s little sister Casey, and a 35th birthday celebration at the Wabasha Street Caves/McGovern’s Restaurant. Whew!

Not only has work been ridiculously busy, but I haven’t been sleeping well—getting up anywhere from six to eight times a night—and Adam has decided that now is the perfect time to test out that whole “terrible two’s” theory. He pushes and pushes and pushes his boundaries with us, and I honestly don’t think time-outs have any affect on him. Yesterday he had a full-blown, ear-deafening tantrum because I wouldn’t let him throw the balls out of the ball crawl at Once Upon A Child. I think I shocked him when—after he threw the fourth ball, and after two warnings not to do that—I yanked him from his bed of rubber balls and headed straight for the exit. “I wanna play!” he screamed. “I’m not done!”
Well, Kid, I’m done. Game over. I was already annoyed that I had received a negative progress report from Adam’s daycare provider, I was tired, I was hungry, I was feeling abnormally big and awkward, and I’m sure my raging pregnancy hormones did nothing to help the situation. Adam screamed like a crazed lunatic all the way home (I tried to tune him out with the radio), then—to top it off—he insisted on walking up our sidewalk to the house, where he slipped and fell on his hands and knees, setting off another round of banshee-like wailing. His behavior improved (slightly) until dinnertime, when we got into another Meal Time Battle and he proceeded to smear his canned squash, finger-painting style, all over the table and acted like his broccoli salad and pork chop bites were the Worst Foods on Earth.
“Try a bite,” I coaxed.
“NO!” he yelled. “NO-NO-NO-NO-NOOOOOOOO!”
Our pediatrician told us that we’d “never win a food battle with a toddler” but Aaron is determined to try.
“Fine, sit there then,” Aaron told him. “You can’t play Legos or Play-Doh until you eat.” Apparently Adam is a very stubborn child, because he could’ve sat there all night. He didn’t care about not playing with his toys; he definitely wasn’t going to eat what was on his plate.
After we released him from Dinner-Time Jail, I attempted to do the dishes and I think he was craving my attention because he walked over to his play kitchen and threw the plastic food and cups and pots and pans all over the floor, then stormed out of the room like some pop diva having a hissy fit.
“Come back here and pick this stuff up!” I yelled.
“NO!”
“Do it now or I’m throwing it all in the garbage!” I threatened.
“NO! I won’t!” he responded, coming back into the kitchen to see if I was serious. I took out a new garbage bag and started ‘throwing away’ his kitchen supplies, and when that didn’t seem to do the intended trick, I asked him again to pick up the mess.
“NO!” he yelled.
That was that. I put him in his 100th time-out of the day and after what felt like an eternity (a minute, maybe two) he tearfully apologized, gave me a hug, and picked up his toys.
I gave him a nice, long bath, got him ready for bed, and watched Modern Family (the only time of the day I had any real “me” time to relax) while Aaron fed Adam a hearty dinner of ham and cheese. (We knew if he went to bed on an empty stomach we would all pay the price at around 2 a.m.)
I guess no one ever said this parenting gig was gonna be easy, and hey! Guess what? It’s going to get a whole lot more interesting when baby #2 arrives this spring.

Santa and crocodiles and Barbie, oh my!

I haven’t mentioned Adam in awhile, so here goes:

Adam did not, even just a little bit, like Santa Claus this year (the ONLY way he would have anything to do with Mr. Claus is if we sat near him on a bench. I was not prepared to be photographed and hadn’t showered yet that day. Not one of the best photos of me). Can you tell how scared Adam is? Do you like the random Jolly Rancher sitting on the piano bench? And does it look to anyone else like Santa is doing the Macarena?
So, we can add “Santa” to the list of things Adam is scared of (right behind “the vacuum, firetrucks, and blowdryers.”) After last weekend, we also discovered that he was absolutely TERRIFIED of the creatures and floats at the Holidazzle parade. It didn’t help matters that someone dressed like a crocodile pretended to eat Grandma Patti’s head. That night, he told me about a hundred times, “That crocodile won’t get me.” I tried to explain that the crocodile was PRETEND, he was funny, it was a person dressed up, like on Halloween, but he didn’t get it. He talked about that damn crocodile the next day, too.

