First Nine Days

Take a look at Isaiah's first nine days of life!

The Gift

In Loving Memory

For Bob Borchers and his strong family,
You're all held in our love, thoughts, and prayers.








Do not grieve for me, for now I am free

I'm following the path God laid for me.

I saw His face, I heard His call,

I took his hand and left it all.

I could not stay another day

to laugh,

to love,

to work,

to play.

Tasks left undone must stay that way.

And if my parting has left a void,

then fill it with remembered joy.

A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss;

Ah yes, these things, I too, shall miss.

My life's been full, I savored much.

Good friends, good times, a loved ones touch.

Perhaps my time seems all too brief;

Don't shorten yours with undue grief.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow

Enjoy the sunshine of tomorrow.
-Linda Jo Jackson

Let It Begin

There are no doubts in my mind that within a month or so, I will wonder what my old life was like. "Old life," meaning, a life without a child. I hear parents say this all the time. My brother, with four children of his own, laughs in my face when I say two words: I'm busy.

He argues, "Oh, Leese, you don't know what busy is until you have kids."

Mhph.

Well, perhaps it's just another level of busy-ness that I have yet to understand. I do know, however, from sage advice passed down from old and new parents alike, that I should embrace these last few weeks of quiet, down time, doing as I please, and sleep.

I'm trying, but, it's hard to appreciate what I've always had for about 30 years.

The weekends, though, are signs of what is to come.

Comparatively, my weekends have grown to be more domestic, more tasky, less flashy than my weekends of my twenties. A Saturday night in was usually a sign of a wild Friday night. Now, though, a Saturday night in is in order because my poor feet are swollen from walking around Giant Eagle from simple grocery shopping or following Nick around Home Depot while he picks up another space heater.

Not exactly a thrilling weekend, but somehow, it fits where we are right now.

I am beginning to believe that it's the simple pleasures of life that deliver the most refreshing joy. Particularly when you're pregnant, have a nasty cold, and can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.
Being at home, honestly, has forced me to actually DO things around the house I've been avoiding. Over this weekend, I FINALLY bought drapes that I actually like for our windows. Nick FINALLY installed our printer correctly which we've had for over a year. I FINALLY tried to make chocolate chip cookies for the first time in my life. And it's these little things, working together on our home and yelling at the TV when stupid Texas beat Nebraska that makes these new kinds of weekends comforting, relaxing, and enjoyable.

So, let it begin - the quiet, the domesticity, the diapers, the "busy-ness" that my brother alludes to. Let it begin.

The Last Weeks of Pregnancy

I wish there was some sensible and orderly manner to communicate the 9 billion things going through my brain as of late. It's not a frenzy of thought, it's just there are SO many things Nick and I are doing and trying to accomplish that it feels almost limiting to try and communicate even a handful of what those things are...Perhaps that's why blogging our lives in the month of November was such a struggle. There's almost too much to say and too little time and even less energy to try.

But, we're not quitters - I'm a determined blogger.

It's December and, likely, Isaiah's birthday month. Lately, our doctor appointments have been confirming what I have been guessing for the past several weeks: this kid's huge. Or, at least, he has huge limbs.

On our last appointment, his weight was in the 70th percentile of babies his age, but his head, dear Lord, HIS HEAD is what we need to be concerned about. His noggin is measuring in the 90th percentile.

Dude.

90th percentile.

Who even has a head that big?

(Nick kindly reminded me, when I asked him that question, that Isaiah's mom has a big head.)

So, Isaiah has Borchers feet and a Factora head.

I don't know whether to laugh or pray for him.

So, we just keep truckin' along, my doctor's appointments are now on a weekly schedule and we have another ultrasound next Thursday to take some more measurements, make some more decisions. Obviously, an enormous head and little bit of a bigger body may have some problems being birthed by a woman who is only 5'2.5 with a smaller pelvic region.

I knew I should have never married a tall German/Irish/Frenchman.

Sleep has slowly grown into a small nightmare. I am routinely up at least 3 times a night. If it's not a stuffed up nose (blame the estrogen that causes this syndrome in 30% of prego women), it's a really dry throat that leads to hacking my lungs out (blame our wonderful space heaters), or it's time to empty the bladder (that's just Isaiah pressing against all my organs), or it's that I am JUST UP, sniffing around the refrigerador for fresh pineapple and a gallon of water. Or, in the middle of the night, a nice bout of heartburn or acid reflux decides to pay a visit and I end up vomiting a portion of dinner. My mom told me she had the same exact issues in the last month of pregnancy as well.

My legs look like two stuffed pillows in pink boots. I have two new precious pimples on my face. My hands are either tingling, numb, or swollen - forcing me to painfully remove my wedding ring for the next few weeks. A caterpillar could officially beat me in a foot race and I cannot reach for anything to save my life. "Nick, can you grab that bowl on the third shelf for me?" "Nick, can you scratch my ankle?" "Nick, can you pick that sock up off the floor?" But the worst part, OH, the worst part has been THE ITCHY ABDOMEN.

I know that the skin is stretching, the colder air dries everything out, but the itching has been nothing short of maddening, simply maddening.

I bought three bottles of extra, intensive, for extra-dry skin lotion and will dump a very generous amount onto my hand. In one stroke across the universe that is my belly, the lotion has already been swallowed up.

Somedays I wonder if it just might be better to sleep in a tub of Curell lotion.

But all the little irritations and annoyances of these last few weeks cannot alter the simply AMAZING journey I have had in this pregnancy. I still have a little bit to go, but overall, it's been a low maintenance, high excitement 9 months that has left me and Isaiah healthy and happy.

Sure I'm now seeking cupcakes and chocolate like a dog looks for a bone, but to watch Isaiah roll around, pushing and prodding his way into this world makes me smile (or cry out of over emotion) and I just thank God for this wonderful gift of life that Nick and I have been blessed with.

Isaiah, my sweet little boy, we're ready.

Thanksgiving 2009

Thanksgiving 2009 in a brief summary of bulleted words:

local
delicious
preggers
gluttonous
beautiful

Enjoy a few pictures of our holiday...

Isaiah's Rosebowl Outfit is Ready

Seriously.

How adorable/hilarious is

1) the sweater vest

2) Nick

Crib Talk

Nick assembled the crib last night. Technically, I COULD say that WE assembled the crib last night, but he did the majority of thinking and attaching. I just stood there and held things up, lowered when he needed things lowered, and so on and so forth. Sometimes, I think that that job sucks even more than reading the instructions and doing the physical labor.

But, given that I can barely bend over to pick up a sock, I left the labor to the father-to-be.

Along with the bouncer, swing, play palace, and bringing in the bassinette, stroller, and car seat, Nick has been a MACHINE with getting things ready for Isaiah. As for me, I continue to poke my index finger into his shoulder blade at night and whisper, "Don't forget that we still need to ____, and ______, and buy ______, and pick-up ______, and figure out _____. Oh, and we still haven't decided how we're going to handle ______ or who's going to ______ ...

Nick's response is always the same: a very sleepy arm throws itself around my very large belly and he mutters, "Ok, babe, we'll take care of it this weekend."

And then he talks to his son, "Isaiah, take care of your mom. She's freaking out."

Barn-ilicious

A few months ago, Nick got a storage box from home. It was heading toward the trash and we salvaged it, thinking we could use it for Isaiah's things. Nick didn't tell me right away what the storage box looked like. He just said, "Just come see it."

It was a barn.
















Oh.

Well, that's kinda cute, I guess.

We took it home and put some baby clothes in it, hand me downs from Isaiah's cousins who quickly outgrew of barely used some of the outfits.

I forgot about the barn the past few months.

Then, last night, Nick and I headed to a good-bye party for one of my co-workers who was moving to Boston with her husband and 7 month old son. It was a special party. You weren't allowed to bring gifts and you had to take a "treasure" with you. Meaning, the things they couldn't take to Boston were up for grabs. There were some pretty nice items including deck furniture, shelves, books, trinkets, frames, unused clothes and jewelry...I was busy sorting through the frames and ransacking the unopened spice bottles when Nick calls me across the room, "Leese! Do you think that's up for grabs?" He's pointing near my feet.

I look down and don't see anything.

"Where? Which one are you talking about?"

He points again, "That one!"

I look and see some sort of vintage, Fisher Price box that I thought was garbage.

Oh, this thing? I ask.

"Yes!" Nick was so excited, I honestly didn't know how to react to his excitement over this dirty box.

But it was no box.

It was a BARN.
















He explains as his eyeballs roll over it, "We had one just like this when we were kids!"

Oh. Ok. So you want it, then?

YES.

So, we bring it home and I say that it's an interesting toy. The barn doors open to a Moooooooooooooooo sound. It came complete with animals and tools to play with.

As we are leaving, Nick gathers bags of treasures - books, spices, a baby swing, a frame, and countless little things I can cook with.

But he's most excited about the barn.

