tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56889489372984504032024-03-13T10:56:15.511-06:00It's a Blog...You like Blogs.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.comBlogger274125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-9176795211664602512020-10-21T23:02:00.001-06:002020-10-21T23:07:09.957-06:00The Cathedral<p>I’ve got my earbuds in again tonight, and I’m listening to a
Spotify station called “Catholic Hymns/Chants.” I keep this one around because
when I’m in the right mood, the deep calls of the organ gorgeously mixed with
the angelic voices hits just right. It brings me back to sitting in that hard wooden
pew, as the sweet heavy scent of incense wafts over my nine year old head.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Some Sunday mornings I’d kneel on the padded kneelers, fold
my hands and look up at the incense swirling above me. It would mix with the
dust and the light shooting through the stained glass. In those moments I felt
like it was just me, God and the angels. When it was time to receive communion
I automatically stood with the rest of the parishoners in the pew. I didn’t
understand what it actually meant to receive it yet, but something about it was
holy. And quietly comforting.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PTsnYOfRMlg/X5EQgP27YMI/AAAAAAAAYUM/9ol0asWMAiMBTtv33MgH0e0rCtgPA-9jQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/cathedral.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PTsnYOfRMlg/X5EQgP27YMI/AAAAAAAAYUM/9ol0asWMAiMBTtv33MgH0e0rCtgPA-9jQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/cathedral.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">It felt like I existed on a different plane in those moments.
I can still taste the crunchiness of the communion host on my tongue and how it
melted exactly 6 seconds after putting it in my mouth. I would, with folded hands, follow the person in front of me as I walked slowly back to the pew.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t know God too personally back then but I felt His big
presence over me in those moments. I felt almost snuggled in a huge hand,
although I didn’t know it was His at the time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes these Catholic hymns hit me a different way.
After I turned eleven some things changed in my life and we didn’t attend that church
very often anymore. Several years later I returned in search of answers and comfort,
desperately needing some semblance of a fuzzy feeling. I smelled the same
incense, walked the same slow walk up to get communion, and kneeled and sat in
the same way as before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was looking
for any kind of salve to pour on my scratched up teenage heart.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t find it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t till later that I really met God in His fullness,
in many tiny moments realizing my standing in the reality of his actual hugeness and
grace. Since then it’s been a process of learning even more about Him (and
myself), but His salve has never dried up and my heart has been snuggled into
his big arms even deeper than I could have imagined as that nine year old in
the pew.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t attend a Catholic church anymore, but I truly
believe my little heart’s first experience with God was in that pew.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And if you don’t mind, I’d like to tell nine year old me something
(I’m ok with it if you want to eavesdrop): <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Little one, keep looking up.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Little one, what you are about to experience is not your fault.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i>Little one, keep learning about that hugeness that is God,
but don’t let that hugeness be a barrier between you and Him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let Him be your cathedral when you feel lost
in the confusing wilderness.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mqr-2nm16G8/X5EQx_y91lI/AAAAAAAAYUY/VzpjLMYkXOsj3NnG3wI5Z3bEtb2oKIWjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s259/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mqr-2nm16G8/X5EQx_y91lI/AAAAAAAAYUY/VzpjLMYkXOsj3NnG3wI5Z3bEtb2oKIWjQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/images.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p>Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-14151999877837247882020-08-13T11:59:00.016-06:002020-08-13T14:01:44.979-06:00Do Unto Others<p>I am a selfish person. I know this, and it has become all the more clear in the last five years due to being in charge of a very cute yet ever-present little girl in my life.</p><p>After she was born, it literally took less than a couple days to realize my natural inclination towards self focus. Yes, my amazing daughter literally owns my heart and I would step in front of a train for her. There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep her safe and happy. </p><p>Regardless of that, I admit that all I want to do these days (understandably) is to sit and read, maybe with a glass of wine. I want to go on a beach vacation by myself. I want to go on a totally unnecessary shopping spree (ok,so that was also the case before the pandemic, but you get my drift). Mostly I super don't want to be called into her room 458 times a night as she launches stall tactic after stall tactic to avoid going to sleep. I just want to sit on the couch, eat snacks, and watch my grown up shows. Seriously little girl, go. to. sleep.</p><p>"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'" -Jesus (Matthew 25:40)</p><p>Let me be clear: I don't think there's anything wrong with taking that vacation, getting away from your children for a bit, or even going on a shopping spree. My point is I don't think any of us (even the most loving) want to choose others over ourselves very often. That is something that has to come from a supernatural source. Just look at the two year old that is told to not hit his sister, and immediately after being told, looks straight at mom/dad and does it again unashamed. It's not a mystery why we have to teach small kids how to share, why human trafficking exists, why most women don't feel safe walking alone at night, and why even in the face of tragedy people choose themselves over others... and on and on and on.</p><p>We are all selfish. This is a spiritual problem. So why would God ask us to be selfless if it's not how we're wired?! And on top of that, why would He say it's like we're doing these selfless things for Him?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-hkQZyVeww/XzVyELIx8dI/AAAAAAAAX2Y/Hb0RmIsJKwUrSCEyApvn7SRch_PBmxkEACLcBGAsYHQ/s1185/holding-hands-feature-1185x400.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1185" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-hkQZyVeww/XzVyELIx8dI/AAAAAAAAX2Y/Hb0RmIsJKwUrSCEyApvn7SRch_PBmxkEACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/holding-hands-feature-1185x400.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>God has fashioned our little apartment into a classroom on this particular subject, especially since March. I'm with my daughter all the time, which a lot of the time I love. We play, cuddle, pretend, do legos, and make each other laugh. However due to the fact school isn't happening and childcare is more complicated, every day I face the battle between boundaries for my self care, and reaching deep down to pray for a little more patience to answer the 785th call from my only child daughter to "watch this" or to deal with yet another meltdown. For most of us there are no good recipes for balance these days-- thanks, COVID.</p><p>I'm learning that I need to make choices that will make me more aware and available to her. As an introvert this will always include alone time, so I can fill up emotionally and spiritually in order to pour out to her and others. I'm a work in progress. But when He sees me choosing her (which often means choosing myself first), I think His heart swells with happiness (ie, "you did it for me") because she is precious to Him. She is part of His family too and how she feels affects His heart.</p><p>Everyone's situation and needs are different and we are all presented with situations in which we are asked to put others before ourselves, especially nowadays. But we are all capable, mostly because our capabilities don't depend on us. I'm an empty jar, waiting to be reminded of the strength available to me to pour out on others, but first I have to stop and be quiet to receive it.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-163656741962203272016-01-18T11:21:00.004-07:002016-01-18T12:45:58.183-07:00"Going There" (warning: spoilers for Brigadoon!)<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">It's not the first time I've been asked to portray a moment of grief onstage.</span></span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I'm honored to be performing the role of Maggie Anderson in Brigadoon at the moment with Performance Now Theatre Company, and we only have one more weekend left.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Seems time has gone quickly in this process and it's been a unique one. It has demanded much of my energy and time but I'd do it all again gladly. Co-choreographing this production along with being part of the talented cast has molded me incredibly much as a dancer and choreographer.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">If you ask me what the most draining part of the whole experience has been however, I'd have to choose the funeral scene in Act 2. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">*SPOILER ALERT!* </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Maggie is asked to deal with one of the most traumatic things in the world-- a death of someone she has given her entire heart to. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9WmKxH8I84k/Vp0wmWrQYLI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/813pifimle4/s1600/harry%2Band%2Bmaggie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9WmKxH8I84k/Vp0wmWrQYLI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/813pifimle4/s400/harry%2Band%2Bmaggie.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maggie and Harry (played by Will Treat) (photo by RDG Photography)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">She (at least the character I have created for this production) is the "funeral dancer" of the town and therefore must dance through her shock, grief, anger, and confusion.