Ringing in the new year

New Year's Eve is generally a time when we reflect on the past year and look ahead to the coming 12 months. This past year has been a whirlwind. And I know the coming year will be even more so. The past five months have gone by so quickly, it's hard to believe this is only the beginning.

As for my new year's resolutions, I have just a few. I resolve to stay healthy. I resolve to not panic when it comes time to deliver my son. I resolve to not freak out about every single thing that happens to me as a new mom. I resolve to not be too hard on myself when I break that last resolution. I resolve to do the best I can. And I resolve to love myself, the S.O. and our new baby with all my heart.

May your 2011 be happy, healthy and prosperous.

Week 23: Sugar sugar

 How sweet. This week, Fit Pregnancy tells me my unborn baby can be compared to a bag of sugar.  

"Weighing in at a pound, and at eight inches long, your baby is starting to really look like a baby! You can compare her size to a box of sugar or a bag of coffee beans."

It also tells me:

"You'll notice now that what began as gentle wiggling will become poking and even sharp kicking."

That's for sure. Little Junior has been doing calisthenics lately, testing out his little arms and legs, and I'm pretty he's been doing somersaults or back flips, as well. He seems to really get active just as I'm trying to go to sleep. I have taken to telling him to just calm the heck down in there.

To be perfectly honest, it's sometimes a bit disconcerting to feel something moving around inside my belly. I can't help but have visions of John Hurt.

Studies and judging

I came across this article recently -- Study: Breast-Feeding Improves Academic Performance, Especially for Boys. Among other things, it says:

In the latest analysis of the academic performance of children who were breast- or bottle-fed, researchers found that breast-fed babies scored higher on tests of math, reading and writing skills at 10 years old, compared with those who were bottle-fed as babies.

While I think that's great news for women who breastfed, breastfeed or plan to breastfeed, I also think it's another way to make women who didn't -- or couldn't -- breastfeed feel really damn guilty about it. It's not as if you're going to start breastfeeding your second-grader based on this study.

I have read that there's not a lot of support for women who choose to breastfeed. And although I haven't had the experience yet myself, it seems there's a lot more guilt laid on women who choose not to breastfeed -- even those who, for whatever reason, physically cannot breastfeed their babies.

I find it interesting that so many people have such strong opinions about what other people do. Sure, I'll admit I find it strange that someone will breastfeed a child that can walk and talk and has a full set of teeth. But maybe that's what works for them. And maybe that kid will end up at Harvard. Regardless , it's certainly not my place to say.

But it just goes to show how we judge. We judge women who don't breastfeed. We judge women who breastfeed "too long." We judge a woman who will have the temerity to breastfeed in public. We judge and judge and judge. And yes, I've been guilty of it at times. I think we all have. In fact, there are apparently some folks who have expressed the opinion that breastfeeding for at least six months should be the law.

I have to admit, even though I know it's the most natural thing in the world, I find breastfeeding a bit squicky. That said, I still plan to breastfeed my baby. If I can. And I'll do it in public if I have to. I'll be like the guy in "Green Eggs And Ham."

I will do what is best for me and my child. And I will try really hard not to let all the noise from the outside world interfere with my decision.

Check out the baby bump today

Click here to compare the bump to earlier photos.

This is a real thing

Earlier this month, I posted a funny video about prenatal pole dancing. Ha ha. Nobody's going to pole dance while pregnant. Right? However, it seems they just might belly dance while pregnant.

I found this DVD while looking for some prenatal workout videos at Amazon. And it gets four stars from customers. What it doesn't get is any kind of description. It's also not the only prenatal belly dance DVD available.

Maybe I'm just really self-conscious, and maybe I wouldn't belly dance if I weren't pregnant, but it seems a little silly to me.  I just can't imagine shimmying my big ol' pregnant belly around the way belly dancing requires. (At least the way I've seen it done.)

On the other hand, if it gets a momma-to-be up off the couch and moving, who am I to judge?

Christmas recap

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas day. Christmas on a Saturday is great, isn't it? Now we get Sunday for more relaxing. I'm not one to run out to the after-Christmas sales, so today will probably be a lot like yesterday. Naps and snacks and watching movies.

