Emerging from the postpartum shadows

I'm starting to see the light and feel the warmth of the sun. I'm starting to enjoy the cool breeze, and smile easy and laugh easier.

I'm starting to breathe again.

Because for awhile there, I wasn't. It was all choked up in my throat and my heart kept pounding but....as Jordan Sparks would say, no air. 

Rhenner is a few days shy of being 4 months old. And now I can look at him and say I'm so glad you're here. I'm so happy you're in our family and that you have cute, fluffy hair that sticks straight up and a big nose and an even bigger smile. 

I'm going to be honest. Rhenner? Well, he broke me. He shattered every ounce of confidence I had as a mother and he threw the broken pieces in the air for the wind to catch and carry away. And just like that, I was a mess. I thought I knew what I was doing. And therein lied the problem: When it comes to kids, I should remember that I never know what I'm doing.

I thought he would be just. like. his. brother. And funny thing! He wasn't. He was hard. He was really hard and I dreaded every day. I would lie down at night and think, I have to do that all over again tomorrow. How am I going to survive this?

A friend of mine told me that it really looked like I had my shit together (her words, not mine, but I'm keeping them nonetheless). The fact was, only my instagram feed and facebook status updates had their shit together. But not me. Definitely not real-life-Meghan.

Rhenner didn't take a pacifier like his brother did. And it wasn't just that he didn't take a pacifier - he didn't take comfort. Like, at all. People suggested putting him in a carrier. He screamed louder when he was facing in towards me. People suggested I swaddle him. He fought harder against the fabric, against himself. People suggested putting him in the carseat and taking him for a ride - Bad. Bad, bad, bad idea. Rhenner detests the carseat and screamed everytime I would put him in it. It didn't matter how long the drive was, he would scream the whole time. I hated driving him anywhere, because it just made me feel awful listening to him. I tried nursing him to sleep - he would nurse, and then just as he was getting tired, he would get mad again and attempt to rip my nipple off my breast. When he was tired, he didn't want to be held. He didn't want to nurse. He didn't want to rock. He just wanted to sleep, and he didn't know how. It tortured me. I would shut myself in his room for 45 minutes at a time, all the while he is screaming and clawing at my shirt and just begging for sleep. I would get him -finally!- asleep, only to have him wake up within minutes, starting the entire process all over again. Even Grandma, when she came to visit, knew he was a mystery. "Hmph." She said. "He is one tough customer, isn't he? You really got your hands full."

I took him and Axton to a park play group one day. Just to try it. Just to prove all those depressing thought in my head wrong - thoughts that told me I would never again get to go out or take Axton places or have other people watch my kids. Well, while we were there, Rhenner got tired as one-month-olds tend to do, and he was crying and I was nursing on a park bench and Axton is pouting next to me, saying Mommy please come play with me? And nursing isn't helping and walking or swaying isn't helping. So, a friend offers to try....She asks, "Does he take a pacifier?" Good grief, if he did, don't you think I would have tried that by now? I watched him pound his fists against her chest, clawing at her shirt, his face getting redder and his screams getting louder. I watched her face as she handed him back to me. It was a look of relief.  A look that said to me Boy I'm glad he's not my kid. And again, I was defeated.

We had friends over for dinner another night, and I couldn't enjoy a single minute with them because Rhenner wouldn't go to sleep. I walked up and down our driveway, up and down, up and down. I walked slow, I did lunges, I bounced and jiggled and really the only way he would ever fall asleep was after just giving up. But I couldn't put him down in his bassinet because then he would wake up, and I couldn't go back and enjoy my friends because our talking would wake him up. So, once again, I had to seclude myself in his room and just wait. It was such a lonely time.

On top of his crankiness, he was also extremely congested. There were countless nights I had to sleep sitting up, holding him at an incline, so he could breathe while he slept at night. Below is a video I took of him around 4 weeks old. I took the video because everytime I tried talking to someone about it, it was like they didn't believe me or thought I was making a bigger deal out of it than I needed to. So I wanted to prove to them that this is what he sounded like all the time, and that this wasn't normal.

