Road Runner Going Hundred Mile Per Hour

Good morning, Maybe Hazel.

My favorite running song: Michael Franti & Spearhead--You can't help but do a little booty-shaking  when this starts playing.

Weekend before last, we were at a fabulous and bittersweet farewell party. You probably remember the embarrassingly high number of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that kept sending those sweet sugar waves your way. Those cookies were baked by my friend Liz, and as we chatted, she mentioned that she had a  brilliant trail run while vacationing in Oregon, and she'd thought about how much I would love it.

*sigh*

I don't know the exact moment I became a runner. Certainly, I've never been known for any sort of athletic prowess. I think trying out for the volleyball team in 6th grade may have marked the end of my athletic curiosity. But, I now identify as a runner (albeit, a runner on hiatus).

When I found out I was pregnant with you, I started researching. The tricky thing about the internet is that you basically can find information to support any position you're interested in defending. So, it's no surprise that I found lots of positive support for running as long as I could. 

I'm not gonna lie. I had a little fantasy that I was as tough as Kara Goucher and Paula Radcliffe, and I planned to run the Summer Series 5Ks up until you made your appearance.

I felt slower right off the bat, probably due to that pesky anemia. I've never been speedy, but I saw 9-minute miles increase to 10, 11 . . . I transitioned into woggling--a mixture of jogging and walking. I purchased a hideous maternity belt that kept you stable as I woggled 3-4 mornings a week.

On May 12, I completed the Luck of the Draw 8K, placing an impressive 165th place (out of 185 runners--hahaha). I also was scrambling up Piestewa Peak every other week. Slowing down, week by week.

Then, you made it very clear that my last name definitely isn't Goucher, and I had to shut it down altogether for a few weeks.

Now, we walk. Walking is good. It's not running, but we're staying healthy and safe. Running is my therapy; forced focus on the breath is the best active meditation for a Nervous Nelly like me. So, I know we'll get back to it. Maybe you'll remember the cadence of my feet hitting the pavement as I push you along in your stroller, and you'll be rocked into a contemplative space like mine, as I pretend once again that I can be like Goucher (who finished 5th in the Boston Marathon just 7 months after having her son and whose every move I'll follow this Olympics!).

Magic Monday

My friend Kristen sent this funny meme spin my way.

Good morning, Maybe Hazel!

One of my favorite fairytale movies of all time is Labyrinth. But, I don't think that I'll be able to share it with you for a few years. I probably ought to start paying attention to things like this:

That means, though, that most fairytale movies I love are more age appropriate for the elementary set: Princess Bride--8; Dark Crystal--7 (although, frankly, I found this film way creepier than any other movie mentioned here when I saw it at age 9); NeverEnding Story--8; My Neighbor Totoro--5 . . . so, it may be a while, especially if you're as sensitive to "scary stuff" as I am (which is to say, you get frightened for years by large Skeksis puppets who creep around stealing life energy from little Gelflings . . . my imagination gets the best of me).

Labyrinth and Dark Crystal share two creators that I adore: Jim Henson and Brian Froud (more on him later). Now, don't get any funny ideas about watching too much television. I'd much rather we are doing, rather than watching. I guarantee it's way cooler. BUT, on those rare occasions when relaxing on the couch is absolutely the best and only option, Jim Henson's creations aren't a shabby way to go. In fact, I'll have to hunt around for it, but I have a photo of Baby Me clutching two stuffed toys (my most favorite toys in the whole wide world): Bert and Ernie, two of Henson's muppet creations. Nowadays, Sesame Street is so huge that it has its own planet in the solar system, but his company was the originator. 

Magic is sometimes easier to feel when we can see it, and certain artists have a way of really making it come to life through film and television. In those moments when we both could use a little downtime, I look forward to sharing some of my favorite visual treats with you (age-appropriate, of course)!

Pregnancy and Swimwear

from David & Kelly Sopp's Safe Baby Pregnancy Tips

Good morning, M. Hazel.

