Flexibility

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.

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! 

Things Have Changed.

So that's the understatement of the year.
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.
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.

Mini, 2 days old.

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?
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.
And I'm not quite sure I'm ready for that!
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.
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.
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.

Casey, Mini and I on  her first Christmas (2014).

Hanukkah

An 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.

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.

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).

Anne and Margot singing for Hannukah

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.

Love.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 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. 

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.

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.

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.

"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.
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.
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.").
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.
Around the clock.
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.
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).
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.

The 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?
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.
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!
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.
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).
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.
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. )
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.
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."
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.
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.
 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Then the time came for the first push.
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!"
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.

First moments after Adeline Rose being born.

 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.

Adeline's second day of life in the hospital.

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).
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.

The Birth of the Mini, Part One: The Problem of the 7's

I'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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
Then, ten minutes later... Another.
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.
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.
"On a scale of one to ten, how painful are the contractions?" he asked.
"Uhhhh... Maybe 4 to 5?" I replied.
"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."
Now, I love my doctor. He is amazing. But at that moment I wanted to punch him. LET ME GO TO THE HOSPITAL!
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.
Eventually I got to 7's. Constant pain in the uteral (yes I just made up that word) area.
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.
"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.
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???").
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.
"You THINK you're in labor?" he asked.
"Yeah. I'm PRETTY SURE I'm in labor," I said, getting a bit testier. Seriously? Just get me a wheelchair!
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.
Stay tuned for Part 2 of the birth story, called, "The Birth of the Mini: I Love Modern Medicine."

Reflections 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.
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.
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.

This is kind of what the bedrooms looked like in my dream

Totally normal situation right?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

Walking 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.
Speaking of crazy... It's a huge understatement that these last nine months have been humbling.
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.
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.
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.
Again... humbling and a bit crazy-making for this planner personality.

Now 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.

The hospital we pre-registered at for Mini's birth.

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.
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..."
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."
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."

"Now This Is For Reals," Episode Two: My Couch Has Attachment Issues

In my series illustrating that this is indeed for now "reals," I come to my second installment.
The couch.
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.
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.
It doesn't change the fact I need it though, so it's a complicated relationship.

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.

"Now This Is For Reals" Episode 1: Baby Laundry

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.
Baby Laundry: There's a first time for everything. Today I threw in a load of baby clothes laundry... for the very first time.
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.

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.
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.
"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?
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).

Spaghetti and Vampires.

I know what you're thinking... "There's no way she's going to pull those two subjects together as neatly as she hopes to." Just wait.
When something amazing happens to me I like to share it with you all. And something very amazing happened last night. As some of you know, I lived in Italy for a bit in my early twenties, where I gained appreciation for some mind-blowingly delicious food. I also learned how to not dress like a sloppy American (no offense to Americans... it's just in Italy I realized a baggy t-shirt and shorts don't really cut it as "fashionable" or flattering to my frame at all. Come to think of it I don't really know anyone that looks good in what I used to wear pre-Italy. WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME I WAS DRESSING LIKE ONE OF THOSE BROWN PAPER BAGS THEY USED TO GIVE YOU AT THE SUPERMARKET??!?).
One of the pastas I learned how to make authentically was spaghetti alla carbonara, which deliciously integrates pancetta (bacon's exquisite second cousin twice removed), eggs, and parmesan cheese folded into its al dente spaghetti noodles. Last night I successfully made this dish for the first time since I've been back from Florence. Unless you are allergic to joy, I don't see how you could NOT like this dish. Even if you are allergic to gluten you can go get the gluten free pasta and make this dish and be happy.
Just in case I've convinced you, here is an image of the food from heaven, and the recipe that is so similar to what my Italian friends taught me that I can't taste the difference:

Heaven in a bowl- spaghetti alla carbonara

Link to the recipe by Tyler Florence: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/tyler-florence/spaghetti-alla-carbonara-recipe.html
Still wondering how I'm going to tie in vampires? Well it seems that Mini loves food as much as I do right now. Because, approximately 20 minutes after a meal in which I have eaten something especially yummy, I feel the strongest kicks/punches/backflips I have felt thus far in the pregnancy. This happened last night after the carbonara. And is literally happening right now this second (I just ate some blueberry/lemon bread). Have you read or seen the Twilight movie where Bella gets pregnant with a half vampire baby? And the baby, ridiculously named Renesmee-- but that's another post for another day-- is so strong that her kicks crack ribs and she basically almost pushes her way out of Bella's body. That's what Mini's kicks feel like lately when I've eaten some good tasting food.
Still worth it. Once you taste this pasta you will agree with me.

A Space of Her Own

We bought paint the other day. For Mini's room.
For a long time, Casey and I have loved the idea of a light gray and white room for the nursery. I like the color lavender as well. So we split the difference and are planning on doing light gray with a lavender accent wall.