 I talked to several different people - is it a cold turned something serious? Is it allergies? Milk sensitivity? His primary care physician thought it could be reflux, but didn't think it was serious enough for a prescription. Another doctor I took him to thought it was just a lingering cold and he would get over it. Another one didn't know what was causing it, and could only suggest taking him to an ENT. When I went in for my 6 week check up with my midwife she asked, "Does he always sound like this?" and I said, "Yes. Always. Thank you for noticing." She suggested some natural remedies for the congestion and for reflux. I didn't know what was causing it, but it was incredibly frustrating to not have answers. It was also guilt-inducing to think that if it was milk allergies, I was the one causing it. So I cut out all dairy products, feeling a little bit better that at least I was trying to find a solution.

I welcomed the night. Night time was the only time I could catch a break. Rhenner would, after several, clustered feedings, sleep in bed next to me. He would generally go right back to sleep after nursing. So, we co-slept. Because, like I said, it was the only break I got. I woke up in the morning only to look forward to going back to bed at night. That, my friends, does nothing for a person's happiness.

I felt guilty about Axton, too. Rhenner sucked so much energy out of me and Axton was dealing with so many changes at once - I was not patient. I didn't have enough time in the day to be the kind of mother I wanted - and used to be! - to him. I constantly thought, "What was I thinking? I was a great mother to just one boy, and now I am simply a mediocre mom to two boys! Was it worth that? I will never have another kid, because then I will just be a sucky mom to three kids and that's not fair to anyone involved." I felt guilty that I wasn't enjoying Rhenner the way I had hoped to. That I was telling myself this was just something I had to get through, rather than moments to embrace. I was simply just....living. Just going through the motions. I felt guilty that I was constantly comparing Rhenner to Axton, thinking how easy Axton was! When really, I probably just forgot the hard stuff with him.

So, as I'm sure you can tell now, when it came time to fly to Idaho with both boys by myself, I had extreme anxiety. I got so worked up and so nervous, I made myself sick the morning before the flight. I spent most of that morning in the bathroom. Going through security, Rhenner was in the carrier - which, of course, he hates but I don't have enough hands for anything else. Axton was screaming for Daddy when he saw him not go through the security with us, and I am - what else? - crying. Finally, Rhenner is exhausted and he allows me to put the pacifier in his mouth - he doesn't even suck before he is asleep. The plane ride itself isn't bad; Axton watches Curious George and the humming of the plane helps Rhenner sleep. But getting off the plane? Everything is chaos! More crying and screaming and everyone is staring and I make eye contact with no one. Just keep looking forward. Just keep moving. Axton is running away from me and I choose to save him over my camera equipment and when I get back to my stuff, someone had been waiting by my bags to make sure no one stole anything. Thank you. 

And then we have the most hellish drive of my life - 4 hours from Salt Lake City up to Idaho with the child that can't stand to be in his carseat. I literally had to turn myself off. I had to block it all out. I had to be emotionless. I will say it again: I was broken. 

Being with my mom was good for me, but it also made me rely on her. She didn't leave me alone too often while we were there, but the few times she did have to work, I would get panic attacks when I would find out I would have to be alone with the boys. I dreaded being alone with them. Do you know how that feels? How awful it is to know that you dread being alone with your own children? My mom kept encouraging the pacifier and I just...everything felt wrong and out of place and again, I felt guilty that I was forcing something on him that he clearly didn't like.

We visited my sister in law, whose baby was only 5 weeks younger than Rhenner. We were there for 3 hours and I had to feed Rhenner twice while Landon slept the entire time. I looked enviously at him, swaddled and sleeping through the noise and movement and thought, "Rhenner never did that."

