Thanksgiving 2009 in a brief summary of bulleted words:
local
delicious
preggers
gluttonous
beautiful
Enjoy a few pictures of our holiday...
Friday, November 27, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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."
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."
Monday, November 9, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Positive News
Nick is in charge of a nice service project that got a short blurb in the paper!
Click here for the link!
Click here for the link!
Friday, October 30, 2009
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."
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."
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