I wondered what was up with the barn theme. Then I heard him introduce himself to someone at the party, "I didn't grow up on a farm, but I'm definitely a farm boy."

Well, that explains it.

Word of the Week: SCARCE

Over the weekend, Nick and I met up with our good buds, Christina and Brian. We were dining together, scrunched in a slightly too small booth, when the subject of blogging came up. Brian, not beating around the bush says, "Dude, the blog's been scarce lately."

I know.

I say that I'm trying not to make everything about pregnancy, but, let's get real. If you had a ballooning soccer ball tucked underneath your epidermis, you'd be pretty obsessed with that topic, too.

Brian suggests, "Give yourself topics."

Mhm. That's an idea. A bit homeworkey in task, but still a good idea.

So, the topic of this post is SCARCE because that is what I am feeling I have lately, in terms of time. I do not have enough hours in the day. I do not have enough water in my system. I definitely do not have enough clarity in my brain. I do not have enough patience for anything.

SCARCE.

But, what IS in abundance are all the important things: blessings, family, peers, health...all the most important things are in place.

So, to combat the scarcity of my blog posts, I will try and be more intentional about small updates.

Here are some to kick us off:

Last week was a huge pre-parenting week for me and Nick.

On Tuesday we attended NIGHT WITH THE ANESTHESIOLOGIST in which we gained more information about what kind of pain meds I will have, should I choose to go that route (I still haven't decided). Then we got a tour of the birthing facility where Isaiah will emerge from. That was pretty awesome because we got a glimpse of the nursery where we saw a human who had been in the world for approximately 20 minutes.

Oh, the raging hormones.

I nearly started bawling when I saw all the little babies. But I didn't feel embarassed because even Nick was transfixed on the little limbs of a newborn. The raw reality of its new skin, tiny little toes, and perfect little formations set in and we were just in awe.

Then on Thursday we had a class, "Breastfeeding 101." This was an interesting night to say the least. It started at 6:30pm and went till about 9:30pm. Nick, uncharacteristically, did not thoroughly read the information and thought the class was over at 7:30pm. When he realized we'd be in the dimly lit room with uncomfortable chairs for 3 hours, his eyelids became extremely heavy and he suddenly looked tired.

"You better perk up, man," I told him. "We're in this boobfeeding class for a while and we're going to miss Grey's Anatomy tonight. Deal."

Nick headed straight for the soda machine and it dropped him a bottle of salvation: pepsi.

Ah, yes, caffeine. How I miss it.

There were about 8 -9 couples in there and I placed Nick in the #1 spot for most attentive looking. There was one guy there, I swear, who drummed his fingernails on the table, slouched in his chair, and stared into outspace the entire course.

Good information. Definitely worth $30.

And then came our doctor's appointment.

I was at about 32 weeks by the time we had our appointment, but my measurements were indicated 35. I was a bit startled, but my doctor didn't seem to be worried, "we'll just keep our eye on him. We'll have an ultrasound at your next appointment and then see what's going on. Maybe it's his position. Maybe he's just growing big."

Mhm. Big baby.

My mind was whirling.

As soon as I heard the number 35, and knowing that full term is considered 36 weeks, three words suddenly echoed in my head. Involuntarily. It was like a small version of myself was stuck in my head, talking to me, advising me, shouting advice from a mountaintop and an echo reverberated in my ears: WE'RE NOT READY!

Suddenly, a visual of the half finished nursery, unlaundered new clothes and sheets, and the fact we still need to pick up a few odds and ends for Isaiah became glaringly real.

We're not ready.

As I was going through my private mental meltdown, I remember that Nick's ultrabusy weekend was commencing and we would not be able to run errands because he needed the car, and, being a one car family, I was not about to walk or bike it to the nearest Babies R Us.

So, last night, Sunday evening, when Nick returned to me exhausted from his weekend of a massive service project and an overnight retreat he was helping with, I decided to hold off on my drill sargent speech where I was going to list the things that needed to be taken cared of immediately.

Instead, I made a warm, lovely dinner and tucked him into the couch while he lightly dozed on and off watching some televised lecture from a Harvard professor. (How many people relax this way?) And then we both climbed into bed, exhausted for very different reasons, and turned on football to end our weekend.

After a good night's rest, my eyes flipped open this morning, ready to go into hypergear.

If you haven't heard the news or don't get the overall message of this blog post, here's the summary:

ISAIAH F. BORCHERS is on his way.

Like, soon.

Positive News

Nick is in charge of a nice service project that got a short blurb in the paper!
Click here for the link!

The Shot Heard Around Shaker Heights

Yesterday was a normal day for most people. A typical fall day with Halloween costume chatting, and leaf raking commencing...a very normal day indeed.

And yet, a raging two month mental battle also ended yesterday with my wondering over whether or not to get the h1n1 shot.

I'm fairly knowledgeable about the issue. Research is one of my specialties and I spared no pamphlet or website when absorbing the pros and cons of vaccinations for pregnant women. Despite my insides telling me that regardless what I choose, I will likely be fine, my housemate seems to be a magnet for all local and national news reporting bad news about the swine flu. Steeped in worry, Nick passes the information along to me as if I need more momentum to swing me back and forth in my decision.

To get or not to get the h1n1 flu shot is risky. It's risky either way, I saw it, and in the end, seeing how slow my body was recovering from a simple, albeit nasty, cold and cough, convinced me that I probably should go ahead and get stuck by the needle.

So, after work yesterday Nick and I made plans to get to the middle school where they were administering round #2 of the vaccine. I imagined it was going to take hours, Nick disagreed. Of course I was right.

But before I took the shot in my arm, I felt like I had to confess something to Nick. A deep, dark secret welling inside me like a balloon. I looked up at him in the kitchen over chopping Bok Choy and green beans for dinner and announced,"I realized today I have been stalling to get the shot because I think if anything goes wrong with the vaccination and hurts Isaiah, I'm afraid I'm going to blame you for the rest of our lives."

There. I said it.

Nick had a confession as well. "Last week, when you were sick, all I kept thinking was that if you had the flu and something happened to Isaiah, I was going to blame you for not getting the shot for the rest of our lives, too."

Immediately, I brightened, "Really? We were ready to blame each other for the rest of our lives? This sounds demented, but I feel SO much better!"

We hugged.

Now that our confessions were confessed, we headed to the middle school and saw the lines wrapping around the building. It took several minutes to find parking and finally got in line. It felt something like a combination of the lines at Cedar Point, a huge pediatrician's office with a million kids running around, and a gigantic holiday sale where they haven't opened the doors yet and make you wait outside.

In other words, it was hell.

Immoveable and inflexible situations are prime time conversation periods for me and Nick. The possibilities were endless. We had hours to wait, so talked about numerous things:

Nick's Topics: the lack of efficiency when it came to setting up the lines (half the people were waiting outside when the whole middle school could have been utilized), his brainfart that he did not bring a heavier coat, how people were supposed to "prove" if you were on the priority list (pregnant people are kind of obvious, but healthcare workers? ), and other issues relating to orderliness and publicity.

I was fairly single-issue minded: WHY ISN'T THERE A SEPARATE LINE FOR PREGNANT WOMEN?

Seriously.

No chairs. Standing out in the chilly air with children running amok.

A thought occured to me and I shared it with Nick, "Do you think that it's slightly ironic and even more slightly idiotic that they make us stand outside in the cold with a bunch of screaming children with no heat or chairs so we can get vaccinated for the FLU?"

The women behind me had a stroller for her perfectly big 6 or 7 year old. She was not careful with the wheels and kept rolling over the back of my foot. I was feeling a bit snappy but bit my tongue countless times. After all, she'd be right behind me for God knows how long.

We make it inside only to wait another hour or so. A volunteer took pity on my very pregnant state and asked if I wanted a chair. I nodded gratefully.

So, Nick held my place in line while I sat for about 20 minutes, giving my back and feet a rest. Watching Nick, I just shook my head while he made friends in line - chatting with people in front and behind him - and even helping a stranger get their stroller down the stairs. What a good samaritan. All I kept thinking of was how much I wanted a Twix bar.

I got back in line with Nick and discovered he'd made his own h1n1 support group in line. Everyone was offering us advice on birthing, breastfeeding, sleeping, pain meds, and Hillcrest Hospital where we'd be deliverying Isaiah. It was nice to be talking, inside the building and shielded from the cold, but my energy had depleted and I just wanted to get it over with.

Surprisingly, Nick was able to get a shot as well, thanks to Isaiah's due date of 1.1.10, Nick qualified as a parent with a child less than 6 months.

Then came the time to decide whether to get nasal mist or the needle.

Another decision. Not my specialty.

The nasal mist is the activated vaccine. It has no mercury.
The needle is the inactivated vaccine with mercury to keep it germ free.

My only question was, "So where's the INACTIVATED vaccine with NO MERCURY?"

One of the volunteers replied, "They are just starting to make that now, but we have no idea if or when those will ever come to the Cleveland area."