Going to church was embarrassing and felt completely like a waste of time. There were two other moms who had babies within 5 days of Rhenner, so we all returned to church around the same time. My first week back to church with Rhenner was miserable. Rhenner, as per usual, was not going to sleep. I walked into Relief Society, sat down, and he immediately started crying. So I carried everything back out with me, mumbling to someone, "Nope, that's not happening." There was way too much going on for him. It was too hot outside for me to take him out, someone had locked the Mother's nursing lounge (say what? That is NOT okay. It's not even about nursing in front of other people, I just needed a quiet room that loud kids wouldn't come barging into so he could fall asleep). So the only room I could find was the one right next to the Relief Society room. I knew every woman in there could hear his every wailing, his constant screaming. I knew what they all were thinking - about me, about Rhenner, about my mothering abilities - or at least, I thought I did. And I hated it, so much. The two other moms with babies the same age would look at me with their pity-eyes, and ask, "How is he doing?" I know now it was out of love, but in the moment it felt like they were rubbing it in. Rubbing in their perfect easy babies ("Oh man, this baby is SO much easier than my first. How about for you?!?") that magically fell asleep during the Sunday school lesson as they gently swayed them back and forth.

In the midst of all this, Axton stopped napping. And my already train-wreck of a life dissolved into nothing but tears and sadness. Once I realized he was done with his nap, I had a week where I just moped around the house, calling it a "quarter-life crisis." I told Adam I no longer knew what I was supposed to do with my life - especially when it came to the one thing I spent time on outside of the home: photography. "What am I even doing? I have to quit photography. I will never again have time for it. Besides, who am I to capture someone's wedding day? I am not that good. Nobody should ever trust me with capturing the most important day of their life. I am going to ruin someone's wedding. I've got to quit this. Axton is obviously having behavioral issues. It must be my fault. I need to focus more time on him. I should be doing more with him..." And I haven't even mentioned anything about dealing with a postpartum body, trying to get back in shape, my body not being my own, things hurting and aching still.  It went on and on and Adam didn't know what to do with me and I didn't know what to do with myself.


.........

I reread this post and I think that it does not do justice to what I was going through. It just makes me sound like a whiney person, with a slightly-above-average cranky baby, when really, I was depressed and it was really, really hard.
.
But then, slowly, things started getting a little easier. Rhenner started taking a pacifier occasionally, and then more and more often. Which meant he started to fall asleep peacefully. It was no longer a violent fight to get him to relax, he could peacefully sleep in my arms. I cried the first time it happend because I didn't realize how beautiful of a blessing it was, and what a difference it made, to not have him fight me so hard. His happy, awake moments started lasting longer, too. He would give me a smirk and my heart would leap for joy - a small reward for all my hard work that day. I am starting to read him easier, know his needs quicker, spread out his feedings longer. Axton is getting used to having him here, realizing he isn't a temporary inconvenience, but a permanent addition to our family. Of course it's still hard - but it's an I-can-handle-this hard. It's not a break-me-in-half hard.

I forgot how much I hated it when people asked if I had a "good baby." Somebody asked me that recently, "Has he been a good baby?" I honestly didn't know how to answer that. As hard as he was, he is still such an innocent little soul. He is still perfect and he is still mine and he is who he is for a reason, so how could I ever call him "bad"?

\Now that I am starting to be able to enjoy this stage with Rhenner, I've been reminded just how fast they really do grow. With Axton, I was so eager for him to reach the next milestone - eating solids, sleeping through the night, napping on a regular schedule, walking. Now, with Rhenner, I'm stretching everything out as long as I can. He is still sleeping with me most of the time, and I haven't even thought about introducing him to solids (even though, technically, he could start now).

I wanted to write about this as it was happening, I wanted to say, "Hey, I'm having a hard time," instead of writing about it after the fact. But really, I couldn't even wrap my head around it. I couldn't even see through the fog and the pain. It's been quite a journey, getting to this point. Motherhood is always a journey. It's true that every child really is his own person, and I will be fully prepared for the next one by....not being prepared at all. By being willing to take whoever comes to us and being patient. Until then, I'm learning who Rhenner is and how he fits into our family. Taking it one day at a time and finding joy in the journey.