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u32AamXCcec/Vp04j1bldMI/AAAAAAAAB58/nNGhQsxXLfw/s1600/funeral%2Battitude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u32AamXCcec/Vp04j1bldMI/AAAAAAAAB58/nNGhQsxXLfw/s400/funeral%2Battitude.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maggie dances at Harry's funeral (photo by RDG Photography)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6tUP7qzpBFM/Vp04j9CxYuI/AAAAAAAAB54/tadN3i7OO28/s1600/funeral%2Bkneel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6tUP7qzpBFM/Vp04j9CxYuI/AAAAAAAAB54/tadN3i7OO28/s400/funeral%2Bkneel.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Maggie dances at Harry's funeral (photo by RDG Photography)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">This friend and imagined relationship she is forced to grieve is linked heavily to dancing in general (she and Harry grew up dancing together, and are close friends on top of her romantic feelings). She really believed (prior to his death of course) they would someday build a life together, get married, have children.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-padFRG3nnw8/Vp0qDgPPpNI/AAAAAAAAB4w/l4sYpF5FjSQ/s1600/harry%2Band%2Bmaggie%2Bdance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-padFRG3nnw8/Vp0qDgPPpNI/AAAAAAAAB4w/l4sYpF5FjSQ/s400/harry%2Band%2Bmaggie%2Bdance.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry (Will Treat) and Maggie dance in the town square of Brigadoon (photo by RDG Photography)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">The process of choreographing the funeral dance has been long (it is still morphing in tiny ways as I perform it depending on how I sense Maggie's process at each moment). It has demanded that I vividly remember grief/love lost experiences from my own teenage experience and actually "go there" in rehearsal and performance.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">As an actress I have felt my heart be sculpted by Maggie's emotional roller coaster. To love someone desperately and believe you will eventually be together can be exhausting and this is what I am hoping to convey as this young woman.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">There is a part of Maggie in each of us. Every one of us has loved desperately and hoped wildly for something. Something or even someone that perhaps does not return all the feelings we harbor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I love theatre. I love "going there" with my characters and living another life although it isn't always a happy or fun scene. I consider it a privilege to attempt to touch and move an audience, to help them feel something. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">If you'd like to catch the show in it's last weekend, here's the ticketing info:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Brigadoon at Lakewood Cultural Center with Performance Now Theatre Company ticketing link--</span></div>
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<a href="https://lakewood.showare.com/?search=brigadoon" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://<wbr></wbr><span class="word_break" style="display: inline-block;"></span>lakewood.showare.com/<wbr></wbr><span class="word_break" style="display: inline-block;"></span>?search=brigadoon</a></div>
Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-62616578524230566022015-09-09T11:17:00.004-06:002015-09-09T15:24:56.551-06:00My Love Letter to You.<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="8nko2-0-0" data-reactid=".69.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$8nko2" style="background-color: white; color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
Every good love story has it's peaks and valleys, but some of the best ones have highs up in the wispy white clouds, and lows in the dungeons of darkness. </div>
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<span data-offset-key="48p7t-0-0" data-reactid=".69.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$48p7t.0:$48p7t-0-0">My love story began almost exactly one year and ten months ago when my life was turned upside down with a flippant use of a pregnancy test (the one time in my life I was convinced it was negative). That surprise of reading "Pregnant:2-3 (weeks)" was one of God's greatest moments in my life, I for once was calm and just doing the test at Casey's request. (For the full story, go here: <a href="http://eslingers.blogspot.com/2014/03/you-said-theres-what.html">http://eslingers.blogspot.com/2014/03/you-said-theres-what.html</a>).</span></div>
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Those ten months showed me what sacrifice means more than any other experience of my life. I temporarily gave up 90% of what made profesional me, me-- career, aspirations, etc especially in dance (shout out to Ken and Kelly who let me be part of a musical by choreographing a tiny part of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers...). I am forever grateful for you, my friends and family, that supported me through this incredibly trying transition. My daughter ended up being the biggest gift I could ever ask for-- and I would give it up all again (even forever) for her, but that time as a pregnant "dancer" was understandably rocky.</div>
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Then the Peanut arrived and Casey's and my heart broke wide open, expanded to be ready for the greatest love we'd ever felt. It is like your worst crush, but amplified times one thousand. You can't wait to see them when apart, and your heart beats a little faster because of them. </div>
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<span data-offset-key="fu22d-0-0" data-reactid=".69.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$fu22d.0:$fu22d-0-0">You who were and are there for me have become like diamonds-- incredibly valuable and prized. You brought me food, teeny tiny clothes, love and support. You sat and listened while I talked and talked about how different things were. You nodded. You hugged me. You loved me. You loved my precious Peanut.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="d5u75-0-0" data-reactid=".69.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$d5u75.0:$d5u75-0-0">I cannot tell you how much you mean to me. You, who were and are there for me in my most formative and trying hours. I am currently doing well in recovery for post partum depression-- yes, I said it-- and every week climbing even higher with the help of God's most unselfish Love, Casey's unending support, counseling and regular exercise/dance in my life. I learned that there is a surprisingly high percentage of women who go through this same experience, and yet it is rarely talked about. It needs to be. It is treatable and there is help. Please contact me if you are suffering, I would love to support you.</span></div>
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It is Peanut's first birthday soon. It is also going to be the anniversary of me becoming a Mom, and Casey's becoming a Dad for the first time. We made it. I made it. I really didn't think I would at first. Some of the lows were so low I didn't think I'd ever climb out.</div>
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<span data-offset-key="723b2-0-0" data-reactid=".69.1.0.1.0.0.$editor0.0.0.$723b2.0:$723b2-0-0">But it turns out I didn't have to climb out by myself. Your love and companionship helped celebrate with me regarding my most incredible gift. In a few days it will be the anniversary of the most blessed moment of my life, when Peanut was born. Also a year since my heart became something completely other and will never be the same. I would never go back to the old heart. Ever. This last year has formed me into the person I was always meant to be, and I don't even want to think about what my life would be like without my Peanut.</span></div>
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So, this is my love letter to you. You who held my hand and heart through this last year. Your sacrifice of love helped me stay afloat and you are a gift from Heaven. You who sat with me in the dark and celebrated with me in the joyful light are my diamonds-- more precious to me than you will ever know.</div>
Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-10829957353541314222015-07-09T11:16:00.004-06:002015-07-09T16:44:26.332-06:00Dramatic Changes in the Dramatic When I deeply ponder the dramatic changes to my life (pre-Peanut vs Peanut on the outside) that have happened in just a year and a half, I am floored. I was rarely at home, danced/taught all day long. I was involved in at least one show at all times (not rarely, two).<br />
Now I am at home a good part of the time-- the kiss of death to previous Gina. I'm 24/7 taking care of a mini human being. I am even more busy if that is possible-- yet a different kind of busy. It has been a huge challenge to what I thought I could "handle" as a human being. I was the typical do-a-million-different-things-and-errands-a-day type person and thought that's what I needed to stay sane. But I didn't.<br />
It's amazing what you find out about yourself (and how your previous beliefs are challenged and destroyed) when you go through such a fundamental change. Luckily I am able to continue dancing/performing now and will never stop as long as I'm able.<br />
My point? I find that I really appreciate the slower pace, as well as the artistic/soul time on a whole new level. It's a deeper and richer experience. It was meant to be. It's part of my story.<br />
Before Peanut, I would sometimes stress/worry/even cry myself sick about the quality of my performances and dancing. It was not always healthy. Now, I feel the anchor of a love that transcends anything I've ever felt for another human being. She is my greatest love, and she adds to my life in a way that grounds me. It's strange but her presence and relationship calm and relax me more than anything I've ever experienced.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7fszg1DmvzU/VZ6rtE_WbII/AAAAAAAAB2U/4eIroTerB_Q/s1600/Chickadee%2Bin%2BGuys%2Band%2BDolls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7fszg1DmvzU/VZ6rtE_WbII/AAAAAAAAB2U/4eIroTerB_Q/s320/Chickadee%2Bin%2BGuys%2Band%2BDolls.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guys and Dolls with Performance Now Theatre Company (photo by RDG Photography)</td></tr>
