Third time is a....?

I've come down with a cold for the third time since being pregnant. Three times in less than nine months! Seriously - what's going on here?!?

At least I'm not sick while pregnant AND raising a sick toddler AND packing up/moving to a new apartment AND having my husband start a new job like my friend Lisa was managing back in June. Now that's an impressive display of fortitude.

I'll just try to relish this last chance at being sick when I only have myself to care for. Hmmm, sounds like a great reason to treat myself to another scoop of ice cream!

Seeking Faithfulness

I enjoy the random musings of the blog Seeking Faithfulness. I'm not sure how I stumbled upon it. I don't know this woman personally, but have been inspired at times by her perspective on being a mother and a Christian.

Her most recent post about following our life's passions stirred my heart. I can relate to her sentiments of not having a natural bent for children. Reading about how God has changed her heart and mind through the process of having her own children inspires me to consider how my own life will be changed. While I might not relate to a desire to have eight children, I do relate to the idea that we should abandon our personal presumptions when asking God what He wants to do with our life.

I'd encourage you to check our her blog and read her most recent post. "Whose Passions? His? Ours?" You never know how someone else's perspective might affect your own.

Proud to be a Wet Blanket

On Friday I there was a delay on the Metro, so I took an earlier stop and waited at a shopping center for Peter to pick me up. A local news crew was loitering outside the Metro, finding people to interview for a nightly news segment. Their eyes lit up when they saw me, a pregnant lady, walking by. Since I wasn't in a hurry, I let them interview me.

The topic was rising prices. The local electric company will be raising their rates by 18% in the coming months. They wanted to get my opinion. I think I was a wet blanket on the type of story they were hoping to get from me.

They pepper me with many versions of the same question. Was I outraged at the price hike? How was I, a pregnant woman, going to make it with rising prices? With gas, food - heck *everything*, costing more, was I scared about the thought of having my baby with the skyrocketing costs? How would I adjust? What types of hardships would I face?

Since their questions were basically from the same vein, so were my answers. Yes, rising costs mean we'll have to sacrifice. We'll have to cut back. We'll have to conserve our resources. However, there are very few Americans who don't have luxuries they can remove from their life to accommodate our changing world. Will I have to change my lifestyle? Yes. Is that an outrage? No.

Don't get me wrong, there are injustices in how our economy prices goods and services. I just don't see a lot of good in making a blanket statement of outrage. In reality, we all need to balance of sacrifice/frugality with fighting the specific injustices.

They couldn't seem to accept this perspective. I think I disappointed them. No heart-tugging sound bite of a pregnant lady's sacrifices to air on the news.

Next time I get irritated with the "whiny citizens" on the local news, I'll stop to question if it was really the news crew who had an agenda.

I Do What I Don't Want to Do

I was not prepared for the emotional roller coaster that accompanies pregnancy. I fancy myself as someone who can fully embrace emotions while still being controlled about it. Since becoming pregnant, I definitely have days where I lose this (semblance of?) control. Usually, these "bad" days are triggered by me not being able to handle simple changes to a plan or schedule. For some reason, I can't seem to let go of my own expectations and roll with the new plan. It will take me hours to recover from something as silly as changing the meal plan for the week.

One of the oddest parts of this experience is that occasionally I am fully aware of how irrational, disproportionate and unkind my reaction is in the very moment of my reaction. Yet I don't stop. I keep on sulking or angrily responding.

Thankfully others are quick to forgive my outbursts. I've learned to show myself grace in these situations as well, despite my disappointment with myself. These reactions have piqued my curiosity about times where we act one way, knowing full well we should act differently and even wanting to act differently. It's as if I'm acting out a dramatization of Paul's words in Romans 7, watching myself do what I don't want to do.

It's amazing to think that we have the power to be different. That we don't have to succumb to our rebellious, prideful, stubborn, tendencies. Maybe we don't get it right all the time, but there is hope that through Jesus we can be different and choose to react differently.

My emotional reactions during pregnancy are an amplification of my non-pregnant tendencies and reveal a lot about myself. While I may not like the picture they sometimes paint, I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn from it for the future.

Registry

"Congratulations...for choosing to register at Babies R Us!"
Those were the words that greeted us as we sat down to start a registry. I've heard a lot of funny comments since being pregnant, but this is one the most hilarious so far.

Next time I'm feeling down, I should remember to commend myself! hahaha...

Alien

I am an alien. Or at least I feel like one. It is terribly strange to sit at your desk and watch/feel your stomach morph into different shapes.