An End of 2nd Trimester Rant

In 3 days I will have finished my 2nd trimester. And for the past few weeks, I have been feeling a slight decline in my energy levels and quite the increase in my moodiness levels. Especially when those old ladies at church just don't know when to keep their mouths shut.

Like yesterday - I got asked again if I was carrying twins. "No. I'm not." And the lady next to her: "And you're even tall." As if THAT'S supposed to help???

"Not tall enough, I guess..." I responded sharply.

I was ok up to that point, really I was, but this next one really got to me. It's all lovey-dovey, pat-pat, "how ya doin' sweetie?" Until the dreaded question:
"So when's this baby coming?"

"May."

"May?!?! You look like you're DUE!"


My mouth literally droooooopppppeeedd in her face. Right in her face, there were my tonsils and teeth and tongue and heck, probably my stomach - but she was oblivious. "I guess I'll stop asking - you've got a LONG way to go still."
(And this is when I wish I could be like my friend Collette and tell her what I honestly think of a comment like that rather than just politely laughing when I don't find it funny at all.)

Yes. Thank you. Please DO stop asking. You and the rest of them who must have forgotten what it feels like to be pregnant because it's just been to dang long for you all.

And then I get all cranky and go deep into my thoughts and I cry for my present "woes" (yes, I realize how pathetic I sound).
I will never ever ever be the same Meghan again.
Good bye to the Meghan in college, Good bye to the Meghan I've spent the last 22 years becoming because it's alll going to change in 3 short measly little months.

Will I ever not feel tired again for the rest of my life?

I am ending a significant phase right now - everything I have ever known about what it means to be me is ending. It's the closing of an entire book of my life, not just a chapter. And, sometimes, just for a moment, it's kind of sad to realize that. And sometimes, like yesterday after church, I think to myself : "I really don't like being pregnant." NOT that I don't like or want to have this baby in me, because I know that's what it sounds like, but that pregnancy is not so fun sometimes. See the differenJce?
Gasp! Terrible, I know.
But seriously, that first trimester? Yeah, it totally sucked. And I wasn't even that sick. But it was icky. For three months straight. And then, sure, I got a perky 8 weeks in there, and boy did I enjoy them, but now I'm just back to being sore every morning I wake up - like I ran a marathon in my sleep or something! -  and getting chided by strangers who feel they know how my body should be looking right now, and being tired and lacking motivation.

And then other times I go even deeper into this emotional brain of mine, and I cry for the pains I know will come in the future:
My heart will never be the same again. It will be ripped out of my chest, torn into several different pieces, and thumb-tacked onto the forehead of each of my children. It will be stretched to its limit, and it will beat stronger with every kiss and hug and smile - but it will never go back into this body. It will always be walking around with my children, from here on out. I realize that. And sometimes I look around me when I'm in public, and I see all these people out there, just living their own lives. And I wonder how often they think of their mothers? Are they close to them? Do they miss them? Do they love them? Most likely their mothers were just like I am now -- totally in love with the little human dancing in them, reveling in each and every movement, altering their entire lives for the well-being of their baby. But I realize as I look at all these strangers - and even myself- that this baby is not mine to keep. He will not always need me the way he does now. He might even hate me during his teenage years and then I'll be replaced with a wife and that will just be life and I'll be happy for him but sometimes I already get sad thinking about it. And all I can do is cross my fingers and pray he will still kiss me when he sees me - no matter how old he or I get. 

.....I know. I know. There are women who would give anything to be in my place right now. And I know how very blessed I am to be carrying this baby, and if I could give every willing woman the desire of her heart to carry their own, too, I would. I definitely would. Because that's not even what this about. I would stay pregnant forever if it meant having this baby. Because it's a privilege and it's special --- but it's also hard. And I think I am allowed to have and share these feelings without getting bombarded with talk of ingratitude or selfishness.

