It's not all bad.

Pregnancy has been a challenge to me.  To say the least.  I always grew up listening to my mother remember how much she enjoyed being pregnant.  She loved every single second of growing bigger, being sick, and being bed-ridden.  I always thought that I too would love the experience.  I mean, if a woman who was nauseous, gained 65 pounds with both of her pregnancies, was put on bed rest because of a slipped disk in her back (because of the 65 pounds, no doubt), had gestational diabetes (again 65 pounds), and with her second pregnancy developed cerebral palsy, which resulted in half of her face being paralyzed.  PARALYZED.  I mean, who has ever even heard of that?!?  Even after all of these things, she loved it.  Not just liked it, didn't think it was kinda cool but by the end was over it.  No, she loooooved it.  And she never got tired of it.

So, naturally, I thought I would love it.  If a woman can go through all the things my mother did and still love it, I should too, right?  Not.  I now have the utmost respect for women who have many children, like the husband's gramma, who had 10.  And the Duggar wife.  You know, the "19 Kids and Counting" mom.  I am barely making it through my one pregnancy, let alone 19.  Who does that?  Someone with a very high tolerance for all things pregnancy, that's who.  I, on the other hand, have not enjoyed being pregnant.  Which makes me feel like a bad mom.  And technically, I'm not even a mom yet.

While I openly do not enjoy being pregnant (the poor husband can attest to my constant complaints and struggles) there has been one major plus to it.  And no, it's not eating like a pig.  I do that anyway, I don't need pregnancy to use as an excuse.  The best part about it has been seeing the husband's reaction to everything.  He has never been more supportive or understanding than the past 8 months, and it has given me a glimpse into what I can expect when the baby is finally born.

Today he walked in from work and saw the open box of Lucky Charms sitting next to my laptop and spread of materials I was working on.  (In my defense, we don't buy sugary cereal, but I am teaching a St. Patrick's Day graphing lesson and am using the cereal for the math pieces.)  He came up to me in the kitchen with a big smile on his face and asked "What did you have?!?"  I sheepishly admitted that while I opened the box so I could prep for Friday and make a graph paper for the kids, I couldn't resist and had a bowl for myself.  He just laughed, lovingly grabbed my belly, brought his face right up to the baby bump and said "Did you have Lucky Charms, Liam?"  It was the sweetest moment.

And these heart-melting moments happen all the time with the husband.  He tenderly rests his hand on my belly while we're in bed just to feel if baby is moving.  Normally I hate when he wakes me up before the alarm, but on a few occasions since we've conceived, he has woken me up when he slides his hand over to feel the bump and see if he can get baby to move.  I love being woken up that way.  He refers to the baby as being "Team Daddy" and while I pretend to be upset at the thought that the baby might like the husband more than me, I am secretly falling more in love with the husband at the thought that he adores his son so much already.  I know that we will make a great team once the baby is here.  And so, pregnancy does have it's perks, thanks to my wonderful husband.

You know those pregnancy hormones they talk about?...

They're real.  Really real.  But I didn't notice it at first.  I soared through my first trimester and most of my second thinking that I was totally in control of my emotions.  Those women who talk about being crabby and moody and mopey?  Nope, not real.  Definitely not real for me, at least.  I thought of myself as being one of the lucky few who did not experience this hormonal side effect of pregnancy.  After all, I felt like I deserved some sort of consolation.

I've experienced most of the symptoms that are pregnancy.  Like being nauseous.  Very nauseous. And those women and books who told me "Just wait 'til you hit 12 weeks.  After 12 weeks you'll be fine.  You won't be sick anymore and you'll feel great!"  Liars.  All of them liars. Because at 12 weeks I was still sick.  And at 16 weeks?  Still sick.  And at 20 weeks?  Yup, still sick.  My kid must hate me already.  Finally, the sickness subsided, mostly, around 24 weeks.  But like I said, I felt deserving of not having raging hormones after all that being sick I had to put up with.

But apparently I was wrong.  It all started innocently enough.  The husband and I subscribe to netflix, so we get movies a few times a week.  One of the movies we received was Hachi: A Dog's Tale.  Let me back up a bit.  Those who know me know that I am, in general, a typical woman.  Meaning that I cry.  I cry when I am upset, when I am frustrated, when I laugh and when I am angry.  I especially cry during sad movies.  I hate those movies that get me all teary, yet those suddenly become all-time favorites of mine and when I see them on tv I have to watch them.  Like I Am Sam.  That stupid movie gets me every time.  And I hate it so much that when I see it listed on my guide, I have to watch it and cry my eyes out like I've never seen it before.

