The Up and Up

These pictures are from Friday when it felt a whole lot like spring instead of winter. It was one of those days that idealistic moms-to-be daydream about as they rub their pregnant bellies

Benton and I woke up and he gave me a bunch of kisses and said “I ooou.” This is his short version of “I love you.” We had breakfast  and then went out to Grant Park.

He is completely obsessed with stairs since it is his latest skill, so I thought it would be fun to go to the statue of Grant and let B loose onto the hill. He went nuts for about an hour or so. It was nearly 50 degrees outside, and the sun was almost warm.

I offered him my hand a few times to see if he wanted help on the way down the stairs. Denied. BIG KID. I get it.

After all those stairs, we went to a new restaurant in my south loop hood called Waffles. I was so happy, just sitting there on my date with little B after a fun morning in the park. The waffles were perfect. Sometimes life is so good and simple.

Benton then passed out in the stroller on the way home, and I transferred him to the bed without any trouble. We both napped. Then we went to another park in the afternoon with a million other neighborhood kids. This is completely bonkers in January. The sunset blew my mind. I ended the day with a fabulous tapas dinner with good friends and stayed out way past my bedtime. Just a really sweet day, no?

Not every day is like last Friday. Especially in the winter. Today, I found myself in the familiar winter funk again today. I wish I could say that it wasn’t common for me to feel this way, but I can’t claim that. I don’t like my mood to be so dependent on the weather and I would do almost anything not to feel this way. But it’s extremely hard for me to control. So grey is what I felt. This winter has been so mild so far, that it makes me feel even more silly to feel so low.

I have probably written about winter sadness every year on this blog. I’m tired of writing about it and certainly tired of feeling it. But I figure I may as well stick a few paragraphs in here at the end of some pretty pictures and get it out-of-the-way for 2012. So there you go.

I know that getting out of the house and getting exercise helps. Seeing friends and not being alone too much helps. And sometimes comfort food really does help. Taking photos and posting them here helps me end the day end on a good note. So thanks, little blog. You do me good.

A Little Walk

I wore a hat indoors all day. It kept my brains inside and trapped a bit of heat. Today was one of the first really cold days here in Chicago. It seems like we Chicagoans have gotten away with something for the icy air to wait until January to smack us. Things are CRISP out there. Or frozen if you will.

I had to pick up dry cleaning today, which can only be done via stroller, so Benton rode in his cozy Arctic Bundle Me thingy and I pretended my stroller muff was going to provide sweet precious warmth for my whole body. It did not, but it is still pretty sweet. Probably the best winter accessory I own. You should get one if you walk around in temps under 30 degrees like I do. *Waves to other crazy person.*

For being so cold out, it was still kind of pretty because of the time of day I chose to go. My eyes were a bit watery from the air, so everything looked kind of like a fun house. These photos are from my phone of course, but they document our little insignificant walk pretty well. And we didn’t get hit by any cars running red lights at State and Roosevelt. So there’s that. *Shakes mittened fist at stupid cars.* 

Thanks for walking with us. Wish you were really here. Bring a muff.

The Walk

I. Love. Crunchy. Leaves.

LOVE.

If you are a pile of crunchy leaves, prepare to meet my stompy foot. I can’t help it. You’re asking for it, just sitting there being all colorful and crunchable. I’m looking forward to teaching Benton about this. Hoping he uses two stompy feet and jumps on them repeatedly. Because that would make his mama proud.

For now, I was the active member of our early fall walk yesterday. B slept like a good baby, and I took photos. 900mb of photos in just an hour.

SO. Let’s just say I had a good time. Clearly.

It was one of those things I did just for me. Which is so so so important.

More here. Are you on Flickr? Let’s be friends.

One Week

7 days ago, Benton was a couple of hours from being born. It seems like a lifetime ago. We have been cuddling, sleeping, eating, filling diapers, and gazing. As it should be. I will write more about the first days later, but right now I am just really proud to have a post with a couple of paragraphs and some cute pictures.

We celebrated the one-week birthday by Benton peeing on me when I thought I was being a nice mom to give him some FRESH AIR down there. Rookie move. And now he is spending some time with dad as he studies for the upcoming bar exam.

Here is the one week photo shoot on daddy’s chest.

The Most Unflattering Photos Ever

Before I get to the point of this post, let me just describe for you the scene in my bedroom.

Porpus just puked. Then she and Schween ate it. Now Porpus is bathing Schween in the sun. Enya is playing in the background and I am sitting on a birthing ball eating a popsicle. Something inexplicably smells like corn chips, but only I can smell it. I just looked through some old baby photos of myself that came the mail, which reminds me that there is a possibility that my child may be born with a reddish mohawk. Which would be kind of rad.

So about a million times a day, if I leave the house, I will be asked how I am doing. I’m not sure if people want the short answer or the real answer. Usually I just say, “good.” Sometimes “Meh.” or “Ehh.” IF they linger, or they are a good friend they will get the whole story, including the saga of my Shrek hands.