And yes, I will wrap up this rant with my revelation - to end on a good note, the one that keeps me going through it all, the one that wanted me to be in this situation in the first place.

Sometimes, when it's late at night and I'm trying to wedge a pillow under my belly so it won't rip off my back in the middle of the night, and I'm still appalled at the things people think they can get away with, I feel a heavy kick in my stomach. And I stop what I'm doing and put my hand on my belly. And he kicks again - "Hey Mom, don't worry bout them fools. It's just you and me, baby. That's all that matters."
And I hear a voice in my head:
It was never about them anyway.


It never was, and it never will be, about anyone else but me, this baby boy, and the man that helped me create him. And when I stop and feel and listen for that, I always get a smile on my face and the rest of the world around me silences down to a pin drop, and I can almost hear the thundering of this baby's heartbeat tuning everything else out. And he responds to my peace with a few more nudges, letting me know he's in there --

And he's worth it.

For now, he is mine - ours - our son. And that more than makes up for any of these silly little pregnancy heartaches I get.

Conversations through a Megaphone

So, I want to tell you guys thanks for your lovely comments.

Sometimes blogging feels like having a blind-folded conversation into a megaphone, not knowing who is listening and never knowing who will reply.

While of course this blog's main function for me is a journal of sorts, something I will one day print out and let my posterity read like my other journals, and it's also a way to keep those far away updated on our lives.

But, it's nice to know I'm not just shouting into the wind for nothing.

And then sometimes I just feel like having a conversation but I can't think of the *right* person to have it with. Get it? 

Like, either I can't think of a person who would care to have that particular conversation with me, or, if I think they would care, I don't think they would have much to contribute to the conversation (like my grandma, for instance).

So usually I just end up having these conversations with myself.

I will give you two examples (and sorry, both have something to do with Twilight).

1) Why do people feel the need to trash talk Stephanie Meyer? 

Look, I'm not a huge Twilight fan. I read the first book, and it was pretty entertaining, but I couldn't finish the rest of the series. Just not my thing. No big deal. And I don't think the movies are all that great, but I think that has less to do with Stephanie Meyer than many other factors. 

But that's not the point. 

The point is not about whether I like her novels or not, the point is, 

Don't you have anything better to post as your Facebook status? 

Don't you have any other photos to have in an album besides 'I Hate Twilight' collages?

I was reading a girl's blog where she actually said she

hated Stephanie Meyer 

and that she had come up with a list of

reasons why Stephanie Meyer should be dead

("First of all, obviously [she doesn't understand] the real world. How [does she] survive in it?)

This absolutely blew my mind.

How dare one person say that about another! 

Come on, guys, we all know that we really don't care if her books are crappily written or not, if you are trash talking her, you're probably just jealous that she made millions of dollars off a love story. In fact, I'd even venture to say, 

She's a freaking genius.

She must be.

She has captured the hearts and money of people around the world in four novels.

Could you do that?

I certainly couldn't. 

One of the smartest girls I know drew serious inspiration from those novels for a large chunk of time --- I don't know why, I don't get it, but I respect her and therefore I must say there must be something to it.

...Sigh. Anywho, that's one conversation I have had with myself, and now I'm shouting it into a megaphone, though I'm not really looking for a heated discussion on this (a conversation is different indeed from an argument).

2) The next conversation I've had running through my head with myself is,

Are Robert and Kristen (the real life Edward and Bella) actually getting married?

If so, HOW COOL IS THAT?????

I would be just tickled pink if Jenna and John (real life Jim and Pam from The Office) were to hook up (though I realize both are already married to other people). It would be like The Office wasn't just a tv show, but reality, and I could  believe everything on it were true and that their happily ever after actually did happen and that unicorns really do exist and that eating donuts everyday won't make me fat and that I will find a pot of gold at the end of that rainbow.

And then I'd really be satisfied.

But maybe Twilight fans aren't all that excited about it? Probably not, now that I think about it. They will probably just be upset that Robert isn't an eligible bachelor anymore. 

