The Fears That Stalk Me in the Night.

Waking up at 4:30 a.m. leaves me with a lot of extra time to think. Sure, I could do something productive, like dishes, or laundry, or organizing my pantry, but really? It's bad enough that I'm awake. I'm not going to make it worse by doing chores that I don't enjoy even when well rested and fully caffeinated.

Instead, I build myself a nest of pillows on the couch, turn on the Christmas tree (which will most likely not get taken down till Valentine's Day) and drift. Sometimes I think about good things, fun things, like painting the baby's room or gardening projects. But more often than not, those quiet hours before dawn are when the nasty little thoughts I keep locked up during the day come out to play.

I worry about lots of things, but as my due date looms ever closer, I find myself dwelling on the specter of postpartum depression. I'm sure every mom-to-be worries about this scary condition, but as someone who has had to fight her way back from the soul sucking black hole that is clinical depression, I am terrified.

For those of you who have never been through it (and I do hope that's most of you), there's no real way to describe the devastation that depression causes. When it strikes, it's like all the light goes out of the world. And as it leaves, the light takes everything that makes life worth living with it. All the hope. All the joy. All my plans for the future. Everything.

Without all the good things, I become a bitter, hollow thing. I hate myself. And everyone around me. I can see no reason for anyone to love me. And so those who do earn my scorn.

Although over the years I've gotten good at hiding the pain, at continuing to smile and acting as though everything's okay, inside, I'm screaming bloody murder. Just one long endless howl.

The last time it happened, I told my husband that I felt like I needed to just rip off my skin and fly away. That that was the only way I could escape the horror that had become my world. And I think that's the closest I've ever come to explaining what depression is like. At least for me.

So when I think about the possibility of that happening again - of feeling that way while trying to care for another person who's completely dependent on me, I feel sick. I can say now, while still in complete control of my brain, that it won't happen. That I'll recognize the signs and get help before it becomes a problem. But I can't be sure.

So I'm scared. And while I struggled mightily with the decision to write this post (it's been in the works for weeks), staying silent about my fears felt like lying.

So there it is. It's part of my pregnancy experience - my life experience - and I'll continue to write about it as I feel the need. Hopefully, you'll never hear anything other than "phew, glad I was wrong about that one." Hopefully.

And if I'm right about my chances of getting PPD? Well, it'll make for some interesting reading anyway.

My Baby the Kick Boxer.

Today, I had a 9 a.m. conference call to present concepts to a client—a new client, at that. Now, I'm not usually at my best at that hour. In fact, as a general rule, it's really not a good idea to even speak to me before 9:30 or so. But I knew it was important to make a good impression, so I made an extra effort this morning.  I made sure to get moving as soon as my alarm went off, had a healthy breakfast and got to work with enough time before the meeting to go over my materials. In other words, I was in good shape.

The meeting started, and my confidence level was still high. I jotted notes in the margins to make extra sure I knew exactly what I was going to say. And when the time came to speak, I launched right into my presentation.

And then the kicking started.

Kicks aimed directly at my bladder.

A bladder still full of coffee and juice.

I was about two sentences in to my little speech when the first one connected. Hard. I immediately lost my train of thought, stopping mid-word to catch my breath. I waited for a moment, but that seemed to be it, so I started speaking again.

Then, just as I was getting back into the groove, she started using my bladder as a punching bag again. I don't know what it had done to offend her, but she seemed quite displeased, and was intent on having her revenge. As the assault continued, all thoughts of the materials in front of me disappeared. Instead, the only thing I could think was, "Oh my God, I'm going to pee my pants. Please don't let me pee my pants."

I shuddered, and in a choked voice which I can only hope was too low for the client to hear, said, "Guys, I'm losing it. Someone take over for me."

One of my coworkers swooped in to my rescue, redirecting the conversation so I could get myself together. I breathed deeply and mentally shouted at the baby to Cut. It. Out. NOW. If I could have, I would have stood on my head to dislodge her. Instead, I just rocked in my seat, distracting both me and her.