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The unexpected dropping of the majority of the stage anxiety has made me an infinitely better performer. More confident and more able to be in the moment. At least, that's what it feels like to me-- you can let me know if you agree next time you see me onstage, wink wink.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLLB_GRKLp0/VZ6r02TbGbI/AAAAAAAAB2g/Oe2JAgZ0Ohk/s1600/8%2Bmonths%2Bbig%2Beyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SLLB_GRKLp0/VZ6r02TbGbI/AAAAAAAAB2g/Oe2JAgZ0Ohk/s320/8%2Bmonths%2Bbig%2Beyes.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peanut at 8 months.</td></tr>
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Thanks Peanut. And thanks God for the precious gift of this little life next to mine.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-43104677139579242112015-04-20T11:55:00.003-06:002015-04-20T11:57:13.045-06:00Say It To Her FaceFacebook has become a prime place for rudeness.<br />
Maybe it's always been that way. But more and more I notice just plain old jerkery as I scroll through my newsfeed. I notice it in comments when friends share their hard days, I notice it in political posts, I notice it in plain old boring status updates.<br />
What I want to say is, would you say that to this person's face? What if you ran into them in Starbucks and you saw how tired and haggard they looked? Then they shared about how they stayed up all night cleaning up after two young children vomiting and crying. Would you say flippantly, "It's amazing to me how you moms flip out when your husbands are gone for a week. Just be glad you aren't a single mother." That was an actual comment I read off my friend's page a while ago.<br />
Most times these people are not ones you are close to in actual life. They are just your "Facebook friends" who are privy to your pictures, and life events that you share with your Facebook community.<br />
Why do we feel the need to lash out (even passive aggressively)? If we spent more time connecting with people face to face and having real, vulnerable conversations with people we trust maybe we wouldn't feel the need to let off steam in a place where there are seemingly fewer consequences. In actuality the ripples felt from the rocks of your words are very real.<br />
Let's not go back to elementary school, let's be adults. Let's be kind. Let's think through what our words might make another person feel. If you wouldn't say it to their face... Don't say it to them on Facebook.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-2224105337918477102015-03-31T09:10:00.003-06:002015-03-31T09:19:09.403-06:00Love PainsHave you ever loved someone so much it physically hurt?<br />
I'm not talking about those teeny-bopper crushes you had as a preteen. I'm not even talking about what some jerk guy or girl that dumped you by text does to your heart, and being in the middle of those tough post break up moments.<br />
I'm talking about the moments your love puts their arms around you, or laughs with you, or just sits there smiling at you and being the most amazing human you've ever set your eyes on.<br />
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I'm talking about the moment you realize how huge your feelings and love are for this person, and the thought of any harm coming to them causes you the most pain and fear you've ever felt in all your moments on earth so far. I'm talking about seeing them after being separated for a while and it literally feels like your heart is going to explode with an ache that can only be described as a love pain.<br />
It feels like your heart is going to physically break because it is so full of love.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6.5 months old</td></tr>
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It's an enchanting love pain that, incredibly, continues to grow as the days tick by. The material of the heart, intentionally designed to be of the most elastic quality in the universe, stretches to what feels like it's very end every day. It's a miracle it doesn't break. But then again, this miracle is nothing compared to the little human sitting before me every day.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-67637908624353844682015-03-13T09:12:00.001-06:002015-03-13T10:03:49.550-06:00Leaving the DrizzleIt's super cloudy out today. A big difference from yesterday, when the sun was out and about, reminding me of beach weather due to the breeze flying around. I miss the beach. I grew up about forty five minutes from Bodega Bay, California. And although we didn't go often, I still feel there's a tiny ocean living in my heart constantly calling me back to the big ocean.<br />
Isn't it true that certain weather, smells, even temperatures can bring a person back to past experiences in a nanosecond? This is especially true for me when I'm tired. I always feel more vulnerable on days like today. The Peanut woke up at four a.m. this morning, FOUR A.M. It's amazing what a few months will do. When she was a newborn that would have been a dream night for me. As for the me of today... I am exhausted. Just goes to show that little people are just like big people, sometimes they just wake up for no reason at all or have trouble sleeping. I've had a hard time lately in general, feeling more deeply the fundamental changes to my life that she brings. So today is feeling a bit more raw than usual.<br />
The gray sky outside brings me back to Portland. I lived there for several years after I moved back from Florence (another veritable storm of emotionally charged memories). It was there I met my love Casey and the direction of my life changed totally.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dzfcdl6ncfE/VQL6EmBX5lI/AAAAAAAAB08/iG6kw0qJWs4/s1600/firstdatesginacasey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Dzfcdl6ncfE/VQL6EmBX5lI/AAAAAAAAB08/iG6kw0qJWs4/s1600/firstdatesginacasey.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our first dates. We were clearly a good match as far as weirdness went.</td></tr>
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It was there I took a chance and thought, if I was ever to audition for ballet companies again, it would be now (professional ballet dancers retire at a surprisingly young age). It was there I experienced what felt like a miracle, when a ballet director named James hired me (after training my butt off after a years-long break from the daily grind of ballet). So we moved to Denver, where my new job at David Taylor Dance Theatre (and totally different lifestyle) was waiting.<br />
The cool bite in the air in Denver today reminds me of darkish coffee shops, the drizzle on my face, and Powell's (one of the best bookstores ever) in my previous home-- Portland. It makes me feel the excitement, newness and naivete of my then new marriage. It brings me back to learning New Testament Greek at George Fox Seminary, and while there realizing that I was a whole lot more competent and intelligent than I ever gave myself credit for. I remember the exact moment my professor Mary Kate Morse gave me that gift of confidence by telling me I was actually very good at it. I think she knew I needed to hear it.<br />
When you are in the process of making a place your home, you never really think about how hard it would be to leave, even if it is really the right decision. I left a huge part of my heart in Santa Rosa, in Salt Lake City, in Florence, and in Portland. Each place equally beautiful. Each place gave me some of the most amazing gifts, that I will carry in my heart forever.<br />
What places are you carrying with you today?Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-24268485234524349422015-03-06T09:02:00.003-07:002015-03-06T09:19:33.622-07:00Mini's MinisYou learn a lot of things when you have a baby. Some lessons are from the school of hard knocks, like learning how to hold your breath until that dirty diaper is safely in the diaper pail. Or how to keep yourself from running full speed into the nursery (and crying yourself) when your baby is wailing, for the 100th time.<br />
Others are fun lessons. I never knew how much I'd love dressing Mini up. I love the tiny socks, the little hats, and the bows covering everything.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Kmu3S8ki_U/VPnOeojdr7I/AAAAAAAAB0I/gkU33NaJhOY/s1600/baby%2Bshoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Kmu3S8ki_U/VPnOeojdr7I/AAAAAAAAB0I/gkU33NaJhOY/s1600/baby%2Bshoes.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite pair of shoes I've ever seen, baby or otherwise.</td></tr>
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People constantly warned me, when I was pregnant and telling them that I was feeling tired, that I should just wait till Mini arrived. That I'd be infinitely more tired (by the way, for any of my first time pregnant friends hearing the same thing--- there are days this is true, but mostly I have found that this is a false statement. That's only me personally, of course. I was a very tired pregnant apparently). Instead, they should have warned me how much fun I'd have putting mini clothes on my very own Mini.<br />
It rivals eating tiramisu while sipping a delightful glass of Pinot Grigio. And if you know me, that is saying quite a lot.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-6258228224281408662015-03-03T09:02:00.001-07:002015-03-03T11:44:42.779-07:00White as SnowI'm looking out the window today at the fairly sizable amount of snow still on the ground from the winter storm we had about a week ago. Not surprised it hasn't melted yet. Today's high is supposed to be twenty degrees fahrenheit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKbW2RJ1I24/VPXY1OjoN9I/AAAAAAAABz0/JYw06bvqjms/s1600/snow%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bwindow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKbW2RJ1I24/VPXY1OjoN9I/AAAAAAAABz0/JYw06bvqjms/s1600/snow%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bwindow.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow outside our window</td></tr>
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Casey and I are used to the cold and snow now, even driving in what others (ahem, MOM) would consider dangerous. My technique is just to go super slow until I'm used to the feel. Annoys the big shots in huge trucks behind me but hey-- sliding is terrifying, and now I have a baby to take care of, so they can deal with it.<br />
