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Pregnancy week 15: I feel good. Too good.

January 12, 2014

Every day this week I woke up full of energy. My belly seemed flatter. I didn’t have any wild mood swings.

I felt so good, in fact, I figured SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG.

Clearly, the baby fell out while I wasn’t looking. Or something.

Yes, exactly.

 

Right now I’m stuck in this weird limbo: I’m between monthly doctor visits. Most of my first trimester symptoms have gone away, but it’s still too early to feel the baby move. My belly hasn’t really popped yet, I just look like I need to cut back on the burritos. Sometimes I don’t even feel pregnant at all.

I read online that some women can hear their baby’s heartbeat in the bathtub by submerging their belly underwater, then leaning back until both ears are submerged too. So I tried that. The only heartbeat I heard in the water was slow, about half the speed of what a baby’s heartbeat should be. And I totally freaked out — until I realized that slow-ass heartbeat I was hearing was my own.

Anyway, I couldn’t hear the baby at all. And my friend Emily said I’m not allowed to read crazy lady pregnancy websites anymore. So no more DIY baby eavesdropping for me.

Besides feeling suspiciously terrific, here’s how things are going:

This week, baby is the size of an orange.

Hi baby! I’m about to juice you and drink you for breakfast. Which is weird.

 

But seriously. Oranges are huge. And I remember when baby was just the size of a poppyseed. I can’t even wrap my head around this.

*sigh* They grow up so fast.

 

This week I went back to work and started school again at the same time, so I haven’t done any major hikes or bike rides. But I still managed to walk a few miles every day. Then I went to my first official prenatal yoga class. (I’ve been doing prenatal yoga videos at home, but I tend to perform better in a class, because I get really competitive with my own reflection in the mirror. Like a betta fish.)

I hope laying by the pool with friends, eating French fries and laughing is also good for me, because I did that too.

It was a great pool party, even with this hideous view.

 

Pregnancy Week 14: The Salton Sea and No Pee

January 5, 2014

Oh hey, energy. I’ve missed you.

This week brought fewer naps, a 12-mile bike ride, a handful of hikes and a renewed love of berry smoothies.

On top of a mountain, powered by my own two feet.

 

The Husband and I also made a quick day trip to the Salton Sea for a short (2-mile) hike along the shoreline.

The Salton Sea, created by Colorado River flooding, is one of the lowest spots on earth and one of the world’s largest inland seas. It’s a bizarre place. Though the sea was once lined with resorts and known as the American Riviera (or the Riviera of California), it’s now surrounded by abandoned homes and dilapidated buildings. It’s also an environmental disaster.

Still, it’s really beautiful. It’s an important stopover for migratory birds. It’s filled with millions of fish. Plus, I have a soft spot for broken places and worn things.

All quiet on the Salton Sea.

 

I love the stillness there. Like someone pressed life’s pause button.

Maybe that’s why I wanted to take this week’s pregnancy photo there. I’m in a happy place right now, and I want to savor this moment.

My hump: Week 14.

 

About 30 miles away is the desolate desert town of Niland, home to Slab City, an abandoned military training area that now attracts drifters, squatters and others seeking an alternative lifestyle — one entirely off the grid.

If you’ve seen “Into the Wild,” a portion of it takes place here.

Even Bella from Twilight couldn’t ruin this part of the film.

 

Niland is also home to Salvation Mountain. Part of “Into the Wild” took place here too. Here’s a clip.

Salvation Mountain is one man’s attempt to spread a message of faith and love, and he has spent decades constructing this mountain out of hay, mud and more than 100,000 gallons paint. It’s pretty remarkable, and my photo doesn’t come close to showing the size or the fairytale quality of the place. Inside the mountain is a maze of altars and rooms, elaborate displays of car doors, telephone poles, gnarled tree branches, photos and truck parts.

Salvation Mountain. This photo doesn’t even begin to do it justice.

 

I’m not the most evangelical person in the world — actually, I’m not evangelical at all. But I can respect someone who has this kind of passion and can channel that into a massive work of art.

Bump in the desert.

 

The other big thing that happened this week: One day I woke up at 4 a.m. and couldn’t pee. This, as many of you might know, is the opposite of what happens to most women during pregnancy. And it was a dramatic shift for me too. Usually I’m pissing all over the place like an incontinent mountain lion.

Have you ever needed to pee and couldn’t? It’s incredibly stressful. Within a matter of minutes, I was Violet Beauregarde. And I panicked.

Stick a fork in me. I’m done.

 

What happens if I never pee again? I wondered. Can I pop? What if I pop? Certainly popping is bad for the baby.

Luckily, the internet exists, and I quickly found two possible causes of this problem: A urinary tract infection, which is common during pregnancy. Or the baby was blocking the bladder — another common issue, particularly for women who are in week 13-15 (check!) and have a tilted uterus (check!).

The bad news is that this has happened every night since then. I think the baby settles into a strange spot during the night. The good news is that the problem should sort itself out once the baby gets bigger and stops using my bladder for a pillow.