Our Christmas dinner was not exactly what most people would consider traditional, but we are making it a tradition in our house. Because we had a big turkey dinner just about a month ago, we're not ready for more turkey at Christmas. And ham isn't really my thing. So we had a Korean Christmas. I made bulgogi, cabbage kimchi, spicy cucumbers and sticky rice -- all from scratch.

I did a lot of prep work earlier in the week, so all we had to do yesterday was cook the rice and meat. For those of you who might not know, bulgogi is Korean barbecue, and kimchi is a spicy fermented vegetable dish. The cabbage kimchi I made is not the traditional fermented variety. It was a quick -- or fresh -- kimchi. It's much simpler because it doesn't take weeks to complete, but it's still tasty.

We spent much of the day watching videos, including "A Christmas Carol," "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" (the original cartoon, not that Jim Carrey thing) and "A Charlie Brown Christmas." We finished the evening watching "Green Fingers." Which isn't a Christmas movie but is a really good, really funny, heartwarming movie I highly recommend if you 1) like Clive Owen (and who doesn't?) and 2) enjoy British films.

All in all, it was a nice Christmas -- quiet and uneventful. I'm guessing it's the last of its kind for the S.O. and me for a long time. And I'm perfectly OK with that.

All is merry and bright

Merry Christmas

from the 40-Something First Timer Family

My Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,
        I think if you check your list (Go ahead. Check it again. I know you like to do that.) you'll find I've been nice this year.
        So, for Christmas, I want:

• Peace and ease for my loved ones who are dealing with conflict
• Health and comfort for friends who are sick and/or in pain
• Joy for those who despair

       And could you please deliver my love to all my friends and family far and wide?
       For myself -- besides the usual request for a convertible Mustang and various other frivolous trinkets -- please bring me a healthy son come April. Yes, I know April is more the realm of your long-eared, cotton-tail friend, but I'm pretty sure you can put in a good word for me.
        Merry Christmas, Santa!

Love, Pammeey

(the 40-Something First Timer)

Family Album

I've been trying to collect photos of the S.O. and his family so I can create a family tree photo album for our future son. Unfortunately, we don't seem to have many (any) of the S.O.'s grandparents and very few of his parents. I also have been unable to get any baby pictures of him.

But I did find these photos in one of his albums.

Behold! The S.O. as a boy (such the athlete):

 

 Pretty darn cute, right?

But check out your humble blogger as a toddler:

So sweet, so innocent, so blond!

And as an infant:

How do you like my little Kewpie curl?

Let me just say, with all lack of humbleness, if our kid is half as cute as we were, he's going to be a knockout.

Although, I imagine I will think that about him no matter what.

Week 22: Grapefruit

This week Fit Pregnancy is back to food comparisons, telling me my unborn is about the size of a small grapefruit.

They also keep saying "she." I understand this is better than saying "he or she" from an editorial point of view, but they use the feminine every week -- and not all of us are having girls.

With my mini-rant out of the way, I'll tell you Fit Pregnancy says:

"Her fingernails are almost fully grown, and her organ systems are becoming more functional and specialized. She has a distinct pair of lips, and her first canines and molars are developing below her gum line. She looks like a miniature newborn. Blood is traveling through the umbilical cord at four miles an hour, fueling her growth with oxygen and nutrients."

Which -- despite the feminine pronoun for my male unborn baby -- is pretty damn cool.

As for my changing body, they mostly tell me about yucky stuff (like yeast infections and anemia) and that "your uterus is certainly growing, but you can probably still bend over, sit, drive, and function fairly comfortably." Define "comfortably," Fit Pregnancy.

While the boy growing inside me is grapefruit size, I'm pretty sure I'm beginning to look a lot like I'm smuggling a watermelon under my shirt.

More name games

The S.O. and I have a pretty good idea of what we're going to name our son. It's definitely not set in stone, and no, I'm not going to tell you here. Because I know one of the multitudes of readers would see it and steal it. Then my baby's name wouldn't be unique.

As I visit various pregnancy Web sites and browse book stores, I find there are lots (and lots) of lists and books of baby names. Do people really have that hard a time picking a name for their children? Maybe, maybe not. Personally, I like looking at the lists to find the meaning of names.