Anyway, this movie, Hachi came in the mail.  Have you ever heard of this movie?  It is described on IMDb as being "A drama based on the true story of a college professor's bond with the abandoned dog he takes into his home."  Sounds sweet, right?  Yes.  Keep telling yourself that.  And now is the point at which I am going to ruin the movie for those who have not seen it.  You have been warned.

The movie starts when Richard Gere finds a lost puppy at the train station.  He ends up keeping this puppy and loves this puppy as much as his kids.  Maybe more, since he spends more time with the dog.  This dog ends up being a smarty pants.  He walks Gere to the train station every morning, walks home by himself, then meets him back at the train station at the same time every day right as Richard Gere is getting off the train.

Then one day, Hachi doesn't want to go with Gere to the train station.  In fact, he tries to get Gere not to go to work that day.  He tries not going with him to the train station.  When that doesn't work, he runs after him and tries to get him to stay off the train by playing catch (a game, by the way, that Gere could never get Hachi to play).  Gere doesn't understand and gets on the train anyway.

At this point in time, I am starting to get misty eyed.  I know something bad is about to happen.  Can't Gere see that Hachi is warning him!?!  I was actually semi-shouting at the tv screen "Don't go!  The train is going to crash and you're going to die if you get on it!  Don't do it!  Ugh, you are so stupid Gere!  Men don't listen to anything!"  (I was quite invested in the movie at this time.)

Turns out I was right.  Kind of.  Gere didn't die in a train crash, but he did have a heart attack at work and died that way.  Just as good.  Either way, Hachi was warning him and Gere didn't listen.  I start to softly cry as it unfolds that Gere is dead.  But the kicker is yet to come.  Back at home, Hachi hears the whistle of the train and starts off to meet his best bud.  But Gere never gets off the train.  And Hachi just sits there and sits there.  For hours this dog is just sitting at the train station in the snow, waiting for his best friend.

And then I lost it.  I started sobbing.  And I am talking full on sobs of anguish, tears pouring down my face, snot gushing out of my nose.  No matter what else I thought of I couldn't get the picture of that dog just sitting there out of my mind.  As I sit on the couch sobbing loudly the husband is staring at me in disbelief.  He did not know what to do.  I, in the meantime, am saying to him in between sobs "Turn (sob) it (sob) off!  I can't (sob) watch (sob) this (sob) anymore!!!"  That's when the husband starts laughing.  Almost as uncontrollably as I am sobbing he is laughing at me asking "What is wrong with you?!"  Then I realize how ridiculous it is that I am crying so hard over a stupid movie that I start laughing too.  But then I remember the movie and I start sobbing again.  I was simultaneously laughing and sobbing while still begging the husband to "Turn it off!"  I could not stop sobbing or laughing.  I had no way of controlling myself, no matter how ridiculous I knew it was.

Eventually I left the room, blew my nose and collected myself.  And because the husband thinks he is hilarious, when I walked back in the movie was still playing.  This time I demanded that he turn it off and confirmed that there was no way I was watching it.  We mailed it back the next day.  I have no idea how it ends, but there is no way I will ever watch that movie. Not ever.  My kid is seriously messing with me.  Or, as my husband says, he is "Team Daddy".

New York, New York

As the husband and I quickly approach our 2 year anniversary, it reminded me of our 1 year anniversary. And, as I've mentioned before, the husband and I went to New York to celebrate our 1 year anniversary. Neither of us had ever been and I was dying to just go and walk around everywhere. (Living in southern Cali doesn't promote positive pedestrian atmospheres.) We had many activities planned like going to see Chicago on Broadway and seeing Ground Zero.

Before heading out I started getting pretty nervous. I of course blamed this on the husband. All the other trips I have ever been on I have been excited to go and then the husband starts asking questions.  Did you remember to pack this?  Did you book the tickets for Chicago?  When does our flight take off?  Seriously, it's like he can't do any of this himself and I am left stressing over the details.

I have many reservations about traveling.  Sure I love the idea of traveling.  the thought of going somewhere foreign and exotic always sounds so appealing.  But then comes the planning and the worrying. First of all, the husband and I don't really travel by air too often. We make sure to go with the family to Arizona a few times in the summer, but using a plane to get us to the next destination is a little nerve-racking. The airport in general is a scary and unknown place for me. I always worry about getting there far enough in advance, but also worrying about not getting there too early. (Who wants to sit in the airport for longer than necessary?) Once you get there you have to find where to actually go. Are we supposed to check in at a kiosk? At a self-checkin station? Wait in line for the airport-checker-inner? And what are we supposed to do with our bags? Where do those puppies go? Then there's security where you have to almost completely undress and then re-dress. I'm not a big fan and the mere thought of going there gets my stomach all gurgly and topsy-turvy.

