Halfway - Or so

We are about halfway though the pregnancy. I say "about halfway" because we all know that due dates are schmoo dates. Seriously, I am getting all steamed up thinking about some of the comments I've heard lately about "babies being in there too long" (like three days past their due dates) and stuff. But I digress.

Here we are at 20 weeks. I'm feeling some kicks in there, which is wonderful. I'm no longer sick, which is also wonderful. And now we are just enjoying life and pregnancy. It doesn't get much better.

This past weekend we had some maternity photos taken by a friend and neighbor of my parents. Jesse Olson, who is a mother of four herself, including 15 month old twin boys, is starting a photography adventure. She's built a new studio in her basement, has taken some classes, is booking out photos sessions quickly, and is looking to venture into mama belly photography. She offered (and we gratefully accepted) to take some photos of my growing belly for practice and for her website. She says that she just started her photography work professionally a few months ago. As you can see, though, she is quite good. She seems to be a natural at this. You can see her family, baby, and graduating senior photos on her website at CrazyFunPhotography.com

Here are just a few of the many photos of us that we love. There are others (more nude) that we haven't posted here. I love them, but I suspect some family members out there might find them odd, even if nothing more of me is showing than would if I were in a bathing suit. (In the one above, you can see the tattoo I've posted about but rarely photograph.) But anyway, here there are, along with some family photos we had taken this weekend, too. Those are all fully clothed.


If you are comfortable seeing the semi-nude photos that I love most, please go here to Jesse's site, click "galleries" and then "bellies." Gosh, she is GOOD. She even makes me look like a maternal goddness.

A Four-Eyed Princess

You all have heard me babble about Disney princesses and Barbie before. You know the argument. Many of you also know that we let Bel enjoy some of the Disney Princess movies and Barbie-like dolls. They are fun, so she can play with them. In fact, we are giving Bel her first Barbie for her birthday. I do try to balance these out with realistic positive female images. That's hard to do. Where do you find a fun princess-like doll that emulates a strong, realistically-beautiful woman?

Better yet - where do you find a doll, movie, or game that shows a strong, beautiful woman with glasses.

Lately Bel doesn't want to wear her glasses. She says they aren't beautiful. She points out that princesses don't wear glasses. She's right - they don't. Neither does Barbie. Neither does Hannah Montana. Even hideous Sponge Bob doesn't wear glasses. Now that I think about it, the only characters that have glasses are the nerdy, comic relief characters. Maybe (just maybe) a supporting character can have glasses.

It's hard to be a parent trying to raise a girl with positive self-image in a world where Barbie, Cinderella, and Bratz are still the models provided to young girls. It's hard for a mother like me to counter that with realistic positive female images.

My Daughter Gives Birth - A Birth Story

Can you remember your first exposure to birth? Do you know the impact that experience left you with? You may not. Maybe you do.

Belén is the daughter of a doula. She watched the birth of her brother. She has attended every prenatal visit I have had in two pregnancies. She knows what a placenta is. She's seen one.

Birth is normal for this girl. And normal birth for her is not what many women in our culture imagine. (Think about those horrid, horrid, horrid birth shows on TLC and Discovery Health. Jeez, those things are bad.)

Bel's perspective on birth is unique, and I think it's a positive one. This photo story of her giving birth demonstrates that.

The other day, Belén asked me to help her put her doll into her dress so that she could be pregnant like I am. I helped her, and I laughed when she reminded me to put her doll's head down, "because babies come out head first, Mom."

She let me take this photo.


After the photo, she walked off to play. She didn't know I continued to watch her. I was so happy I still had the camera in my hand, because what a story I captured! These "birth photos" look very much like a real birth. Watch as she gathered pillows, got down onto her knees, gave birth to her doll, and then scooped her new baby up into her arms and to her chest with love. And then she breastfed her new baby - all afternoon.

(Yes, she changed dresses mid-afternoon. She didn't like that with the pink dress, she had to lift it all the way up to find access to feed her baby. Don't we mamas all know what it's like to try to find shirts and dresses that you can easy breastfeed in?)

Mermaid Potion

Bel has added a new item to her Christmas list. She wants Mermaid Potion. What is that, you ask? I'm told by Bel that it's a potion that you can pour on your legs to turn yourself into a mermaid.

I explained to her that if she's a mermaid, she has to live in water. "Hmmmm," she says, "where is the nearest lake?" I point out that it's Lake Como. She gets a disgusted look on her face. Then she asks if there are sharks living in the lake. I explain that there are no sharks, but there may be turtles.

She said Lake Como will not do, so I guess we are going to need a pool, too. Do you think Santa can pull off delivering on Christmas Eve both Mermaid Potion and a pool for our backyard?

Is Darth a Girl or a Boy?

Well, I'm sixteen weeks along now. I think I'm done barfing, and we can move on to just being pregnant. The big question in our house is whether we have a little girl or a little boy in there. Bel is especially curious, and she has made it clear that she really, really, really wants a sister. To entertain her and ourselves, we tried a few of those old wives' tales for predicting a baby's sex. The Chinese calendar says it's going to be a boy, and so does the old hold-a-ring-on-a-string-above-the-belly trick.

