WTF?!

My former boss is a 60+ year old man. He is married but has no kids. He's frequently inappropriate. I didn't realize just how inappropriate he was until I started working for someone else.

You know, someone who doesn't ask me casually whether I've tried illicit drugs. Someone who, when we are out to lunch, doesn't ask me if I think the waitress is hot. Someone who would never ask whether I've ever made out with another woman.

Anyway, I thought I was used to his behavior. But after several months of no contact, I get this string of text messages:

Him: "Hey, I'm in trial with that client who things you're hot. You should send us a baby belly photo."

Ew.

Me: "Good luck with the trial."

Him: "So when are you sending that belly photo?"

Ignore. Five days later...

Him: "Where is that f****** baby belly photo?!"

I'm not just grossed out, I'm genuinely offended. Maybe pregnancy is making me soft.

At work yesterday, I overheard a male coworker complain to another coworker about the fact that two of the attorneys in our office will be out on maternity leave at the same time. This male coworker is also 60+. He is single. He has no kids.

Him: "So when they both go on maternity leave, we'll probably have to take over their work. That's going to be a pain. Two attorneys out at the same time! How long is maternity leave anyway? Two weeks? ...What? Three MONTHS? Why the hell do they need three months?!"

Wow. Just wow. It never surprises me that office policies are not more family friendly. Because people like HIM have absolutely no clue about what it takes to make/have/raise/care for a newborn/infant/toddler/child. And sadly, people like HIM are most likely to be the ones in charge.

My husband has seen me go through three pregnancies. He's seen me experience labor, an emergency C-section, a planned C-section, and post-partum stuff. And yet, it frequently crosses me mind and becomes clear to me that even HE doesn't quite understand everything.

Pregnancy and birth is not something you can understand as an observer. It's an intense, constant, physical, and emotional experience that can only fully be understood when you actually experience it yourself. It's a common thing (duh, procreation), but when you actually stop to think about it, it's insane. It's mind boggling. It's miraculous. It's down-right ridiculous and so not very pretty. For an experience that is so common and such an inherent part of the human race, it's also extremely personal, unique, mystifying, and also misunderstood by about half the world's population (men).

And while I'm not opposed to sending belly photos. I AM opposed to sending them to men who are former bosses, with whom I rarely ever communicate, who have no kids of their own, and who demand belly photos aggressively and through explicit language. Seriously, why does he want a photo of my belly so badly? What is he going to do with it? WTF!

More On Names/Hurry Up But Slow It Down

Thanks for all the name suggestions. I really liked so many of them. Several of them I liked but we can't use because they are already in use in our family or for other reasons.

Here are the names (in no particular order) you all suggested that I've added to my "maybe" list:

Daniel

Bradley

Edward

Owen

Miles

Ethan

Luke/Lucas

Benjamin

Max

 

While I like Benjamin and Max, I would kind of prefer a two-syllable name. I've looked at a list of names for which Max is a nickname and I'm not really a fan of any of them. And the more I ruminate over Max, the less I like it. But I have that problem with every single name.

 

At first, I don't like a name at all. Then it kind of grows on me. Then I love it. Then I hate it. Two days ago, I was sold on Owen. The next it was Bradley. But now I just kind of feel "meh" about them both. (I still haven't asked my husband what he thinks of them so it could be a lost cause anyway).  It's a strange phenomenon that I've never had with my previous boys. Maybe because this is likely my last. No pressure or anything!

 

Also, I hate being pregnant. So, so much. I hate absolutely everything about it. There is not one single thing I enjoy- except for the fact that it ends. I hate being uncomfortable 24/7. I hate being large and cumbersome. I hate being gawked at like a freak of nature. I hate the unsolicited attention and stupid questions (No, it's my third. No, it's a boy. No, you can't touch my tummy.) I hate not being able to sleep on my tummy. I hate that it takes five minutes to roll over or get out of bed. I hate all the stupid doctor appointments. I hate maternity clothes (with a passion!).  I dislike feeling the baby kick. (I like it for the knowledge that he is still alive but other than that, it feels creepy and painful and weird). I hate C-sections. I hate giving blood. I hate feeling like my bones are being kicked and constantly rubbed up against.  

 

Nearly 30 weeks. I already feel like my frame cannot withstand the mass of bones poking and rolling around inside. My poor baby must be so smooshed!

 

 

UGH! Make it end! And you guys, I'm only 29 weeks (almost 30). I still have over 9 weeks to go. Imagine how horrible I will feel by THEN. For the record, as much as I hate being pregnant, I'm a pretty damn good sport. I rarely complain. After work, after kids are picked up, after dinner is made, after kids are in bed, after dishes are done, I go straight for my bed and just lay there. I do my shit then check out for the rest of the night. As hard as it is to be a working mom, it's like uber hard to be a working, pregnant mom.