He wants a Barbie for Christmas. And a choo-choo. And a REAL monkey. And maybe some green pancakes (huh?) Santa is bringing him a Danika Patrick race car driver Barbie (no dice on the monkey, though), a book, some slippers, and a booster seat. He’ll be getting plenty of toys and clothes from his grandparents, aunts, and uncles, so we went easy this year.
I was stressed when choosing a Barbie for him. I finally chose Danika because she was wearing the most clothes, and because Aaron was OK with giving our son a race car-driving doll. Have you seen how SKANKY Barbie is today? What message are we sending to our daughters? Dress less for success? I was very disturbed while standing in the Barbie aisle at Toys R Us. Barbie sure has changed since I was a little girl.

When I told him I had a baby in my belly, he told me he has a baby in his belly, too.

When he wants to turn on the light, he says he’s going to “open the light.”

He has a baby doll named Sobie. I have no idea where he came up with that name. He’s very affectionate with her, likes to wrap her in blankets and change her diaper and carry her around. I hope he acts this way toward his baby brother/sister.

His favorite food is French fries.

He gives great hugs and sloppy wet kisses.

He’s fascinated by people. Every time we receive a Christmas card, he wants to know who’s in it (or if it’s a regular card, who sent it). When I’m on the phone, he demands to know who I’m talking to. If I say, "I'm talking to Megan." He replies, "Oh, MEGAN."

He has a great memory. A few weeks ago, when I told him we were going down to Austin, Minn. to visit Great Grandma Margaret, he replied, “Austin is a naughty boy! Austin threw his shoe at Grandma Patti! No-no Austin!” (He was referring to an incident that took place at a park this past summer.) I had to explain that Austin is a city, too, not just a naughty boy.

He already has opinions about his clothes, and my clothes. He threw a fit one morning — no kidding, a full-blown screaming and crying hissy fit–because I selected my orange coat instead of my grey one. “I don’t like that coat! Put it back! WEAR THE OTHER ONE!!” he cried. Seriously. Do most 2-year-olds even notice what coat their mom is wearing?

All of a sudden he's really into making forts in the living room. When the blanket is draped over two chairs, he wants us to “come into his house.” Last night I asked why, and he replied all matter-of-fact, “Because it’s cold out here.”
When Aaron asked why (sometimes Aaron likes to push his buttons), he responded, “That’s enough. COME INTO MY HOUSE NOW.” (yes, sir!)

Every night, before bed, I tell Adam “I love you” and now he can reply “I love you, too.”
I don’t know if he realizes what love is, but the words are music to my ears.

And now a few words about the WEATHER:

A few weeks ago, my college buddy in Milwaukee said her 4-year-old son looked out the window and started crying because the weather forecasters had predicted a snowstorm and instead all they got was cold and rain. No snow? He felt cheated.
I feel cheated because we’re supposed to get a whopping snowstorm and it’s throwing a huge wrench in everyone’s holiday travel plans. My aunt is canceling Christmas at her house in Rice Lake, Wis., my parents are worried about driving from the northern suburbs to my brother and sister-in-law’s house in the western suburbs on Christmas Eve, and even Aaron said something about “playing it by ear.” This morning my mom called me at work and casually mentioned, “We might not make it tomorrow.”
What? Might not make it? Inexcusable! Not an option! It’s Christmas Eve! We can’t celebrate without Mom and Dad! That’s absurd!
On the flip side, I have friends who are totally unfazed by the storm warning. They’re like, “Snow. Meh. We live in Minnesota. We can deal.”
I don’t mind the snow; it’s the ice that gets to me. And weather forecasters are predicting sleet and freezing rain, in addition to strong wind gusts and up to 18 inches of snow in some parts of the state.
Apparently this will be a VERY white Christmas.

Winter irritations:
Snowstorms. Warming up my car before driving (and sitting in a freezer while waiting for my car to warm up, every muscle tense from the sub-zero temps). Chiseling off my windshield and windows. White-knuckled driving when the wind is whipping the snow across my line of vision, giving me limited visibility. Black ice — causing veteran drivers to slide through stop signs even though we’re traveling slower than that 90-year-old woman who just passed on our left. Adding time to my commute (esp hard because I’m always running late). Wearing my ugly winter boots on the bus and multiple layers (long underwear) when the temps start to dip. Snotsicles. Dry skin. Chapped lips. Missing the green grass and flowers.