To make matters worse, the most recent air travel experience before New York was a disaster. We went to San Francisco shortly after we got engaged and decided to fly. (It's faster and less of a hassle because have you seen San Francisco? All those one-ways and no places to park?!) Also, the husband hates road trips, so flying seemed like a decent alternative. I have learned many important lessons from flying to San Fran.

#1 Most important thing to check on? What your luggage tags say. Because when they say Fort Lauderdal, Florida and you are going to San Francisco, California you have a problem. A big problem. Because, as it turns out, they send your bags to wherever those tags say. So our bag? Yep, ended up in Florida.

#2 When the airline tell you that you get up to $100 a day to replace your belongings and don't worry they will refund you as long as you have receipts, that doesn't include certain items. We had food and toiletries and face wash and my hair dryer in our bag. So when we went to the store, we bought things that we felt we needed, like breakfast foods so we didn't have to go out to eat every single meal. Guess what the airline said. No food items. But when did they tell us this? When we faxed in our receipts to get reimbursed. But not right away, mind you, weeks later.

#3 American Airlines does not list their phone numbers on their website. So how in the heck do they expect us to get a hold of them? Fax. or E-mail. And when they don't respond there's nothing we can do to get a phone number to talk to a real life human being.

#4 In short, I will never fly American Airlines again. I got back barely half of what I spent and a voucher for $100 to use on a subsequent plane ticket that expired in a year. Guess what we didn't do in that year? Travel.

So I was worried about New York posing some sort of awful experience as well. But as it turns out, I love this city and try on a regualr basis to convince the husband that we need to move there. He is not having it.

Here are some highlights from the trip:

Sweet Innocence

I know it's been quite a while since my last post, and for that I have a few reasons.  Of which, work has kept me extremely busy this year, including trying constantly to find a full time teaching position as well as trying to expand my credential which means taking a really annoying and time consuming English course.  Probably the most time consuming and exhausting reason is that I am pregnant.  Yes, me, the lady that devoted an entire post to how I do not want a baby is pregnant.  And I want the baby.  And it wasn't an accident.  And we are having a boy due May 7 (which means I am 7 months pregnant and counting down).  It's a really exciting time, filled with 5+ months of morning sickness, lots of weight gain and jabs in the middle of the night resonating from within my belly. 

Turns out, there is a lot that comes with being pregnant.  Take for instance the amount of doctors visits a woman must attend, and the number of times she must go get blood drawn for one test or another.  I have been to the lab to get no more than 6 blood samples and various other testing, like glucose and thyroid testing.  Not to be outdone by the amount of pricks my arm has endured, since I found out I was pregnant, I have had to go to the doctors every 4 weeks.  And recently my doctor informed me that since I am now 7 months they want to monitor my progression more closely and I must come in every 2 weeks.  That is a lot of time spent in the doctor's office, not to mention a lot of co-pays.  And I almost forgot the ultrasounds.  Although there were only 3 of these, and I actually wish there were more ordered so I could see my lil guy.

Not only have I spent my time at my obgyn's office, I have spent time looking up baby articles and reading baby magazines and of course reading "What to Expect When You Are Expecting"  My world has flipped upside down  and now revolves around my unborn son and everything I need to do to prepare for his birth.  I have registered, researched pediatricians and talked to every mom I encounter about what to expect during labor.

As my belly has grown and my sickness has subsided, I get many questions from other moms about how baby is progressing and even more questions from my students.  Just the other day, a class of Kindergartners were ery excited that I was growing a baby in my belly and had question after question.  Their cute little faces and curious eyes peered up at me while I confirmed. "Yes, I am growing a baby in my tummy."

Them: "Are you growing a baby boy or girl?"

Me: "I'm going to have a baby boy/"

Them: "What is his name?"

Me: "We are going to name him Liam."

Then, one knowledgeable little girl announces "Yea, and her baby is gonna come out her vagina!"

I blankly stare at the kids as a little boy quickly asks: "What's a china?"

All I wanted to do was laugh, but instead I replied "All right, we are going to read this story about the tooth fairy!"

The one thing I have learned working with such young children is they will tell you how it is and they aren't shy about it.  Oh, the joys of children.  I can't wait to hear what my son will say to his teachers.