Within a few minutes she stopped, and when there was a lull in the conversation I charged back in—completing my presentation without any further interruptions from the future kick boxer in my belly. After the meeting, I shamefacedly explained what had happened to the folks in the room. Luckily, they just laughed, and told me next time to just get up and go to the rest room if I needed to.

But I think I'll just hope it doesn't happen again. Once was enough for that particular experience.

My Toes Have Disappeared and Other Observations.

I’ve always taken my feet for granted. Whenever I look down, they’re just there, planted at the bottom of my legs. Which has made determining whether my toenails needed cutting or my nail polish is chipping relatively easy.

Then yesterday I made a startling realization. My feet aren't in my line of sight anymore.  The only thing a casual glance downwards reveals is the vast expanse of my belly. And that’s just weird.

I had to bend forward just to make sure they were still there. And they are, including all ten toes. They’re just hidden from sight when I’m standing upright. It’s a strange feeling, to be suddenly footless.

I’ve also recently discovered that thanks to my growing uterus, my insides have been thoroughly rearranged. How do I know? Because when I bend a certain way, my lungs literally run into something hard and I can’t breathe. Kinda like when you aren’t watching where you’re going and you walk into a shelf.

And yes, I have accidentally run into shelving. More than once, as a matter of fact. Just call me Grace.

Next disturbing physical change I’m expecting? The popping of my belly button. It's always been really deep, but it’s getting shallower all the time. I know because my husband gets a kick out of sticking his finger in there and measuring it every day.

What, is that too much information? Guess I’ll stop while I’m ahead, then.

My Baby Needs What?

You know, I'm pretty sure that for most of humanity's existence, babies survived without much more than a basket filled with hay to sleep in, some rags to wear on their butts, their mom's boobs, and maybe, if they were lucky, a corncob or two to play with.

Then, somewhere along the way, we decided babies needed more stuff. Lots more stuff. Stuff to make them smell better. Learn faster. Cry less. Eat more. So much stuff that we had to create Walmart-sized baby superstores, just to put it all in.

Even so, when Brian and I went to start our registry yesterday, I thought I was prepared. Figured I knew what we needed. Was sure that I'd done enough research to be able to whip through the aisles, scanner in hand, and be done before lunch.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

I got my scanner, alright. And marched straight off to the car seat aisle to christen my list. Only to find that there were five different versions of the car seat I wanted. And parked right next to the affordable, top-rated model I had researched was a much cooler looking orange one. With a sun visor. And a level-ly thing in the base. And did I mention it was orange? I do like orange.

Yeah. Our progress pretty much slowed to a crawl at that point.

We did eventually talk ourselves out of the snifty-looking seat, and the souped up travel system we knew wouldn't fit in our car, but not without a lot of debate. Before we knew it, almost an hour had gone by, and we hadn't even made it past the pack n' plays.

Three hours later my head was whirling, and my registry was nowhere near done. Did we need an exersaucer? How is that different from a jumperoo? Obviously, a baby has to have bottles, but did we want the ones that were guaranteed to reduce colic, eliminate gasiness, or teach her french?

Who knew our homes were unsafe enough to warrant an entire aisle of plastic cover gizmos and corner guards and appliance latches and rabid dog tranquilizers?

And can someone please tell me why, when everything I've read tells me that you can't use quilts in cribs, and that those cute little bumpers can contribute to SIDS, everywhere you look there are adorable bedding sets that just scream, "buy me?"

It's enough to make even a shopaholic like me dizzy.

In the end, we admitted defeat and treated ourselves to some yummy BBQ brisket while we waited for the world to stop spinning.

I am humbled. And very glad I can do the rest of my registering online.

A New Year Begins.

We're twelve hours or so into 2009, and as I sit here curled up on my couch, kitty purring at my side—with life continuing as usual, in other words—I'm struck by the feeling that things are changing faster than I can comprehend. And I only hope I'm up to the challenges that this year will bring.