I guess I just love to see love happening in others, because I've already found it for me (ahhh.....)

Well.

There you go.

Two wonderful examples of fulfilling conversations I have had with myself, that I am now sharing with you through my giant megaphone of a blog.

And if you just don't care, or have nothing much to contribute,

that's totally fine - I don't even mind. 

I will definitely have a more exciting blog post in the near future.

For one, my dog is turning one tomorrow.

(wahoo!)

And for another, 

I only have five months left until this baby comes.

And I've got some thoughts on that subject.

My First Trimester

My whole first trimester I really wanted to be pampered. I wanted everyone to know I was pregnant so that everyone would ask me how I was feeling and then I could whine to them. Yep, I was that pathetic.

 But I also wanted to make sure we (me and the baby) made it through the first trimester before sharing the news with everyone. So mostly I just whined to my mom, my sister-in-law(s), and, of course, Adam. 

My mom is the best sport ever. She would text me everyday to ask how I was feeling and everyday I would say something really exciting in response, like, 

"Oh I just threw up my applesauce," 

"Saltines aren't working anymore," 

or "Don't even get me started on the raw ground beef in the refrigerator."

And then she would send something sympathetic back, and I'd feel a little better.

Some days I didn't believe that Adam believed me when I said I wasn't feeling too well. I would always throw up just after he got in the shower, or after he had already left for work, and then by the time he got home from work I'd just be starting to feel better and I'd be hyper from sleeping and lounging all day. But he's really been a good sport, too. He helps me wobble out of bed when my back hurts too bad for me to stand up on my own, and he buys me Taco Bell when nothing else sounds good, and he takes the trash out so I don't have to smell it. 

Now I'm getting into my 2nd trimester and the last few days I've noticed a slight improvement. I don't throw up in front of passing cars when I pick up Kaleo's poo outside anymore, I have been able to stay up much later than I could during my first trimester (meaning 10pm instead of 7pm), and I even woke up this morning at 8am, after only getting 10 hours of sleep instead of my usual 12+ hours.

So, I wanted to outline some of symptoms and when I started feeling them. This is mostly for my own record, but also for anyone curious or wanting someone to compare their pregnancy to. Sorry if it's TMI, but really, we're talking about pregnancy here, so you should probably just get used to it or come back later :)

Week 3: Didn't know we were pregnant yet, but I did notice that my boobs hurt a trillion times worse than they ever have before - way  more than normal PMS. I couldn't even lay on my side with my arm resting against me without pain. This was my first clue. 

My next clue, and this one is embarrassing, was... I wet the bed! A grown woman! I was so embarrassed when I woke up and had to tell Adam but he was just like, whatever, put a towel over it. I was mortified. And I had NO idea what was wrong with me. 

Week 4: Just found out we were pregnant, super excited. I weighed 136.5 lbs. This first week I wasn't sick at all, but I stopped craving sweets and started craving SALT! This week I gladly ate tater tots w/ ketchup, french fries, pickles, hamburgers, pizza, raman noodles, chips, and chicken smothered in Frank's hot sauce. I did have some slight cramping, with occassional sharp, shooting pains on either sides of my lower abdomen. It worried me some, but I never bled so I assumed it was part of normal stretching. 

This one was weird - I started walking up every half hour it seemed like in the middle of the night, and I'd have to toss and turn and completely arch my back to stretch my belly out. I would do this several times throughout the night. I felt like I'd been doing a thousand crunches every night in my sleep and my abs would be sore and tight in the morning. 

Week 5: This is when the nausea began to kick in.  I would get hungry fast - within an hour after eating. It was like my metabolism quadrupled. I was always looking for food, but suddenly not much was sounding good anymore. I was beginning to get very sensitive when my belly was empty, and needed to put something in there ASAP. Still sore breasts, always feeling bloated and gassy (poor Adam).