In the meantime, I found some suggestions online from other pregnant ladies for how to kick-start the flow:

* Go to the hospital and have a catheter inserted. 

Yeah, that’ll be my last resort. Thanks.

* Sit in different positions on the toilet.

I tried this. I leaned forward. I leaned left. I leaned right. Then I tried turning around backward, like I was riding a toilet pony. None of it worked, but it sure was interesting.

* While you try to urinate, pour a cup of hot water over your ladybits. It will help get things flowing.

What? Ow. No. Who told you this was ok?

* Push your hand up on your cervix and manually shift your uterus up.

You know, I’m really not confident in my ability to push my uterus anywhere. Generally, I just let it go where it wants to go. I’m growing a free-range uterus here.

* Walk around, rub your belly, wait for the baby to shift a little, then try again.

Yes. This worked.

Resolutions for other people

January 1, 2014

The idea for this post began as a joke. One of my neighbors — I’m not sure which one — regularly leaves dog poop all over the place, so I wanted to make a 2014 resolution for him/her. A mean resolution. Like what precisely that neighbor can do with that dog poop.

But the more I thought about the coming year, the more I realized that making resolutions for other people is not such a bad idea. Resolutions to help others, I mean.

Helping others: In Laos, the monks subsist on the food they receive as alms each morning.

 

I’m tired of thinking about myself all the time. It’s boring. I’ve spent all these years trying to cultivate good habits, set goals, improve my lifestyle, reinvent myself, look better, get smaller, tone up, slim down, learn more, grow more, be more, do it all. Sometimes I succeeded, sometimes I failed — either way, I’ve been there, done that. I’m very experienced when it comes to self-improvement.

What I haven’t focused on, however, is how my life affects the lives of those around me. So that’s what I want to do in 2014. Here’s how:

* Be a better citizen of the world.

Everything is connected.

The biggest benefit of my trip around the world was that I saw how closely our lives are all connected. Though it seems like we’re so different and separate, what with all these borders and language barriers and miles between us, the truth is that we’re all here together. What I do here can have an impact on someone else’s life on the other side of the world.

This means volunteering in my own community, as well as engaging more with people in other places. It means offering more support to organizations that legitimately try to make the world better, like the Landmine Relief Fund. I’m also a fan of microlending opportunities like Kiva.

We all have the same desires for family, love, safety and shelter. Let’s try harder to help each other with that.

* Be a more active participant in my literary community.

Kickass literary magazine. Photo from dumdumzine.com

 

When I started grad school for creative writing, I began meeting a lot of authors — people who work hard to develop their craft, devote their lives to art and get very little in return. And that’s when I stopped illegally downloading books. Because writers deserve to get paid. (This goes for all art, by the way. Not just writers.)

But I can still do more. I would rather have fewer nights at restaurants or movies if it means filling my house with more books, putting more money into writers’ pockets and helping them continue to do what they love.

My grad school also introduced me to some badass people who do wonderful things for the literary arts, and I want to support their efforts. For instance, my mentee Liska has the coolest experimental lit/art zine. (You should buy it! And submit to it!) My friend Natashia is the creator of Dirty Laundry Lit, an innovative and exciting reading series in LA. (Go to it!) And my friends are always publishing the most breathtaking work, the kind of pieces that make me so thankful these people exist and live and write. Like thisAnd thisAnd thisAnd this. I could go on and on. (Read these pieces! Share them!)

 

* Keep reading.

Book love.

 

I grew up an avid reader, but when I started working in newspapers, I just stopped. It’s embarrassing how little I read. I remember several years ago, a friend of mine compiled a list of her top 10 books of the year and I was incredulous. How could a person possibly read 10 books in a year?

Well, this past year, I read 54 books. My life has improved dramatically since I’ve made reading a priority. My world has expanded. I’ve learned more. I can contribute more to conversations and in a more meaningful way.

Knowing how much books boost my happiness, I’m aiming for 50+ this year. I’d really like to raise that number, but I’m also realistic about my time. I have a great big thesis due this summer, and I know that will take a lot of my energy and attention.

 

* Consume mindfully.

Vote with your dollars.

 

I already try to consume mindfully, but I want to get better about it. I don’t want my dollars going to CEOs who support things I don’t, companies that don’t operate in an ethical manner, factories that don’t treat their employees with respect. I’m not just talking about Domino’s Pizzas and Chick-fil-A, but also the everyday products I use. If I buy toilet paper and that money ends up in some Koch brother’s wallet, I want to know about that. I’ve downloaded the Buycott app to help me make more informed consumer decisions.

I will also continue to make organic and fair trade products a part of my lifestyle. I am on a budget, but I would rather have less and consume better.

Consuming less overall is part of this too. For too long I bought clothes/shoes/accessories according to what was trendy, and eventually those items seemed to take on a disposable quality. They are not. It takes resources to make these items, I spend good money on them (and the products are usually crappy), and ultimately they end up in landfills. I want to get better about fixing/refurbishing what I already have, purchasing already-used goods or not buying at all. This is going to be a real test as I try to make it through my pregnancy without purchasing a load of maternity clothes that will only be used for a few months.