For instance, did you know that Pamela has Greek origins and means "honey?" And that Pamela was among the most popular names in the '60s and '70s?

It's kind of nice to be able to look up the meaning so you don't give your little blond son a name like Daegan. Which apparently means "black-haired." (But is kind of a cool name someone looking for a certain sound, no?)

So I appreciate the name lists for giving me origins and meanings. But do people really just look up random names and choose them? Or do people use these lists to find names that suit their families, to find names that begin with a certain letter, or to find names that fit a certain pattern? If that's the case, I completely understand.

Then again, it's a lot of fun to just look at some of the names out there and daydream about naming my son something really exotic, Kanoa.

UPDATE: Shortly after publishing this post, I received an e-mail from Parenting.com that included a link to this story. See how timely I am? I don't even want to comment on some of the names that are apparently growing in popularity.

Christmas traditions

When I was a kid, the one thing that signaled Christmas more than any other -- more than the tree, more than the onslaught of Christmas specials on TV, even more than the pile of presents -- was Mom breaking out the ingredients to make peanut brittle. She used a recipe given to her by my paternal grandmother.

It was quite a production: bags of raw peanuts, boxes of baking soda, piles of sugar, bottles of corn syrup, sticks of butter, the candy thermometer and her trusty heavy-bottom pan. My brothers and I would stand near the stove as Mom stirred what seemed like a magic potion, waiting impatiently for the moment when she added the baking soda, and the syrupy concoction would turn into fluffy, gooey peanut brittle.

She would pour the molten mixture out on a metal slab in the middle of our huge kitchen table. We four kids would gather round with our buttered fingers and start pulling the edges of the peanut brittle to stretch it thin -- to Mom's cries of "Wait! It's still too hot! Wait!"

But we couldn't wait. The sooner we pulled the peanut brittle out into thin segments, the sooner we could start eating it -- and the sooner Christmas could really get started.

I don't remember a year without this tradition while Mom was alive. She carried on even after all of her children had moved out. She would spend days making batch after batch because I wasn't the only person who thought it wasn't Christmas without Mom's peanut brittle.

Since Mom died, no one has carried on the tradition. But this year, my lovely culinary friend mentioned wanting to make something homemade for family. I shared Mom's peanut brittle recipe with her, and joined her this weekend to oversee and help with its creation. Honestly, I was afraid to try this recipe myself. I worried about having the right equipment. I worried that my inherent lack of patience would cause me to a scalding sugar mess across my kitchen. I worried that no matter what I did, it would never in a million years live up to my memories.

Yet, standing in my friend's kitchen, sipping hot spiced cider, watching her add the baking soda at just the right time, then stretching the candy with her, her husband and the S.O. really did feel right. And the first batch of peanut brittle -- when pulled thin and cooled -- was perfect. It was exactly the way Mom made it.

And it was exactly what I needed to make it really feel like Christmas.

Christmas Cuteness

As Christmas nears, I think about my mom singing, "Jump in bed, cover up your head, 'cause Santa Claus comes tonight." This video sing along is just too cute.

Click here if you have trouble viewing the video.

Mostly Wordless Weekend

Spoiled

Week 21: Bear cubs!

My e-mail newsletter from Fit Pregnancy this week once again forgoes comparing my unborn child to food. This week, my little one is about the "length of a spoon" -- so not food, but a food utensil. It goes on to say the baby's current weight is about 10.5 ounces. "Ten and one-half ounces is also the size bear cubs are when they are born," it says.

Baby is about the length of a spoon and the weight of a newborn bear cub. And he's spending his time putting on weight by drinking amniotic fluid. His eyelids are developed, and even though his eyes are  still sealed, his eyes are active. That's pretty cool.

As for what it says about my changing body, I have to disagree:

Some women report feeling better and more energized at this stage of pregnancy than they have at any point in their life.

I feel pretty good -- much better than during the first trimester -- but not better than any point in my life.  With all that's happened this week, I am definitely feeling pretty good emotionally. And I'd say that's more important at the moment than how I feel physically.

The little soccer player

Yesterday, the S.O. finally got to feel his future son kick. I wish I'd had the camera handy, because the look on his face when he felt that little push against his hand was priceless.