Did you ever see the movie Alien? I don't know how I conned my folks into letting me watch it when I was a kid. It terrified me and gave grown-up" movies a bad wrap in my mind for several years. (Maybe that was mom and dad's plan all along.) I don't remember much else, other than the scene where a woman is wrapped in goo and one of the aliens hatches inside her body and breaks through.

With all the weird ways in which this baby moves around inside of me, I feel like that lady.

I hear that Weeks 24-28 of pregnancy are when the baby feels the most active. He is small enough to wiggle around, but big enough for me to feel it. Give him a couple more weeks and he'll get lodged into more stationary positions.

Until then, I'll continue to block that scene from the movie out of my mind. :-)

Morning Walks

It's been almost three weeks since I took the bus to work in the morning. With the dads in town, a heat wave, and running errands after work, I just haven't needed my morning bus ride.

This morning I walked to the bus stop I was struck by how getting outside, even for just a 15 minute walk, is good for my soul. That sounds a bit over-dramatic, but I'm serious. Walking through the woods in our suburban neighborhood watching the birds and squirrels and chipmunks restores a balance inside of me. I feel more alive and satisfied with my life.

Even though I enjoy a nice jog, I've never been able to successfully enjoy jogging in the mornings. A brisk walk, however, is quite delightful. Just enough to wake you up without wearing you out.

If adding a short walk to your life means getting off the bus one stop earlier than normal or parking in a parking further down the street from your destination, I say it's worth it!

Vulnerable

A couple of weeks ago DC had our first heat wave of the summer. The temperature hung around 99; the heat index made it feel like 107.

Peter and I made the decision to run errands one afternoon during a sweltering day. Between running back and forth between our air-conditioned car and the air-conditioned store, I figured we would be fine. The heat quickly got the better of me. I wilted and Peter had to push the grocery cart and wait for me while I sat in Best Buy recovering from the walk across the parking lot.

I think this was the first time I've felt physically vulnerable since being pregnant. I had take precautions (e.g. carrying a water bottle, sitting in air-conditioning, etc.), but that wasn't enough. If left in the middle of the heat, I couldn't have made it on my own.

I didn't like this feeling of vulnerability. It annoyed me. It made me feel weak.

And yet, I am so fortunate to have such a "safe" glimpse of what truly vulnerable people in the world feel every day. People who can't defend themselves. People who don't have a voice to stop injustices done to them. People who cannot physically resist their enemies.

How fortunate I am.

Art in Creation

I never though that writing SAS or SQL code would compare to writing a paper. I've been deep in developing a new report during the past few weeks. The similarities have been striking.

When I wrote papers in college, usually the assignment was quite vague. Something along the lines of "pick a topic about X and write on it." Choosing the right topic was half the battle. Specific yet with enough room to play with my own thoughts on the matter. Something people had considered, but not overly considered.

Then I would be off to the library like a pioneer in search of a new road through the mountains. Exploring where others had already tread, trying to find my own way at the same time. After hours of reading and note taking, I would wrestle with my own opinions about the topic. Then, after sleeping on it for a few days where my subconscious was exploring different theories and approaches, I would sit down and give birth to a paper.

It was a thrilling process for me. Usually I love every minute of it, but especially the research and the percolating phases.

I've come to see that writing analytical reports is not that different. The client has a vague idea of what they want. A general question that should be answered. They don't know how to best answer it though. It's up to me to see how similar questions have been answered before. To wrestle with the nuances of this particular problem. To find ways of answering the question that the client has never even thought of.

Then it's time to write the code. Usually the first round of code-writing gets at 90% of what is needed. The last 10% requires the most work though. It's where I become a detective, trying to think of how many ways can I break the report. How many irregularities can I tease out of the data? What do those irregularities mean for the client? In many ways, this detective process is the same as proactively combating opposing arguments to the thesis of your paper.

Both in paper writing and report coding, I am the creator and the artist.

Happiness

The other day a female co-worker who has several children in elementary school was chatting with me about being pregnant. She made a comment about remembering how happy she was when she was pregnant. This is a down-to-earth, sensible woman who has a successful career and I wouldn't necessarily guess as being a mom.

Her comment has stuck with me. I've been surprised at how harsh I can be since I've been pregnant. If I think something unkind, I'm much more likely to say it than run it through the "Katharine-filter" which can neutralize the sharpest of criticisms.

Despite that fact, I still think I'm generally happier now that I'm pregnant than before. Despite the uncertainties of life with a baby, the physical discomfort, the overwhelming decisions,, I feel a contentedness that I can't quite explain. It's as if the world is progressing just as it should and life is falling into place. Even if all the baby stuff doesn't get purchase or I gain more pregnancy weight than I want to or I don't get as much done in a day/week/month than I wanted...it will all be OK.