Awesome.

So, loaded with all different kids of information pamphlets on brightly colored paper, we got in line - Nick in the nasal line, me in the needle line.

And within 3 minutes, it was over.

How can one seemingly simple decison be so complicated and anxiety-ridden?

As someone said to me, "Welcome to parenting."

Cleveland Tea Party

Have you heard that tea is our newest rage in the house?

It's true.

Warm drinks have always been high on my radar, especially this time of year. I drink coffee as a dessert, a special treat from time to time. I would probably drink it more if I did not have such drastic and noticeable effects from the caffeine.

When I drink coffee, if feels like there is a special vein that is activated in my body that filters out the milk, sugar, coffee bean, and whatever flavored syrup has been added, and sends the caffeine to my brain like an express train. Within minutes of a few gulps, my heart starts beating more quickly, my thoughts begin racing, and my mouth starts yapping at even FASTER levels than normal.

On road trips with Nick, pre-preggers state, Nick would watch the evolution first hand. First, I'd be quietly content watching the trees out the window and then we'd exit to get food and if I was tired, I'd get a nice small coffee. By the time we're on the ramp heading back on the highway, my head is bopping toward the car roof and I'm playing 20 questions, laughing, and talking a mile a minute.

So, it's natural for me to look for substitues now that cooler weather has arrived and I yearn for something warm to drink. I've always loved tea as well. It's better for you anyway.

So I began drinking herbal tea, non-caffeinated. Then I began hearing that herbal tea can be bad for you during pregnancy. I don't drink gallons of it, an occassional raspberry leaf treat in the evening is just enough to settle me in for the evening. Getting over this cold has been rough and tea smoothes the road just a bit more for me.

But you can imagine my surprise when Nick and venture to Giant Eagle to grab groceries for the week and while I am elbow deep in the produce section, notice he has wandered away. He normally does this when he remembers we need practical things like toilet paper, his Pert Plus shampoo stock is low, or wants more granola bars in the house. I was even more shocked when I found him in the tea section, peering closely at the labels and, after finally deciding on something, tosses it in the cart.

"I'm really getting into tea," he confides.

"I noticed. It's really good for you. I'm going to start drinking it more once I've popped our son out."

"I just realize that I feel like drinking it when I'm reading," he muses.

Nick has this, like, tendency to pick really amazing books to read. You know, some people choose New York Times best sellers or the latest from David Sedaris. No, Nick chooses Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. This book is something like 1300 pages long. Meanwhile, I am trying to balance reading my pregnancy books, online articles, links, research, and one fiction Wally Lamb book and then find my forehead falling backward because I fall asleep so easily these days. Pathetic.

Champion Nick is over halfway through Atlas Shrugged. And it was this book, apparently, where he heard his tea calling.

"Maybe we should get a tea kettle," I offered.

"I can't imagine they'd be that much," of course Nick thinks of the cost vs. benefit relationship.

"No, they're not expensive at all. And you can have a lot of hot water waiting for you in case you want another cup. You don't have to use the microwave or anything. It might be worth it." I, of course, get excited at any prospect to buy something for our kitchen, even if it's just a tea pot.

"Mhm, yeah. That's probably a good idea."

When Nick says "that's probably a good idea," that means his eyes turn from a yellow to a green light. It's the go ahead sign.

So, Nick has been experimenting with his new vice while I enviously sniff the fresh aroma from the next room. Last night he picked up the box and said, "I hope I'm going to look like this guy when I'm done drinking it." The tea box had an adorable and huge brown bear, tucked away in a couch by a fireplace, a red-striped frock for pjs and a matching hat. The tea was called SLEEPY BEAR.

I studied the picture, "I think this is what you're going to look like in about 50 years."

Nick hollered from the kitchen, "50 years? Try 15 minutes."

The New Schedule

Nick, Isaiah, and I have been bumped up on to the 2 weeks rotation for seeing our doctor.

This morning, Nick and I went to the doc, eager to see how Isaiah was doing and what her diagnosis would be for the bug in my system.

It seems like the regular common, nasty, horrible cold with accompanying cough. I'm supposed to watch my temperature in case this turns into anything that resembles the flu, but it's unlikely that that is what I have. My temperature was normal, my lungs sounded clear, and I have no runny nose. Apparently, those are the big three for causes of concern.

But, I'm to rest, rest, rest and drink drink drink liquids until I feel better.

Other interesting news to report is Isaiah F. Borchers is measuring a bit big for almost 30 weeks. Doc said we have to keep an eye on him and possibly take a look with an ultrasound later to see just how big he is getting.

If he is either too impatient or too big to wait until his 1.1.10 due date and possibly forsake his early fame of getting in the paper for being the first baby of 2010, either Nick or I are to blame. If it's impatience, blame the mother. If his limbs are just too sticking big and he's breech because his feet are like paddles, blame the father.

Germaphobe

Kinda like how that little kid in The Sixth Sense said, "I see dead people," in that freaky whisper, confiding to Bruce Willis his longtime secret and hidden power, that's pretty much how I want to tell you

I see germs and bacteria.

Everywhere.

I'm becoming neurotic about washing my hands and walking 10 feet behind any living thing that I think looks pale, sounds raspy, or coughs into a shirt sleeve.

All this worrying is justified.

Yesterday, I woke up with a slight tickle in the back of my throat. By 11am, it had moved into a dry cough and irritating the hell out of me. (Coughing means I am constantly holding my belly and trying not to jostle Isaiah around as much.) By 6pm, scheduled to stay later for work, I sent an email to my boss explaining that my cough was getting worse, felt like my head was compressing, and felt a little warm on my forehead.

It could be a number of things. It could be a common cold. It could be the erratic change in climate (40-50s to high 60s in one day?). It could be the annual visit from the bronchitis family that loves to descend onto my lungs once the weather provides an easy transport. It could be the damn space heater in our bedroom that dries the room out. It could be that my office swings from sauna to freezer every other day. It could be that my hand sanitizer obsession is proving futile in the wake of GERM SEASON 2009. It could be something Nick brought home from hanging out with high school kids with youth ministry. (Yeah, I know - blame the spouse!) It could be...anything.

I don't know.

So, I do what most people do when they're in the limbo of sick and well -- commiserate on the couch and think of the worst possible situations while flipping between Dancing with the Stars and the ALCS between the Angels and Yanks.

The worst thing is I feel stripped of energy yet unable to sleep.

To make team Borchers/Factora-Borchers even more hapless these days, Nick's ear problems have returned with a vengeance. His ear is ringing, making his head feel like it's going to explode each night and thus scheduling an appointment with an ear doctor. It never ceases to infuriate me how LONG it takes for ear doctors to understand that Nick is in a lot of discomfort and needs to be seen NOW. Not now-ish, or next week, but NOW. As in yesterday; that kind of now.

But he scheduled it last week and still has to wait until Monday. Until then, I try not to talk as loud or as much (that's hard when I want to tell him all about my lungs and Isaiah's latest acrobatic stunts), but we're managing.

We're still keeping ourselves busy. Nick is caulking the outdoor windows and I'm registering us for a bunch of baby classes and tours of the facility where I'll be delivering. As thrilling as, "Baby Basics," and "A Night with the Anesthesiologist" classes sounds, we're not very exited over a jam packed November of classes and learning.

I keep thinking that people have become really effective and good parents by good ol' fashion living and learning. Why do we have to go to these classes?

"Because we don't know anything about anything," says Nick.

In the end, I concur, "It's probably a good idea to figure out how to use a car seat, I guess."

Letter #3

Dear Isaiah,

Sometimes I just wish you could just stay inside me forever. Even if I'm moving at the pace of a 1983 VCR on SLOW MOTION, I derive a sense of security knowing that I can protect you at all times. You have no choice but to eat vegetables and fresh fruit. You WILL listen to my piano playing and lukewarm voice exercises. Water is our primary drink and we get plenty of sleep most nights.

I can keep you safe.

But, my son, it occured to me the other day that as your neurons continue firing in your brain and you skeletal frame solidifies, there are some things that are out of my control. The more I look at myself and your father, the more I wonder, "What have we DONE?"

You'll inherit all kinds of wonderful things from us: love, compassion, forgiveness, understanding, empathy, faith, and resistance. But, you'll also stand to inherit a wealth of odd quirks.

Like the other day, your dad's ear problems have returned and I wondered if you are going to have ear aches to battle against. Or, I wonder if you'll inherit my inability to estimate ANYTHING. (E.g. How long does it take to get to east Cleveland from the west side? I always say about 20 minutes. In reality, it's at least 35 minutes to get across town.)

What if you inherit our dually acknowledged competitive nature? If you have siblings, this could spell disaster.