This time next year, I'll be a mom. And quiet little moments like the one I'm currently enjoying, will, I'm guessing, be a thing of the past. But that's only a guess. Because truthfully? I have no idea what we're in for. I'm sure I won't be the same person, but who will I be? I know my marriage will change, but how, exactly? The questions, if I let myself think about them too long, overwhelm me...and that little nugget of fear that lives deep in my belly blossoms into something more.

So better to think about the positives. To wonder what her laugh will sound like. To anticipate the look of love on Brian's face when he holds her. To imagine introducing her to her grandma and grandpa for the first time.

To think about all the things she has to discover, like...

the brilliant yellow of the first daffodils in the spring.

the way a cat's body vibrates when it purrs.

the feel of the warm sunshine on her face.

the crunch of the leaves under her feet in the fall.

the sparkle of Christmas lights glowing in the snow.

the sheer joy of living, loving and being loved.

When I think about things like that, I know that no matter what happens, it will all be worth it. That there's nowhere I'd rather be than right here, right now, waiting for our little girl to arrive. And that 2009 will indeed be a very good year.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Random thoughts at six months and counting...

So, I don't know what happened to this blog. I think I'll just blame the lack of posts on pregnancy brain and my complete inability to focus on anything that isn't completely necessary. But I'm never going to be able to quit my job and blog for a living like my idol over at dooce if I don't get serious about this, so I'm making a New Year's Resolution to make this a more regular thing..starting now.

To catch you all up, I found out a few weeks ago I'm baking a little girl. The ultrasound left no doubts on that score. But I won't share the picture, 'cause even though she's not born yet, I have a feeling she wouldn't want her privates broadcast on the Internet.

She's moving around a lot these days. Sometimes, I feel like I have a little acrobat in there. But that's good, because if she's capable of acrobatics, she'll hopefully have an easier time with the whole walking/talking without falling thing than her klutz of a mom. Once she's able to walk and talk, that is.

However, she likes to engage in her most vigorous gymnastics beginning at about 3:30, 3:32 a.m. So, because I'm a light sleeper, I tend to start my day at about 3:30, 3:32 a.m. This is not a particularly good thing (just ask my poor, long-suffering husband). But I do find that the more deliriously tired I become, the more creative my work gets, so maybe I'll finally write that novel I've been meaning to start in the months after her birth. Who knows?

And because this is a completely random post with no real theme, I think I'll leave you with a couple  quotes from my husband that positively cracked me up.

On learning that I'd signed us up for a childbirth education class: "Really? What's that? They can't teach you how to push the baby out, can they?" And yes, he was serious.

On viewing the holiday photo we took just last weekend: "You know, you don't really look pregnant. You just look heavy."  He really does know better. His brain just isn't always connected to his mouth.

And on learning that he could probably feel the baby kicking me now: "That's just scary. It's like there's an alien in there..." Ahhh, fatherly love.

Maybe we should name the baby Barack?

Change the world? Heck yeah, we can. We just did.

I couldn't have asked for a better outcome to Leroy's first election.

When we voted on Sunday, I knew we were part of something momentous. Here in my little town in Southern Indiana, the line at the polling station wrapped around the block. In fact, we waited almost three hours for our turn at the machines. Long enough that I got a sunburn. In November.

But you know what? It was kinda fun. There was an almost palpable feeling of excitement in the air. Of pride. And of impending revolution.

The crowd, which seemed to be overwhelmingly full of Obama supporters, chatted cheerfully, soaking up the sunshine and listening to the local musicians who turned out to entertain us, like Joe the Accordion Player.

There were many topics of conversation, (and indeed, I was subjected to a lengthy lecture about the evils of medicated childbirth) but most people seemed to be talking about one thing. Change.

A lot of folks seemed to be afraid to hope too much. Scared that the Republicans would still find a way to pull the rug out from under us. Unwilling to believe that we would actually pull it off. I know that's how I felt.

But we did it. We got Barack Obama elected and took the first step toward fixing everything that's wrong with this country.

And, for once in my life, I am ridiculously proud to be an American.