Pampers Someday, Pampering Today (Part 1)

With all the physical changes, I've had my share of body image troubles these past few months. So, when my husband bought me a mother-to-be spa package for Christmas, I was a bit concerned. I gushed over his thoughtfulness (because it was very thoughtful), and I commented about how wonderful I'm sure it would be (the Elizabeth Arden spas have an excellent reputation). As I scanned the list of included services--pregnancy massage, manicure, pedicure, facial, makeup--I tried not to cringe. For those of you who remember my baby shower paranoia, it's easy to understand how the idea of strangers touching and focusing their attention on me would (what's the word?) FREAK me out. At the time, I told myself, "I've got five more months to go; that's plenty of time to get used to the idea."

From then on, once a month or so, Tim would politely ask, "So, when are you going to schedule your spa day?" My prepared answer each time was, "As soon as I take care of ____, I'm so on it. It's really important that I take care of _____ this weekend, but after _____, I'll schedule an appointment."

That worked until two weeks ago, when I finally had to make my appointment. Tim planned to drive me to the spa but ended up coming home too late to take me. The drive was about 45 minutes long, and ten minutes from my destination, I realized I had forgotten the gift certificate (no, I didn't do it on purpose!). I didn't want to turn around and go home, because the spa would've charged me a late fee. I called Tim about 5 times to beg him to pick up the certificate, but I couldn't get a hold of him. The spa decided to check me in anyways, because they said my certificate was probably still in the system. After a few minutes, Tim showed up (his phone needed to be recharged, so he couldn't call me earlier)and fixed the situation.

At this point, I figured I had all the signs I needed that I shouldn't have come to the spa. But, I thought about how much Tim wanted it for me, so I dutifully lay down for my massage. I've only had a massage 2 other times in my life: the day before my wedding and two days after a major car accident. Obviously, it takes a traumatic event before I'll consider letting a stranger touch me. Both of those massages resulted in total muscle relaxation, but the journey there was painful. I mean, I made ridiculous faces the whole time because it felt like they were pinching me. I know they had to "work out" knots in my back, but it made my eyes bulge to endure it.

The masseuse at the spa was soft-spoken, and with the candles and all, it felt more like I was going to get my palm read than my back worked on. She told me, "Today's massage is like a Swedish massage." I'd never had a Swedish massage, so I didn't know if she was warning me or trying to assure me. So, I gripped the pregnancy pillow and prepared for pain.

Pain never came. It was all feel-good touchiness. I was warm and happy. She kept layering on lotion and oil stuff, and I never protested. I even forgot about my belly being so huge. When the massage was over, I reluctantly got up. I was given a glass of water (with some kind of floral essence voodoo-thing mixed in) and sent to the next consultant. There was little I wouldn't have agreed to by then, I think. Which was good, because the next part of my treatment required a move up on the weird scale.

Girl Yes, Pink No

We had a doctor's appointment on Friday. Tim brought his video camera. He hoped we would have another sonogram, though they hadn't told me when my next (and final) one would be. When the nurse saw Tim all ready and expectant, she must have felt pity. She moved us to a room with a sonogram machine. I had an exam, and the results were:
- The baby looked healthy, thank God.
- The baby's weight was about 6 lbs, but there's more to come I'm sure ...
- We saw hair on the head!
- The baby's head is pointed downward (good news), but not quite facing the right direction yet (plenty of time for that, though).
- And finally ...

Baby Dowdel is a girl!

Safety First! Sanity Second! UPDATE

Today, my brother & I went to another Safe Kids event to have car seats installed. My sister is in California this month (she left her car with me), so I decided to take her car & car seat in to be inspected (my niece is three, so she's been using this seat for a while now). My brother, whose daughter was born yesterday, took his car in to be inspected as well. He has two children now, so he had two car seats.

My sister's car was inspected first. I'll cut to the chase: the car seat had been installed incorrectly. My brother-in-law is a smart guy (a bit geeky, but smart) and a good father, so I know he'll be highly offended to learn the seat wasn't secure. The police officer who installed the seat used all the belts I wouldn't have, so I can say I wouldn't have done much better than my brother-in-law. But the seat is in correctly now, and isn't that what matters? I get the feeling that won't soothe anyone's ego ...

As for my brother: to his credit, he had installed his son's car seat almost perfectly. The consultant adjusted it a bit, but my brother had done a pretty decent job. The consultant installed the infant car seat as well. After the consultant left, I said, "Did you learn anything new?"

"Well, yeah," my brother said, "but I think I could've done this by myself."

"Really?" I said. "So you think you wasted your time today?"

"No," he said. "It's good to be confident about it. At least now I don't have any doubts."

I reminded him of one thing, though. One day, when his son was old enough to be forward-facing in his car seat (which my brother had installed), we (my sister-in-law and my nephew) drove to a store. At one point, I turned around from my front passenger seat to offer my nephew a snack.