I'm headed to San Diego this weekend for a staff retreat. Although I'd joked that I would be rocking a string bikini on the beach, I'm sticking with a "skirted" bikini. It fits . . . okay. I'm always challenged to find swimsuits that fit small on top and can handle a, ummm, generous amount of booty below, and forget about one-piece suits. Even in non-pregnant status, I've yet to try one one that doesn't make me feel like a pear stuffed into pantyhose. This particular maternity swimsuit doesn't like to stay up the way it should in the back, if you know what I mean. Plumber central. Cleavage best left hidden. I would apologize if people end up seeing entirely too much of me, but as we enter 32 weeks, I'm more concerned about just enjoying the ocean breeze without nausea, Braxton Hicks, or back pain--you, me, and big booty.

a poem for MH on Thursday

[Grow baby          grow a brain with curly]
--Hoa Nguyen


Grow baby          grow a brain with curly

hair      blow a leaf         a leaf

shaped love      hold the swirling

life-lasso          draw pretty bubbles baby

(soft rabbit)                  the center is

light green        the tender part

is the newest part

The case of the disappearing organs

Good morning, Maeby.

This morning, I was in the nest of pillows that has taken over my bed, and you busted out some serious breakdance moves. I'm always confused about where you might be positioned, especially during moments when your groove seems to place you up in my ribs, down in my pelvis, and on both sides--all at the same time.

No contest. You win the title of Battle Master. 

So, I'm just lying there, watching the show, and I had a minor panic attack. If you are here, there, everywhere . . . Ummm . . . where's everything else? Where's all my stuff? Based on my tinkle tempo, I know that my bladder is probably smooshed flat as a crepe. But what about all that other-stuff-that-I-can't-really-name-because-my-knowledge-of-internal-anatomy-is-appallingly-limited?

I found this handy-dandy animation (click through) that helped your visual mommy get a handle on the freak out. The "Birth" part of the animation is amusing. It'd be great if it had a little balloon-deflation sound effect. If only it were that simple. Carry on, B-Baby.

Cravings

Good morning, MH!

Everything from Boon generates big waves on my "oooooh, ahhhhhh" meter. I struggle with simplifying, so it's a cool thing to see people who are brilliant at it. I like to think this lovely little mobile would catch your eye, too.

Magic Monday

“Everytime a child says 'I don't believe in fairies,' there's a a little fairy somewhere that falls down dead.” -- Peter Pan

Good morning, MH.

You should know, right off the bat, that I believe in fairies. I believe in make-believe, and I (usually) am not too bashful admitting it. Probably this revelation will cause you great embarrassment in the tween years. Until then, I'm really looking forward to sharing this little bit of magic with you. Downtown Phoenix isn't the ideal place for fairy watching--too much concrete and not enough water or trees. It's barely habitable for regular people.

You'll have a much better chance at seeing fairies than your mommy. Something happens to people as they get older. Cynicism or anxiety . . . it's happened to me, but at least I still have stories upon stories (ancient, classic, modern, urban) that I can share with you. Most of them will begin, "Once upon a time," and most of them will end, "And she lived happily ever after." The Brothers Grimm are a favorite of mine, and "The Frog Prince" is at the top of the list. 

Scott Gustafson's Proof Print for "The Frog Prince" I often think about what you'll look like. Maybe like this princess?

The story starts out, "One fine evening a young princess put on her bonnet and clogs, and went out to take a walk by herself in a wood; and when she came to a cool spring of water with a rose in the middle of it, she sat herself down to rest a while. Now she had a golden ball in her hand, which was her favourite plaything; and she was always tossing it up into the air, and catching it again as it fell." 

The princess in this story can come across as selfish, but the beautiful thing about fairy tales is that there's all this symbolism tucked away. I like to think of it as a story of a girl attempting to embrace her inner voice and power. Symbolism! Our brains love to play and explore and stumble through meaning and metaphor. 

I promise I'll try not to bore you with too many crazy details and interpretations when I'm reading you stories. Sometimes the story is enough.  

Parenting Philosophies #1

My friend Karen sent this little gem my way. Sounds about right!
Congratulations, baby. We've made it 31 weeks!

New Car Smell

Good morning, Maybe Hazel.

I'm about to head out the door for a little walk, and guess what I'll see on our way out? (Drum roll, please)  . . . A BRAND . . . NEW . . . (this is mo' bettah if you picture it in the Price is Right voiceover). . .  Mommy-Mobile!!!