The cans are sitting in front of me in the living room, next to the couch. I'm imagining what her room will look like in those lovely colors. Then I look to my right and see the ugly blue color that came along with our house in our bedroom. Ugh. I hate that color. Not to mention there are white spots, some of which I covered up with pictures, that can't just be painted over, you have to paint the whole room. Therefore the reason we have lived in aquamarine blue hell for about four years.
I sometimes notice subtle changes going on inside myself lately. Like I'd rather buy clothes for Mini than myself. Like I'm actually excited about this diaper bin we got for our baby shower. And the latest one is that I would rather work on her room than ours, and give her pretty gray and lavender walls than fix ours.
No further deep thoughts about this, I just have heard that this happens when you have a child. Some sense of unselfishness kicks in. Which honestly I'm a bit relieved to see-- before I got pregnant, I was worried I was "too selfish" to have a child. This is a common fear among women (and men) from what I know.
So when we started organizing all the baby stuff and planning the colors and buying the paint... And I wasn't super annoyed that we weren't buying stuff for us, or me... I found out I wasn't as selfish as I thought. Maybe Mini is making me a better person already.
Also another side-effect of having kids, from what I heard.

It's a...

It's a bird... It's a plane... It's...

A girl.

For all you that I haven't slipped with various statements such as, "She's really kicking today" or "When she arrives..." etc, the news is out and it appears we are having a female mini-human.

It's an interesting thing. The first (very early) ultrasound I had revealed a little peanut that I could hardly see on the screen. Amazingly I could see the heartbeat even though she was just 6 weeks old at the time. That same day I started feeling as if she was a girl. No rhyme or reason behind it. I just had a feeling. And I am not one to prescribe to the "if you feel it, it's true" camp, but apparently in this case I was right.

Not surprisingly, I began wondering whether she will want to dance or not, specifically ballet. Being a professional dancer and dance teacher, it is a huge part of my life and I can't imagine being alive without dancing nearly everyday. Dance has become so integral to my existence and identity it is difficult to separate them in my mind.

Even more surprisingly, I find myself in a mental 50/50 split on whether I'd like her to want to be a ballet dancer. Especially in the professional world, even in the best of jobs/circumstances, it is harsh. I am not kidding around when I say I truly believe it is one of the most stressful careers a person can choose. I'm talking physically, mentally, and especially emotionally. I would hazard a guess that most professional dancers don't do it for the money (dancers, unless you are with a large company, are often paid less than poverty wages, yet go back year after year for more). They do it because they, like me, can't imagine their lives without it despite the fact you often feel sucked dry by the lifestyle of the career. It is the artistic air they breathe.

Me at about 8 years old, in my first Nutcracker production. I was a "Tiny Tot" (one of the children under Mother Ginger's skirt in Act 2)

It's funny to me that I'm already thinking about this as she is still in utero. I know intrinsically that I won't be able to stop her if she wants to do it. And, of course, I won't. The performing profession is full of joy, incredible highs, and personal growth. It also happens to be a career that asks so much of the performer. It asks for your heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears. It asks for everything.

Mini will have her own mind, desires, and expectations for life. Parenting is sure to be an experience that will test my abilities to let go and just observe as she tries many different things. She will succeed at some and fail at some. I am so curious about who she will be, what she will look like, and what she will choose day by day.

And being at thirty-two weeks currently, it seems I won't have long to wait to find out.

Just Sayin.

Noisy toys.
This might be the one time I go all Little House on the Prairie on life... Let me explain.
From my early twenties to my late twenties, I worked on and off in daycare and preschools. These places are littered with toys that make cute (cute meaning annoying) noises, music, etc when a certain magical button is pushed.
Needless to say, hearing that kind of noise/"music" can be highly annoying when it is constant. I'm just gonna put it out there, at the risk of already being called a bad parent (hey, Mini isn't even here yet!). My opinion is that pingy type of music isn't really music compared to the amazing wealth of real beauty we have at our fingertips in this world, especially in the age of iPods, iPhones, and instant technology.
Not to mention, when you work in an infant room for months at a time, the constant exposure to this type of sound is a little like water torture. Not that I've ever gone through water torture, but I imagine the first little drip-drip-drips you think, "This isn't that bad." Then it gets a little worse. You get annoyed at the whininess of a certain toy and make sure you turn it off whenever possible. But with eight babies running around in one room  (well, crawling/rolling) that task becomes nearly impossible. All at once you realize that this noise is never, ever going to stop.
And this is why I, as I prepare for the arrival of our Mini, am hoping to play Mozart, opera, Glenn Miller, Beatles, Sinatra, even Florence and the Machine in our house before I just let the toy/swing/bouncer music entertain. I want Mini to know what real music sounds like. I want Mini to appreciate the beauty and complexity of an aria, the insane FUN of big band, and the beautiful sound an actual piano creates. From birth I was raised in a home that was filled with opera, the Carpenters, Frank Sinatra, and Beatles (I can still sing every lyric of most of their songs) among others. I thank my mother for exposing me to it early and forming my musical tastes well. We also sang nursery rhymes, songs from Sesame Street, and Disney. Those are beautiful and helpful too. I just think musical appreciation starts early.