‘Tis the season to be crabby. Sheesh! Sorry!!!

Despite getting a (sometimes) bad rap, winter can also be pretty amazing. Winter is peaceful, tranquil, restful. It is the calming snow-covered sounds of Mother Nature on a quiet morning, the smoky smell of wood-burning fireplaces, a mug of hot chocolate warming your hands, a vivid blue sky against a blanket of white, and warm, buttery bread dipped in hearty stew. Winter is the excitement of ski vacations, the novelty of partying on ice, the thrill of the holidays. I do love Christmas.


“What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future. It is a fervent wish that every cup may overflow with blessings rich and eternal, and that every path may lead to peace.”

Happy holidays to my AWESOME family and friends!! I hope everyone travels safely, drinks a glass of wine for me, and remembers the reason for the season. Love you!

More fun and games

I stole this Q&A from my friend Katie, and if I could figure out how to link to her blog, I would.
But because I’m lame, here’s the address: www.willikat.blogspot.com.


What is your current obsession?
Healthy baby!

What are you wearing today?
Grey pants, blue and grey striped shirt, black boots, black fleece (it’s cold in the office!)

What’s for dinner?
I’m thinking Arby’s.

What would you eat for your last meal?
Rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn on the cob, tiramisu. (I’m such a simpleton.)

What’s the last thing you bought?
The last “fun” things I purchased were at a holiday fair. I bought a vanilla-scented soy candle, a Nub onesie for my friend Amy’s baby (made by my friend Kirsten), and some thank-you cards (created by my friend Christy). I am very proud of my creative friends!

What are you listening to right now?
Kelly, the web editor, talking to another coworker about online ads.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Minnesota

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Only for an hour? I don’t know … Alaska? Jamaica? Ireland? Australia? Brazil?

Which language do you want to learn?
I would love to learn sign language.

What is your favorite color?
Any and all earth tones

What’s your favorite piece of clothing?
I love my orange fall coat and my black winter coat … I love my gold heels … I love my grey cable-knit turtleneck from Aaron

What is your dream job?
Writer

What’s your favorite magazine?
Minnesota Monthly! (duh)

If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?
Insulated winter boots so that my toes don’t go numb while waiting for the bus.

Describe your personal style?
Practical, comfortable, more classic than trendy. I love wide-legged pants, turtlenecks, long-sleeved Ts, hoodies. I wear minimal makeup—unless I’m going out— then it’s all about the liquid eyeliner and lipstick!

What are you going to do after this?
Take the bus to Maplewood, get my little guy from daycare, figure out dinner, maybe go to the mall to get my niece’s birthday gift.

What are your favorite films?
Amelie, E.T. (phone home!!), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Wizard of Oz, The Breakfast Club, Beaches, Dirty Dancing (oh, the memories!), Shawshank Redemption

What’s your favorite fruit?
Bananas, grapes, pineapple, Honeycrisp apples, raspberries, oranges

What inspires you?
People who overcome the odds.

Do you collect anything?
Shot glasses

Your favorite books?
Charlotte’s Web is my all-time favorite book. Others I really liked: Under the Banner of Heaven, City of Thieves, 1984, The Giver, The Handmaid’s Tale, Memoirs of a Geisha, The Lovely Bones, The Bell Jar, Water for Elephants, so many others I’m forgetting (Amanda, I need to borrow more of your books! You always have such great suggestions!)

What are you currently reading?
The Secret Life of Bees (thanks to my good buddy Karla)

By what criteria do you judge a person?
Teeth and shoes. (HA! Joking!) How do people judge other people? Are they GENUINE? Kind? Friendly? Polite? Funny? Thoughtful? Interesting? Respectful? Do they constantly tell me I’m smart? Pretty? Funny?

What skill would you like to acquire immediately?
Immediately? I don’t know … balancing the millions in my checkbook?

What would you tell yourself 10 years ago? 10 years from now?
Ten years ago, I was 24, working at the newspaper, and dating JJ. Wow. That seems a lifetime ago. I would tell myself to hang in there -- I will make more than $9.35/hour writing some day, babies aren’t as scary as they seem (really, they aren’t!), and I’d say, “Chrissy -- wear some less modest clothes and show off your nice stomach!!!!”