My hands and feet are in a terrible state. I was worried that I was going to go into the midwife this week to be told that my blood pressure was high. But all she said was to try drinking a ton of water (I do), and eat some watermelon and asparagus. But for the most part she just pitied me and said that life was likely to be horribly uncomfortable until after the birth. And also? My pelvic pain? Totally normal. Just my bones separating. Eegads.

So, asparagus and watermelon. That sounds pretty good. Since I hate complaining and not trying to do anything about the situation, I decided that I should look up some other foods that help with edema. I added tomatoes, celery, and grapefruit to the list. There are many more, but this is a good start.

And a pretty start at that:

One of these things just doesn't belong here, can you tell me which thing just doesn't belong...

LOOK at that hand. You are lucky no feet pictures are being uploaded. You would be puking along with my cats.

FAQ about the hands:

• WHY are they like that? Because I am pregnant. And it is July. And they just are.
• Does it hurt? Yes. Like arthritis in the joints and sort of like the skin will bust open at any moment. Like I have rubber bands around my wrists on a 110 degree day. I can’t open jars or make a fist.
• High Five!?! No.

On the bright side of things, this baby is full term tomorrow, my bags are packed, and we are really excited. I am ready to be done, but trying not to get my hopes up for an early delivery. I just want to meet him so badly. GO TOWARDS THE LIGHT, LITTLE ONE.

22 days to go.

“Any Day Now?!”

I hear that or “You are ready to pop that baby out” about 10–23,140 times a day now. I can’t be too mad about it. I would think the same thing if I saw me waddling around. Although I wish I could answer with “Yep! Just minutes away!” Sadly, my answer is always “In July,” or “A month left!” Which is always met with pity and well wishes.

My belly is just really big. It is the largest in my birthing class, the most ginormous of the pregnant ladies at work, the most rotund of the red line train. People, what can I say? I make big baby houses. You may say to me “OH GEEZ, look how cute you are!!” But to answer the questions you aren’t vocalizing, yes I am most uncomfortable nearly all the time. Yes, I am pretty much ready to go. Yes, I have stretch marks. I don’t like being called big mama.

S T R E T C H MARKS. I’ve been happily and foolishly oiling my belly for months thinking I wouldn’t get any. Bah. They showed up in the last two days. HELLO. I’m just getting used to the idea of having them, and Justin is being very sweet about the new development. He said that if he got scars from doing something he was really proud of, he wouldn’t be ashamed at all. “What? These things? Oh, they are from when I made something AWESOME.” So he gets bonus husband points for that one.

But I can’t forget how lucky I am to be able to carry a baby around for so long already. I remember doing visualizations during the first trimester to make the baby stay. I feared a miscarriage like many moms do in the early weeks, but baby seems to be happy where he is, and I am grateful he is growing to massive proportions. (I just hope he stays under 10lbs.) I am thrilled to have a pointy frog bottom crushing my ribs. Blissful about bladder punches. Satisfied with swelling. (Actually I loathe the swelling. And the face is the most cruel of all swelling.)

I can’t just sit in the apartment for the next month waiting. Even though I am supposed to take it easy because of my elevated heart rate, Justin and I decided to walk to Loyola Park/Beach. It is a few blocks from our new apartment, and we thought we would see what was happening on one of the most gorgeous days Chicago has seen this year. We were expecting it to be packed. It was not crowded at all. It was perfect.

Does anyone even know about this beach? It is huge and attached to a gorgeous park.

Justin's private life guard

peekaboo

So, there were actually people here. Some kind of patchwork mural on the cement bench barrier was being done.

Good idea.

More pictures here.

The Watched Pot

I know you aren’t supposed to hang out staring at the water on the stove. You aren’t doing anything to help it. The water knows how to boil on its own, and you are just a foolish human spectator.

I watch it anyway. It is boring, but beautiful, and lets me zone out.

Sadly, zoning out is a daily thing for me now. Not by choice. I’m feeling some guilt about this, as we are busy at work. I’m not on top of my game at all. Brainstorms? I usually love them. Now I am a spectator with little to add. Speaking in coherent sentences to freelance illustrators? Not really. I’m trying, I really am. It seems that my mind is occupied with growing a human. I wince during meetings while Baby B tries to exit out of my left side. Glad to know he is well in there, but oooowww. He needs a swaddling. If anyone on my team is reading this, a thousand apologies. I am probably not going to be the sharpest art director for the next 39 days.

Are there advantages of living with this distracted and mushy mind?

Ummmm.

derrrrr…what…wait…what was I talking about? Where am I? Huh?

Hey, want to see a picture of a pie that I totally messed up?

oops

Yeah, it is clearly a runny pie. But the good news is, we dumped it in a container and used it for ice cream topping for a couple of days. So how can I count that as a total failure? Some may even call it a win.

And something else that I (ahem, nature) accomplished recently is growing these little wonders from seed. I don’t think I have grown anything from seed since elementary school.

Not claiming this took brain power to grow or anything, but it's something.