The pure white of the snow is striking. Brings to mind the saying "white as snow." Jogs my memory to the lyrics we sometimes sing in church and sang in college ministry meetings in Utah. As a lover of God I yearn to be close to Him (even when I am not aware of that need) and to have a heart white as snow and to be a good, kind person. To not hurt others' feelings, to be a good friend. To always love Adeline as God loves her, perfectly and without failing her in anything. Seems an impossible task, to be like snow.<br />
Deep thoughts for what seems like an early morning. I want to float free of the guilt I feel when living out my worst tendencies, but I am not capable of changing myself at a heart level. The moment I decided that God was going to be the most important thing in my life, He moved in and became my official heart changer.<br />
Years of trying proved to me that I can't change it myself. But He can, and has, and will continue to. It's so much like a marriage-- building into my closeness with Him causes me to be more like Him. You always become most like the people most intimately in your life.<br />
It's pretty miraculous. It's not necessary to depend on myself. As crazy as it sounds, the insanely huge power of God is alive in me, and as I lean into Him I become more of the person I want to be, and the more peace with all things in my world I have.<br />
<br />Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-48232536378349500262015-03-02T09:40:00.002-07:002015-03-02T12:08:24.755-07:00Prunes and Green BeansI used to take care of babies for a living. Back in Oregon, one of the few jobs that fit my Human Development/Family Studies degree was to work in daycare. It wasn't the first time I'd worked with kids professionally, in fact I had many years of daycare under my belt before I took the job in the infant room at the Goddard School. There had even been a time in Utah (where I went to college) when I worked in a small room taking care of up to four babies at once. It's always better to work with a buddy, and I was grateful for the company in this new job.<br />
My co-worker was a former traditional stay at home mother and the best baby caretaker I have ever seen. She was gentle yet strong, never lost her temper, and appeared to be a human encyclopedia about all things infant. She was the perfect person to learn about babies from, as well as a very calming presence. This was important because I had just moved back from Italy a few months prior, and my world was in a tailspin. I was also in the process of trying to climb out of a significant depression, something I'd likened to a dark hole many times in my journaling. Her gentle spirit coupled with the healing presence of babies-- have you ever heard of the term baby therapy? It's a real thing-- was, looking back, exactly what I needed. Especially after a difficult break up that came a few months after beginning the job.<br />
A couple days after the break up, I remember standing over my favorite baby Jackson's (yes, I had favorites) crib as he dozed off to sleep. I struggled to hold back the sobs as they rose up in my chest and tightened my throat. Perspective is everything, and looking back on this moment I want to give myself a hug and say, you will be glad this happened because something wonderful, something so much more fitting, is coming. Very soon.<br />
Jackson was a delightfully joyful, blonde and blue eyed little boy. I bonded to him more than any of the other babies for some reason, and I adored taking care of him. I loved feeding him his prunes and green beans. I loved picking him up when he cried and comforting him. I especially loved giving him his bottle. There's something amazing about nourishing a person you care about. This was my first experience of baby love.<br />
I often wondered, as I spooned the puree into his tiny mouth, if this is how it would be when (if? I didn't know if God would give me the opportunity to have my own) I had my own baby. Yawning and tired, wishing for more coffee, yet pulling out the strength to make sure he and the seven others had all they needed for eight hours straight. Some days I just plain didn't want to be there. But every day, God warmed me with His love through Jackson's smile. I learned pretty quick He loves to use babies this way. This the only thing that got me through some of those exhausted or sad days.<br />
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Today as I fed my own little peanut her oatmeal and prunes, the feel of the morning and my tiredness pulled me all the way back to those cool damp days in Oregon. Feeding someone else's baby and yet loving him all the same. But now I look at Mini and cannot believe how much more I love her than I thought I ever would, and so much more than any of those other babies. Every bite I feed her gives me the infinite satisfaction that she is getting nourished. God is giving her strength through the mush and I am the person delivering it to her. As much of a privilege it was to take care of Jackson and the other babies more than ten years ago, my own special gift comes with the most deeply felt joy I have ever experienced. Her laughter is my happiness. Her health and wellness is my peace.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Aa5OjYG19DA/VPSQgYKbrpI/AAAAAAAABzU/xUa_X9l_O8I/s1600/little%2Bsunshine%2Bin%2Bcrib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Aa5OjYG19DA/VPSQgYKbrpI/AAAAAAAABzU/xUa_X9l_O8I/s1600/little%2Bsunshine%2Bin%2Bcrib.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mini in her crib at 5.5 months old.</td></tr>
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God is shining through her to me. Even when I don't think about it or see it. Every morning as I go to pick her up, yawning and wanting my coffee, she is happy to see me and giggles. Back in Oregon, I was single and able to spend much more "alone" time with God and concentrate only on Him. Now it is harder. But I want to experience these moments with my baby as much as I did back then. He is looking at me through her eyes, embracing me through her little arms, and filling my heart with laughter through her little voice.<br />
It is a gift never to be taken for granted. And if I could tell my 24 year old self anything, I would tell her, "Enjoy this time, even through your pain. Because these moments are fleeting. But something even better is coming. So have hope."Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-88789144623221788212015-02-27T09:24:00.002-07:002015-02-27T10:03:31.583-07:00The Dress is... White? Blue? PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!I personally can't see the black and blue. Actually I can kind of see a blue tint, but the black is one hundred percent elusive. And that bothers me. Here's the image if you haven't seen it and don't know what the deal is with this whole thing:<br />
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Some people see white and gold. Some people see blue and black. And this is a "problem." I have to admit it bothers me a bit that I can't see black and blue.<br />
Apparently it's the same with everyone else, whether they can see one color or another. Why does such a small insignificant issue cause this kind of unhealthy conflict between people online?<br />
Seriously. It's just a dress (I say to myself as I stare at it with both eyes, with one eye, out of the corner of my eye)... Nope. Still white and gold.<br />
Do we need to agree on everything? Does everyone else need to agree with us?<br />
It just makes me think about how much time we spend online. Here I go being Captain Obvious, but these days we see everything that is going on in the world instantaneously. We get news immediately and hear about our friends' dinners seconds after they post a picture of it on Facebook (and before they may have even taken a bite).<br />
And I am one of the worse offenders of this, so please don't feel I am pointing a finger. I'm just observing.<br />
To quote Leslie Knope, "Are you better off?" I'm SO grateful for the ability to stay in touch with people over social media in this time of my life when I can't be as "face to face" social with my friends. But am I better off? My personal goal is to spend more of my free moments on my Kindle rather than Facebook.<br />
Here's my main issue with this whole dress thing. It makes me sad to hear of vitriol being tossed back and forth online over it. I see it all the time when I'm dumb enough to read the comments for internet articles. I think this instant communication has made it easier to do this kind of thing to each other, to people we don't even know. Yes, people are going to be mean sometimes no matter what the context (ie, you can be mean over a handwritten letter to strangers).<br />
And if you've made it this far into my seemingly random dress babble, you will now be rewarded with my point. What's the root cause behind this meanness? Why do we need to be mean to each other over this issue? Why do we need to be RIGHT all the time?<br />
We don't. Period. If you feel the need to berate someone over the color of a damn dress then I have a feeling you have some deeper emotional issues to address.<br />
Yes. People are mean. Over petty things. I have learned (or been forced to learn) to let things roll off my back out of necessity. But I have no time to dwell on things that don't matter anymore. That's one thing a baby cured me of. The time and energy to hold onto things that don't matter.<br />
Finally, I have to wonder at the millions of mean comments flying back and forth over social media over this not very attractive dress: Where are the people getting the time? And can they come over and do some of my laundry?Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-26913182633659873692015-02-15T16:17:00.000-07:002015-02-15T23:03:25.802-07:00GuiltySometimes, I feel guilty.<br />
I know I shouldn't, I've had people tell me over and over I shouldn't. I have told MYSELF over and over I shouldn't. If you tell me I shouldn't, I will say, "I know, I know, I know, I know I shouldn't." And this would be true. I really do know. But! Yes, there's a but! Here's how I kicked guilt's ass (pardon my French).<br />
Right now I'm staring at my beautiful, precious baby on the monitor. She is asleep. This is a great, good, AMAZING thing-- for one, because she really really needs the sleep today. Also it means I can do other things in the house, relax, and generally take a deep breath. I could even sit and watch an episode of Friends on Netflix (if I wanted to ignore the baskets of laundry lounging around my living room) and I just might, if I wasn't writing this post right now. But I digress.<br />
