Sorry it's been so long since my last post..but that's kinda how it goes in my world. I can't stick with anything for too long, or else I feel productive : ). If I was really great at this blogging thing, then I would have started blogging about this particular "issue" (you'll know why I called it that in a few minutes) from the very beginning. However, again, productivity...not my forte.
The "issue" is pregnancy. I know all you mom's out there who wanted nothing more in life than to be a mommy are scolding me right now for calling it that, but when you really think about it even in the most happy and welcomed of pregnancies..it's an issue. You cannot convince me that three straight months of feeling sick all day, and watching your body morph into odd shapes is not an issue. Mainly because it's then followed by three short months of total baby bliss where you wake up every morning saying to yourself, "Gosh if pregnancy were this easy for nine straight months, I would stay this way for the rest of my life!" Then it immediately dives into three final months of new obstacles such as spontaneous swelling of the hands and feet, numbness and pain in your legs because your angel is laying on your spine, and fatigue like you cannot imagine. It's a roller coaster ride which becomes a nine month "issue."
So, let me break my pregnancy down for you by trimester.
1st Trimester:
"THE UH OH MOMENT." The first second you find out you are pregnant is what I like to call the "uh oh moment". EVEN IF YOU PLAN A PREGNANCY IT IS AN "UH OH MOMENT"!!! For some women it's a blessed end to a long time of peeing on ovulation sticks, and tracking your fertility. For others it's a less expected moment of a "why am I a week late, when I've been like clockwork since I was 18?" For EVERYONE..it's a moment of slight panic, mixed with fear and happiness, followed by a brief period of denial..then shortly after comes acceptance. For me, it was a mixture of all three. Now, I won't go into detail about the fifty-thousand sticks I peed on thinking maybe the first ten that came back positive could be duds, and I won't go into detail about where I was and all that jazz. Needless to say, that I DO know the three minutes you wait for those little lines to show up are the longest of your life. After three straight days of peeing on sticks ( I was thinking maybe going away and coming back later would change the result) and realizing that no matter how many DIFFERENT tests I took, and no matter how many times i took them, the result was NOT going to change, I had to sit down and have a long conversation with myself. "Okay, so we were on the five year plan and didn't even make it a year..that happens to lots of people. Okay so we are barely making it with finances and about to add another life to the picture...our parents went through much worse and survived right???" Those questions were followed by worry, "I hope everything is okay and nothing's wrong..lord knows I haven't been a saint to my body being unaware that I was harboring another life." Then followed by the greatest..happiness. "I don't have a choice, this is going to be a beautiful experience that is the start of OUR family. I wonder it it's a boy or a girl (although at that point it was a blob). What will they be like?" So the next day I called my doctor..told her "I think I'm pregnant." She asked if I took a test, i said yes, she then replied congratulations! So that confirmed it, "yes you are pregnant." Then went home and tried to think of romantic, sweet, ways I could break the news to my husband. This is what I came up with, I took him one of the sticks I peed on and set it in front of him, (I know..be still my heart right?). After hugging and sharing in his excitement, everything went right back to normal. I was shocked, "that's all?" I thought that I would feel different (other than the nausea and fatigue), but I got back into a routine. However, that was a feeling that would soon change.
(second and third trimester-so-far to come in next post!)
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Moving...three times in three years.
Moving to a new place...a chance to start over, a fresh start at almost anything, and new surroundings to spice things up. RIIIIIIGGGHHHTTT. Maybe if I was still fresh out of college moving would be exciting and promise-filled. However, call me crazy, but when you move three times within three years, it somehow loses it's appeal. I can't imagine why.
My always-look-on-the-bright-side husband used to love the idea of moving to a new place. He WAS excited about this move, until I became seven months pregnant and he realized there would be very little I could do to help him.
I spent every day sweating like a pig, feeling like my feet were going to fall off, and shamelessly complaining about the 100+ degree heat only to look back at my husband struggling to squeeze our whole dresser through our tiny apartment door... ALONE. I suddenly felt like an emotionally disturbed child who was throwing a fit, as I carried my ten pound limit boxes one by one to my car. That was only the tip of the iceberg.