What if you are chronically late for things? (me)

What if you have no idea how to cook anything? (your dad)

What if you cannot resist a great sale on art supplies even if you don't need anything? (me)

What if you fall in love with the feel of tube socks? (definitely your dad)

Will you obsess over human rights, germs, gender issues, owning good pens, the paranormal, and keeping one souvenier from every beach trip and graduation in your life? (ALL me)

Or what if you cannot reconcile wasting time in poorly run meetings, applauding after a catholic mass, mechanics, grocery shopping, or Bobby Kennedy's assassination? (ALL your dad)

These questions weigh on my brain and the closer we are to your arrival date, the more my curiosity is blowing up in to full-fledged anxiety over the unfolding of your life.

Not surprisingly, your dad remains calm and says, "Some things we'll get right. But we'll mess up a lot. He'll be like nothing we expect but he'll be himself. He'll be a little bit of both of us." Also not surprisingly, that does little for my need to know how you're doing and what you're going to be like. Needless to say, I must work on my patience.

I'll try.

Love,
Mom

The View Going Downhill

The combination of being pregnant and growing older makes me more attached to being at home. More and more, I take restorative comfort in the familiar couch, the wooden frames of our dining room threshold, the little nooks and crannies that make home HOME.

No matter how exciting the roadtrip, no matter how great the people we are venturing off to see, no matter how climactic the event we attend, these days, the thought of leaving home means two things: it's going to be a long trip because we have to stop all the time for me to stretch or use the loo, and, if we're staying overnight, I will lose sleep and be even more tired the next day.

So, you can imagine how excited I was to get through this past weekend which marked the absolute last planned roadtrip for me. On Saturday, I headed to Columbus for a conference I was to present at and have been preparing for diligently for weeks (hence the few blog posts in October).

My plan was to head to the heart of the heartland on Friday when I get an odd text from my buddy Christy whose house I was to be staying at Friday night. In the text she informs me she is sick but I am still welcome to stay.

Clearly, she has not been informed that I am the lead consumer of Purell's hand sanitizer and the most informed citizen reading the CDC's website. (Center for Disease Control)

Sick?

How sick, I ask?

"...well, it's knocked me off my feet this week."

Christy, my childhood friend who was the first person I met when I moved to Ohio when I was 8 years old, was the lead point guard on our basketball teams. She was an athletic volleyball player and is a general knows no sickness kind of gal. For her to say she was knocked off her feet means for a pregnant, low immunity system waddler like myself these days, there was a 35% of my collapsing Saturday morning from her bug and a 100% chance of my getting SOME sort of viral infection.

It was a no brainer.

So, I had no place to stay in Columbus Friday night and ended up getting up at 5:15am Saturday morning (OOOOUUUUUCCCCCCCHHHHHH) and driving to Buckeyeland for the conference that started at 8am with registration. My presentation wasn't until 9:40am, but I wanted to get there early and test out my AV equipment and relax.

At 5:15am, I expected to crawl like a cavewoman out of bed, dreading the cold, and trying to leave Nick undisturbed. To my sweet surprise, Nick, the loyal cheerleader he is for all things I try to achieve, pops out of bed when the alarm sounds, turns on all the lights, and starts fist pumping. I was putting on my jewelry and make-up with the speed of a tortoise when he begins blasting Kanye West's, "Stronger," (my favorite pump me up song) and starts clapping like it's game day. I smile.

I make it to Columbus without any problems and my presentation on feminism, race, and politics in the Midwest goes beautifully. I receive countless compliments from professors from all over the country and even an invitation to submit my work into an academic journal. The raving strokes my very tired and dusty ego which hasn't been activated in a long time. Around 2pm, I duck out when I feel Isaiah happily kicking his excitement and my already low bank of energy begin to go into the red.

I head home to Cleveland.

Nick and I celebrate Saturday night with a dinner date at Anatolia Cafe, a mediterranean restaurant not far from our house and beam like stars at our table. It was wonderful but I was glad that the traveling piece was over. That night, I nearly drowned taking a extra bubbly bubble bath to relax because I nearly fell asleep in the warmth of our new tub. (I guess I'm not used to such luxuries.)

And so, here we are, approaching week 30 of pregnancy, and continuing our efforts to make room for Isaiah and prepare the nursery. As he gains momentum, weight, and strength with each passing week, my appetite and fatigue are skyrocketing. I believe I slept 11 hours straight Saturday night and still felt like I could use a nap in the afternoon. Knowing, though, that I have no plans for the rest of the pregnancy relaxes my body and mind.

Nick I agreed last night that each week of pregnancy feels like you're counting upward toward 40 weeks. 5 weeks. 10 weeks. 20 weeks. But once you hit 30 weeks, it suddenly feels like you're counting down. Very similar to New Year's Eve, we're just anxiously waiting for the Big Apple (Big Baby) to slowly drop and make his way into the world.

Last Trimester and Life Insurance

It's Friday and I can't emphasize enough how grateful I am to the calendar for making another Friday appear so quickly. Lately, I have been fighting droopy eyes and the deep urge to crawl into anything that resembles a chair and let my head rest and fall asleep.

Nick can attest that the passenger seat in our car has seen many hours of my dozing off like I'm a baby and the Accord is my crib.

As the third trimester begins, I can hear the trumpets blaring in the sky and the archangels singing that THE END IS NEAR! The final months of bun-in-the-oven are coming to a close.

But --

not so fast.

It's still a little over 2.5 months away. That's still a lot of pregnancy left in my life.

So I find myself making lists of what needs to get done and, believe it or not, have no problems with Christmas and the holidays coming early this year. YES. Christmas. It's already on my mind.

Why?

Because up the street there was a case of swine flu. And small little outbreaks of it are surfacing here in Shaker Heights, making me more nervous than Nick feels before the Michigan game. And while I'm probably going to end up getting the vaccine, I'm not completely confident that pumping a small dose of God only knows what into my body, permeating the environment of Isaiah's little world, is 100% safe. But, going out into crowds is not 100% safe either.

As much as I love ambling around commerical stores in November and December - elbowing small children in my haste to grab the last toy for my nephews or peering for hours into holiday decorated windows at the mall - I don't think it's that safe for me to be around local crowds. Not when the swine flu is suspiciously active in this area. I considered buying a medical mask and drawing little holiday berries and holly on it, Nick adamantly said NO.

So, I'm looking for Christmas to come early for me this year. As in, I'm going to start shopping right after Halloween. Yes, I am that person this year.

I don't care what people think. If you were beginning to waddle around, keep one hand on your belly, and just getting in and around the Giant Eagle was beginning to make you a wee bit tired, you'd want to be ahead of the holidays this year as well.

Plus, the percentage of clothes that fit me is dwindling. I think I'm down to 20% of my wardrobe is wearable, decent, and public safe. By November, I don't know if I'll have any clothes left that will fit me. I don't want to look like a eggroll, tightly wrapped in clothes that won't let me breathe. I seem to have forgotten what it feels like to actually zip something up, or wear anything that is not bandy, elastic, or blows like a flag with the fall wind. There are days where I feel like a cow wrapped in huge poncho.

Other news...

Nick and I met with an insurance guy yesterday. We now have life insurance. There was something about that meeting that was midly depressing. It's not like the idea of dying brings me comfort or the thought of being a widow makes me jump for joy. I was quiet, signed at all the x's and then shook Mr. Insurance's hand. After he left, I looked at Nick who was as happy as a clam because L-O-V-E-S getting things done and crossing one more thing off of his TO DO list. He was humming and yelled over his shoulder, "Now we can die!"

Awesome, I replied morosely.

I hate when he says things like that. Must he always look on the bright side of everything?

October Showers

The beginning of October marks the beginning of the third trimester and baby showers. This weekend was one big fiesta in Cleveland that took care of all the requests from my family, our friends and co-workers in Cleveland, and old friends who live or have easy access to NE Ohio.

Welcoming Isaiah was no small task. My sister and Mom took the reins for this event and deleted the word "simple" from the vocabulary. For days, they cooked, shopped, and brainstormed on the best way to welcome Isaiah.

The guest list knew few regrets and I was delightfully surprised at how many folks turned up -- nearly 50 friends and family!

It was kinda huge.

Like Isaiah's feet measurements.

Nick's family, minus Kelly and Tim, all came Saturday and stayed at the house. My dear friend, Claire Mugavin, drove 6 hours from Louisville, KY Friday night. One of my best friends, Tricia, flew in from California for a Saturday wedding in Columbus and then drove up Sunday as well. And that's just a few traveling stories. My parents came in from Virginia and many made roadtrips from Columbus and Youngstown.

Nick and I were in awe, once again, of how many people showed up to support us and celebrate this new chapter in our lives. It's really hard to describe when I'm overwhelmed like that. I just smile a lot and don't know what to say. Everyone is just so generous and positive. Bringing new life in the world really brings out the best in people.

So many people pulled together to make this fiesta possible and we could not even BEGIN to articulate how grateful we are to our families for being there for us and for our friends who see us through everything.