10 years from now: I will be in my mid-40s (!), my family will be complete, and I will feel just as blessed and lucky as I do today. I would probably tell myself to enjoy my kid(s) when they’re babies, because they’ll grow up way too fast.

Trick or treat!

This year was Adam's first year trick-or-treating, and I think he did pretty good considering the fact that he's a little bit of a scaredy cat right now (jack-o-lanterns? scary. ghosts? scary. masks? REALLY scary) and it was COLD outside—so cold he wore layers under his already insulated costume—and, well, you just never know how a 2-year-old will react to any new experience. We took him trick-or-treating in my parents' neighborhood of Forest Lake, and he said "trick-or-treat" at all ten houses (in a very quiet voice), and I am proud to note that he also said "thank you" after each neighbor dumped a treat (or treats) into his pumpkin bag. He's very good with his "thank you's." (Not always so good with the "please's," but we're working on it. Sometimes he can be kind of bossy.) When he put on the dalmatian costume, generously lent to us by our daycare provider Mary, he pulled on his ears (what are these things?) and complained that he couldn't see his tail. It was pretty cute. When we were done hitting up the neighbors, he helped my mom pass out candy to the older kids. And on Sunday morning, he proved that he takes after his Dear Old Mom when he made a beeline for his candy bag and ripped into a piece of chocolate even before we had breakfast. But really, isn't that part of the magical charm of Halloween? At least when you're a kid?
I love Halloween. I love it for the theatrical aspect of dressing up more than the macabre aspect of celebrating the spooky. I love carving pumpkins (I don't even mind digging out the slimy guts), I love Halloween parties and seeing how creative people can be this time of year, I love seeing photos of my nieces & nephews & friends' kids dressed as: a pumpkin (Greta), bear (Aliza), frog (Sadie), bumblebee (Morgan), gangster (Kayla), "something scary" (Lane), what was Logan??, Luke and Anakin Skywalker (Leo & Lou), a vampiress (Eva), and a whole assortment of superheroes, witches, angels, kitties, monsters, lambs, bunnies, lions, and monkeys.
Aaron and I went to our good friend Remme & Jim's Halloween party in Canada (aka Ramsey, Minn.) and had a BLAST. We have hosted the party in our East Side garage for a number of years, and it was nice to pass the torch to someone else. Jim has a huge, gorgeous home - perfect for entertaining - and both Rem and Jim were such gracious hosts (Lurch and Morticia Adams). Our group is very creative - something I absolutely love about my friends. Megan was a Renaissance-era lady in waiting, Brian was a very believable Indiana Jones, Shawn and Trish were pirates, Amy and Andy were white trash, Jodi and Walter were zombies, Russ and Katie were Fire and Ice, Luke was a beer bottle, Jeremy was an early 90s rapper. Rounding out the group were SNL cheerleaders, a sexy cop, a convict, and a drunk guy with a wig. I had fun playing The Grinch. Everyone but Adam liked my costume. He watched me get ready over at Grandma Patti's and kept saying, "Mommy is green - like a bunny!" My sister-in-law Trish theorized that he compared me to a bunny in order to get to his "happy place." Or maybe he thought I looked like a rabbit with my black nose and whiskers? He also told me a few times that he did NOT want to "hold me." (Usually he begs to be held.) The green face paint worked well, but I realized about an hour into it (like I do every year that I paint my face) that it's ITCHY when it dries! And it's messy when it starts flaking off! Aaron was Richie Tenenbaum from the Royal Tenenbaums, although guesses ranged from a caveman to the unibomber when he asked our friends if they knew who he was supposed to be. Good times!!!