A mini Gina looking at a flower.

And also, those toys just drive me insane. And an insane Gina is no good for a brand new Mini.
Just sayin.

Why Having a Baby is Like Taking on the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Week 31 and counting. More and more I'm getting the feeling I'm in some crazy heavy duty "change" training-- since January 21st (the date we found out we were with Mini) there have been so many life changes. So. Many. Changes.
Physical: Cravings, pains, growth, regression.
Mental: What the what? You say I'm going to have a baby? Surrre. *brain clicks off and thinks about "real" life circumstances. Like I'm hungry. So I go get a snack.*
Emotional: WHY AM I SO EMOTIONAL ALL THE TIME??!? Get me some ice cream! Or at least some chips and salsa!
***Ok, so it's only been like that about 10% of the time. In fact, up until now, I've been proud of how non pregnant-zilla I've been...but worth mentioning.
Career-wise: So... basically my life looks nothing like it did before. Before I danced most days, all day and got paid for it. Then I'd go teach some littles how to dance later in the day. But that has become impossible. Because of the physical changes and the need to adjust to them. Happily I am still taking class (though not all of it all the time), and feel I am much healthier and more "me" physically, mentally, and emotionally when I do so.
I really believe all this is preparing me for the big granddaddy change of all. This new little life who will be joining us in less than ten weeks (most likely, unless it's later... pleasepleaseplease don't let it be later) will change everything, forever. It is hard to comprehend. I have listened carefully to all the words people have lovingly said to me, such as "It will change everything, but it's worth it" and "Life as you know it will never be the same" and "Get ready to never sleep again." I don't like the last one so much.

Peter Strand as Cavalier and me as Sugar Plum Fairy in Ballet Ariel's Nutcracker 2012.

And honestly, as much as I try, I will never be totally ready. I know this. It's one of those "change as the change comes" trainings, like dancing the famously difficult role of Sugar Plum Fairy. You jump into rehearsals hoping you won't collapse from the sheer weight of the technical demands and expectations the role brings with it. Somehow, miraculously, you get through the rehearsals and shows. Of course, unexpected things happen onstage that you have to deal with moment by moment (similar to babies, no?). And yes, it is all worth it. It's hard, but the payoff? Well, why do you think professional dancers consistently go back for more? Those moments onstage when the sweat and pain transform into magic and you do an unexpected triple turn or hold the position you've been struggling with in the studio? The shows you enter into the character and never exit until you step offstage? Priceless.
That role was the scariest of my life. If you've never experienced it, instead just think of the scariest thing you've ever done-- something that a lot was riding on emotionally, physically, mentally, and career-wise. I often say to myself, "Self. If you got through that, you can certainly do this." And then I feel better.
Because at least, when I change Mini's diaper and try to get the crying to stop... I don't have to do it while looking like I'm happily and confidently floating through a fantasyland of sweets. And then there are those promised moments I hear about, when your baby falls asleep in your arms, the bonding times, the first smiles and laughs-- that's the payoff. This is real life, people (involving real life people). And I think I'm mostly ready for it-- that is, as ready as I'll ever be.

Magical Pregnancy Unicorn?

I really thought I'd be one of those "magical pregnancy unicorns" (quoting the "What to Expect When You're Expecting" movie) who, despite the fact I am smuggling a basketball under my clothes, does not need to alter her daily activities at all from pre-pregnancy. Watch the below video from 1:39-1:45 to get the full effect of what I'd been hoping for (although the whole trailer is pretty hilarious as a whole if you feel up to watching it).

I thought I'd be able to do my full ballet class everyday (I've heard of other professional dancers that have done it... And heard they are in class the day they deliver wearing pointe shoes) and rock it. I thought I'd at least be able to get out of bed for it.
I thought I'd be one of those people who "didn't even show till a few weeks before delivery." Ha!
I thought I'd be one of those magical creatures who could go all day, everyday, shopping and preparing, cleaning and nesting for the cutest little bundle ever to grace the earth (coming to a house near you very soon!).

Ha.

