The Reason(s) I Haven't Posted Lately

Sigh...I keep going back and forth over whether I should just give up the blogging ghost. Should I try to keep it alive? Recognize that it's served its purpose and let it go? I dunno. There's a part of me that will always want to return to it, I suppose. It just won't be regularly. And that will have to be okay (for all 2 of my remaining faithful readers). 

So, I gave birth. Again. About a month and a half ago. This time around was wild. I mean, thank God everything went well. I don't mean anything negative happened. I just mean that it was...let me try to explain without going into all the gory details. Remember, I was induced. Basically, I was administered some agents to kickstart the process. Once I reached the halfway point, let's say, my water was broken for me. And less than two hours after that was done, buddy was born. Now, if you've never given birth, you might be thinking, well, that seems reasonable. Let me try to put things in perspective for you. Last time, I went into labor on my own and reached the hospital at that same halfway point. Seven hours later, my first little buddy was born. What I'm trying to say is this: what built up over a seven-hour period the first time was condensed into a two-hour period the second time. Like I said, it was wild. 

What was funny (in retrospect) is that the doctor thought he was going to just, er, check to see how things were going, and I was basically like, naw, playa, the baby is coming, I have to push NOW. And homeboy had to deliver little bud with one hand because he didn't have time to put a glove on the other hand. 

Here he is, a month and a half later:

Big bro is in LOVE. We have to tell him (constantly) not to love little bro too roughly.

Why did we name them with the same first initial? We'll be calling them each other's names from here on out, I guess. And I am outnumbered for life. Because we're done. Us four and no more.

The Second Time Around

This is probably going to be the last time I blog before our second little buddy gets here. 

Long story short, I'm being admitted to the hospital tomorrow night and being induced on Monday moring. Everything's fine. It's just that I have high blood pressure, am on medication to control it, and one of the known side effects of the meds that it tends to make the baby small. So, hypertension + being on meds + small baby = we're gonna induce you. It's really not a big deal. Women get their labor induced for all kinds of reasons all the time. At first I was bummed because I wanted to be able to go into labor on my own, but it's for my health and the baby's health, and that's the most important thing. 

A bit of really good news...the hospital is going to make an exception for me and allow our doula to be present! It was not what I was expecting at all, and I truly praise God that something that really meant a lot to me is possible for this birth as well.

I feel like I haven't quite had time to process it all. We're in this weird netherworld of having everything prepared but still not quite feeling prepared. 

I also feel this inexplicable sadness over my two year old not being the only child anymore. We always planned to give him a sibling, but now that that reality is practically here, it's almost like I don't know how to feel about it. 

Even more inexplicably, I feel another type of sadness about this being our last child. Like, this is the last time in my life I will experience pregnancy and giving birth. I'm not saying that my husband and I aren't in agreement that two is enough for our family. We totally are. It's just the simple idea of something being the end of a certain season of your life. 

So...

Baby

So, this pregnancy has been different than the first one. Which is a given, since, duh. There's also this little thing called a global pandemic going down. And oh, yeah, I'm three years older ("advanced maternal age") and have since developed chronic hypertension (genetics + black folks + age, I guess) since the last time, too (after I had little buddy #1 and before I got pregners with little buddy #2). All of that to say, I have more risk factors this time, and this bubbling gumbo of circumstances stirred together basically means that I've been going in twice a week for extra monitoring for several weeks now and that I'll be induced if I don't go into labor on my own by 39 weeks. That is, if everything concerning me and the baby continues to be stable. If anything changes, it could be before 39 weeks. I went into labor on my own with little buddy #1 at 39 weeks on the dot, so I think there's a decent chance that I will again this time either on or before the 39 week cutoff. So alladat to say, who knows?

I'd rather go into labor on my own. Not like my doula can come to the hospital with me anyway (thanks, COVID), but if I go into labor on my own, maybe she could help me for a while at home and offer virtual support once we're admitted. If I go into labor on my own, it would be close to ideal. But if I have to be induced...I mean, it's not the end of the world, I mean, women get induced all the time. But if I'm induced, then whatever chemically kickstarted labor ensues wouldn't be natural. Meaning, if it comes to that, I'll probably just be like, if you're going to do all that, might as well go on ahead and stick a needle in my spine and numb me from the waist down so I'm not steeling myself against waves of chemically induced labor contractions (much more sudden, stronger and faster than the natural deal). 

Sigh. We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Bottom line, the most important thing is healthy body, healthy baby, however that has to happen.

Free area rug?