It took us an entire week to move everything from our apartment into our house. Most of you are thinking, "well sure it takes about a week usually to get everything moved from point A to point B," and you would be correct, if it weren't for the fact that we were moving from a ONE bedroom apartment people..not a large house.
First of all, let me say, I have no clue how I even began to fit all of my kitchen supplies into the small apartment kitchen, because as I slowly unpacked the many many boxes for the kitchen at the house, I had to re-pack six of them and place them in the attic. My cabinets are now filled to the brim, and if one pot moves a millimeter it's disaster city. The same story goes for the bathroom. I mean, why do I have so many towels? We could built a nuclear bomb shelter with the amount of towels I have collected over the years. So half of those ended up in boxes as well.
Other than those two rooms, we have NO furniture. I have gleefully carried boxes into the living room, excited to unpack and arrange things in decorative ways, only to re-pack them while having my billionth emotional breakdown because we have no storage for the items in the boxes.
Let's just end with saying this. You will find me tonight, having cooked a wonderful meal in the only room of the house that's put together in any form or fashion, sitting at my kitchen table with my Lemon tea and Lemon Pound Cake slice made from scratch (ha!) AND my feet that have now swelled to the size of Dumbo's feet, surrounded by boxes and junk that I can't even begin to fathom where to place it. If this house ever does come together and I still have my life in tact by the end of it (I'm afraid my patient and kind husband will snap any day..I'm keeping all sharp objects away from him) we will not be moving for a while and if we do, we will be paying good money for others to do the work. For right now however, I'm afraid my dreams of this house becoming something awesome are temporarily buried beneath piles of cardboard and packing material : (
My always-look-on-the-bright-side husband used to love the idea of moving to a new place. He WAS excited about this move, until I became seven months pregnant and he realized there would be very little I could do to help him.
I spent every day sweating like a pig, feeling like my feet were going to fall off, and shamelessly complaining about the 100+ degree heat only to look back at my husband struggling to squeeze our whole dresser through our tiny apartment door... ALONE. I suddenly felt like an emotionally disturbed child who was throwing a fit, as I carried my ten pound limit boxes one by one to my car. That was only the tip of the iceberg.
It took us an entire week to move everything from our apartment into our house. Most of you are thinking, "well sure it takes about a week usually to get everything moved from point A to point B," and you would be correct, if it weren't for the fact that we were moving from a ONE bedroom apartment people..not a large house.
First of all, let me say, I have no clue how I even began to fit all of my kitchen supplies into the small apartment kitchen, because as I slowly unpacked the many many boxes for the kitchen at the house, I had to re-pack six of them and place them in the attic. My cabinets are now filled to the brim, and if one pot moves a millimeter it's disaster city. The same story goes for the bathroom. I mean, why do I have so many towels? We could built a nuclear bomb shelter with the amount of towels I have collected over the years. So half of those ended up in boxes as well.
Other than those two rooms, we have NO furniture. I have gleefully carried boxes into the living room, excited to unpack and arrange things in decorative ways, only to re-pack them while having my billionth emotional breakdown because we have no storage for the items in the boxes.
Let's just end with saying this. You will find me tonight, having cooked a wonderful meal in the only room of the house that's put together in any form or fashion, sitting at my kitchen table with my Lemon tea and Lemon Pound Cake slice made from scratch (ha!) AND my feet that have now swelled to the size of Dumbo's feet, surrounded by boxes and junk that I can't even begin to fathom where to place it. If this house ever does come together and I still have my life in tact by the end of it (I'm afraid my patient and kind husband will snap any day..I'm keeping all sharp objects away from him) we will not be moving for a while and if we do, we will be paying good money for others to do the work. For right now however, I'm afraid my dreams of this house becoming something awesome are temporarily buried beneath piles of cardboard and packing material : (
Monday, March 14, 2011
Teaching...at it's finest.
Most of you who are friends with me on Facebook already know about this small yet hilarious incident. First, let me start off by saying I teach Sophomores in High School at a school that interesting to say the least. So any of you who have teenagers or might be teachers yourselves know exactly what i'm talking about. As much as my students drive me crazy, they make me laugh ten times more.