 

Lately, I've had this horrible pain on the side of my tummy. It feels like muscle tissue slowly being ripped apart. I had it with my second baby and it's returned this time around in the exact same spot with more intensity. It's not just painful, it's nearly excruciating. It starts a couple hours into my morning and continues all day long. Every time I stand, roll over, touch it, rest something on it, laugh, cough, or run, I can feel the muscles tearing apart. Basically, it hurts until I lay down and take any weight/pressure off my belly. I've never met anyone else who has had this pain. I'm beginning to think I'm defective.

 

All the horribles aside, I am so excited to meet this baby. I feel like it's taken until baby number three to fully comprehend just what it means to make a person. Watching my two older boys grow from babies into wonderful unique people and recognizing just how fully and deeply I am enamored with them, I can finally appreciate to the fullest extent just how amazing it is to make a person. I'm so excited to meet this baby and to add another person to our family. Moreso than I ever was with my other two kids. I think this may have something to do with being less worried anxious about medical procedures and actually having a baby and more focused on the actual baby himself.

 

In this regard, I can't wait for October to get here. I'm obsessively checking my calendar to see just how much closer I am to October and checking and rechecking my countdown app and figuring out all the different countdown configurations- how many days, how many weeks, how many doctor appointments, how many paychecks, until baby gets here. I don't think I've ever been this excited for anything in my life.

 

But I'm stuck in a weird dichotomy. As much as I can't wait for pregnancy to end and my baby to get here, I look at my other children and just BEG time to slow down. Jacob will start kindergarten in a matter of weeks and those precious, pre-school years with him will be over for good. Ryan is just the king of my heart and I hate to see him grow out of whatever toddler-hood he still has and transform into a big kid like his brother.

 

Drinking pool water from his shoe.

 

 

I want to freeze my kids just how they are so I can always remember how sweet and crazy and hectic they are. Ryan loves to give me kisses. He will randomly start kissing me everywhere, but he always announces where he will kiss me first. "I kiss your ear." Kiss. "I kiss your hair." Kiss. "I kiss your hand." Kiss.....etc. After each kiss, he makes eye contact and giggles at his little game. I love being showered with his love. 

 

Every night, Ryan wakes up in the middle of the night and comes into our room. I let him sleep on the floor next to my bed. He has a permanent little nest set up there. He will frequently wake up at random times in the night and ask to hold my hand. It's so freaking sweet and I almost don't mind the numbness and loss of circulation as my arm twists into all kinds of contortions in order to reach his soft, little hand.

 

Sleeping like a baby.

 

 

For all the things he does that totally drive me nuts, he is perfect. And I don't want him to change. My heart breaks with each passing day because I know he is one day closer to big-boyhood. Not that I should be too sad because as Jacob has shown me, big-boyhood is pretty awesome. Watching Jacob learn to spell and sound out words and count to a hundred and ride a two-wheeler and build Legos sets exactly according to the instructions and add numbers, has been amazing. These are all little accomplishments in the grand scheme of things, but watching your kid master a new task, no matter how small, is nothing short of amazing.

 

Cool dudes.

 

 

Jacob's so caring and sympathetic. I see him genuinely care for other people and act on those feelings. The other day he was playing the board game Sorry with my mom and her friend. They had gone through several rounds without anyone scoring a 1 or a 2 to get out of "home base." When Jacob finally got a 1 card, he kindly offered it to my mom's friend because he saw that she had been getting frustrated.

 

I'm so thankful he has developed these characteristics. I feel like awareness/caring for others and their feelings is something you can't really learn when you are an adult. I'm just so dang proud of him and I hope I adequately show him that in the hectic hustle and bustle of each day.

Help Name My Baby!

In light of the fact that our baby is nameless, I'm hoping to get some inspiration from...well, anywhere. I would love name suggestions, pretty pretty please!

I tend to like strong and traditional names. I prefer to avoid trends, the rebel in me does not want to be viewed as a bandwaggoner. However, I will give up this principle for a name i really love. And I'm not a fan of unusual, modern names. I like old fashion, timeless names but nothing too commonplace- no Matthews! (I sacrificed this rule for my first born). I have a list of names I love.....but I just feel like I'm overlooking one.

For reference, my other boys' full names are :

Jacob Jessie

Ryan Henry*

*I feel like this name is so awesome that coming up with this name will be the pinnacle of our parenting career...and I'm having a hard time finding one as awesome. 