Earlier today we made plans to leave the house at 3:30 pm. We talked about feeding her at 3 and therefore would be ready to go at 3:30, diaper bag and car seat (with the Peanut inside it) in hand and jackets on. She fell asleep around 2:30 (which is not exactly the plan or her normal schedule), and is still asleep, because we've decided to not wake her.<br />
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And now it's 3:16 pm, and she's still slumbering peacefully. This means I will not be making the event I "should" be going to. We made the choice to let her sleep instead.<br />
It seems like this is my life a lot lately. So many "shoulds," so many daily choices-- beginning with pregnancy and continuing now, I could either choose what I would like to do/eat/etc, or do what's best for her. What is best for her is a lot of times, to stay sleeping in her crib. I know I could wake her up and plop her in the car seat. I have done it before. But more and more I lean toward leaving her sleeping. Or at home, playing quietly with us because she is acting like she is getting sick. Or a number of other reasons.<br />
I realize I've had a certain expectation of what my life "should" look like at this juncture, with a five month old baby. Being without children for so many years, I expected it to look perhaps exactly like my pre-Mini life (ie, crazy busy), add cute baby. I felt I "should" be able to do everything I was able to do before (job-wise, social-wise, and every other aspect of my life-wise), and just add a baby to it. I "should" be able to do it all, right???<br />
Enter Mini. Caring for an infant is a full time job and even though that is a grossly overused phrase, it is true. And she is my priority. I surprise myself most times by taking so much joy in forgoing something I want for her. Yes, I could ignore her needs and bring her out anyway for fear of looking like a "flake." Or I could put her first instead. That's the real "should" in my opinion. Forgive the crassness, but this false guilt can kiss my ass because she is more important than making the event. Or missing something I had wanted to do. Bottom line is God will provide for my (and her) needs, felt and unfelt, no matter what my "shoulds" are.<br />
So as I gaze at her through the small screen of the monitor, seeing her so peaceful and happy more than makes up for anything I might have missed. It stamps out any false guilt I might have felt. Because when she needs me, I will be there. I will fight for her, in these small moments and also in the big ones.<br />
She is my precious priority and I will always be happy to carry her and protect her through whatever she needs.<br />
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<br />Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-6823033133537605322015-01-22T10:09:00.002-07:002015-01-22T10:09:44.193-07:00Flexibility<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">I'm learning a new sort of flexibility. Not just involving putting my foot up to my head or bending in half, but also having flexible plans. Mini is a great sleeper normally but I think her shots have thrown her off. She woke up almost literally EVERY. SINGLE. HOUR last night. Guess my plans to go to the gym are not happening unless I want an injury. Flexibility. Coffee.</span><br />
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<br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.63636302948px; line-height: 17.5636348724365px;">There's a reason I refused to pull all nighters in college, people! (Other than the fact I was a ballet major for two years and we knew that sleep was sorta part of our homework and needed to do our daytime dancing). No worky worky with this girl! </span>Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-2220035716836365282015-01-13T09:55:00.000-07:002015-01-13T09:58:33.627-07:00Things Have Changed.So that's the understatement of the year.<br />
The mini human is four months old on the 14th... I am now back in the semi-regular swing of ballet class (usually without wanting to cry at how out of shape I am afterwards), and have kinda sorta gotten the hang of Mini's daily schedule. Things are different, however. It's challenging to my time-organizing nature when I "plan" to go to class, or the store, etc and then find that she has another opinion on the matter. Babies, apparently, are not really into staying on your schedule.<br />
I had a shock a few weeks ago when I tried to put the Peanut into one of her newborn (NB) sized onesies. It didn't fit. For so long we struggled to find things that would not swallow up her tiny 6 pound body, and now she is fully in 0-3 month old clothes. It hit me then that she was going to grow. And keep growing. And as much as I welcomed the departure of the slight colic she had the first three months (and the night feedings), a part of me-- the very same part that loved taking care of babies as a career years ago-- wants her to stay a newborn.<br />
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Before Mini got here I often wondered what made mothers wish that. Did they want to stay chained to the house all day on the 2 hour feeding schedule? Did they just have nothing better to do? Did they need a hobby?<br />
But now I get it. If she's going to grow out of her newborn stuff, she's going to grow out of her 0-3 month old stuff. Then she'll grow out of her 6 month stuff. Then, she'll be going to high school and wanting to borrow the car.<br />
And I'm not quite sure I'm ready for that!<br />
Before Mini came, I silently calculated how long it would take to get back into "ballet" shape. I researched when most babies got on a 3.5-4 hour schedule which would allow me freedom to do so much more. I carefully folded my smaller leotards, thinking about when I'd be able to fit into them again. But now I find myself observing her growing up in small, precious ways every day and treasuring my time with her (even when, frustratingly, we don't leave the house all day). Nothing about being a mom spoke "freedom" to me before she arrived.<br />
Guess what, future moms who also may mentally/emotionally struggle with these issues? Don't worry. The freedom I feel being her caretaker has definitely taken me by surprise.<br />
We belong together, her and I. I can be all I was before, and also be her mom. Yes-- it does, and will continue to look different than my pre-Mini life. She has changed my life drastically from what it was before but I'd never, ever take it back even if I could.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Casey, Mini and I on her first Christmas (2014).</td></tr>
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<br />Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-9715075428020283162014-12-16T14:12:00.001-07:002014-12-16T14:22:33.207-07:00HanukkahAn image from the production "Diary of Anne Frank" came across my facebook feed today. I played Margot, Anne's older sister, in this particular show. The image features the menorah candles and also the music box Anne's father saved and kept for her mother as a gift when they were forced into hiding.<br />
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Today is the first day of Hanukkah. I am not Jewish, but there is a small part of me that feels as if I am. Margot became a part of my soul when I was privileged to portray her up in Brighton, Colorado. The hugeness of the story and what happened to the families in this story will never leave my heart.<br />
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During our intermissions, the audience as usual was allowed to get up, get a snack, stretch their legs. We, the actors, were not allowed to leave stage. This was hauntingly symbolic of the fact the Franks were not ever allowed to leave the Secret Annexe. The choice to keep us onstage for the entirety of the production was helpful in driving that point home (both to us and to the audience).<br />
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I was also privileged to sing with my stage sister, Sarah, two traditional Hanukkah prayers (if you've ever heard her sing, you'll know how huge of an honor it was). This became one of my favorite scenes of the whole play. As I rehearsed and then performed the songs/prayers over and over, they too sunk deep into my soul and became part of me. So as I listened to them again today (more than a year after performing them), I got dangerously close to tears. When you play a part onstage (at least in my experience), it is not just "pretending" to be someone else. Who they are absorbs into your heart in a way that is inescapable. They sang these songs together as a family during their Hanukkahs in the Annexe, and we as actors sang them together and became a family of our own.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-20528210232316833422014-12-08T09:23:00.002-07:002014-12-08T09:42:33.579-07:00Love.I am currently eating my breakfast (at a faster speed than I ever would have pre-Peanut) and thinking about what I should write about. Thinking about how people were right and that life, although certainly difficult at times, was less complicated while pregnant versus after she arrived.<br />
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Currently, at three months old, her naps average forty minutes and it's been almost that. I am waiting for her to wake up, both dreading it and looking forward to it.<br />
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You see, I've never loved anyone more in my life. She made her grand entrance on September 14th and immediately broke my heart into a million pieces, then put it back together again.<br />
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Lately, she's learning that she can use her voice and is babbling and cooing quite a bit, all the while staring into my eyes and smiling.<br />
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She is learning that she can stretch out her tiny body and touch the end of the baby bath we put her in every couple days. </div>
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She is sleeping through the night and yet also shortening her day naps. I'm not sure what I prefer actually-- I love the sleep during the night but now it's hard to get any chores done around the house.<br />
