Category Archives: Pregnancy

Let’s Talk About Sex Baby

 “So, how did you get a baby in your tummy, anyway?”

 

Of course.  So.  I told Roan I would answer him as soon as we had lights out, after books and brushing teeth.  I wanted to find out if he was really curious, or if he was just delaying bedtime.  I have to admit – as cool or progressive or open minded or NOT MY MOM AND DAD as I think I am, I was spinning a little.  I didn’t really know what he should know, if there were aspects that would freak him out rather than enlighten him, or even if he would remember to ask me when we had lights out and of course yes he remembered to ask me.

 

So my approach was this: start broad, and wait for his questions.  I felt more comfortable letting him decide how many details he wanted.  So I started out saying that when a mom and dad decide they want a baby, they use their bodies, together, to make one.  Starting nice and easy, I felt totally cool but he jumped up a few levels by asking “What about a mommy and a mommy?”

 

So, off to the reproductive system I went.  I touched Roan on his tummy and told him a female has a reproductive system here, and it has eggs.  A man has a reproductive system in his testicles (met by a “Noooooooo!!” then giggling) and he has sperm.  When the sperm meets the egg, a baby is made.  So if there are two men that want a baby or two women who want a baby, a doctor can help them, by using machines medicine and science to make it happen, but still with these same two parts.

 

He took that all at face value and moved on.  Clearly the next piece is how did his dad’s sperm get to his mom’s egg?  I went ahead and got my science voice on and said that the man uses his penis in the woman’s vagina and that it is only appropriate for adults to do and definitely not kids and not even appropriate for teenagers.  I heard myself and realized that in one 2-minute conversation my son, he had turned me into a right wing, abstinence only, sex is for procreation caricature.  That was weird. 

 

He seemed like he was unscathed by our conversation thus far, and as he ramped up for his next question, I promised myself to try and be more myself, less uptight and started relaxing about answering correctly, thinking about how truth really isn’t going to hurt him.  But here’s the thing – I never had this talk with my parents.  I was so naïve and unquestioning that until about 4th grade I believed a woman got pregnant by asking God for a child and God agreeing that it was a probably a good idea and then presto the baking began.  When a classmate started talking about sex I was wide-eyed, horrified and so forth and really thought she was a mess for making this kind of thing up. 

 

And so.  Calm and cool and returning back into my own skin, I heard Roan begin with “Mom….?”

“Yep”

“I will never….”

“Yes?” 

“Ever…..”

“…….?”

“Change that babies diaper”

 

Fair enough, we’d leave it to Dad, I said.  And then one more,

 

“Mom?  What’s it called?  When you’re making the baby?”

“Uh, yeh well it’s called sex or doctors say intercourse and some people say making love….”

Which spawned his best line to date, “Making BABY love!”  Nice.  Can’t wait for him to break that one out for his classmates.  To the entire collective of parents of Roan’s friends:  you’re welcome for adding “Making BABY love” to the lexicon of the first grade class.

 

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It’s Going (yawwwwn) Just Fine

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It’s Going (yawwwwn) Just Fine. 

I know that my memories of being pregnant with Roan may be a little distorted.  For instance, when people ask if I had morning sickness with him, I reply that I did not.  I proclaim that it was an easy pregnancy, in which I was finishing up some college courses, secured a great job, facilitated group sessions with drug addicts and worked right up to the day I was to be induced. 

 

However, I do remember one snippet of a conversation with my brother-in-law, Rocky, where I proclaimed that I couldn’t understand why anyone would do this more than once, to which he replied, “It’s because you will forget”.  He was right as rain.  I have been having a fairly easy time thus far being pregnant with Roan’s teammate (whom he is certain is a girl.  I feel it’s a boy.  Anson inexplicably is firm that we have twins though about 6 ultrasounds have shown otherwise.)  Still, before I became pregnant, I could do pretty much everything I wanted to do, PLUS everything Roan and Anson wanted me to do and feel like I had energy to burn.  I was teaching five Muay Thai Kickboxing classes per week, running about 15 – 20 miles per week, and was at this hard-fought place with my body where my weight was cool with me while I was still eating all the things I felt like I wanted to eat.  In short – my body felt like it was my dominion. 


So, predictably I’m about to tell you it’s all changed.  True it has but the thing that’s getting under my skin?  I’m tired.  I’m tired as I roll out of bed in the morning, after I drop Roan off from school, I have to work up my energy to put my house together every day and it takes all my power to show up to Muay Thai.  I feel lucky that the nauseous thing has so far pretty much stayed at bay, so I’m not going to complain (hang on is this complaining?  No no, just documenting.  Seriously.  If you could hear my tone, it would be upbeat and friendly and not whiney at all no sireeebob.  I’m not even bringing up the fact that I’ve broken out my “big girl” clothes.)
 