Ten looooong miles

Ten looooong miles

Last Friday night (10/2) Aaron, Adam and I went to the free Health & Fitness Expo to pick up my race packet. There were over 70 vendors at the St. Paul RiverCentre and while we had no intention of buying anything, we wound up spending $52 (I have the same problem at Target, when I go in for shampoo and napkins and somehow spend $75). We bought me some really cool fitted ear bud thingies (I don’t run with headphones mainly because I have a hard time finding headphones that fit my ears), a long-sleeved running shirt for race day, and some Gu Chomps for fuel (I tried a Gu gel packet once, and it was like eating a spoonful of raspberry jelly on an empty stomach. I gagged when I swallowed. I tried a Chomp at the Expo and it was yummy – like a thick and chewy Gummi Bear). I didn’t know if I’d really need “fuel” since I was only running 10 miles, but I figured it would give me something to look forward to around mile five.

My race packet contained my ChampionChip (an ingenius little invention that looks like a poker chip. You attach the plastic chip to your shoelace and—once activated—it magically records your official time), my race number, and a sweats-check bag in case I wanted to wear layers to the starting line, then drop my sweats off at a truck before the race started. When I left the Expo, I felt very “official.”

On Saturday we woke up around 8 a.m. and headed over to our friends’ Leah and Paul’s beautiful home in the Prospect Park neighborhood of Minneapolis for the Badgers/Gophers football game. College friends Jenny and Dan drove from Milwaukee with their two kids, Sam, 4, and Madigan, who will be 2 in Feb., and our friends Kay and Joe drove from Green Bay with their three kids, Grace, 3.5, Andrew, 2, and Claire, who will be one in Feb. Softball friend Kevin was there, along with a bunch of Leah and Paul’s buddies. As you can imagine, the house was loud and chaotic. It was a good kind of chaos though (even though the Badgers won). In true “house party” style, Leah and Paul even got a keg. I figured I could have a few beers since beer is full of carbs, and carbs are good before a long run, right?

After the game, we headed back to the East Side where Aaron made Adam and I a delicious spaghetti dinner (more carbo-loading!), we watched some TV, and then I went to bed. I wasn’t feeling the best … I’m guessing most of my nausea was due to nerves. I had no trouble falling asleep, but I had a heck of a time staying asleep. I tossed and turned from 3 a.m. until I finally got out of bed at 5 a.m. I showered, put on my running gear, tried to eat a slice of peanut butter toast, got Adam up and ready, and started to freak out just a little when my parents arrived at 6 a.m. to ride to the Metrodome with us. Race day was here! There was no backing out now!

As the five of us drove downtown, there was a light mist falling and the temp was around 48 degrees. It was COLD. Suddenly I didn’t feel so confident in my long-sleeved shirt and shorts. I felt like a self-conscious kid on the first day of junior high and hoped I wasn’t dressed all wrong.

Aaron took the Fifth Street exit off 94 and HOLY COW was there traffic. And traffic. And more traffic. I have taken that exit a billion times to work, and yet it looked completely different this time around. It was 6:45 a.m. and the 10-mile was set to start at 7:05 a.m., with the marathon starting an hour later. There were runners and cars everywhere. It was pretty apparent that I would miss the start of the race if I sat in the car any longer (the light changed three times and our car barely moved), so I followed the lead of other runners getting dropped off and said some hasty goodbyes (it felt weird saying, “See you at mile six!”) before kissing Aaron, patting Adam’s knee, grabbing my parents hands, then flinging the door open and bolting across the street. I followed some other runners toward the Dome (I was glad to see some of them wearing shorts like I was), stood with some people at a gate for a minute, then realized I was in a line for the marathon. I saw a small sign stating “10 mile” with an arrow to the right, and took off jogging. I was cold. I was nervous. I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I followed more runners all the way around the Metrodome to the corner of Portland and Fourth Street and was relieved to hear a traffic cop bellowing “Ten mile over here! Corral one, over there! Corral two, line up over there! Corral three that way! Corral four over there!” I headed over to corral four with 10 minutes before start time. People were chatting nervously/excitedly (most people had a running buddy) or zoning out, listening to their headphones. We were packed together and the body heat felt nice. A little after 7 a.m., the “Star Spangled Banner” blared through the speakers and we all turned to face the American flag. At 7:05 the first corral started running, at 7:08 the second group got going, at 7:11 the third corral took off, and at 7:15 it was our turn. We crossed the starting line and rushed toward the Mississippi River like a stampede. The mood was lighthearted and happy, with people joking and laughing and talking. I wondered how long that would last. I passed some runners, some runners passed me, we were all trying to find our individual pace. The first mile flew by. It felt like we had only run a block, not a mile. I glanced down at my stopwatch to see if I was on pace and was disappointed to see that I wasn’t. I was at 10:30 rather than 10 minutes. I turned it up a notch in order to shave 30 seconds off my next mile. At the second mile marker (which didn’t come quite as quickly as the first) my watch read 20 minutes. I did it! Trying to make up that time may have been my downfall, though, because I was WINDED and between miles two and three, I was faced with a boomerang incline that left me wondering if I would have enough energy to finish. How could I possibly run another seven and a half miles when I wasn’t even sure I could get up this hill? I heard some choice swear words right about then; the same four-letter words exploding in my brain. Soon after the hill, I had to use the bathroom and was glad to see some port-a-potties around the bend. I made a last-minute decision to hit the biffies and was SO GLAD that I did, even if it added minutes to my time (there was a line). Not only did I feel better physically, the brief stop gave me time to collect my thoughts. I could run ten miles. I could-I could-I could.