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People keep telling me to cherish and treasure these fleeting moments while she's small, and I know why they do. It is hard having such a tiny thing totally dependent on me. I get scared I'm not doing the right thing, and the thought of her being sad, hurt, or needy for anything makes my heart break even more (if that is even possible). The sheer amount of time spent meticulously caring for such a creature engulfs most of my time. That kind of responsibility can be draining and cause you to lose sight of the miracle that is laying right in your arms, staring up at you.<br />
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And so everyday I try to remember this advice. To not get caught up in the ordinary or stressful and think about the fact that time is going by so fast. I promised I'd never use this cliche, but... It really does seem like we just brought her home from the hospital.<br />
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<br />Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-81817261195036501962014-10-31T15:33:00.003-06:002014-10-31T15:42:10.953-06:00"How are you sleeping?"In every new phase of life, there are questions. Not only in your own mind, but coming from other people. And some come more frequently than others.<br />
These questions sometimes make me think more deeply about the subject matter simply because of the number of times it's brought up to me.<br />
The most frequent question I get lately (having a 6 week old baby) is, "How are you sleeping???" Extra question marks included on purpose. They stand for the silent thoughts the person is thinking while they ask ("They aren't sleeping at all, I'm sure.").<br />
I will say that in the first few weeks that was true. Infants' stomachs start out literally the size of a shooting marble. That means they have to eat frequently. Like, really frequently. Every two hours or more frequently.<br />
Around the clock.<br />
So yeah... A little sleep deprived the first few weeks. After that though, we gradually and gently inched her onto a kinda/sorta schedule. We found she started wanting to eat more around every three hours. So we woke her up around the same time every day and then fed her every three hours. If she was hungry earlier than that we fed her earlier. But mainly we found that she wanted it every three hours with a few exceptions.<br />
We have also been helping her recognize the difference between day and night (she had them a bit confused at first... Can you say party all night long??? Yeah...). Thankfully she is sleeping more hours in the night now and wakes us up when she is hungry. That includes a five or five and a half hour stretch most days of the week (which feels amazing).<br />
So in response to the question, "How are you sleeping???" I am happy to reply, "Better these days." I hear that it only gets better from here. And makes me think pretty deeply about the days to come... Looking forward to the days of 6, 7, even 8 hours a night. Gives me hope for a day that I might have boundless energy once again... You know, the kind that doesn't beg for a second and third espresso throughout the day.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-3229589782598796432014-10-28T14:13:00.001-06:002014-10-28T17:34:13.519-06:00The Birth of the Mini, Part Two: I Love Modern Medicine.You came back! Does that mean you are ready to hear part two of The Arrival of the Mini?<br>
All righty then. Picking up from where we left off (metaphorically leaving my life as I knew it dropped on the tile floor behind us as the nurse wheeled me down the hall to labor and delivery). Where was I? Oh yes. My uterus was trying to kill me.<br>
Literally every bump in the hospital corridors (from tile to carpet and vice versa) made me want to yell at the nurse, "Watch what you're doing, lady! HOLY HELL!" I didn't though, because I was starting to get kind of freaked out. I was having this baby! And soon!<br>
They dropped us in our room, and straight away had me change into one of those awful gowns they give all the patients. Seriously, hospitals? These things are huge, one size "fits" all, and as if that wasn't enough to deal with there are SNAPS that form the arm holes. Snaps. Now, I worked in daycare for years and I know my way around snap closures-- but these are insanely stupidly designed. I almost put my leg through one of the "holes" I created. Two (yes, two) nurses had to come into the bathroom and help me put it on.<br>
But I digress. The pain, a good solid 7 in the car ride over, had crested to a consistent 8 as I labored in a tub of warm water (helpful, but honestly... really not much at all), and bouncing on a birthing ball (looking back I think that particular method made the pain worse. They should just say, "Hey, try these things to ease the pain," and, chuckling/rolling their eyes, saunter out the door. Because there is literally not one thing they can do to help besides get the guy who administers the epidural).<br>
A couple weeks prior, I had created a playlist on my phone called"Hospital Relaxation" (can I get a good chuckle out of those that have tried this? ha!). During the first couple hours at the hospital I became the stereotypical dancer and put Claire de Lune on repeat. It was the only song that didn't make me want to stab my eyes and everyone else's eyes out for those few hours. I then proceeded to tap out the tempo through every, dang, contraction. I counted to five on my deep breath in, and a slow eight as I slowly let it out. During the moments the pain and my body were totally out of my control, it gave me a sense of being able to be in control of my world for a few moments. Strangely enough this was the most helpful technique to distract me from the pain.<br>
The contractions were coming every two to three minutes by 1 am. Casey sat by me and tried to help by massaging my back like we'd learned in birth class. It was nice but honestly nothing helped too terribly much. I was getting pretty vocal by 2 am. Our nurse had come in twice to check my progress. Both times she said, "You're gonna hate me. But you're only one centimeter and a scootch." To which I replied, "SERIOUSLY?!?" Labor is no joke, people. The second time she checked me I had not progressed any further. I had the impression I needed to be further along to be officially admitted (not to mention get the epidural), so I just dealt with the situation at hand, hoping that I would progress. Around 2:30 am she came in again, took one look at my wilted form hanging over the bed, sitting on the useless birthing ball, and said, "Wow, you look miserable." Thank you, Captain Obvious. Then, she became my favorite person in all the land as she continued, "Do you just want your epidural?" (Upon arriving in my room, she had asked if I had a specific birth plan. I replied that my birth plan was very simple: To get an epidural. )<br>
The clouds broke and sunshine beamed through as a luminescent spotlight on this beautiful creature. I said in reply, "YES PLEASE." She said she would check with my doctor and left the room.<br>
Another reason I LOVE my doctor? Oh yeah-- he approved the epidural and they officially admitted me. I remember asking, "You're not going to send me home, are you?" with palpable fear in my voice. She said, "No way! We wouldn't send you home with your contractions this close and hard."<br>
I got the epidural at 3 am as my amazing nurse supported my upper body (which needed to be tilted forward as the needle was inserted). I have never been so grateful for a nurturing presence in my life. As much as I wanted the epidural and knew I needed one, I was pretty terrified. At one point she actually rested her head on my shoulder while I leaned into her, which did more to alleviate my fears than anything else she did. It was a beautiful moment. The process of the epidural was far easier than I had imagined and I was again very grateful for that very unexpected gift from God.<br>
After the pain meds began to flow I was able to "sleep" a bit. There's nothing like feeling the medications kick the ass of some of the worst pain you've ever felt. I love modern medicine.<br>
It wasn't a deep sleep however, with the blood pressure cuff inflating and deflating what seemed like every ten minutes, complete with it's annoying beeping to end each cycle. However light a sleep it was though, I was glad for it after those harrowing few hours.<br>
My doctor arrived around 6 am and examined me quickly. I had progressed to 3.5 centimeters, hallelujuah (and all the angels rejoiced!). He's a busy guy and works at two hospitals, so he left to tend to some other patients across town and said he'd be back in a couple hours to break my water if need be. That's exactly what happened. I was able to doze off a bit again. Again-- I love modern medicine. For me, it prevented me from hating every moment of the birth process and that was worth millions to me.<br>
Around 8 am they broke my water, a strange sensation and experience, if you've never been through it. This caused me to progress a little further, but not quite enough because around mid morning they gave me pitossin to progress me the rest of the way. Physically it was a strange few hours-- my right leg was more numb than my left and I had fun poking it and not feeling anything. As a dancer the experience of losing control of my lower half was strangely fascinating. I was ok with that non-control knowing it was also numbing the pain. Casey was there with me the whole time, catching a few z's here and there, and really helpful in keeping me grounded. I loved having him and only him there in the room, it kept my emotions from causing me to totally check out or become distracted from the task at hand.<br>
At some point my (new) nurse checked me and she said, "I can feel your baby's head!" That's when it became real I think. This baby was coming. For reals. Then, the contractions got even stronger (thank you pitossin). I knew I was allowed to push the button next to my bed, the one attached to the epidural, or as I like to call it, the sunshine-happiness juice. Suddenly I got all ballet dancer on the situation and decided to try to tough it out. Half an hour later, my nurse asked me what the heck I was doing-- and that I should just push the button. She had somehow gotten to know what I needed in the few short hours I had been in her care. So I pushed the button and things got manageable again.<br>