Other old wives' tales are pointing towards a baby girl. First, I was really sick in the first few months. For a while there I was throwing up every morning. Second, I'm emotional as opposed to angry. I love this old wives' tale. It suggests that with baby boys, you have more testosterone, making you angry and aggressive. With girls, however, supposedly you have more estrogen, and you become more weepy and emotional.*

Well, the other day, I was driving to work with carpool buddy Emily, and a recording of an interview with Joe Mauer about winning the AL MVP came on. I got all teary listening to it. Seriously. If you know me, you know that I am steady-Eddy with my emotions. It's not that I don't have them. It's just that I keep them to myself. Personally, my emotions are none of anyone's business. I'd rather stand naked in front of the world than share my emotions with people. (That probably doesn't say much, though, given that I'd likely enjoy standing naked in front of a crowd.) The point is, it's unusual that I get teary. Then again, it was Joe Mauer winning the MVP, who wouldn't cry at that, right? It's normal...

... or so I tried to convince myself. Yesterday a five second commercial for the Charlie Brown Christmas special came on TV, and I got teary. That's right, it took five seconds. Andrew rewound it and timed it. Five seconds of a preview of a Charlie Brown TV special, and I was weepy.

Sigh. I think I'd rather still be barfing.

We do not intend to find out whether Darth is a boy or girl until he is born next spring. I'd love to hear your thoughts, though. Do you think he's a boy or girl? Vote on the poll on the right.

*To state the obvious, none of these are scientific. I'm not even sure the hormone thing is physiologically possible. I don't care - I don't look to them to actually tell me what we are having. If I really wanted to know, I'd do the ultrasound thing. I simply enjoy the entertainment quality these tests bring. So please don't think that I put any merit in these things.

Farmer Frank

I love bringing the kids up to the farm. I'm raising a couple of city slickers, but at least Grandma and Grandpa can help mitigate most of the slickerness.

Frank loves trucks and tractors. He knows what a combine is from pictures, but I wanted him to see a real thing. My dad took us to the shed and offered the kids a ride in the combine. At first Frank wouldn't get in. (See how it's just my dad, Belén, and cousin Cede in the photo above?) This is the closest he'd get at first:

Eventually, though, he got in, and Grandpa let him drive.

He is still talking about it, a week later. In fact, as I uploaded these pictures here, he put his pizza-sauce covered fingers on the computer screen and started jabbering about it again.

The best part of the weekend was when our cousin Ron shot a deer on the last day of deer hunting season. Now, I know this isn't a "farmer thing." A lot of city folk go hunting. In fact, Ron is from "The Cities." But, it is part of the culture where I grew up. When Ron showed up with the buck in his truck, I had to show it to Frank. He was impressed.

Here is what Frank has to say about it (side note, he is talking about this in full city slicker style - notice he's wearing a sweater vest over a polo shirt?):



That's right. My boy knows that deer are for eating. Bel disagrees, however. After looking at the deer, she said she wouldn't eat it because it has hair on it.

That's my city slicker kid.

Five Person Family in a Four Person Family World

We are going to enter the parenting world of zone defense. No more man-on-man coverage. We know there would be significant changes going from two kids to three.

Take our cars, for example. We do not own a minivan, SUV, crossover, or any vehicle that seats more than five. They DO seat five, but our back seats will be crowded (squished is a better word) with three car seats. We know we'll eventually get bigger vehicles, but we have no intention of doing that until one of the cars dies. We know there will be a lot of poking, hitting, and fighting in the meantime, but isn't that closeness part of the fun?

Then I began to see that beyond just cars, the world is really set up for four-person families. We love restaurant booths. Guess what? They are designed for four people. I guess we'll be moving to chairs around a table. That's fine, I guess, but I'll miss the squishy booth seats.

I also thought about amusement park rides. There are two- or four-person rides. Somebody is going to have to be the man-out in our amusement park adventures. It will be Rock, Paper, Scissors for who has to ride alone. Or we'll just make Frank ride alone because he's the middle child.

Lately, though, there was one that caught me by surprise - board games. Kids' board games are nearly all designed for four-person players. We were playing Chutes and Ladders the other night, and there were four game pieces - one for each of us. I thought about all the games we have. All are four-player games. What are we going to do on family game night? Team-play would be uneven, and individual participation is lost. We'll probably have to do this: Dad is the green player, Mom is the blue player, Bel is the red player, Frank is the yellow player, and Darth is the... um... let's see here (rummage through junk drawer)... Darth can be the bolt.

When Cotton Candy is Bad

I'm coming out of the fog that is the first trimester. I'm not zonked out all day anymore. With all this extra time, I've found the opportunity to look at pictures taken these last few months. Here is a favorite. This is from the State Fair, and it shows Bel in supreme disappointment with this cotton candy.

How could she be disappointed, you say? The sugar-bomb is larger than she is! That is accurate. There is no trick photography here. That cotton candy is bigger than Bel. See the stick she is holding on to? No? You can't see it? That's because the entire stick down to a half inch nubbin is covered with cotton candy. It's a prime example for a Q-tip commercial, too - look at all the cotton at the tip!

No, she didn't complain that the cotton candy wasn't big enough. She complained (and complained and complained and complained and complained) that it wasn't pink enough.

I think her exact words were, "But MOM, this is a complete disaster! The cotton candy is hardly pink! It's not pink enough, Mom! This is terrible!"

And for some reason, that makes me smile.