I thought I could sail through at LEAST month seven without batting an eyelash ("Oh my, what's that you say? How do I do it all, with panache, even though I'm growing a human? Oh I don't know, I guess I'm just AMAZING.").
I was wrong.
You know all the stereotypes of pregnant women? I have personally fulfilled more of these gems than I'd like to admit. Ok, fine, I'll admit to sitting on the couch and eating ice cream straight out of the container when I should be doing something else, because I simply do not have energy. I sleep for hours. Or try to (my diaphram is getting a little squished). Despite the naps, I am still exhausted. Plus then, I wake up early every morning, not because I'm awesome at it. Because that's just what my body is doing these days.
Not to mention the mental and emotional. I went into a toy store yesterday. Out of my own volition. For no reason at all other than "I think I need to buy Mini a toy." I'm pretty sure I've never had an urge to go into any toy store, at all, before this unless I was supposed to buy a toy for my nephews or a friend's kid. I really can't walk by the baby section of a store without at least just "taking a look" in case there is a clearance sale on, well, anything.
Expectations! Where do they get us? I now claim nowhere. This time of my life has been so interesting and mind boggling (especially feeling a mini human kicking around inside). But just in case there are other women out there who might be encouraged by my experience I will say it straight up-- it is also also exhausting. I am learning to accept myself where I am at right now. I am learning to let go. I am not doing well some days. But it's a process, and one that I am sure is preparing me for the one ahead God willing.
Some people tell me, "Oh I miss being pregnant! You'll see!" To which I often respond, "ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!?" I know I'll be grateful for this experience, someday-- much like I was grateful for all the physically exhausting rehearsal hours leading up to performing a lead role onstage. It prepared me and made it possible for me to perform well.
But someone, please, get me another pint of Cold Stone over here-- I just finished my last one. I'll be right here on the couch.

I Found The Ultimate Answer. (I Don't Care What The Question Is)

I have something amazing and beautiful to share with you all, something I just recently discovered in my 29th week of pregnancy. It's so incredibly good that I could not keep it to myself. It's something only having a baby could allow me to experience on such a deep, personal level.

Yes. Cold Stone Creamery.

I have experienced the wonder of their mix-ins in the past, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I would order a "like it" size with my favorite toppings (usually brownie bits or oreos, don't usually stray from the formula). But this is a whole new thing. Did you know Cold Stone will mix up a whole special custom ice cream creation in a take home pint (or more) so you can enjoy it for days to come? Did you? I'm not sure you did.
My father in law is in town, and he and Casey are working on some house projects that must get done before Mini makes an appearance. I am forever grateful for their hard work, and wanted to get something special for dessert that would properly express my gratitude... Plus, I had a crazy desire for salted caramel ANYTHING.
*I realize this blog is turning into an enormous ad for Cold Stone. I'll try to fix that: Hey, did you know you can also get this kind of custom ice cream at Maggie Moo's, and other places that I don't know the names of? Or do it yourself at home? See? There. Fixed.*
After shopping at the grocery store (which conveniently was right next to Cold Stone... What? I had no idea!... Ok, ok, I picked that grocery store location for that very reason), I strolled into the delicious cool of this wonderful ice cream palace. I had planned on just picking up a pre-packed pint, but they weren't selling quite what I wanted.
That's when I spotted the empty pint containers on the counter... And the rest is history.
This happened (not my actual ice cream):

And then, this happened at home (not the actual bowl I used):

Casey and Malcolm loved the ice cream concoction I created (salted caramel ice cream, with extra caramel sauce, graham cracker pie crust, and chocolate shavings as mix-ins). How could you not? It's freaking salted caramel! SOOOOO delicious.
Ice cream is the answer. I don't care what the question is.

First Day at the New Gym Syndrome

I don't have to do a ballet bun in the immediate future. So I chopped my hair. Yep, just like that. AND I went all punk too. See below:

Fine, so maybe it's not "all punk" compared to other punk-er cuts. But I've never done a color other than highlights before, much less a red streak. And I just felt like doing it. And who's stopping me? Huh? Huh? NOBODY.
We also finally joined the gym across the street from our place. And now I'm wondering what took us so long? It's frickin' ah-mazing to go across the street, work out, then be home in like, ONE MINUTE. Here's what I benched today:

Just kidding. I did something way, way (wayyyy) smaller. Bonus, I followed the time honored tradition of the "first time at a new gym person"-- I wandered around like an idiot and used all the machines wrong. They have a machine that looks like an elliptical but APPARENTLY the feet/legs just move back and forth (not in circles). I got on this and tried to go in circles for a full minute before I gave up and tried the machine next to it which was clearly a traditional elliptical. Whatever.
Mini seemed to like the experience, judging from the kicks and moving all around while we were there. They even have a small room with a wood floor where you can stretch. It's nice to have that separation from the rest of the gym who typically look at me like I have three heads if I even attempt to stretch to a degree that will actually, um, help my muscles relax.
A pretty good week. Especially after getting this in my fortune cookie at Panda Express (can you say ORANGE CHICKEN?? I am obsessed lately. Maybe it's a week 29 thing):