To add icing on the cake, the rain held off and cooperated so we could have seating outside! (Thank God! At one point, I almost considered opening up the bedrooms so people had a place to eat.) It was beautiful.

There are numerous pics that I'm sifting through, but the two above are some of my favorites. The one picture of me is with three of my oldest friends who I've known for over 20 years. I grew up with them and they somehow manage to always rally around me whenever a huge transition is taking place in life. I was so happy they were there. (L to R -- Christy, me, Tricia, and Jen)

And, of course, the love of my life, opening the biggest present. Only appropriate that Big Daddy himself would open the big gift for his son.

It was an awesome weekend!

Next weekend we get to do it all over again in the ROOOOOOOSHHHHH! (aka Russia, Ohio) with Nick's side of the family. So excited for the fiestas to continue!

Short but Painful Story

Tuesday Morning

Nick often wakes up before I do. Unlike me, he actually responds to his alarm clock and gets up when it sounds. I either sleep right through it or turn it off.

He gets ready for work and before he leaves gently wakes me up in the morning. To put it mildly, I'm not the greatest person in the morning. This is not hard to imagine.

But, Tuesday morning had some unusually intense moments when I felt Nick chiding me to reality and I instinctively raised my arms and stretched out my body, including my legs.

As Nick leaned over to kiss my cheek, I felt a sudden jolt in my lower left leg, followed by a searing pain that forced my eyes to fly open and promptly scream in Nick's face as it was inches from mine.

I thrashed around under the comforter, trying to grab my spazzing leg and feeling like it was self-amputating while Nick tried to grab my hand and ask why I was so hysterical.

I just kept screaming.

"HELP ME! TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" As I nearly ripped his hand off his wrist. I didn't even really consider he had no idea what the problem was or how to diagnose why I was screaming in his face.

Of course he remained calm, "Is it a Charlie horse?"

A sudden image of me, 13 years old, getting my leg massaged by my basketball coach after a grueling practice flashed in my brain. That was my last Charlie horse - 17 years ago. But my brain appropriately filed it away under, "FEELS LIKE DEATH," and I automatically withdrew the file from memory and screamed, "Y-Y-Y-E-E-E-S-S-S!"

Nick squeezed my hand, probably thinking this is what labor and birth will be like in 3 months, "Ok then, try and flex your toes. Point them upward."

"I C-C-C-C-A-A-A-N-N-N-T!" I felt like Isaiah was trying to birth himself through my calf muscle.

"You probably didn't drink enough water yesterday and you're dehydrated. Point your toes upward and it should help."

Through my hands, I could feel waves of knots and energy passing in and over each other in my leg. I flexed my foot and let out one more scream that, I'm sure, woke every neighbor on our block and then, suddenly, it was over.

Just like that. It passed.

I lay still, opened my eyes, and looked at Nick.

He held my hand and smiled, "Good morning!"

An Impending Change

Notes from Home Plate has been going strong now for about two years. I first began it as a way to keep everyone updated when Nick and I moved to Boston. Digital technology, I've discovered, has a marvelous potential for keeping people together. Through online tools, I've been able to connect with family as far as the Philippines, as close as Russia, Ohio, and spread news to neighbors on our street.

Well before I started this particular blog, I had been slowly spreading my writing to different magazines, both in print and online, and have been able to forge relationships with different publishers, press houses, and writers. The majority of my assignments, requests to present at conferences, and basically any opportunity to advance myself as a writer has come from opening my writing to the web. With careful navigation and a discerning eye, the internet is and can be the leading tool for freelance writers, especially those like me are looking to stay independent, but advance in my writing projects to become more streamlined and long-term. In a nutshell, I'm growing out of short stints for magazines, quick reports, and blog posts. It occured to me in a car ride with Nick, after one of my photography shoots, that I had reached a point in my pregnancy, or rather, in my life, where I finally had my first encounter with physical limitation: I wasn't just physically exhausted, I was mentally drained by my desire to accomplish so many different things.

Not only was I tired, but I realized after shooting a wedding for 13 hours, that to be good great at anything requires much more than just love and passion. I've got plenty of that. It takes large doses of discipline and a thick skin for rejection. As I collapsed in the car and Nick drove me home, this epiphany of age dawned on my noggin: I have to choose.

You don't become great at anything spreading yourself too thin or promising your time and energy to 10 different ideas. You choose one. And the rest is a lot of prayer, luck, and work.

As Isaiah lets me know more and more everyday that my life is about to take on a monumental and glorious change, my concept of "time" and "freedom" is going to undergo a radical makeover. It's time for priorities.

How does that all affect this blog?

Well, let this post be a sign of an impending change. At the endless prompting by writing colleagues, support from my editor, and a profound desire to retain and grow my readerships from various circles, I am working with a webdesigner to create my own site. It will be a forging of several blogs and websites that I already contribute to, a home for my writing, a place where people can find me. As I begin to present my writing and work to different audiences, it will only behoove me to settle into one place where everyone can find me -- family, friends, strangers, publishers, and readers. Also, it will allow me to focus on ONE place, one site, one project. The easier it is to find me, the more obtainable my writing goals become.

The new site will be much different than this blog, obviously. Notes from Home Plate has largely been anecdotal writings about my personal life with Nick, our life together, and glimpses into our domestic creation we have called home and marriage. It is quite different than, say, articles I have written about social activism, gender equality, or spiritual liberation. It won't be easy, but my vision is to incorporate ALL of my writing, all of who I am, into one place.

As a writer, especially as an online contributor where readers respond instantaneously and emotionally-charged, I've learned much about disagreement and criticism. Opening ALL of my my writing to strangers is not what makes me nervous, it's opening it to those already in my life! It's to my family and friends who often see me, know me, and will also be reading my work. But, in addition to coming to a point in my life where I have grown tired of separating my audiences, I have come to point where I feel the need to allow those in my life to read me, to know me, and pray that that will lead me to a better place as a writer. I'm planning on writing more courageously. There is a very, very fine line I must observe when it comes to boundaries and taking risks. I've been sitting on this decision for a mighty long time and I finally decided to bite the bullet. Pull the trigger. Jump in the deep end. Hit the gas pedal.

My own website is on its way.

The spirit of change is always fraught with unpredictability and fragility. It's always a channel of excitement, opportunity, and novelty. Watch for it in the next month.

UPDATE!

The link to my flickr page should work now if you want to see the bathroom photos! Sorry about that! Now, really, you can CLICK HERE for the photos :)

Thanks, Betsy, for the heads up!

Baby Grand

Isn't it purrrrtyyyy?

HALLEJUAH!!!

CLICK HERE for more pictures that show a bit more of the process. I recommend just clicking on the small icon pictures where you can read some comments I made at the bottom. Clicking "Slideshow" deletes the description. Suit yourself.

Letter #2

Dear Isaiah,

So apparently, you LOVE yoga. Perhaps you would have loved it even more if your mother wasn't such a bluthering baffoon sometimes.

Since our yoga class didn't start until 6:30pm and I made arrangements with my belly to eat a nice healthy lunch and snack the rest of the day and then eat a somewhat late dinner circa 8pm.

Apparently 1.5 hours of stretching, downward dogs, and holding odd poses can zap all the calories left that you decided to leave behind. So, you were as happy as a leaping frog and my body crunched its way through yoga, using the last of the 4:30pm banana and peanut butter snack I inhaled.

By 8:40pm, I walked into the living room, greeted by your father ready to pounce on me for cutting it so close to the season premier of Grey's Anatomy, the only acceptable trash prime time show on TV I will expose you to which started at 9pm.

It was then that I felt a prickly sensation at the top of my belly, the roof of your home, the oven.
I figured my body was responding to my out of routine eating habits and so I gobbled down a black bean burger on a small bagel with some naked spinach thrown in there. It was a delish, globby mess.

By the second round of commercials of the two hour opener, you were a full-fledged boxer, taking on your vision of a miniature Oscar de La Hoya, I'm sure. Between that and the ring of fire that was spreading over the insides of my belly, I started worrying something was wrong. Two hours later, I could bare stand up or exert any effort because it agitated this burning sensation. Getting up the stairs to bed took forever and I could barely enjoy the newly finished bathroom that I had landed me a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records in the "HOW MUCH CAN ONE PERSON COMPLAIN ABOUT ONE THING FOR 16 DAYS STRAIGHT?" category.

My dear boy, I broke a rule that I swore I never would: I googled pregnancy symptoms. By the end of 10 minutes, I was convinced I was dying of a ruptured absess in my intestines or I was in premature labor (never mind I didn't have contractions).

I sat up in bed because it was too hard to lie down and you fought your way to a comfortable spot inside for a long time. I kept apologizing that I didn't do a better job of whatever caused this and even your dad, furrowed his brows at my incessant whimpering. Eventually, in the wee hours of the night, I fell asleep on 8272 pillows that propped me up.