Around 12, something miraculous happened! I got to 9 centimeters! They called my doctor, who had gone home because he hadn't thought I'd progress this fast. As I progressed quickly to a ten, the nurse began to coach me in how to push and when to do it. She also brought Casey into it and told him how he could help. It was awesome to have him right by my side, assisting with everything.<br>
Then the time came for the first push.<br>
Because of the sunshine-happy juice, I couldn't feel the contractions coming until they were already happening for a few seconds. She let me know when they started and when it was time to push through them. My doctor arrived about fifteen minutes into the process, and began coaching me as the Mini made her way (slowly) down the birth canal. He was an amazing coach. As a ballet dancer I am used to and prefer "tough" corrections and encouragement. He fit the bill perfectly, as he said loudly during the pushes, "Go go go go go! Keep going! KEEP GOING! GO GO GO!"<br>
I am grateful for the muscles I gained as a dancer, as I had to locate them to push even through the fact I was numb in those exact places. They kept saying I was doing really well, and that I was making their job easy. I wasn't sure whether to believe them until, between pushes and contractions, they began discussing a co-worker of theirs and where he went on vacation that summer.<br>
I pushed for about an hour. Around the forty-five minute mark I began to believe she was never going to come out. At that point my doctor said he could see the head, which fueled me to keep going in my tiredness.<br>
At 1:42 pm, he had to prompt me, "Look! Look down, Gina," as she made her way into the world. I saw her face (which was slightly gray) and I could not believe I was seeing my baby. As I continued to watch, I noticed her face wasn't moving. My heart dropped in fear. Then he said, "Ok, the cord is around her neck, no big deal, happens all the time. We're just going to pop it off," and in about five seconds flat, he did. Soon after, she began crying. That was my cue. My heart broke open in such relief, I simply lost it. I started crying and couldn't stop. They put her on my chest and she immediately quieted. This was when I knew she really KNEW me, that she was mine. Casey cut the cord which was also extremely special and symbolic.<br>
After that, she was cleaned off, weighed, etc, and I craned my neck to see all that was going on. I was so distracted that I didn't even notice much of the post birth procedures that went on involving me directly. She was here! She was so quiet and sweet, even as she was being given her first shot.<br>
We soon knew that Scarlett, the name we were convinced was right for her, was not anywhere near fitting for her sweet personality. Adeline, a name further down our favorites list, seemed perfect for her. Rose became her middle name (a family name on my side and also happens to be my middle name as well).<br>
I loved that our hospital let us bond with her for the first few hours before rushing us out of the room. Those first moments were some of the most incredible I've ever experienced. I wasn't sure if I would bond to my baby right away, and I didn't believe everyone who said to me, "You just fall in love with your baby the second you see her. You'll see. It's hard to explain." Well, if you were one of those people-- you were right.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First moments after Adeline Rose being born.</td></tr>
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She was perfect-- 5 pounds, 15.5 ounces and 18 inches long, and perfectly healthy. I had never been so grateful for anything in my life, as evidenced by my tears that didn't stop for quite a few minutes.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adeline's second day of life in the hospital.</td></tr>
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And that's how it happened. Sweet Adeline arrived September 14th (a week early) and has cracked open both mine and Casey's hearts in a way that can never be fully explained. We love her more than words can describe (even at 4 am).<br>
Thanks for reading. If you've made it this far I commend you! Stay tuned for more of Adeline Rose's adventures in the world.<br>
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<br>Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-68627299661268301722014-10-24T11:55:00.002-06:002014-10-24T12:02:13.147-06:00The Birth of the Mini, Part One: The Problem of the 7'sI've taken entirely too long to write this blog. I have a good excuse, though-- the mini-human that was in my uterus is now on the outside. And I have, for a few weeks, had numb and tingly fingers (thank you, post-natal carpal tunnel) which makes typing not so fun. But back to the story! This is how Mini made her grande-- yes, I used an "e" at the end of that word on purpose-- entrance into this world.<br />
Leading up to the 14th of September my Braxton Hicks contractions had been a constant "friend," getting chummier and chummier with me, as if I'd had a DTR with them and told them I wanted our relationship to go to the next level. People kept telling me, "That's good, that means your body is getting ready!" I had been having them since about week 25, so I was feeling pretty ready to have them stop if you know what I mean.<br />
Saturday, September 13th was no exception. Woke up huge and crampy. Rolled out of bed. I had a feeling maybe Casey and I didn't have much more time totally alone. I informed him that we were going to have a coffee date later amidst all the baby preparation in the nursery. He readily agreed. So it was set!<br />
Off we went, late afternoon to Starbucks. We sat outside and shared a Pumpkin Spice frappuccino and pumpkin cream cheese muffin, where I told him that I was nervous about labor. I told him that I felt like I was waiting for the worst experience of my life. Casey is amazing, in case you didn't know, and an equally good listener as well as encourager. We left Starbucks later with me feeling a bit better. Not much, but a bit.<br />
As we pulled up to the house, suddenly all the muscles in/surrounding my uterus pulled together so violently that I doubled over in the passenger seat. This was a Braxton Hicks like no other. I wasn't worried, however. I just figured that was going to be the new normal. Awesome. I let it pass and went inside.<br />
About 6:30 pm, we were both in the nursery organizing and cleaning ("nesting" as some people like to call it-- I just call it being prepared). I got another one of those doozy Braxton Hicks contractions. Then, fifteen minutes later, another.<br />
Then, ten minutes later... Another.<br />
My stomach dropped and I kind of knew right then something different was up. But I'd heard stories over and over about how women go to labor and delivery hoping it was their time, and get sent home because they weren't dilated/ready enough to be admitted for real. I figured that would be me. Yep. Probably about seven times. So I simply pulled out my phone and started timing the contractions.<br />
By 7:30 they were about 6-7 minutes apart and getting more intense. I was on the floor of my bedroom, putting the final touches on my hospital bag (yes, that included a sparkly headband I wanted to wear during labor-- don't judge). When they started getting to be 5 minutes apart I thought it would be a good idea to call the doctor, because I wasn't about to go to the hospital unless he said it was likely I'd be admitted. Being sent home in this kind of pain felt like a fate worse than death.<br />
"On a scale of one to ten, how painful are the contractions?" he asked.<br />
"Uhhhh... Maybe 4 to 5?" I replied.<br />
"Ok. Well we don't want you to go to the hospital just to be sent home, I have a patient who was having pretty good contractions, went to the hospital, then they just stopped while she was there. That was last week. She's still pregnant. Let's wait till your pain level is consistently a 7. Then call the service and they'll let me know you are on your way."<br />
Now, I love my doctor. He is amazing. But at that moment I wanted to punch him. LET ME GO TO THE HOSPITAL!<br />
Instead I attempted to eat a little dinner then sat on the bed timing my contractions and recording the times and pain levels on my phone (I still have that note saved), breathing through them. It was getting more and more painful. Casey went into "super nesting mode" as he called it, on the nursery (the drawers were sticking on the dresser and that wasn't ok) and checked on me every ten minutes or so.<br />
Eventually I got to 7's. Constant pain in the uteral (yes I just made up that word) area.<br />
About 10:45 pm, I walked into the bedroom where Casey was sitting and (yes) doing our taxes. "I think maybe..." I attempted to say, as my uterus gave a huge "HELLO", almost a 9 level, and I doubled over, bracing myself on the bed.<br />
"Yeah... I think it's time to go," Casey said. We gathered our stuff, tucked the birds in (who knew if we'd be back that night) and got into the car.<br />
Getting to the main entrance in record time, we found a parking spot. We had to walk across the lot to get to the (dark) entrance doors. We arrived, then both stopped in our tracks. Why were all the lights off?!? Yeah... Turns out you have to go to EMERGENCY when you are having a baby that late. I had never been to emergency, so we had to search for that entrance which took about five more minutes. Which is kind of funny now. Not so much at the moment as you can imagine (picture me getting super testy and yelling as we drove in circles, "WHERE IS EMERGENCY? SERIOUSLY???").<br />
We finally found it luckily. Casey dropped me off at the entrance and went to park the car, which was somehow not what I'd imagined. I went in and they asked how they could help me. "I think I'm in labor," I said.<br />
"You THINK you're in labor?" he asked.<br />
"Yeah. I'm PRETTY SURE I'm in labor," I said, getting a bit testier. Seriously? Just get me a wheelchair!<br />
It's true they make you fill out a form before you are admitted. But it was short. And they got me to labor and delivery in record time. With every bump in the wheelchair causing my uterus to scream a little louder.<br />
Stay tuned for Part 2 of the birth story, called, "The Birth of the Mini: I Love Modern Medicine."Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-58837293696723970552014-09-09T09:51:00.004-06:002014-09-09T10:01:37.211-06:00Reflections on Impending Motherhood, by a 39 Weeks Pregnant Human.I had a dream last night that I had already had Mini. It was one of my typical weirdo dreams where things don't really make sense in any of the circumstances, but for some reason I accepted everything as if it was normal.<br />