Here it is!!! 2012 Nissan Versa. You'll be chillin' in the back. I like how you can see how duck-footed I am in the reflection.

As much as I wish it would have magically appeared outside our apartment, it did take some doing. I knew, logically, that I couldn't put you in the front seat of my trusty old Nissan Frontier. I mean, I could have done, but I probably would get the same looks that I'd get if I decided to throw back a pint of beer at my local pub (mmmmmm . . . beer . . .). Plus, realistically, it's just not safe to have you in the front seat of the vehicle. Really, it's not, so please don't ask to ride in the front until you're 12.

The purchase wasn't so awful, but it lasted forever. Thomas, my car salesman, is a comic-book artist. I kid you not, he looks just like Comic Book Guy (and although he no longer has a ponytail, he lamented its loss). I kept waiting for him to say, "Worst job ever," since once he found out I was a fellow geek and artist, he kept repeating that he was an artist first, salesman second. He even had his portfolio with him, so while I waited for this, that, and the other, I was able to take a gander. He's pretty legit. As an artist, anyway.

I had one breakdown (I made it to the bathroom and had a satisfying and long cry). It followed after the process had been going on for hours, and I was slowly finding out that my vision of how things were going to go (short-term loan, tons of $ for my truck, etc.) was not going to be fulfilled. Part of my truck's reduced value had to do with a stupid accident. A couple years ago, when I landed in Albuquerque after taking students to Australia, I thought I could drive straight to Phoenix the next morning. As I pulled in to get gas, I took the side of my truck against that concrete poll thing that keeps people like me from taking out the entire gas pump. It did some brutal damage. One little attempt at blowing up a gas station, and CARFAX is all, "Oooooooh, shame on you, girl." Poop.

After some push/pull with Comic Book Guy, his mysterious manager (seriously, why do these managers give off such villain vibes?), and team G-Locas (that's us, btw, until I can think up a more suitable nickname), the deal was done. Yes, loans (booooo), and yes, safe (yayyyyy!). My mom and her hubby William saved our day with a Happy Meal, and they prevented another breakdown by taking all the stuff out of my good old truck.

It's just a thing. A vehicle. But it's also a symbol. A metaphor for big change. I'll miss my truck (and all the silly stickers I'd plastered all over it--my favorites were from Japan). But, in the end, it's just a truck. And, more importantly, you'll now have a much safer place in which to store and fossilize Cheerios and french fries.

Fruits and Veggies

Good morning, Maybe Hazel.

According to the bump, you're transitioning from cucumber- to pineapple-sized proportions. Certainly, it feels that way! And speaking of fruits and veggies, it seems to me that if my body were in desperate need of certain nutrients, then I would have insatiable cravings for, say, a heaping helping of steamed broccoli. Ummm. No, thanks. But I would love me some french fries, followed by some chocolate stuffed with caramel. Maybe a handful of gummy bears for dessert.

I'm trying to eat well. I would say that I generally eat better than a lot of folks, but I have my weaknesses (currently: chocolate in its many incarnations, fries, ice cream). And I have my aversions (currently, any leftover that's been in the fridge, popcorn, fish).

What I'm trying to do is bring up my vitamin D and my iron levels. My midwife would like my D levels to be at 30, and I've brought them from a "9" to a "25," so, getting there. My iron levels actually dipped lower than they were a few months ago. Pretty sure I've always had anemia issues, and those issues started their rearing lame-sauce, weak-blooded heads when I was training for half marathons. It was recommended that I start taking Floradix and adding in some extra protein calories in the form of a green shake.

The green shake was a bust. It was only after I had a shake (a shake that tasted suspiciously like I imagined hay blended with grass might taste) that I thought to look more carefully at the ingredients. Among the hundreds of things on the "Don't You Dare Eat That" list: ginseng and licorice. Go figure. The Floradix isn't so bad. Reminds me of some taste from my childhood. 

Getting my D levels right will (hopefully, fingers and toes crossed!) make it easier to give birth to you. Getting my iron levels right will (hopefully, fingers and toes crossed!) make it possible for me to have the energy to keep up with you.