I still wasn't sleeping well; Tossing and turning, and I'd be up 2-4 times a night peeing - I had to start limiting my water intake after 4pm. 

Pregnancy glow? Beautiful skin? Not me. I'm breaking out like my high school days. 

Weeks 6-8: I was still trying to nanny, and it was miserable. I was extremely sensitive not just to hunger, smells and sight of food, but also just the mere thought of a particular food could send me gagging over the kitchen sink. Deciding what to eat and when became a literal torture - but I couldn't stay hungry because that just made it worse. I would wait as long as I possibly could before eating, and then I'd be so starving - I never felt good. 

I started having severe back pain - I couldn't turn over with the strength of my abs or back alone, I had to use my arms to pick myself up and move. I was exhausted everyday from getting up early and not sleeping well at night. 

I also was constantly worrying about the baby. I was always looking up stuff online to make sure a silly symptom was normal. I hadn't had my first appointment yet, and so I felt silly even telling my parents I was pregnant (my dad asked me how I knew I was pregnant  if I hadn't had a doctor's appointment yet. "Um...I got a positive on a home pregnancy test? I haven't had a period in the last 6 weeks? And I'm sick everyday? Isn't that enough?") I felt like I needed to take a test every other day just to make sure it was still in there (I didn't. I stopped after two). 

Weeks 9-12: I still felt very sick everyday, and absolutely no motivation whatsoever. After three weeks of constant nausea, it begins to get old. I stopped feeling like myself and gave up on all projects or goals I had. I didn't want to look at the computer screen or read or cook or move. I was just glad to be home and wearing pajamas. Adam made a comment about the ward thinking I was some sort of social recluse, and that's exactly how I felt. 

At week 9 I started taking belly pictures and writing a journal entry/letter to the baby.

I realize I have to give up ice cream. It makes me wayyyy too mucusy, and then I'm swallowing mucus all day and that alone makes me puke. 

My clothes were starting to get tighter - I felt fat trying to wear any of my normal outfits. I put away my skinny jeans and my high-waisted zip-up skirts, only kept out my "fat jeans," and flowy dresses. I started using the rubber-band trick on my jeans, and only wearing really long loose fitting t-shirts. 

I had my first doctor's appointment at week 10, and got to hear the baby's heartbeat. This was such a relief and a comfort. I started telling more extended family members. A few days later I had a scare when my thyroid levels came back low (I have hypothyroidism - have dealt with it since I was 12, and something I was trying hard to monitor since finding out I was pregnant) and my obgyn told me he wanted me to see a high-risk specialist. Just those words alone scared me and I freaked myself out for the next week and a half before seeing him.

At the end of week 12 met with the specialist - I weighed 141.4. We had our first sonogram, and we got to see our baby moving and kicking, and while we were watching both Adam and I felt like it was a little boy (we find out for sure December 20). The specialist calmed our fears and gave me a new prescription and some advice, and we decided it would be safe to share the news!

Week 13: I have started feeling up to my usual 30 minute walk with Kaleo in the morning again (something I had long been shirking). I've been writing my novel, taking more pictures, starting more projects, and cooking more meals. I've been much more social lately. I still get sick, but I can feel my energy levels coming back. I've been sleeping much better at night - not waking up as much and not peeing as much, and I've noticed a decrease in my back pain. I'm starting to get a bit of a pooch in the front, though to other people I probably just look a little chunky. 

So now that I'm caught up with the weeks, I'll probably do weekly updates. I found this fun weekly survey that I might post every couple weeks just for fun, along with a photo. 