So, the Wayfair saga continues. I finally got my money put back on the gift card, I ordered a whole 'nother rug and ottoman. Mind you, according to Wayfair, the order for the original rug had been cancelled because the brand or whatever had been discontinued. Well, would you believe that the rug from the canceled order showed up on our doorstep the other day? Um...okay. I actually did want the rug originally, and we actually do need another area rug in the sunroom...it still shows up as cancelled in my Wayfair account and still haven't been charged for it. Keep it? Attempt to return it? Since I'm supposed to be a child of God, I went ahead and called Wayfair customer service (again) to see what they wanted me to do with it. In the end I was told that they would either schedule a pick up to send it back or instruct me to donate or discard it if I didn't want it. UPDATE: They want me to return it. Blast! If I had never called about it, no one would have been the wiser. I mean, what do they want with a discontinued rug? Alas, I shall console myself with having "done the right thing."

Middle school memories

So, my son wakes up at around 4:30 am this morning crying while saying "Go home! Go home please!" Poor buddy. I'm thinking he had a bad dream. He is at the age where children start having nightmares and night terrors. I went in to calm him down and he settled back to sleep, but then I couldn't go back to sleep. So I started puttering around on my phone and for some weird reason thought about this nerdy kid I had a crush on in 7th grade. So, I did what any bored insomniac would do and Googled his name. How I still remember his name I have no earthly idea, but he has a distinct name and I'm 99.9% sure the person who popped up is him. I didn't even do that much poking around...like all of his social media accounts were like right there, and he looked like a late-thirties version of the 7th grader I remember. But here's the thing...we sat at the same table in Art class and we had an assignment to draw a portrait of our partner. He was my partner and I drew a portrait of him. Like the hoarder I am, I actually still have it. It's in a sketch book that I saved and stored amongst other masterpieces from that class and various and sundry accoutrements consisting of sentimental junk. It's all currently in our attic. Now, here's a question: If someone in 7th grade had drawn a portrait of you and still had it all these years later, would you want to see it? And another: But if the person who had drawn said portrait popped up out of nowhere and say, sent you a picture of it via social media, would you be weirded out? If those questions were hypothetically posed to me, I think the answer to both would be yes. Yes, I would be interested in seeing the portrait. I mean, it would be interesting to see someone's rendering of my 7th grade self, I guess. But yes, I would also be slightly weirded out. Like, was the person stalking me or something? Why now, after all these years? Right?

As of now, the portrait remains in the sketch book in the attic and I haven't taken any steps towards reaching out to my 7th grade former crush to send a picture of it. I probably won't. But let's say I did. Would it be utterly weird? I mean, any surface scan of my social media profiles would reveal that I'm happily married and mothering. Like, would your first impulse be to think anything untoward if you were to receive such a missive? I told my husband about it and he just shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess I would want to see the portrait, but it might also be weird." But, I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Or...nah. Maybe I should just leave well enough alone.

While waiting for Wayfair customer service to pick up,

I'm sitting here typing stuff that I wouldn't be typing if I were actually doing anything productive.

And yes, I said Wayfair customer service. My newly-low-key-on-social-media self made the mistake of scrolling through Facebook earlier today and I discovered that there are human beings who exist who deeply believe in a conspiracy theory about Wayfair being involved in human trafficking. (By the way, I am not friends with these humans, but I am apparently friends with other humans who post Snopes links to try to disabuse humans they are friends with of these notions.) My brain broke. It's sort of like, there are literal, living, breathing people out there who find it easier to believe in wholly unfounded conspiracy theories than they do believing that wearing masks in public can help stop the spread of COVID.

But I digress. Wayfair is nonetheless problematic as heck, but my momma gave me a gift card there as a housewarming gift and you best believe I'm going to use it. Area rug and ottoman, where you at? But see what had happent was I ordered an area rug, and these chumps cancelled my order because I guess they were out of stock. But the problem was that I had used my gift card for part of the expense and the money was supposed to be returned to the gift card in 3-5 business days. We're now on Day 6. Put bluntly, where my money at? So, here I remain, in customer service hold limbo until Jesus comes back since they're experiencing "unprecedented" call volumes.

I can't believe I'll be 8 months pregnant this week. I know I've said it several times before, but this really went by fast. I'm at that stage where I can look down and see my belly rippling, contorting and bulging like an alien life form burrowed inside is using my body as a host. And isn't that essentially what pregnancy is? That's literally what it is...a separate life form using your body as a host until it, er, emerges.