 

* Be kind to myself.

Fine. I’ll eat less salt.

 

I’ve spent years trying to create a better relationship with my body, but that has taken on an increased importance now that I’m pregnant. The better I eat, the more active I am, the more I care for myself, the better I will be as a mother, wife and role model. Also, right now my habits literally have an effect on the baby inside me. If that doesn’t inspire me to be better, nothing will.

I also don’t want to beat myself up anymore. I’m tired of referring to certain foods as “bad” or “guilty pleasures.” I don’t want to feel like I’ve done something wrong if I skip one of my daily walks. I’m an imperfect person, trying to do the best I can.

 

* Nurture my relationships with friends.

I love these people.

 

My friends are treasures, and I don’t always treat them like they are. Sometimes I get busy or I don’t want to bug anyone, so I hunker down and don’t communicate. I need to try harder at making phone calls, extending invitations, following up on lunch dates/coffee dates, spending time with them, asking about their lives. I truly love the people in my life, and my actions should show it.

The amazing this is how much all of these things are linked. Reading more widens my literary community and keeps me more engaged with the world around me. Consuming mindfully causes less waste and potentially creates better working and living environments for everyone. Taking care of myself makes me a more active person in the world and gives me the chance to do more for others.

This 2014, it’s not about me anymore.

Gratitude

November 28, 2013

Today is Thanksgiving, and I am thankful for so many things.

Thankful for a pomegranate as big as my head.

 

A body that can do yoga every day and still find something new in it. How reading for pleasure now feels like playing hooky from school. My friends, my writing tribe, that warm feeling of sitting around a fire and spilling secrets until dawn. The people who inspire me without even knowing it. The fact that I wake up with the same man every single day and am still happy about it. The big slice of shit pie we were served this year that somehow brought us closer together and made us more compassionate. A city full of mountains and sunshine and bright people. A snuggly dog. The internet. My pink glitter Christmas tree. Potatoes, any variety, any recipe. Sandalwood vanilla candles. More books than I can ever read and shelves that are always ready for more. Mint tea. A world that is wild and vibrant and brimming with invitations to explore it all. The places where bodies of water blend together. Seasons of the desert. Wildflowers in the spring. Gorillas. Grape leaves. Lemonade. My book, which is getting closer to having an ending. Falafel. Love.

On Shrinking Women

October 24, 2013

I watched this video from a poetry slam the other day, and it left me in tears.

Poet Lily Myers talks about body image and how it affected the women in her family, especially her mother: “Nights I’d hear her creep down to eat plain yogurt in the dark, a fugitive stealing calories to which she does not feel entitled, deciding how many bites is too many, how much space she deserves to occupy.”

 

My mom was strong and tall, a German woman who survived World War II by walking over a frozen lake. She could do anything — open stuck pickle jars, lift all the bags of groceries at once, push me higher than any other kid on the swingset. One time my plastic digital watch stopped working, and my mom slapped it across her palm so forcefully that it turned her hand pink. “Just needs a good German touch,” she said, as the digital numbers reappeared.

As much as her body could do, my mom was never satisfied with it. My house was a world of weekly weigh-ins, diet gum and Tab. I don’t remember my mom eating bread, only thin Wasa crackers at 35 calories each. Sometimes she binged on candy, then immediately berated herself. She was hungry for years, skipping breakfast and only eating the tiniest of lunches. This magnificent, accomplished woman was consumed by her own consumption.

 

It’s strange. I loved my mom because she was elegant and exotic. She tucked me into bed every night and whispered prayers in other languages. She was proud and loyal and she loved me fiercely. I don’t remember the shape of her thighs or the roundness of her belly. I remember her crinkled fingers that felt for fever on my forehead. I remember the arms that held me. The swoop of her freckled shoulder.

You could say my mom died of Alzheimer’s Disease, which is what gnawed away at her mind and body for 10 years. But really she died of starvation, which is a terrible irony. In the final stages of Alzheimer’s, my mom’s brain could no longer send signals to her organs, so her body couldn’t process food anymore. My family decided a long time ago that we did not want to prolong her life with feeding tubes, and eventually her body shut down. In her final days, she had been whittled down to a thin, pale shape. And she was beautiful.

That’s the awful thing. When I looked in my mom’s coffin at her funeral, my first thought was, “Wow. She would be so happy.” She was finally skinny. She would’ve loved that.

Somewhere along the line, I picked up these unhealthy thoughts and made them my own. I’ll eat something delicious, then complain to my friends that I’ve been “so bad.” I do regular detoxes and cleanses, the more modern, acceptable version of diets. And I look with longing at tiny, slim-boned women, and I wonder how wonderful it must feel to be so small.

Now my husband and I are trying to start a family, and he says he hopes we never have a girl. “I don’t want a daughter to grow up with your body issues,” he says, a comment that is so distressing in its truth. I could be one bad-ass mother to a girl — and instead I want to be small? Why not focus on being substantial? Something is very wrong here.

As that poet says, “I wonder if my lineage is one of women shrinking.” I wonder if my lineage could become one of women who are larger than life.