This mushy mind is good for something after all. I can let my eyes rest on things that an overactive mind would pass up. I can relax into a comfortable stare in .2 seconds on just about anything. Uncooked pasta becomes interesting. Bread is beauty. My squirrel collection is the Last Supper. My life is not yet a blur. It feels more like someone sat on the remote and paused me. So I will stare at the still frame awhile longer, and enjoy the quiet peace.

Patrick is healing nicely. He just needs a few more years in the cast.

Semi-Barefoot and Pregnant In the Kitchen

I would like to congratulate myself on having the wisdom to extend my 4 day weekend to a 5 day weekend. It is almost enough time to forget what projects I am working on at the office.

Almost.

So what does one do on the extra day off? Nothing too important. Nothing too productive. Nothing pressing. Nothing that requires me to wear constrictive footwear or open a Microsoft Office program. Things in this category may include filming billowy curtains, photographing pristinely groomed cat toes, grocery shopping in a near-empty store, a pedicure, reorganizing the music collection on the iPod from scratch, and some cookie baking. (Also cringing at the oil gusher in the gulf, but I don’t want to bum you out more than the million websites already have. but SERIOUSLY. That is painful. “Ugh” doesn’t begin to express my feelings on that.) Top it off with some photo editing and a blog entry and you have a mostly cortisol-free day of pre-infant bliss.

The cookies that I made feature Cranberries, Dark Chocolate, and Almonds. They are based on the recipe here, with my own additions listed prior, and a pinch of cinnamon. I kept half the cookies, and delivered the rest to my neighbors. Because I don’t feel like weighing a million pounds. And soon the neighbors will have to put up with some crying. They deserve some pre-baby cookies as well.

One of the perils of pregnancy. Not being able to lick the beaters because of the raw eggs 😦

My feet are so weird looking these days. But I know it's temporary. Right?

I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, and this is one of my favorite parts. Our photo collage on the fridge. Can't wait to add the little guy to this. Maybe I can photograph some baby toes instead of cat toes for a change.

Now I would like to talk about something very serious. I have found the epitome of ice creams. (Aside from all homemade versions of course.) Praise be to Häagen-Dazs. They have done something truly amazing. They have crafted something heavenly without anything beyond Milk, Sugar, Eggs, Cream, and Mint. (Other flavors listed here). Less is more. I don’t miss the Guar Gum, Carrageenan, Hydrogenated Soybean Oil, Propylene Glycol Monostearate,  or  Monocalcium Phosphates. The five simple ingredients in this sublime little pint equal the best texture and purest flavored ice cream that I have bought in a grocery store. No nasty aftertaste. No gooey gummy texture. No too-fluffy air puffed-over-sugared globs. Just good stuff.

*I am not being compensated by Häagen-Dazs for this post in any way. (Although being paid in ice cream would not be a horrible thing, right? Just saying.)

On My Own Again

It’s weekend #2 of the Mister being gone, so this means more alone time. If you don’t count the wee human that lives in my abdomen. However, I am also spending some of the weekend with my girlfriends. So don’t think I am locked up and crying in a tower or something.

I can also be found sleeping in the middle of the bed without regard.

I have always slept on the right side of the bed since I grew out of my crib. But this weekend I decided to try out the middle. Not bad at all. Especially when there are the mister’s pillows that I can steal. Picture a gigantic pillow nest and a gigantic lady with nap-face within the nest. Heavenly. Yes, I still woke up way too early this morning, but at least there were smoothies.

I have eaten an average of one mango per day for the last 2.5 months. Just so amazing.

The advantage to early rising and being alone in the house is getting a lot done before 10 a.m. I paid bills, wrote thank-you cards, went to the store, baked banana muffins for the new neighbors, ate two breakfasts, potted six plants, and cleaned the floor and kitchen. The disadvantage to all this ambition is that my body would rather be in the nest of pillows. I have to give in eventually. OR there is the option to keep going. In which case my body mutinies against my mind. I was literally crawling on the nursery floor during a project this afternoon because walking is just so painful sometimes.

But look at my pretty project results! I hope Baby B likes staring at these.

I know this isn't an infant toy, but I am sticking it in the nursery until he is mobile. Because it is a ridiculous fluffy llama. I love it.

This is my nursery project supervisor/overseer, Porpus Boley. She thanks her grandma in Michigan for the wonderful rocking chair and afghan.

If you have ever had the pleasure of meeting Miss Schween Boley Esq., then you will be surprised to learn that she goes out on the balcony on her own and doesn't completely lose her mind. Even when there are loud noises. Even when a leaf touches her. She is so brave.

Let There Be Life

Most of the gardens I have taken pictures in up until now are other people’s property. So the three photos above are special because these are actually my babies. They live on my balcony now, and are soon to be joined by Morning Glories and Moonflowers if all goes well. They are going to try to grow from seed and I’ll be waiting anxiously for the soil to birth little green things. I have challenged them to a birth race. We’ll see who wins. Ready. Set. GO.