I said, "I think we should stop the car." My sister-in-law asked why.

"Um," I said, "go ahead and park, and I'll tell you." She parked and turned around in her seat.

There was her son, smiling and giggling--but in a car seat completely laying sidways on the back seat.

As I related the story to my brother, he laughed. But, he pointed out, he had learned from those mistakes and took steps to get it right. By letting someone help him install his daughter's seat today, I would say I agree with him.

Riding Around

Every MTB and every baby is different, so my experiences thus far may be completely different than moms before me and moms after. For me, pregnancy has been like riding one of those motorcycles that have a little seat attached to its side. I know at all times that another person is with me, though I haven't figured out who's driving. I'm not physically able to do some of the fancy tricks I did when I had a dirt bike, but the co-riding thing is OK, too.

There are times when the baby and I are alone, and I stare at my stomach. My eyebrows bunch together, because I still don't know what to make of her/him. I woke up the other day, looked around at all the new shelves, furniture, and baby blankets and thought, "I can NOT believe this is happening." I wasn't terrified or mad, just surprised. Tim says he remembers when, during the first two years we were married, I would suddenly look at him and say, "I can't believe we're married. I really can't believe it." Again, not mad or sad, just amazed. Maybe I take a long time to adjust to new ideas?

The other day the baby and I were eating lunch alone at a cafe. Halfway during the meal, they played a piece of music over the speakers that made me stop. It was beautiful--sad and familiar. It rolled all of my troubled thoughts together and pressed down on me. I knew I'd heard the piece before, but I couldn't remember where. I asked the staff about it, but they didn't know, either. Later that evening, I went home and took a nap. When I awoke, I remembered. I quickly found the song on iTunes and downloaded it.

The baby and I listened to the piece ("The Last Man" from The Fountain soundtrack) from beginning to end while I closed my eyes. I cried. I actually cried. That never happens. I patted my belly, and it was like the baby understood. (S)he didn't kick, but just listened, too, like, "It is sad, Mom. It's OK to cry." Afterwards, I wiped my eyes. We were both better.

Yesterday, I felt nostalgic. I wished the baby could've grown up like I did, in a time when fashion was hideous, but people were optimistic and a bit naive: the 80s. Yep, I began downloading Michael Jackson songs (pre-weirdo era). The baby and I danced and jammed to "Smooth Criminal", "Beat It", and "Billie Jean". You should have seen us go! I did all the shoulder work, and the baby did some nice rolling action. All in all, a good day.

Tim told me two days ago, "I thought pregnancy would be a lot ... harder."

"What do you mean?" I said. "Did you think it would be harder for me or you?"

"Both," he said. He explained that he thought there would be more outward signs of pregnancy. I guess he figured I'd have cravings, swell up, and be weeping all day. He had prepared himself mentally to be abused verbally and to take it with grace, as a good FTB should.

The truth is, most of what is happening to me is mental. Like I said, every pregnancy is different, so I can't speak for anyone else. Tim can't see or hear my thoughts. I pray a lot just to be strong and not let fear (of being a bad mom, of losing the baby, of losing my marriage) overtake me. Tim tells me every day that things will work out. He hugs me and says things like, "I think your belly is cute," even though I know it's HUGE. But, I appreciate that he senses that although I'm not too different outwardly, there are things going on elsewhere.

So, if you know an MTB, especially if she doesn't have a partner, give her encouragement. Pregnancy is lonely and public all at the same time. A few kind words may remind her that driving with a sidecar can work out, and she may end up going somewhere nice she never thought she could.

The Last Laugh

Today my sister-in-law had her baby. She had an 8 lb, 2 oz girl. Her son, born in 2005, weighed 10 lbs. My sister-in-law (my brother's wife) is a petite thing who looks like she shouldn't carry a heavy purse, let alone a 10 lb kid. For the past four months, she has looked like she swallowed a basketball. From behind, she didn't even look pregnant. The baby was perfectly centered, so much so that my sister-in-law had the hardest time finding clothes that fit. Her tummy stuck out, and every maternity shirt she wore ended up having that Pooh Bear look to it. I gave her one of my Bella Bands, and for once that poor woman didn't have to worry about her belly showing. Point is, my sister-in-law is a true soldier. Congratulations to my brother and his wife--but especially his wife!

Many months ago, my brother told me they had finally come up with a name for their child. Note to future parents: if you have a name that is dear to your heart, don't tell anyone. The best thing you can do is guard it until it's printed on your baby's birth certificate. If you don't, the following may happen to you:

As I was saying, they had decided on a first/middle name: Destiny Niveah. I promptly said, "The middle name is nice, but the first name? Sounds like a stripper's." My brother was appalled. "No, really," I said. "Destiny, Bambi, Candy--they're all stripper names."