This morning, my stomach was sore and you were quiet which freaked me out so much I placed a call to the doctor. I cursed Cleveland Clinic for being so complicated. I was patched into different departments until I got Nurse Nancy, who works with our doctor, Dr. McElroy. After what seemed like eons, I explained the ring of fire feeling, what I ate that day, ("Do I have food poisoning?"), and prenatal yoga poses that I held.

Her assessment, "Is it above the belly bump?"

Yes.

"Is the pain below your chest?"

Yes.

"Is the baby still moving?"

Like a ferocious upset animal.

"Well, that's good."

What's the problem? Do I need to come in?

"Nope, just take some Tums."

TUMS?

"Sounds like acid reflux."

"What's that?"

She sounds incredulous,"You've never had acid reflux?"

No, does that hurt the baby?

"No, you probably had an empty stomach and there was nothing to soak up the acid so it burns like that for a long time."

Oh, so it's common to feel like I'm about to die and that can be acid reflux?

"Sure. Take some Tums and call me at 4pm if it doesn't get any better."

Hang up.

So now I feel like an idiot. And overreactive. And naive of acid reflux. And lucky that I never had acid reflux. And dumb when my co-worker heard that I have acid problems and promptly handed me a roll of Tums. I promptly popped 4 in my mouth.

They taste like Pez candy.

So, my renewed promise to you, my son, is to never again let so many hours go by without some nutrition because apparently that can lead to death-like experiences when pregnant.

Your mom has learned her lesson.

I hope you enjoyed the variety of today's eating selection.

Love,
Mom

Letter # 1 - About 3 Months to Go

Dear Isaiah,

You are almost 26 weeks old and we are almost exiting the second trimester together. You and I, if you haven't noticed, are in this together.

I've been enjoying our morning talks about the world, my observations about the kind of life you might lead. I do apologize for the random profane words that shoot out of my mouth from time to time which disrupt our profound conversations. You see, my son, I am usually driving when we have our talks and sometimes a disgustingly irresponsible driver will cut me off or turn without signaling or speed by me and, involuntarily, your mouthy mom goes off.

Your father does an excellent job of telling me to calm down and, for the most part, I have. I drive in the right hand lane, rarely go above 5 miles past the speed limit and, instead of barreling through yellow traffic lights as I used to, now come to a complete stop without acting as if I'm in the Indy 500.

You've been quite a lovely baby to oven. I like when you're tumbling around in there, doing whatever it is your doing. Your father says that if he were you, he'd spend a lot of time playing with the umbilical cord, studying its flexibility and seeing what tricks he could do with it. That sounds fine, except just don't put it around your neck. That's one of my fears.

We're getting your room ready and this morning, I just sat in there, staring at all these little gifts, slowly appearing in your room, waiting for you. Sometimes, I just really can't believe you're on your way. You'll be here before we know it and neither me or your dad can wait. We're so excited and talk about you all the time.

Today at work someone commented to me, "Guess what's in 3 months?" I shrugged and she said, "Christmas Eve!" That sounded absurd, but it's true. In about 3 months, it'll be Christmastime and you'll be nearly here. Sometimes when people say time-sensitive comments like that, it just brings your reality that much closer. 3 months. That's not far away at all.

Well, I hope you enjoy our activity this evening. I am going to try pre-natal yoga and see if it is all its cracked up to be. Maybe you'll benefit from some of my deep breathing and stretching. If you don't like it, I'm sure you'll let me know. You certainly let me know your thoughts the other night after I ate spicy Thai food.

I'll be more considerate in the future.

Love,
Mom

Baby Grand, Baby Isaiah, and the Headache that Won't Go Away

It has been two weeks now that our bathroom (at least half of it, that is) has been gutted. And, thankfully, since my last post, much progress has been made.

Just last night, I came home and was pleased to find pretty white tiles in place, a new fan and light installed above the shower, new handles and a very high-placed shower head (Nick was very pleased), and the ceilings all patched up.

With our Cleveland baby shower/Isaiah party coming up in a little over a week, I was beginning to feel some relief off my shoulders. There's still a lot that needs to be done, but, literally, the dust has settled, some clean-up efforts have commenced, and Nick tried out the shower and reported that the water pressure was not perfect but was definitely better than the trickling down effect we had a few weeks ago.

So, all was well and good last night that we even began to play with our newest toy: a donated baby grand piano!

About two months ago, I was approached at work by a woman who asked if I knew of anyone who would want a baby grand piano - for free - and all that needed to be covered was transportation. She didn't lie - it was in decent shape and hadn't been tuned in years. Of course, my ears perked up at the sound of "free," "piano," and "grand."

I took piano for a few years when I was a kid and, as my father predicted that I would, now regret that I didn't stick with it. As an adult, it would be nice to have a musical vice. However, the scale lessons and hard practice hours I put in as a child were not entirely lost. My family is a piano family. My father and sister play by ear. Nearly everyone on my father's side can play. To say that a piano is a filipino trademark would be an understatement. Nearly every wedding, gathering, reunion, funeral, or meeting involves a bit of the piano and belting out a song or two.

And so, you can imagine my excitement when the possibility of a baby grand fell into our laps.

A few weeks later, the transaction was final and the piano is now sitting in our living room. I hired a professional piano cleaner and tuner and he affirmed what I already suspected: the piano was in "wild" shape. AKA - it hadn't been played and/or tuned for YEARS. That kind of neglect is destructive. Imagine a piano like a living body. If you don't go out for a run or walk or if you don't do anything but sit in a corner eating Twinkies, you'll be out of tune as well.

And so, the long journey of repairing our Baby Grand has begun, which is perfect timing as I sing to Isaiah, teach him chords, and fine-tune his ear for the ivory keys. Baby Isaiah, I think, is loving it.

One of the instructions left by the piano cleaner was that we had to play the piano "hard" in the next few weeks and really get the keys moving around again. I made an emergency call to my sister, asking her to come over and play for a while because I am not nearly at the level she is. Even Nick is pitching in. Now, if you can imagine NICK, who may not know a xylophone from a french horn, trying to play the piano just to get it out of its rusty stage, you can understand why I've been doubled over, laughing my ass off in the kitchen when he plays.

He sits and plays the keys like he is taking a type writing course and then out of nowhere, he runs his left hand from the bottom to the top of the keys as if finishing off a Bach masterpiece. Oh, my dear spouse. He is such comedy.

So, last night, after I was fiddling with the piano while Nick was huffing and puffing going up and down the steps, clearing out furniture of the soon-to-be nursery when I hear an extremely rare, "You've got to be shitting me!" from Nick.

My first thought, "He either found a rat or there's another leak in the kitchen."

The ceilings in the bathroom and kitchen HAD JUST BEEN SEALED and I was looking forward to new coat of paint and moving forward in our showering amenities.

For one moment, in all honesty, I almost preferred that he spotted a rat.

I walk into the kitchen to see my hubs staring at the ceiling and, sure enough, there were droplets plopping down onto our newly cleaned floor.

I nearly crumbled in frustration.

As if on cue (I have an emotional reaction, Nick moves into action), our contractor is called and comes right over and accesses the situation. After about 20 minutes of rooting around, he reports it can be fixed first thing in the morning, but he does need to cut out the kitchen ceiling again.

At this point, I am staring like a zombie at the television, wondering if we'll ever get our lives back.

Even the sight of our baby grand, even the feel of Baby Isaiah kicking his disapproval couldn't remove our frustration and disappointment of the new deadline: FRIDAY.

Remember, this entire job was supposed to be done LAST WEDNESDAY. ONE WEEK AGO.

But, at least, we are able to shower and I took my inaugural shower this morning and it is quite lovely. I would just love to be able to clean again, move our kitchen out of the dining room, and get ready for more important things.

The saga continues.

Diffusing the Anger

Today was the deadline for our bathroom to be finished.

I was planning on a phat post about how awesome our lives are, complete with a brand new tub, tiles, and fan, rejuvenated and clear pipes, and a fresh toilet seat on top.

That is not the headline of today's post.

If Nick gets to a level of annoyance, that means that I am approaching warning levels of volcanic eruption. I cannot believe how long and annoying this process is. At this very moment, I am listening to drills, sawing, and a very loud radio in the background to keep the workers entertained. At this very moment, as they start to clean up at 5:06pm, the bathroom is fit for someone along the lines of Jason Voorhees.

Now, don't get me wrong. I have a tender heart. I'm a nice person. I understand that things come up, deadlines are pushed back, people work their fannies off and still things don't always come together as planned. But, just follow how this whole situation has affected me this past week. Remember, Nick is still going to work with luggage for his showers. As if that isn't exasperating enough to watch him truck off to work with a piece of carry-on baggage.

1) The dustbowl that is our house has flared up some allergens that make my eyes itch and throat constrict with coughing.

2) The accessible toilets in our house are on floors 1 and 3. Our bedroom is on floor 2. Which means for pregnant persons, like myself who get up in the middle of the night, one must be fairly alert to navigate the stairs. By the time I get myself back into bed, I am wide awake.