Between that and seeing those 4D images, I'm pretty sure the S.O. is having to face the fact that he really will be a daddy before he knows it. I'm pretty sure intense fear and over-the-top excitement are competing for the top of his emotions right now. I know they are mine.

Christmas Nesting

I spent Sunday afternoon baking cookies. I made gingerbread men and snickerdoodles.

I remember my mom spending days baking and making all kinds of homemade Christmas goodies and I'd like my child to have some of that experience. So, I figured I'd better try to get in the habit of baking.

As a kid, I always left a note and milk and cookies out for Santa, as well as a carrot or two for the reindeer. And Santa always ate the cookies and drank the milk, and the carrots were always gone on Christmas morning.

I told the S.O. that's how it works and I'm sure Santa hasn't changed in the many years since I was a little girl. Santa will be getting milk and homemade cookies at our house in the years to come.

Finding inspiration

Most of the day -- and evening -- Saturday was spent at birthday parties. The S.O. and I went to a party for a 2-year-old and his 3-year-old cousin at 11 a.m. From there we went to a birthday party at a taekwondo center for a 10-year-old. In the evening, we went to a grown-up birthday party. It was a day of fun and junk food.

The best part for me is that two of the women we spent time with (the mother of the 2-year-old and the adult having the evening party) are good friends that also happen to be older new mommies. One had her son at 39, the other at 40. Even better is that they are both over-the-moon happy at being moms and don't feel their age is a hindrance.

I have to admit that there have been times when I thought being a older new mom wasn't the best thing in the world -- when I would think about how old I'll be when he graduates high school or when he'll make me a grandma (OK, that one I don't mind waiting for!). But after hanging out with these two amazing older new moms, I realize that none of us are that old. Not only are we not that old chronologically, but we are extremely young at heart. Plus, we all take good care of ourselves.

I didn't necessarily plan to have a baby at 43 but I think everything happens for a reason. I know that I never had the right partner before the S.O. I never had the right frame of mind before now. The thought of being a mom still sometimes scares me but not nearly the way it did 10 years ago -- even less so after seeing images of my wee one.

Isn't science amazing?

I was going to tell you all about my busy weekend, but after our ultrasound this morning, I think you'll want to see this instead.

Here is a 4D image of my future son:

They say there's a potential problem with the placement of the cord, but otherwise everything looks normal. The doctor even said our baby is cute. I think so, but I'm pretty biased.

One-Word Weekend

Wordless Weekend

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

How long do I get to blame "baby brain" for my forgetfulness? I should get to blame things on baby brain for at least the duration of the pregnancy. Right? So far it's been mostly little things. And even the sort of big thing I forgot wasn't life or death.

Last weekend Michael Hague (site requires Flash and Microsoft Explorer) was at the local Barnes & Noble, signing copies of his new book "White Christmas." (And yes, it's much cheaper at Amazon but it isn't signed!) I learned of the Saturday-afternoon book signing the Thursday evening before. You'd think I could remember for a couple days. And I did remember! At 5 p.m. Saturday evening. I had missed it by a few hours. I was so disappointed.

I have a Kennedy Center Imagination Celebration poster by Hague on the wall in my office. Something I brought home years ago with the thought that it would someday adorn a nursery. I'm told he would have signed my poster. I also found out that he drew little sketches in the books as he signed them Saturday. More disappointment. Still, the bookstore had extra autographed copies -- sans sketch -- available, so I bought one. It's a really beautifully illustrated book and I was excited to have the signed copy, even if I didn't get to meet Michael Hague and have him draw a sketch.

The S.O. wondered how we would keep the book looking so nice. My idea -- my probably unrealistic fantasy -- is that we'll pull the book out each Christmas Eve and the S.O. will hold the little one while I hold the book and read to them. It's quite a Norman Rockwell -- or Michael Hague -- picture in my head: My wonderful S.O. holding our adorable, well-behaved child in his lap, Mama reading the words to Irving Berling's "White Christmas" and pointing out all the amazing illustrations. The book even has the sheet music to the song in the back, so the S.O. could play it on the piano.

Quiet, you. It could happen.

No matter what it's a book that will be kept in a safe spot until our child is old enough to appreciate the beauty of it. If my kid is anything like me, books will be a big part of life.