I remember last time, I had arrived to the pushing stage and I was doing my thing and the doctor asked me if I wanted to reach down and feel the baby's head as it was emerging. I was like, Um, heck no, I do not. (I didn't say that, tho. I just shook my head and kept going.) But honestly, I guess maybe for some women it's like an encouragement or something, like, "See? You're almost there!" But for me, it was like, Um, would I like to touch my baby's freakish, bloody head as it is literally emerging from my body? No, thank you! Seriously. I get that it's different for everyone, I do. But for me, while trying to concentrate on expelling an entire human from my body through some pretty intense pain, touching a misshapen, bloody baby head is the last thing I'd like to do. But that's just me.

And yet, I signed up to do this thing again. This time, I'm making sure to have my bag packed though. Last time, I went into labor much sooner than I expected and had my husband throwing random stuff in the bag. A mess. This time I'm not taking any chances.

A chicken empanada, a cheese empanada and two tacos al pastor

is what I begged my husband to get me for lunch the other day. It's from an old beat up taco truck parked beside a Marathon gas station. The shabbier looking the food truck, the better the food. I think it's a law of ethnic food trucks. He took a while to come back with the goods because there was quite a crowd ahead of him. I'm not a foodie, but I know enough and have traveled enough to know the food is like, actually Mexican and not watered down for gringos, so I was surprised when my husband said the crowd ahead of him was all white people. Maybe I wasn't surprised, maybe I was more disappointed because I wanted there to be at least some brown people lined up for the food, which would have ensured its authenticity. And do rural white Kentuckians even know what anything on the menu aside from tacos even is? I mean, maybe y'all know about empanadas, but do y'all seriously know what's up with tortas, sincronizadas, huaraches and sopes? I need to stop being so judgmental and let people live. Can't fault folks for wanting more out of Mexican food life than Taco Bell. 

I got my bake on recently. I delivered fresh loaves of bread to my neighbors and baked a second batch and shared a loaf with one of my colleagues. Our sons were born 3 months apart and go to the same daycare. Sometimes when we drop off my son, he gets a little teary and my colleague's son gives him a toy to comfort him, which is adorable and sweet. My colleague told me that the other day her son said, "JoJo is my friend." Just the idea that a little boy considers my little boy his friend just made me well up with tears. 

Welcome to home ownership. Welcome to the third trimester.

So, it's been nearly two weeks at our new abode. We're settling in slowly but surely. I had to put a lavender flower touch on our front porch:

We're so grateful for our new home. Things just worked out and we're truly happy. I guess I thought a lot more things had to be perfectly aligned before buying a home could be a reality for us, but once the necessity of having more space prompted us to consider it, the pieces fell into place more amazingly than I could have imagined. This is how God has worked in my life time and time again...

And yet. This is so weird and hard to explain, but even while my feet are resting comfortably on the hardwood floor, when I'm outside watering my hanging baskets of lavender flowers, when I'm out back on the patio furniture my parents handed down to us, while we're letting our son roam around our backyard inspecting the trees and flowers, I feel like it's not really ours. That it's still somehow impossible for us to own a house (even though we have the keys) or that we can't really afford it (even though we were approved for a conventional fixed rate mortgage) or maybe the bank thought we were better off financially than we actually are and that all the paperwork and tax returns and pay stubs we provided weren't completely accurate, or worse, somehow, that we don't really deserve it. 

It's similar to the feeling that I had when I got married. Like, because I had been single for a while, I had just gotten used to it and somehow felt like, even though I definitely desired a partner, that there was something about me that made marriage not for someone like me. And I don't even know what that "something" is, or what "someone like me" even means. It's just this inexplicable, elusive quality that makes certain things not for you. And when I say "not for" you, I don't mean that this quality makes you somehow unsuitable or unfit for certain things, I literally mean that they aren't for you. Like, they literally do not and cannot belong to you. Like, if you pick a gift out from under the Christmas tree and it has someone else's name on it, that gift is not for you. So, once the "gift" actually has had my name written on it and handed to me, it's still been hard for me to accept as truly mine. 

Even after 5 years of marriage, a kid and a half in, sometimes I look at my husband and wonder if he really knows who I am, and that if he had, would he have still married me. I don't mean that I'm secretly a serial killer or anything, it's just this stupid thought that there's something not completely authentic about the way I'm perceived or understood. I guess that's just another way of saying imposter syndrome, but for me, it's more complex than a fear of being exposed as a fraud, although that's definitely part of it.