How far along? Almost 14 weeks

Total weight gain/loss: Almost 5 pounds! Yikes!
Maternity clothes? Not yet.
Stretch marks? No, but I'm sure they're coming
Sleep: Getting better.
Best moment this week: Going public with the news! Everyone has been so excited for us and it makes us even more excited.
Miss Anything? Eating raw cookie dough and deli meat
Movement: Nope. Just pretending.
Food cravings: Still salty and meaty and proteiny.
Anything making you queasy or sick: Smells - bathroom, garbage, dog poo, raw meat
Have you started to show yet:  I'm getting bigger, but probably not because of the Lemon-sized (3.4 inches, 1.5 oz) baby in me, but because of gas and some extra pounds :)
Gender: Nothing for sure. Intuition says boy.
Labor Signs: Nope.
Belly Button in or out? Still very much in
Wedding rings on or off? On, and loose - like normal.
Happy or Moody most of the time: Usually quite happy, lately.
Looking forward to: Feeling the first movement/ starting to show more.

My friend Collette makes a good point about the facade that is the blogging world, and got me thinking about why I blog what I blog and why I blog when I blog.

Typically I only blog about really cool stuff, like traveling to Europe and camping and a cute puppy.

But obviously that's not our -- that's not my --- entire life.

The other stuff, the stuff I usually don't blog about, the stuff that takes up the majority of our lives ---

isn't all fluff and cream and happiness.

It's also fighting with my husband about letting me put the tent up the way I want to, or playing the full game of Scrabble with me, or keeping Kaleo inside the tent with us, regardless of how bad he smells from all the puke that came up on the car ride to our camp spot.

It's also seriously considering, for awhile there, giving our dog back because he is

so much more work than we were originally anticipating.

What with that one time, only 2 weeks ago when he was "supposed" to be house-trained, and he started pooing on the carpet, so I ran and picked him up, told Adam to take him out the porch door, but he didn't make it in time and ended up pooing in my arms (the dog, not my husband),

 and of course the neighbor's 5 year old daughter is standing there, watching everything,

and I'm only in my underwear.

And we all know he has a serious carsickness issue that is completely incompatible with our lifestyle.

It's not getting up at 5am every stinkin' morning like I said I was going to, but maybe every other day and thinking,

"Hey, that's pretty dang good!"

It's also being mildly miserable while in Europe because I only have two shirts, two pairs of undies, one friend who is constantly texting her now-fiance when I haven't even emailed my husband in 7 days, let alone see him in 3 weeks, one dad and one brother who won't wait for me to go the bathroom or take a picture of another old church I'll probably never see again.

It's also getting the highest fever I can ever remember having the day before my nephew's funeral, and crying through his mother singing him his last lullaby before burying him, while having such a stuffy nose that I literally can.not. breathe fast enough to swallow so I'm choking and sobbing and wet and gooey and slimey with snot.

It's also being in a post-college slump/depression of wondering what I'm doing with my life and my English degree, and why I'm "wasting" it on a nanny job? And how about my own kids? Cuz watching other people's kids certainly isn't helping with that motivation.

When does the selfishness go away enough to throw them in the mix?

I feel like I'm pretty honest on my blog.

But sometimes when I do blog about crummy stuff

(like my nephew dying, or being scared to death about graduating college or being sick of Hawaii)

then I just feel totally and completely and utterly ungrateful and such a whiny butt.
And I figure nobody wants to read about the tough stuff anyway.

( In fact, I'm already starting to wonder if I should really post this, or just throw it out and figure I at least got the benefits of getting it out of my system.)

When I read whiny  honest blog posts, depending on how well it's "done"

I have one of two reactions:

Either I'm grateful I'm not the only one and that their life isn't as perfect as they make their blog seem,

or

I think, Oh please, you're just fishing for compliments

So what do we want to read about when we log onto other people's blogs?

What are we sincerely hoping to find there?

Good craft ideas?

Cute pregnant bellies that aren't ours?

Travel photos we didn't take?

Lives we don't lead, people we don't love, don't know?

That's what I look for sometimes, and I'm not really sure why or if I should be.
Though, most other times, I do enjoy blogs for the sake of keeping in touch with friends and family so far away.

But sometimes when I read an honest blog post, like Collette's,

I stop and think about my motives and what I'm actually getting out of this blogging thing.

Am I doing it for me?

If not, who am I doing it for?