Other names I like (not too crazy about though I could live with) that have been vetoed:

Logan

Ethan

Jonathan

Eric

Lawrence

Mitchell

Roman

Trouble With Names

Since we're having our third boy, there is very little we actually need to do to prepare for baby. Honestly, even with my first and second, I did very little to prepare for babies. Newborns pretty much just need food and diapers and clothes.

I'm completely dumbfounded by the mothers who go crazy with baby prep. We pretty much go to the hospital. Have a baby. And bring him home. No extra cleaning. No extra cooking. Ok, ok. I guess for my FIRST baby, I pre-washed all the new baby clothes before he arrived. But after I discovered that babies will poop and spit up on their clothes the second you put the outfit on, I kind of figured, "what's the point" and was quickly cured of that habit.

I don't even pack a hospital bag anymore. For my first baby, I used absolutely NOTHING I packed. I didn't wear any clothes until I left the hospital (maybe that's a C-section thing- because I barely walk for several days after a C-section, let alone put on pants). I didn't read. I didn't listen to music. I didn't eat any of the snacks I packed. I mean, pretty much everything you NEED is already at the hospital. Which, for the first four days is limited to mesh panties, hospital gown, food, soap, and lots of pain killers.

So this time around, when it comes to the wonderful world of baby preparation, my stress level is about 0.025 on a scale of 10.

The only thing I'm semi-stressed about (and I mean barely registering on the stress level), is picking a baby name. I have a list of about 10 boy names I like. I have a clear favorite but I would be happy with any one of the names on my list. My husband, on the other hand, only has a list of 2 boy names he finds acceptable. Of those, I hate one of them. The other one is good, but not one of my top contenders.

While I would be ok with the name on my husband's list, I don't want baby boy's name to become that name solely by default. And honestly, to be completely immature, I'm having a hard time swallowing that name on principle. In my mind, it's not fair that my husband won't have to compromise. I've thrown out TEN really good, strong boy names. My husband has vetoed them all. All for no good reason. And when I asked him to throw out the names he likes, he's only put forward a measly TWO names. I'll be a little resentful if one of his two names gets chosen just because I'm the only one willing to be flexible.

Also, one of the names on my list is a family name and it would mean a lot to me if we can use it. But my husband won't even consider it. I'm even willing to compromise on using the name as a middle name but, again, he won't even consider it. The whole thing just makes my blood boil. And I know it's unfair to use this card but....he DIDN'T EVEN WANT A THIRD BABY - while I desperately did! So why does he care so much about the name? This baby was a surprise but a surprise that I desperately prayed for. Shouldn't that give me a little authority on the name?

He's being choosy and picky. The toddler in me wants to be equally choosy and picky and go on a baby naming strike until he has no choice but to compromise. I keep imagining our nurses refusing to let us leave the hospital because we can't agree on a name to put on the birth certificate. And as each week passes, I'm starting to think more and more that this might not be such a far-fetched scenario.

No Time For Talky

Holy Mackerel! (I love that saying only because my dad says it all the time so it has started to infiltrate into my own conversations with myself prompting amusing imagery of my dad).

I am insanely busy at work. And then on top of work, there's the kids, and trips to the park, and running, and our primary family car breaking down an hour from home, and a broken kitchen sink which resulted in leaking all over our basement and total replacement of all the pipes (yay for husband and father-in-law who did all the work).

We are also preparing for a road trip to attend a family reunion. I get the feeling I'll be packing one hour before take off.

I guess I have to go now. I have to be up in five hours. Seriously, who even has time to be pregnant? (I haven't remembered to take a prenatal vitamin since I was 10 weeks along...oops).

Hard Lessons

A week ago, I signed up for my third pregnancy race. I asked Jacob if he wanted to run in the kids' dash and he sounded interested (maybe just in the free t-shirt? ha ha) so I signed him up too.

The race is all he talked about for days. He would tell anyone who would listen that he was going to run in a kids' race. The night before the big day, we picked up our racing packets. As Jacob emptied his packet on the floor, I showed him the wonders of free promotional gear (deck of cards from the local casino, marketing pencils, and chip clips covered in business logos- kinda useless but hey....FREE!).

I also explained the intricacies of racing bibs. You have to crumple them up so that they are aerodynamic. A track/cross country superstition? Perhaps. But that's the rule in our house. (Plus, a crumpled up race bib looks so much more intense than one that looks like it came straight off the printing press).

Jacob was amazed at the racing bib. "Mom look! I'm No. 1!" All the kids' race bibs said No. 1, but I didn't feel the need to tell him that just then.

Ready to race! There is nothing more fun than bonding with your child over a shared love of your favorite activity.