My brother tried to brush my comments off, but then I got on a roll. "If you name your kid Destiny, instead of sewing her booties, I'll buy her glass high-heels." I laughed. "Yeah, and on her birthdays I'll give her money--in ones!" Basically, I beat the joy right out of my brother. I'm (slightly) ashamed of myself now, but really, I was only trying to ensure my niece wouldn't get stuck with a name that limits her future employment opportunities to places with a happy hour. Hahaha--OK, I'll stop now.

Anyway, after a few weeks, it came to my ears that my brother and sister-in-law had decided on a new name. Friends and family would find out at the baby shower. When I finally heard the new name, I smiled. Because it's a nice name? No. It is a nice name, but that's not what made me smile. Is it because the name is unique? Well, it's uncommon but not unheard of.

I smiled because my brother, of all the available names in the known world, chose to name his daughter after the only girl in school who ever got on my nerves.

I know when I've been beat.

There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe

Sometimes I wonder how many kids Tim & I will end up having. When I was a teenager, I thought, "Three. Three sounds like a good number." Like most kids that age, I gave no thought to factors that would affect my numbers. What if I couldn't bear children? What if I didn't have the financial means to take care of more than two? What if my husband only wanted one? What if I had twins on my third pregnancy? What if I couldn't emotionally handle more than one?

My mother had five children. I am the middle child. I have two older sisters and two younger brothers. One thing I always hoped for was to have children that were as tightly knit as my brothers and sisters are. Do we fight sometimes? Yep. Do we get in each other's business? Daily. But my siblings are funny, passionate people. It's like a support network of crazy people. We manage our own, and even when we're furious at each other, we'd trample anyone who would try to break the network. I know--it sounds like a cult.

I guess what I'm saying is, I think someday I'd like to have more children. I want Baby Dowdel to have all the advantages I did: sibling support & protection. Even the hard things were still good. I didn't always get what I wanted as a kid (like my own music player), because I had to share. I didn't get to lock myself away from the world for a day to have a pity party, because, well, there was someone in every room. I couldn't get too haughty, either, because siblings have a way of regulating the pecking order.

I see the obvious benefits of having one child, too. A parent can devote so much more time, money, and attention caring for one child than eight. Population control: can't beat it.

But.

I like that I have an instant Gallup-type poll at my disposal. If I relay an incident from my life to my family, I get immediate, honest responses (notice I didn't have to ask for feedback). Not the kind responses coworkers or gentle friends might give (you know, where they actually care about how you react?). My family will tell it like it is. There's something comforting about having at least one person in the world who can say, smiling and without pause, "Wow, why'd you act so stupid?" It's a reminder that I'm not above criticism. Critical love: it's a precious part of our mob mentality.

Welcome to the network, Baby Dowdel!

Former Bedfellows

Me: "Sleep, where have you been? I waited all night for you, and you never showed up."
Sleep: "Sorry."
Me: "That's all you have to say? I've always fallen asleep faster than anyone you've known, so show a little respect."
Sleep: "OK, OK. It's just that things are complicated right now, and I've been trying to avoid it, but ... Fine, here it is: I'm leaving, and I won't be back for a while."
Me: "Whoa, whoa, slow down. There's no reason to talk crazy here. Why don't we both just calm down and talk this over a nice cup of tea?"
Sleep: "You know I don't do caffeine."
Me: "Sorry. We haven't been spending much time together, and you know I can't think clearly without you."
Sleep: "Face it, Dowdel. With your sore back, cramping, pelvic discomfort, and constant need to visit the toilet all night, how do you expect us to spend quality time anyway?"
Me: "Oh, Sleep, Buddy, let's be fair--"
Sleep: "Don't 'Sleep Buddy' me! I did what I could, OK? Every time I got us going in a sweet REM cycle, you know who started kicking us like a legion of showgirls!"
Me: "Oh, don't bring the baby into this!"
Sleep: "(S)he's kicking right now, isn't (s)he?"
Me: "Not exactly ... more like nudging, or gently tapping ..."
Sleep: "Oh, please! I'm leaving tonight, and that's all there is to it. Look, you knew this was going to happen. We've hardly spent any time together lately, and it's time for me to move on. There are so many others who need me right now: truckers, college kids finished with exams, Martha Stewart."
Me: "But, but, but--"
Sleep: "Don't worry; this isn't 'goodbye' forever. I'll be back, and we can be best friends, just like we were before."
Me: "Really?"
Sleep: "Sure. For now, though, you may want to stock up on DVDs--late night TV isn't the most quality stuff, you know?"
Me: "Yeah. Thanks for sticking around as long as you did, by the way. It means a lot to me."
Sleep: "No problem, old friend. Good night."
Me: "Very funny."
Sleep: "Sorry, couldn't help it."