What's in a name?

I spend a lot of time thinking about what we should name our future baby. I want something unique but not insane. I don't want my son to be the 15th Jacob in his class or my daughter to be the 12th Bella. But I don't want my kid to have a name that's unpronounceable or just plain silly.

I once heard someone say you should try out Baby's name with the word "Senator" at the beginning. So, where "Senator Mary Smith" sounds just fine, "Senator Mystique Smith" seems a bit off. (Never mind that it calls up images of the X-Men character or -- worse -- a stripper.)

That doesn't stop Web sites from listing "Mystique" as an actual name. And it doesn't stop celebrities from giving their children names like Audio Science and Pilot Inspektor.

I have a desire -- really a need -- to give my baby a name that will honor my mom and/or the S.O.'s father. And I want our child to grow up knowing we put a lot of thought into a name, not just picking what's popular.

When I was growing up, I hated the name Pam (Pamela was worse). I don't really know why I disliked it, maybe because it wasn't exotic. My parents' other choices for me were Patricia (for Mom's best friend) and Rosemary (for my aunt). Both of which I thought of as "old lady names" back then because of my aunts with those names, I guess. I wanted to be Samantha or Laura, not that either of those names are especially "exotic" but they weren't Pam.

I became "Pammeey" (again) a few years back when a co-worker started using that pet name from my childhood. I guess it has sort of stuck. My brothers and I all have names that can be made diminutive -- James to Jim to Jimmy, Joseph to Joe to Joey, Michael to Mike to Mikey -- but I know other people who think adding the "y" to the end of a name is somehow disrespectful. I don't mind. I think it's fun to have a "formal" name (the name Mom yells when you know you're in trouble) and a "casual" name. I'm not sure my child will have that or not. We're still deciding. And until we know the sex of Baby-to-be, it will remain up in the air.

But definitely not Mystique. Or Pilot Inspektor. Or any kind of fruit.

Week 20: And no weird comparison

I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed that Fit Pregnancy isn't comparing my unborn child to food this week. Instead, I'm told permanent teeth are starting to form behind baby teeth and Baby "seems able to differentiate between morning, afternoon and evening and starts to become more active at certain times than at others."

I haven't noticed Baby being more active at any certain time, but I will start paying more attention now.

As for my changing body, they don't tell me a whole lot.

Around now, you should feel a psychological boost: You've made it halfway already! It's a good time to find a childbirth class to educate you about labor and calm any anxieties. Plus, you'll meet other parents-to-be and possibly create friendships for both you and your child in the years to come. Your care provider will now monitor your growth by measuring the height of your uterus with fingers or a tape measure. Your uterus is now about in line with your belly button. From now on, the top of your uterus will grow toward your rib cage at a rate of one centimeter a week.

All I know is the belly is definitely protruding in a more pregnant-looking fashion and people who haven't been officially informed are starting to wonder. I had one woman say to me, "I don't want to be rude, but I want to ask ..." I just said, "Yes!" before she had to ask. She was actually very sweet about it, but I completely understand her reticence. Can you imagine asking someone that question if she's not?

A guy friend of mine made that mistake once. He was dressed as a clown at the time, so I wonder does that make it better or worse?

Probably inappropriate

and mostly NSFW.  Still, I laughed.

Prenatal Pole Dancing DVD from Christina Applegate

At 39, Christina Applegate will become a first-time mom in February. And yep, like other older moms, she's still hot.

Pain and pine needles

I could be in real trouble here, people. I spent most of the weekend hobbling around. My hips and groin were in so much pain. Is that normal? Is it because of my age? Is it supposed to start this early? Because these next four months are going to be rough if that's the case.

I don't know if I overdid something working out or if I sat around being lazy for too long, but I was definitely sore. It's a little better today -- and I did work out this morning -- but there's still some pain in my hip. I didn't expect to be sore like this for at least another couple of months. It's a little discouraging.

Still, I'm not going to let a little thing like excruciating pain keep me down, and the S.O. and I headed out to the mountains yesterday to find a Christmas tree. We purchased a permit and headed out to Pike National Forest to find a good one.

It was a nice day for Christmas tree hunting. The trees in the forest aren't perfect like ones you'll find on lots. But we're not perfect, so it suits us just fine.