The day of the race, I was up first for my four mile race. I had been very nervous the night before (waking up every two hours to check the clock) and all morning despite the fact that I repeatedly told myself that this was going to be just a "fun run." I wasn't going to try anything crazy. No pressure. I'd be happy if I just crossed the line at 32 minutes. Ha! Yeah right.

When the gun went off, I started off easy and right on pace. But then we came upon our first hill and people started to slow down. I felt so good. Maybe I'll go for it just a little bit? I chugged steadily up the hill passing people left and right. Little did I know, the hill steepened and continued for a full mile! But I kept my pace and kept picking people off. Halfway through the race, I could see the leaders up in front and I realized I was actually in the game! I killed it the last two miles and crossed the line at 29:40- a 7:25 minute mile pace! I later discovered that I had finished 8th out of 185 women. Not too bad for being 27 weeks pregnant (that's officially the third trimester)!

The race was called "Whale of a run." And as one of my FB friends pointed out, that was a very fitting name for me....ha!

After the 4 mile race, the kids' dashes were next. All the kids gathered together according to age group. When Jacob's heat was up, he stepped up to the white line with several other kids. Jacob's face looked stern. My only worry at that moment was, "I hope he's having fun." As it turns out, he just takes racing very seriously.

Racing is serious business.

The announcer yelled "go!" and the kids were off. I cheered and chanted. Such a proud mom. Then a girl with long flowing blond hair and a blindingly-bright pink shirt began weaving in and out of the crowd of kids. She bumped into several kids and sent them off course for a second or two. It all played out in slow motion. The girl darted right in front of Jacob. His foot caught on hers. They both stumbled. But the girl ran off and Jacob fell, knees first on the pavement.

My heart dropped instantly. He put his face on the road and curled up into a ball, clutching his knee. He made a sad and lonely figure on the now-empty course. I approached him and rubbed his back (I was holding Ryan so I couldn't pick him up). He looked up at me and all I saw was disappointment in his eyes.

I felt horrible for him. His excitement sunk. His dreams dashed. His knees scraped up. A week's worth of anticipation, completely destroyed. I was so angry at that little girl. I hate to admit it now, but in my mind I called her several horrible names and the thought of slapping her snotty little face did enter briefly into my thoughts.

At that time, my husband arrived. Jacob wouldn't stand up so my husband picked him up and jogged with him across the finish line. Upon inspection, it became apparent that Jacob didn't have any visible injury and was able to walk just fine. That's when I realized he was only suffering emotional hurt and a blow to his confidence. I wasn't satisfied with my husband carrying Jacob across the line. I wanted him to be proud of his own accomplishment. I wanted him to feel that awesome sense of pride that you get in facing and conquering a challenge. That's one of the best parts of racing, after all.

I gave Jacob a hug and walked him back to the start line. Together we looked out towards the finish. "Do you want to try again?" I asked him. He nodded. I lined him up behind the white line. Several parents were staring at us like we were crazy. I ignored them.

"Ready. Set. GO!"

With a look of fierce determination, he took off and didn't look back until he had crossed that white line. So, he didn't break any records for the 50 yard dash. He wasn't even particularly fast. He didn't pass a single soul. But I was so proud of him. He learned the hardest lesson that both life and running have to offer. Sometimes we fall. Sometimes we land short of our own expectations. Sometimes we don't even finish on our own the first time. But we have the power to never fail. As long as we get up try again. Even with hurt knees and a bruised ego.

Later that day, Jacob would tell me several times in a quiet tone, "Mom, my race didn't go so well." (Yes, "well" instead of "good"-- he has awesome grammar and I'm very proud.) Each time he said that my parental heart-wound opened up and ached a little more. I didn't know what to say exactly. That's life, right? All I could muster was, "I'm so proud of you for trying again, even when it was hard. It doesn't matter who wins. What matters is who tries the hardest."

Ew

Dear FB friends. I'm so happy for you that you chose to have a home birth. However, I do NOT want to see your home birth videos. Or your bloody home birth photos. In fact, I don't want to see any birth photos at all.

And I can assure you, neither does my husband.

Any occasion where something is physically coming out of your lady parts, is probably not meant to be shared. That's a pretty solid rule to live by. I highly recommend that you adopt it.

While we're on the subject, I could also live without pictures of your placenta. Or pictures of you eating your placenta.

Bodily excretions in generally should not be photographed.

I get that birth is a wonderful and beautiful experience. There are just parts of it that do not belong on social media. Like, you know, my entire C-section procedure. So, let's make a deal. I'll spare you photos of my uterus and parts of my intestines being physically removed from my body, if you spare me photos of your home birth.

Pictures of the baby are an entirely different story. Snap and post away please!