3) Interrupted sleep is making me very, very tired.

4) Isaiah doesn't like this routine and so HE is very, very tired.

5) I am showering at work and must pack a bag everyday complete with shower sandals and extra towels. It looks like I'm moving into my work office.

And so my friends, it's difficult for me to remain my positive self when all I want to do is scream, "GET THIS JOB DONE AND CLEAN UP THIS MESS! I'M 6 MONTHS PREGNANT!"

Sunday Blues

Depression resulting from sports-related issues certainly cannot be resolved overnight.

I know this for a fact because it is Sunday afternoon and I am still moping over OSU's loss last night to USC. I'm normally not an advocate of bottling away emotions without properly processing them first, but, in this case, I think it's better for everyone in my life, especially Nick, if I just move on as best as I can and deal with the blemish on the Buckeye's early football record.

When my sister was a highschool senior, their graduating class' senior tshirts were custom designed for the class of 1993 and on the back it just read: Seniors rule. Deal with it.

I think I should make a similar tshirt for myself that reads: We had that game but we lost. Deal with it.

Beyond football frenzy 2009, Nick and I have had a lovely weekend of hanging out with friends, attending our neighborhood block party, and sleeping in. This morning we attended a pre-baptismal training class which Nick both led as the Pastoral Associate and participated as a soon to be parent.

It's always fun getting the opportunity to watch your spouse in a different role, a role outside of the house. Not surprisingly he was great at making sure everyone's little bundle of joys were on the right path to their first sacrament.

Our little saint, Isaiah, has been stretching his limbs and tumbling around like an Olympian. Sleep has been a bit finicky for me lately and some days I just feel like I just need a comfy chair to lie down in. Others days I am rip roaring with energy.

Today is a lay low kind of day. Nick is working. I can't take any more football this weekend. And our house is a dustbowl of disaster because of the bathroom demolition.

I am hoping by the end of the day my Buckeye-induced sadness will have dissipated.

Here's hoping...

The Weird Reasons

I haven't forgotten about this blog -- really, I haven't.

Maybe there are some things that are forgotten with a pregnant brain (a lot of pregnant women report scatter-mindedness and forgetfulness), but writing and this blog are not one of them.

This week, albeit a shortened week because of the holiday, has been really WEIRD.

Here's one reason: our bathroom tub and walls are getting ripped out. The bathroom ceiling has been taken out. In the kitchen, if you look up through the ceiling hole, you can see to the top of the bathroom ceiling/3rd floor base. That's right. From the first floor, you can see straight up to the second floor.

That means an ungodly amount of dust has settled in the nooks and crannies of our house and I am hacking away like it's the middle of Spring. Poor Isaiah has been tumbling all around when I cough. I think he thinks I'm perpetually choking.

Also, work has turned up the heat on both Nick and I in our respective employment offices. We're both getting up early to shower at work (we both have access to shower facilities) because we're obviously without a tub and unless we want to hose each other down on our front lawns, getting up early and showering elsewhere is the only way to stay respectably clean. And our workload has generally increased. We're busy bees these days.

In the meanwhile my stomach looks like a rising circus tent ready to enfold anyone who comes near it. I've noticed that the floor creaks when I walk on it now. Dude, I feel like a slowly expanding hot air balloon, except I don't get to fly.

Other weird news is that OSU football season has started and WHAT WAS THAT NEAR LOSS TO NAVY AS THE SEASON OPENER? Not a convincing win. That did not put anyone at ease. And so, this Saturday against USC, has us in a quiet nervous state. We don't want to talk about it because the intensity is just that heavy for us.

Weird reason #3, our kitchen stuff is in the dining room. Because of the ceiling hole, we had to clear out the kitchen and move everything into the dining hall. Correction: NICK had to clear out the kitchen and move everything into the dining hall. We have no place to eat and so we keep eating random foods like cereal and granola bars to stay alive and ordering out which we rarely do because we think it's usually a waste of money.

Weird reason #4, my pregnant brain is getting uber introverted these days. That means less blogging, less writing. THIS is not a good thing, as I need to be writing everyday to stay in good practice.

Weird reason #5, REGISTERING FOR ISAIAH IS THE BIGGEST PAIN IN THE ASS AND WE KEEP TALKING ABOUT HOW MUCH WE HATE IT.

Weird reason #6...Did I mention how we have to shower at work? That means NICK IS BRINGING A SUITCASE TO WORK TO CHANGE CLOTHES.

Overall, this week just needs to end.

Like, now-ish....

Conversation

Me: Nick?

Nick: Yeah?

Me: It's September.

Nick: I know.

Me: Do you know what that means?

Nick: It could mean multiple things.

Me: It means our son is going to be here in less than four months, roughly.

Nick leans over and loudly talks to my belly button: ISAIAH! PLEASE STAY PUT FOR A WHILE. IT'S GOOD IN THERE. IT'S SAFE IN THERE. DON'T COME OUT JUST YET. WE'LL LET YOU KNOW.

The Uneventful Parts of Pregnancy

Last Thursday, we had our routine check-up. I had to pick up Nick downtown where he volunteers on Thursdays and make our way from the west side to the east side of Cleveland, specifically, the Beachwood area. Our little section of the Cleveland Clinic is inconveniently sandwiched between two highway entryway/exits and the Beachwood Plaza.

That means while Isaiah is sandwiched between the walls of my body, Nick and I are sandwiched by the walls of the car, and the car is sandwhiched between mall-goers and highway drivers eager to get on the road or speed home.

We get to the office and have our freshly conjured-up questions written down on scrap paper. We are wondering about the Swine Flu (hello, Xavier University? 10 people diagnosed with the pig epidemic?), whether or not little dots in my vision are normal from time to time (they are), if my blood pressure is on track (it is), and who is going to deliver the baby (my doctor delivers 85% of her patients).

But other than hearing Isaiah's heartbeat and Dr. McElroy pressing against certain parts of my expanding belly universe, nothing happened.

No reports on big feet. No excitement. No news.

It took about 5 mintues.

Mhm. I was expecting more.

My sister-in-law, Suzi, who has birthed four children, affirmed the uneventful period of doctor's appointments. "Yeah, you're finishing your second trimester so things are just kind of routine right now. Soon you'll go every three weeks, then every two weeks, and then the last month you'll go once a week. But for now, just enjoy it."

So we are.

We are enjoying staying in. Nick has redeemed his NetFlicks membership and is a-d-d-i-c-t-e-d to the last season of the West Wing. I have been morosely burying my head in the women's fitting rooms, trying on clothes to make me look like a somewhat normal version of myself. My pants are officially too tight at the non-waist region of my body and maternity clothes are either just too big or too ugly. Let's face it. Most department store fashionistas design pregnant clothes like window treatments. Drapes, drapes everywhere. Everything just hangs over your belly.

Ugh.

Anyway, Isaiah is a growing soccer play, we are musing. Or a punter. Or someone who just has the gift of really strong legs. His kicks and punches and elbows and whatever else he is using to make his presence known is getting stronger and stronger while my ability to sustain long periods of activity are weakening. Lately, I pour myself a glass of milk and head for the couch, or outside for fresh air to get my energy back. Nick is still a cleaning machine, keeping one hand on the broom and the other on my belly to see if he can feel his boy kicking.

Nick and I are thrilled in Week 22.

A Year Ago

I was just looking through some old things and organizing our office when I realized that one year, I had just returned from my 2 month trip to the Philippines.

So much has changed in one year as Nick and I have settled into jobs, our first house, our 4th year of marriage, and, now, our first pregnancy.

These were the roses that Nick bought and greeted me with when I returned home. I don't think I'll ever forget how wonderful those months were, but I don't think I'll ever forget how dreadful it was to be separated for that long, too.

Looking back, I am so grateful that I went on that trip that was so much more than a trip. It taught me so many things about interdependence, family, culture, and belonging. It was worth every sacrifice made to bring it to fruition. It also sweetened our marriage in ways that I never expected. Never again since I have returned home have I taken Nick for granted. Not once, not one day.

If I, or we, ever seem cheesy or overly happy, it's because, frankly, we are and after being on the other side of the earth for 9 weeks without him, it taught me a thing or two about gratitude and love.

Observation

Isaiah is kicking, punching, elbowing, and pushing as much as Nick is cleaning these days.

That is a lot.

GEDs and LBJ Sighting

Nick has decided to do some volunteer work.

You know, for people like Nick, for people who already work in faith-based ministry, people who spend at least 8 hours of everyday working for the betterment of someone's spiritual enlightenment, doing volunteer work may fill a void to actually DO something for other people.
[in case you missed it, there is a heavy dose of sarcasm in opening paragraph]

So, Nick is volunteering for a catholic center helping folks earn their GED. He decides to do this on his day off.