The first time I really noticed cheering spectators was on the Franklin Bridge, before we hit East River Road in St. Paul. Seeing cheerleaders with their signs “We’re proud of you!” “Run Fast!” “You can do it!” got me excited to see my family between miles five and six, although I knew there wouldn’t be a sign involved. When I asked Aaron if he was going to make a sign, he responded, “How about we just yell really loud instead?”

At mile four, I hit a wall. I tried to remind myself that—if I was running a marathon—I’d be at mile 20. Thank God I wasn’t running a marathon! How do they do it??? I quickly realized that if I was going to get through this race, I was going to have to play little mind games. I decided to walk through every water stop until the last mile. I had never—not once—walked during my training runs with Aaron (and we ran nine miles just the week before), but I needed to set little attainable goals in order to keep going. I really missed having my running buddy beside me. Even though I was running with thousands of others, it was lonely on the course.

At mile five, I reached into my pocket for a Gu Chomp. I popped it in my mouth and BLECH! it immediately turned into a sticky mess. I had to scrape it off my teeth with my fingers and contemplated spitting it out. So much for my fuel.

I saw my mom (holding Adam), my dad, and Aaron right after that point, at the intersection of Cleveland and Summit. I stopped to give them all a big hug. What a beautiful sight! Adam’s eyes lit up when he saw me, and I felt the exact same way. They were clapping and cheering and having a great time. I told them I’d see them at the finish.

I ran into my friend Jeremy a little down the road, and he ran alongside me, encouraging me and asking how I was doing. I was honest. It was tough.

I struggled up the Summit Avenue hill (what was up with all the freakin’ hills?!?) and at the crest I could’ve kissed a spectator on the mouth when she shouted from the sidelines, “Way to go, runners! You made it up those awful hills! It’s all downhill from here!”

At mile seven I saw my friend Kirsten, standing alone on a corner, and stopped to give her a big hug. She laughed and told me to “Keep running!”

I had a 5K left, which should’ve been enough to give me the mental endurance I needed to finish strong, but a 5K is still 3.1 miles. Not three blocks … three miles. I was grateful for the water stops and, let’s be honest, used them as an excuse to walk a few steps, regardless of whether or not I was thirsty.

I was thrilled to see mile marker 8, and even more ecstatic to see mile marker 9. I didn’t stop after mile 9. I was almost done!! I saw the Cathedral and then, around the corner, there was the Capitol in the distance. I gave it everything I had and sprinted down the hill to the finish.

My friend Lisa gave me a big hug after I crossed the finish line (she volunteers every year for the marathon) and it was great to see a familiar face and even better to know I was done!! I ran ten miles!!! I collected a banana and granola bar, a bottle of water, and my finisher T-shirt and shortly after that I saw my parents, Adam and Aaron. They said they were proud of me and asked how I felt. I told them that—next to childbirth—running ten miles was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And even though it was a grueling mental battle, and even though my time wasn’t what I had hoped it would be (I was shooting for 1:40 and I finished at 1:47. I know I’m being too hard on myself, but I can’t help it. I keep replaying certain parts of the course over in my head and wishing I had done things differently), and even though the cold air threw my system for a loop and my lungs are just now getting back to normal—four days later—I would totally do it again.