When we decided try the "kid-thing," we hadn't overcome many of our reservations. We took a leap of faith, believing that in light of all the sacrifices children require we didn't understand the joy and happiness that parents profess, that there was something just *right* about having kids.

Our little boy isn't here yet, but I already feel that this was the right thing to do. The happiness in my heart confirms it.

Heat Lightning

Have you ever seen heat lightning? I love full-fledge thunderstorms, so heat lightning always puzzled me a bit. It's just a faint hint of the full power that lies behind a thunderstorm.

That said, I'm a sucker for any type of lightning. So as a kid I still enjoyed looking for those unexpected flashes of heat lightning. (I think it's a lot more common in the mountains than in NoVA.) The anticipation built, as I waited for a brief glimpse of a well-lit sky.

I've had a similar feeling of anticipation lately when the baby kicks. He is getting bigger and stronger, but I don't always feel his movements clearly. At night when I go to bed is the best chance of feeling a definitive kick. It's a lot of fun. I imagine him doing all sorts of soccer moves or karate chops. Sometimes I imagine him swimming around in there like a goldfish.

I'm never fully satisfied with what few kicks I can feel. It's as if he's teasing me, only giving me a taste of what's to come. I realized there are a lot of parallels to heat lightning. I wait with anticipation, enjoy the experience, but am left slightly dissatisfied, still hoping to experience the "real thing."

I'll just keep waiting patiently.

Pregnancy and Public Transportation

Public transportation and pregnancy make for an odd couple. I take the bus and Metro to work. Each day I get to encounter interesting pockets of Northern Virginians. The Metro tends to be middle to middle-upper class white collar workers. The bus system has a wider variety of people, but mostly blue collar or international folks. One day during the first 15 minutes of my bus ride I heard 4 different languages before English was ever spoken! My friend Jacque put it well in saying something to the effect of, "On the Metro you see polished, pretty-face America, while on the bus you see real life.

Now that I'm visibly pregnant, it's been interesting to see how others treat me in public. For instance, almost always if I am standing on the bus, a man offers me his seat. There's a very defined sense of treating pregnant people, women with children and older people kindly on the bus.

The Metro is a different story. Only once has anyone offered me a seat on the Metro. I don't think it's that people are cold-hearted. I think they are just consumed by whatever they are reading or thinking about and it never even crosses their mind.

What's even more interesting to me is how differently I feel when someone gives up their seat for me on the Metro vs. the bus. On the bus, I am grateful and relieved. I feel like the man who gave up his seat for me is now receiving admiring looks from the other passengers. Both of our statuses are exalted in different ways. On the Metro, the one time someone gave me their seat, I was surprised to find myself a little embarrassed. I don't know if other people even noticed the man who gave me his seat. Even though he was incredibly kind about it, I felt a little ashamed. Almost as if by taking the Metro, I'm agreeing to not be treated any differently. A nagging feeling said, "If you can't make it on your own, you shouldn't be out here."

I know, I know - that's silly. It sure is interesting to see how we internalize our environment differently.

P.S. For the record, I have yet to ask someone to give up their seat for me. I've practiced several times in my head, but nothing to show for it yet. :-)

Reincarnational Trees

The changing of seasons usually leads me to reflect upon how the life cycle of a tree is not that different from our own.

In spring, flowering trees announce themselves to the world. They are full of color and pluck like a child who does not yet care what the world thinks of him or her. The flowers give way to fresh green leaves that have a newness about them. They are full of new life and chirping birds, reveling in spring. I think of this like our 20's, when we still have a spring in our step and haven't been jaded by too many disappointments. That fresh green begins to dull in the heat of the summer. The trees are working hard at the task given to them; produce and store up for the harder times. Then in fall, like people who energetically embrace the transition into their retirement years, the trees heave out the last breath of life with an explosion of vibrant color. It's as if they are paying homage to the hard work of the middle-aged years of summer. Winter comes and the trees fall silent and pass into the hinterlands of their temporary death.

I used to see this year-long cycle of the trees as a parallel to the life of a human. This morning I rethought that analogy. Is life ever linear? Do we ever transition from one phase to another a clean break, never to revisit the past? That's not how my 28 years have played out so far. Instead, I'm constantly cycling through phases of life. Sometimes I regain a wonder for the newness of the everyday mundane tasks of life. Other times, even though living, I go through the motions of my life with a deadness in my heart and mind.

But the trees are like that too. Their lives are continuous cycles of death and rebirth. Sometimes spring is short and winter is long. Other years the celebration of Fall goes on weeks longer than normal. Why must the pluckiness of youth be limited to my teenage years? Can I not regain it in my middle-age?

I want my life to be like a tree's life, reincarnated with seasons.