For example, in my dream we were staying in a sort of adult orphanage-looking building (there were at least ten beds in each stark looking room), and for some reason I left her in a random room to sleep the night before. And then the next morning I couldn't find her and had to go to each room and explain to everyone that I had lost her and had you seen her? No one was being much help of course.<br />
Then, when I did find her, I was frantically searching for water, bottle in hand, so I could mix the formula. Because she hadn't eaten for like seven hours. Which is bad. But she was just sleeping peacefully on my shoulder like nothing was going on, and of course AGAIN no one was being much help in getting me water.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is kind of what the bedrooms looked like in my dream</td></tr>
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Totally normal situation right?<br />
Clearly it was a stress dream about motherhood. I've worked with infants before quite a bit-- but never one younger than 7 weeks old (the preschools I worked for didn't allow babies younger than that). Babies that young are so helpless and I think I will be mostly fine considering my experience, but there's no denying they are super tiny and vulnerable. There's also no denying that looking first time motherhood straight in the face is intimidating. The sheer amount of preparation can feel kind of isolating-- the mental preparation, the emotional realization that this little person will be totally 100% dependent on YOU for survival, and not to mention in my case the stress of frantically (while dealing with pregnancy aches and pains) preparing what feels like massive amounts of frozen food for Casey and I because knowing myself I will have no energy to cook at all post birth.<br />
I am so grateful for people who have reached out to me in the last few weeks to let me know they are thinking of me. Part of me though, realizes that it will really be me and Casey in those moments when Mini won't stop crying, or those times the house is a wreck and we can't imagine conjuring up the strength to even gather up the dirty clothes to throw them in the laundry. I know there will be a lot of time when it's just Mini and I during the day, and I will feel the full force of how my life has changed so dramatically.<br />
I half jokingly told Casey yesterday that I've been mentally/emotionally preparing for motherhood since I was 20-- not sure if that's a woman thing or a Gina personality thing. I just like to be prepared. And in those years of preparation, I know one thing for sure-- nothing will totally prepare me for this-- for the hard times as well as the moments of overwhelming joy that comes from having Mini in our lives.<br />
You say to me that those moments of looking into that little face (hidden from you for all those months of pregnancy) smiles at you or relaxes into sleep in your arms, makes all the craziness worth it. I'm sure that you are right.<br />
And I must admit, I'm so looking forward to that. And also I'm looking forward to not living in an adult orphanage when this happens.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-63583845015348641312014-08-27T09:45:00.006-06:002014-08-27T10:05:48.182-06:00Walking is Hard.Mini's room is painted! Now we can finally begin the "should the diaper pail go here, or here?" and "how in the frack does she already have so much stuff??" phase begins. I must say I am very relieved. There's just something about not having the changing pad set up that was making me kind of pregnant-style crazy. I know. I could change her on a blanket on the bed, or floor, or couch. Or anywhere really. But still.<br />
Speaking of crazy... It's a huge understatement that these last nine months have been humbling.<br />
I don't think I realized before how much I was used to going all day long, getting so many multiple things done. These days I have grand plans to do just a few things (things that normally should just take the energy of your typical tortoise). Here's the problem: I even find it tiring to walk from one store to another if they are not right next to each other. The other day Casey got his hair cut and I had about half an hour to kill. Target and Ulta are all the way across the (in my defense, very large) parking lot. Because I'm a (*cue sarcasm font*) pregnancy ninja, I walked all the way across the lot. Also, because I'm kinda in love with Ulta.<br />
Later I felt like I had run a marathon. Or, should I say, waddled a marathon? I promised myself I'd never waddle if I got pregnant. Yet... here I am. I blame the Braxton Hicks contractions. Let's just say, we aren't super besties.<br />
I'm now 36 (and change) weeks. Really-- Mini could come any time. You can't predict or control what the little girl will do. "Get used to it," I can hear you veteran parents saying.<br />
Again... humbling and a bit crazy-making for this planner personality.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-63596569434000117002014-08-13T10:21:00.000-06:002014-08-13T10:22:15.832-06:00Now This Is For Reals, Episode 3: Pre-Registering at the Hospital?!?Nothing says "This is really happening" like pre-registering at the hospital for labor and delivery.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hospital we pre-registered at for Mini's birth.</td></tr>
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It's kind of a pretty hospital, right? (I wonder if there's a Starbucks.) I have been going to my OB visits right next door to this hospital for most of my pregnancy. In fact, there is a sign right next to office door that says, "Main Hospital" with an arrow pointing to the right. That gives me a strange sense of security when I walk in for some reason. It's like having an extra towel at the pool. Probably won't need it but it's nice to have it there just in case.<br />
So last night we pre-registered online for the birth of Mini. I'm hoping this gets us out of filling out any paperwork when the time comes. Because really? Paperwork while you're in labor? To quote Brian Regan (in his case, referring to the lack of valet parking for emergency at the hospital): "If that isn't the biggest oversight in the universe..."<br />
Pre-registration means I'm ACTUALLY planning to birth this child. And... something about that part isn't quite real yet. I've gotten used to the bump, I've gotten used to the exhaustion, and I've almost gotten used to not being able to dance like I used to. I'm not used to the idea of the whole giving birth thing. It's like trying to imagine riding a rainbow unicorn over the ocean to the magical land of Narnia. Part of me is saying, "Nah. That will never happen."<br />
I know, she has to be born somehow and somewhere, right? But making plans to enter the hospital for this very purpose makes the thought flash through my brain once again: "NOW this is for reals."Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-42902095110847269032014-08-07T09:15:00.003-06:002014-08-07T13:37:09.917-06:00"Now This Is For Reals," Episode Two: My Couch Has Attachment IssuesIn my series illustrating that this is indeed for now "reals," I come to my second installment.<br />
The couch.<br />
It seems my energy level and the couch are in cahoots. There are days that I am not sick, I am not injured, I am not in the Twilight Zone, but I am physically unable to do much of anything but be on the couch doing various things. Might have something to do with low blood sugar (as my diet is constantly changing, I feel like I'm running to keep up with its new needs everyday), my slight anemia (already being treated for it), or just plain growing a human. While on the couch it's super fun to feel Mini's movement though, so not all is lost. It's like God is giving me these "no energy" days to have quiet moments to feel what she's up to.<br />
Through these times, my green couch has become a good friend. However, friends can sometimes be dangerous if they get too close. Specifically, the couch seems to be the jealous type-- it physically sucks me into itself and won't let me get up. I'm thinking of hiring a psychotherapist to come over and talk to it about its issues.<br />
It doesn't change the fact I need it though, so it's a complicated relationship.<br />
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When I'm snuggled down into the couch and don't physically have the energy to get up, I think about the amount of time I used to spend on the couch versus the amount of time I spent in the car and in the dance studio. It is vast. Then I can't help but think: Now this is for reals.Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5688948937298450403.post-49687817608662319342014-07-30T17:34:00.003-06:002014-07-30T17:34:56.106-06:00"Now This Is For Reals" Episode 1: Baby Laundry<i>I now begin a series which I have christened "Now This is For Reals." Each episode will contain a description of a moment or experience that has thrown me fully into the realization (however brief) that THIS IS FOR REALS. God willing, a baby is indeed coming. And I'm going to be taking care of her.</i><br />
Baby Laundry: There's a first time for everything. Today I threw in a load of baby clothes laundry... for the very first time.<br />
I don't know why I was so nervous about it. They are just mini-sized clothes. But I was worried the colors would bleed, I was worried the temperature would be wrong, I was worried I'd immediately lose a baby sock.<br />
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I know I'll get the "hang" of it. And it's not like if I happen to ruin a onesie or two (HA! get it?), she will have nothing to wear. We have tons of them already.<br />
Anyways, as I was throwing in the tiniest clothes and socks I've ever seen, and getting a whiff of the Dreft (special baby detergent? Who knew?), I had a moment.<br />
"Uhhhhhh.... THIS IS FOR REALS." Why else would I be doing chores for a person unless THEY EXISTED? And they would soon BE NEEDING CLOTHES TO WEAR otherwise they will be NAKED?<br />
And that was that. I then walked back upstairs and the moment was over. But keep a lookout for Episode 2 of "Now This Is For Reals," coming soon to a brain near you (mine).Ginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12347241041179572496noreply@blogger.com0