The other day, I could have sworn there was a brief sighting of a golden halo rounding his head. I blinked and it disappeared. Oh, my generous life partner...when will you do something, I don't know, selfish? Like, go buy yourself something. Oh wait, he hates to shop. Maybe go buy a steak dinner. Oh wait, he prefers to eat at home. Perhaps get yourself tickets to a huge sporting event. Mhm...now there's a possibility.

Bottom line is, Isaiah is taking more and more energy out of me and there are days when I feel like lying on a couch and staying hydrated is enough work for me. Next to Nick, these days, I am feeling grossly unproductive.

And when I wail and cry that I am not participating in helping humanity achieve a greater sense of authenticity, Nick will put his arm around me and remind me, "Remember, you're doing the most important part for us - making sure Isaiah is good and growing."

Ah, yes, our son.

And I straighten my shoulders and quickly feel better. YES, I am pregnant and have Big Foot Borchers practicing karate kicks and swim flips inside me.

So, while Nick is off educating the world into better human thinkers, I am working full time and counting the weeks left of my second trimester. It's gone so fast!

In other news, last night, Nick, myself, Books, and his girlfriend Janet scored major seats at the Akron premiere of "More Than a Game," the documentary about the friendship and legacy of the basketball team at Akron's St. Vincent/St. Mary that Lebron James was a part of. Nick and I had front row seats, which was a little close for the movie, but came up HUGE after the movie when we were about 9 feet from Lebron and his teammates featured in the documentary. It was awesome! I stared at big LBJ for 25 minutes, barely believing I was so close to the Cavs King.

The documentary comes out in October and right now is on a tour throughout the world. One of our friends is a big wig for all movie features that come through NE Ohio. When Will Smith comes to town, we get a phone call. A documentary where LBJ will be at? We get front row seats. Pretty sweet deal.

Yeah, we're important.

Week 20

I'm officially at the halfway point of my pregnancy.

After yesterday, and finding out the news that "it" is now a "him," or (preferably) now Isaiah, I feel a certain solidness about life. Not that Nick and I haven't been fully aware of the baby before, but, as I predicted it would for us, knowing the baby's sex has personalized this whole mind-blowing experience for us.

It's also lit something fierce under Nick.

Nick had yesterday off from work. I took the morning off but went in to work in the afternoon and when I came home, the house was gleaming from the inside out. Nick had been working his tail off reorganizing closets, making space in cluttered areas, cleaning, doing laundry, folding and stacking bedware and towels. Any miscellaneous items (usually things like my jewelry, my camera equipment, my chicken scratches on post it notes about appointments and meetings and random ideas) were all placed in a pile in my closet.

"I just feel better when the house is clean," he says.

Not that we live in a pigsty, but our home is fairly tidy. Nick likes tidy. I like disinfectant. It's a good combo.

But I wasn't sure if he said "I just feel better when the house is clean" or "I just feel better when the house GLEAMS."

Because everything is ridiculously tidy and everytime I look at my loving spouse, he's sweating from moving something or bending over into a closet trying to clear out anything that can be thrown away.

Is that Nesting syndrome supposed to happen to the mother? Or is it the father?

I think he's ready to be a Dad...whereas I am just feeling more and more pregnancy-tired with each passing week. My right leg is starting to cramp and my appetite is back on some form of mysterious fluctuation. Monday - Thursday afternoon, I could barely eat a whole meal without feeling like I needed to manually rolled into the living room. I ate three nuggets of cantelope and a glass of milk and feel like I ate a Thanksgiving dinner. Today, I've eaten more than the entire week combined and now I feel like I could do some serious damage at Old Country Buffet.

Week 20 is the halfway point, and not that we ever were thinking of "turning back," it truly is the point of no return. Emotionally, we are just so flipping excited for this kid, we're borderline obnoxious. I can't believe we still have friends sometimes. How can they stand us when we're talking and giddy all the time, thinking about our future like it's a philosophical puzzle to figure out, talking about parenting techniques, thinking about our own childhood - what worked, what we think our parents did right...etc, etc. In sum, we are SATURATED IN THE GLOW OF IMPENDING PARENTHOOD AND WE LOVE IT AND DON'T CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK OF US AND OUR OBNOXIOUSLY HAPPY AND GLORIOUS STATE.

You KNOW things are seriously different when father of Big Foot himself says to me yesterday, "What do you think of this? It came in the mail." Nick hands me a turquoise and delicately decorated piece of paper with suggestions of things to buy before the baby's arrival.

Like an up-scale shopping list. In cute fonts.

Nick puts in on my dresser, "I think this might be a good guide of things we'll need to buy, don't you think?"

I just nodded wordlessly, my eyes big and unblinking as I watch him. In my brain, I hear the strains of the Twilight Zone.

Anytime the love of my life, the man who gets a headache from walking into a department store, suggests using a shopping list and actually looks excited about its futility is testament to the transformative power of Baby Isaiah.

Isaiah Factora Borchers

8:45am
"This is the brain."

"Here's the spine."

"Right here is a hand."

"Your baby's face profile..."

Then the ultrasound techie asked, "Do you want to know the baby's sex?"

YES.

"You are having a boy! Definitely, for sure. Right here, [points] that's a boy part."

For the next 10 minutes or so, we get all happy and mushy and watched different angles of our son.

After some quiet time the nurse exclaims, "This baby's got HUGE feet!"

I couldn't believe what she said, "What?!"

She points again, "See this? This foot is the same length AS THE BABY'S THIGH!"

I start giggling. Uncontrollably.

The nurse asks, "So who's responsible for this baby's big feet?"

I reply over Nick's laughter, "Definitely the father."

Nick's astronaut white shoes, size 13, seem to be glowing in the dark.

The nurse smiles, "If this kid had an Indian name it would be 'the baby with huge feet.'"

Nick and I are just laughing our butts off as she shows us a close up of Isaiah's foot.

We finish up and I'm wiping my tears of joy and giggling over this kid's feet.

The nurse places a towel over my belly and says, "We're done here. You've got a boy on the way. With huge feet." She glances down at my feet in flip flops and makes one last comment, "Yeah, for sure. This baby definitely did not inherit your feet."

Conversation This Morning

Nick: Can you believe that TOMORROW we'll know if we're having a boy or girl?

Me: Truly, it's unreal.

Nick: (staring at the ceiling in thought) Oh! I thought of something else that we might want to buy.

Me: In addition to the gazillion things - like a crib, stroller, rocker, bottles, diapers...

Nick: (turns to me with big, convincing eyes) No, I'm serious. I think we should probably buy one of those baby holder things.

Me: The one where the kid is strapped on to the parent, like in the front?

Nick: Yeah! Do you think we should get one of those?

Me: (quietly thinking) I don't know. Do you want the front one or the back one?

Nick: (surprised) There's more than one?

Me: Yes...I've seen the front one, where the kid is just dangling there and there's the one on the back, kinda like a backpack. I've seen more men with the backpack version. It kinda looks like hiking gear, except for equipment, there's a baby back there. I think men use it when running errands, like to the post office or something so their hands are free.

Nick: (perpetually skeptical) I don't know about that back one. Do you think it's safe?

Me: Probably about as safe as having your baby dangling in front of you without actually holding on it.

Nick: I just like the idea of always SEEING the baby. Like, what if I'm carrying the baby on my back and all of a sudden I think, 'mhm, it's kinda light back there,' and then I check and the baby is gone? Or I reach behind me for something and then find someone trying to take the baby off my back?!

Me: (decidedly)The front carrier it is.

Summer Storm

The breath of God swept this tree to fall east - toward the street - and not southeast, which would have been straight into our beloved home.

Yesterday, around 3-4pm, an unusually fierce storm swept through some parts of Cleveland. Working on the west side of Cleveland, I saw claps of lightning and bowling ball sounds of thunder, but I never thought it was categorized under "severe."

Driving home, I turn into our neighborhood and anxiously drive through the debris. Streets are undriveable with power lines and poles demolished by our signature Shaker Heights trees. Tall and shady, the tree lined streets look like a tornado swept through and not far, the local highschool is scattered with flattened cars and smashed houses.

I turn onto my own street and see a pool of people standing out front. I get even more anxious that I don't see Nick and neighbors I recognize are the ones I know, so I quickly surmise that something happened in our immediate area.

My mouth drops open as I see one of the largest trees on our block laying flat down on the lawn next to our house (ours is the brown brick, tudor style one). A HUGE tree, one that I've admired for the past year, was uprooted and mercifully hit only the earth, taking with it nothing but another strip of a nearby, smaller tree.

The neighbors were out, trying to saw the branches that were blocking the street. I turn into the driveway and quickly hurry into the house to see if Nick is home, alright, and if our house has any damage.

Miracle, miracle, miracle. This tree, that stood about 15 feet from our soon to be nursery decided to die, but without causing any direct damage to any humans or houses.

So, we spent the early evening marveling at the storm's remnants, talking with our neighbors, helping more ravished properties clean up, and thanking our lucky stars it did not plummet into our house or into anyone causing harm.