 This energy deficit was so pathetically evident on Sunday for Father’s Day.  Anson, Roan and I went to a favorite restaurant for brunch (I had yummy Sour Cream Pancakes).  Then we hopped the subway to get to Dylan’s Candy Bar, which is an extravagant candy mecca owned by Dylan Lauren (daughter of up and coming designer Ralph).  Walking in there is like licking twelve lollipops while simultaneously mainlining a bag of chocolate.  The air is sweet and cool and smells of everything good.  Everything.  While Roan was losing his mind going through the three floors of candy shop, I had to go sit down and drink a bottle of water.  Because I couldn’t keep up, because I am 102 years old.  So I finally got my mojo back and suggested we take the Sky Tram over to Roosevelt Island to hang out on the grass by a beautiful little lighthouse and the boys were into it.  We arrived, and this time not only did I sit rather than play freeze tag, I demanded a smoothie.  I don’t know who I am anymore.  It was actually a lovely day and both of my guys love this new more vulnerable and tired me, but I don’t think it’s all that cute. 
 

 

I suppose I can take solace in the fact that the day spent my Roan, as evidenced by him falling asleep one full hour before bed time, and putting up no resistance as we carried him to bed, only muttering “Is your wrist strap on?  Is your wrist strap on?”  That’s very telling, isn’t it? And Anson is laying here next to me, tearing up while watching Extreme Home Makeover (Ok, that’s possibly crossing the TMI line because he will never admit that in public but if I’m lying I’m dying it is happening right now) and it is all of 8:13 PM and I see him fading.  So, in essence, I’m going to frame it up t
his way: being pregnant has finally helped me travel to a place where relaxing on the couch trumps doing dishes, and playing Wii counts as quality time for the family.
  Everyone seems to be adapting just fine.

Unreasonably Happy

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I’m the Friend Who Drives You Bananas

I think I’m mostly a naïve person, and maybe a little careless.  My naivety shows in my belief that everything will just be fine, unless it wont be, in which case, well I probably couldn’t have changed it anyway.  So I live my life in this way, fingers crossed most of the time, but always hopeful that the universe is conspiring in my favor.  I understand that not everyone is built this way.  Some people may be wired exactly the opposite way, and I’m the kind of person that makes them furrow their brow, shake their head and breathe deep. 


One Should Wait Until One’s First Trimester is Over to Announce One’s Pregnancy

This personality trait started shining bright as a lighthouse when I found out I was pregnant.  Of course I told Anson right away, and we kept it to ourselves for a full 12 hours at which point I couldn’t bear to keep it from Roan.  There are a lot of really good, really valid reasons why I shouldn’t have done that.  But there I was on a Saturday morning sitting on the couch eating Lucky Charms with him when I just started a guessing game with him and led him to his big guess that he was going to be granted his wish for a teammate in this household.  Roan was so excited.  He was excited in a way that surprised me – it went all the way down to his core, and made him think about all the things he could do would do with this new person.  That very day he placed his hand on my stomach and said, “I can’t wait for that baby to kick me.”

 

Roan kept it to himself for a full 15 minutes before he began shouting it on the streets.  It was way to early to be telling people, but I couldn’t help but be caught up in his magical enthusiasm.  Again, my naiveties lit up bright by letting it get into the world that quickly.  For me, it was ok, though.  I know all the millions of things that can go wrong; I’ve seen heartbreak with my own mother in a pregnancy that ended too early. Still, in my life I find I hang on tight to these happy things, and if tragedy creeps up on me, I will feel it then.  I will not anticipate it.  So I let Roan and his excitement run loose on the playground, at our friend’s homes, and wherever he needs it to manifest. 

 

Is it Wrong to Call a Closet a Nursery?

I am of course worried about some things – will this
pregnancy be as easy as Roan’s?
  I’m older now – a whopping 38 which in my old digs of Utah is a little old to be having a child but here in Brooklyn, people will likely shake their head and compare me to Bristol Palin.  (Viva la Madres de Brooklyn!!)  We have exactly no spare space.  We have exactly no spare change.  We have exactly no baby supplies as my penchant to get rid of everything that hasn’t been used in the last 20 minutes rules this household. 

 

But mostly, I’m excited to see my boy Roan with his new friend, whom he is anticipating with the most love and excitement that I have ever seen.  He has started making a mental list of what we need to buy, and randomly will verbalize the list, “Hey mom, we can’t wrap the baby in towels so we’re going to have to buy it a blanket, ok?  Also: diapers, cause you know…..”  Roan stares at the printouts from the ultrasound with fascination and sees things that I cannot see.  He’s practicing singing songs, reading books, and has committed to wearing a sling to carry the baby down these Brooklyn streets.  I promise to you:  I will photograph that.


The Yin to my Yang

And my husband Anson, who is one of those people who is driven crazy by people with my sense of “what will be will be”, he’s hanging on tight and trying his best to keep up with his two pregnancy-proud banshees.  Anson wants this child, he’s excited for the future and for where we are now, but he worries so much more than I do.  But too bad for him – all the literature out there says that while your wife is pregnant, she is always right, always just and always deserving of your total support (don’t make me site sources, just trust me).  So this is going to be a good time for all of us.  Some of us may just need to practice our breathing excercises more than others and I’m not talking about me.