The S.O. sizes up his quarry.

The great hunter with his "kill."

There was just one slight problem. I think we had a case of our eyes being bigger than our stomachs -- or in this case, the living room.

We are so the Griswolds.

We managed to cut the tree down to size without making it look silly, and with lights and ornaments, it looks lovely. I will try to get a picture of it in all its glory this evening, so you can see.

We want to start a tradition of cutting our own tree, but it might not start next year. I can't imagine trudging through the forest carrying a baby and a tree.

New-style Sunday

I got new hair.

Why do I always forget that I really don't like my hair long. After several months of growing it out, I always go back to a short 'do. Plus, I know when the baby comes, I won't want to deal with styling long hair and I would end up with a pony tail every day.

When racism rears its ugly head and that ugly head is called Grandpa

My father is a bigot -- always has been, always will be. And even though I hate it, there's not a whole lot I can say or do at this point in his life to change him. He's 74 and set in his ways. There was never anything I could say or do to change him, but that doesn't stop me from cringing when he makes a racial slur.

In case you can't tell from his photographs, the S.O. is mixed race. He is half Korean. He also has some Native American blood running through his veins. My heritage is mostly Irish and English with a bit of German and French thrown in for flavor -- but, you know, basically lily white.

My dad has accepted my choice in partner and has never said anything to me about being with a Korean man. But it also hasn't stopped him from using offensive language when talking about other people of Asian descent.

Recently, Dad shared the news that two of my cousins are also expecting babies. An older male cousin recently married a woman from Guatemala, and she is pregnant. More scandalous (to the family, not to me) is the female cousin who is pregnant -- out of wedlock -- by a black man. (I'll wait while you fan yourself on your fainting couch.)

Dad went on to say something to the effect that a half-Guatemalan baby and a half-Korean baby (never mind that our baby will only be a quarter Korean) is better than a half-black baby. Except, of course, he didn't use the word "black." Backhandedly implying that none of them are as good as white babies.

The bigotry is ugly. I hate it. And if one of my friends was to say what he said I would have called her on it. But, as I said, I have tried over the years to change Dad, and nothing's worked. So I say nothing and hope my silence says I disapprove. Not that he cares.

Dad doesn't live nearby so my child won't be constantly exposed to his racism. Still, I hope that when Dad does see my kid, he can rein in some of that ugliness. Because I also hope that Dad is around long enough for my kid to get to know Grandpa ... without having to know that side of him.

Wishful thinking.

The Toughest Job

Through all my hopes and fears, one thing rings true. Based on my own parents' experiences with my brothers and me and on the experiences of friends with children ranging from infants to adults, I realize you never stop worrying about your kids.

There are dirty diapers and 2 a.m. feedings and staying up waiting when they take the car or go on a first date. And if your kids sick or hurting -- no matter their age -- you continue to have hopes and fears.

No matter how old you are there always seems to come a time when you still need Mom (or Dad), a time when you want her to fold you in her arms, kiss away the tears and tell you everything is going to be all right -- even if she isn't really all that sure herself. It's what being a parent is all about.

And I'm grateful to have (and to have had) people in my life who have set high standards for that job.

Week 19: More comparisons to food

I made it to 19 weeks, and Fit Pregnancy is now comparing the growing baby to an apple. Wait. Isn't a lobster tail bigger than an apple? Maybe it depends on the apple. More specifically, they tell me the baby is between 5 and 6 inches long and weighs about 7 ounces.

More importantly, they tell me:

Loud sounds as well as any feelings you may have of stress or alarm may be communicated to the baby. The baby responds to these stresses by becoming more active. Practicing yoga and meditation can be good for your sense of calm and balance.

I have been trying to do some yoga, but I've never gotten the hang of meditation. I think it defeats the purpose if you spend the whole time wondering if you're doing it right.

As for the statement, "You may be popping out all over, with bigger breasts and a bulge above your pelvis," that's been happening for a while now. Although lots of people keep telling me I don't look pregnant. Tell that to my pants that don't fit.

Then and Now

That was then:

Boxing on May 15, 2010

 This is now:

Dec. 1, 2010 and 19-weeks pregnant