So, on to the incident. Last month was black history month at school. Each day one of our assistant principals would come over the intercom during announcements (which you're lucky if you can get your kids to shut up long enough to hear) and ask the Black History question of the day. This particular class on that day happened to be full of mostly boys. I call them my "Football" class because they are mostly "football boys." One in particular who has become somewhat of a leach to my side lately is...for safety sake let's just call him George (due to my always err on the side of caution husband). George, at first was one of my most "interesting' students. He was a challenge to say the least, but has since grown on me to be such a bright spot in my day. George comes in everyday and gives me a hug and then proceeds to have about a ten minute conversation about something totally random. He has been trying his best at figuring out how to be a man. He's done a helluva job if you ask me. He never answers me with anything other than "yes ma'am," is always smiling, and shows the utmost respect for adults as well as himself.
On THIS day, George was very "into" his work for some reason the second he walked into the room. I took it as a maybe something was on his mind type deal and I knew better than to push issues with George. As announcements came to a close, my kids got surprisingly enough..quiet. The question was...."who was the first African American to be a supreme court judge?" Without hesitation and very sure of himself George shouted out triumphantly...."JUDGE MATHIS!!!" The even crazier thing is that I was the only one who erupted in laughter...and I'm supposed to teach SHAKESPEARE to these kids!?!?! GET REAL!!!!! After I had explained to George and the rest of the class who Judge Mathis was, and what a supreme court judge was, the laughter came trickling in..even from my little leach, George.
It was..one of those days where you look at your students and you see the angels that are deep inside...not the little demons that so often have the ability to show themselves. Needless to say...Shakespeare might have to wait a bit longer...baby steps, baby steps. : )
So, on to the incident. Last month was black history month at school. Each day one of our assistant principals would come over the intercom during announcements (which you're lucky if you can get your kids to shut up long enough to hear) and ask the Black History question of the day. This particular class on that day happened to be full of mostly boys. I call them my "Football" class because they are mostly "football boys." One in particular who has become somewhat of a leach to my side lately is...for safety sake let's just call him George (due to my always err on the side of caution husband). George, at first was one of my most "interesting' students. He was a challenge to say the least, but has since grown on me to be such a bright spot in my day. George comes in everyday and gives me a hug and then proceeds to have about a ten minute conversation about something totally random. He has been trying his best at figuring out how to be a man. He's done a helluva job if you ask me. He never answers me with anything other than "yes ma'am," is always smiling, and shows the utmost respect for adults as well as himself.
On THIS day, George was very "into" his work for some reason the second he walked into the room. I took it as a maybe something was on his mind type deal and I knew better than to push issues with George. As announcements came to a close, my kids got surprisingly enough..quiet. The question was...."who was the first African American to be a supreme court judge?" Without hesitation and very sure of himself George shouted out triumphantly...."JUDGE MATHIS!!!" The even crazier thing is that I was the only one who erupted in laughter...and I'm supposed to teach SHAKESPEARE to these kids!?!?! GET REAL!!!!! After I had explained to George and the rest of the class who Judge Mathis was, and what a supreme court judge was, the laughter came trickling in..even from my little leach, George.
It was..one of those days where you look at your students and you see the angels that are deep inside...not the little demons that so often have the ability to show themselves. Needless to say...Shakespeare might have to wait a bit longer...baby steps, baby steps. : )
Just another day in Paradise...
Okay...so what is this all about? Well, in order to tell you that i would need another lifetime to REALLY tell the WHOLE story. However, you probably wouldn't be reading this if you cared about the whole story. No...this is about the fact that at the age of 24 i've turned around and realized that I have documented NONE of my life till this point. I suck at taking pictures and scrapbooking, so therefore I feel as if I have nothing to show for the past 24 years! SAD!!!! So, this is a vow to start new, a re-inventing of myself for the next however many years of my life God sees fit to grant me. I am newly married to a wonderful man who is patient and understands the overwhelming need for me to control everything, and to top it all off we are expecting our first child in September. So this is a sort of....running documentary if you will. An account of a few past memories, and a ton of new ones. Thanks for being along for the ride!!! : )
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