Our new neighbors are mostly older and white, and while the ones we've met so far have been very friendly and welcoming—no-bake cookies and rolls with fig jam have been proffered—I've been hyper concerned over not wanting them to regret the slight browning of their neighborhood. I've placed thank you notes in their mailboxes the next day. I've, er, highly emphasized the lawn duties to my husband because I don't want them judging our yard. I pray that my bushy hair doesn't look too unkempt while out front watering the flowers. Can you imagine having lived in a house for longer than I've been alive? The rolls and fig jam neighbor said she'd lived in her home for 50 years. The no-bake cookies neighbor said she moved here in 1986 (okay, not quite as long as I've been alive, but still). I realize, in my more rational moments, that this is all ridiculous and my paranoia is just that, but this is a glimpse of my brain. And, also, like, thanks for the cookies and rolls because my pregnant self definitely destroyed them, but can we be honest and say we know you probably voted for Trump?

I was sitting next to my husband at dinner and we were eating some fried chicken breasts I made to go along with my mom's leftover greens, mac and cheese and potato salad. (Okay, only I was eating potato salad because my husband is picky like that). And I thought about the fact that the only reason he's eating greens is because of me. He also listens to a lot of black gospel these days, and I'm like, is this the skater punk I married? Like, I'm sitting here listening to Jars of Clay and 90s hits while he's blasting Eddie James. I know he's listening to this music now because of me. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. I'm just wondering if he thinks about it as much as I do. And even while I'm typing this, I know that he definitely doesn't. 

This pregnancy has gone by at lightning speed. I'm officially in the 3rd trimester. I have less than 3 months before showtime and I don't know how we got here that fast. I am a humpty-dumpty. Like, have you ever had a cart so full of stuff that it was a little hard to steer? That's how my body feels. Like an almost too-full cart that I have difficulty maneuvering. Although a lot of things have made it a bit more difficult to enjoy this pregnancy in the same way I enjoyed my first, it still feels like something new and exciting. I have a feeling this little boy is going to look like our first. He'll likely come out like his big brother, reddish with a shock of abundant, slick black hair that will eventually turn curly and brown. But what will he be like? What will he sound like? What will his personality be like? Will he be enthralled by the same things as his older sibling (clocks, pushing buttons, sunglasses, elevators, signal lights, Peppa Pig, chocolate cake)? We'll find out in about 12 weeks. 

Yet, here we are.

Hello. It's me.

So. Much. Stuff. Shall we?

1. Our sweet pea is a boy. So...guess I'll be outnumbered for life. Because this little guy is our last little buddy.

2. So, we're, um, almost homeowners. Long story short, we're gonna be needing more room soon and it just made more financial sense to buy. So, 3 bed, 2 bath, ranch style, hardwood floors (with a sunroom) and two-car garage, here we come. I want to set up a garden out back, but maybe I better focus on baby stuff for now.

3. This "unprecedented" semester is still lingering on. I still have presentations and finals to grade (UGH) and after that I have to meet with advisees and clear them for registration so they can register for fall classes. (UGH) I just want to not do anything and sit around, eat white chocolate-covered pretzels and feel the baby move. I just wanna be DONE.

4. This pregnancy is speeding by. I'm like, pregnant pregnant now and I'm just like, whajushappend? I hope this guy is mellower than his big bro. I'm certainly more chill about things this time around.

Once this semester has been effectively put to bed, I'll feel more able to breathe.

Pregnant During a Pandemic

I'm not usually a panicky person. I'm still not a panicky person. I usually have a tendency to see things as a bunch of hype and get highly annoyed with people who re-post of a bunch of fear-mongering, uninformed clap trap on social media. In times like these, I go on unfriending campaigns because ain't nobody got time for that.

But I have now come to the realization that this is not media hype, and that I should take it seriously. Where I am, schools have closed down, my institution and my husband's institution are moving to online instruction. Our son's daycare hasn't closed down yet, but thankfully since we'll both be working remotely, we won't have to worry about childcare if it does. I haven't yet decided whether we'll just keep him at home with us regardless. (One super con: It's hard to get things done with a 2-year-old running around).

I refuse to live in fear, so I am not having a full-on freak out session, but it is hard to not let my mind wander and imagine post-apocalyptic situations (cue images of empty shelves at the grocery store and such like) and have fleeting thoughts of not being able to protect my children from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

It's weird to say children, but considering that I am presently with child...(which is also weird to say, lol).

Sigh...anyway, we're staying home from church for the next few weeks. I know lots of sanctified folks might consider this decision a "lack of faith" or whatever, but look, while it's true that the Lord has not given us the spirit of fear, he has given us common sense. For goodness sake.

So, here we are. Scrambling to shift my classes online and trying to fight both a sense of encroaching isolation and inertia. It is going to be all good, but I'm going to be honest: it's times like these sometimes makes me question why I wanted to bring another human into the world.

Sweet Pea Is a Lot Bigger Than a Sweet Pea

Our sweet pea at 12 weeks

So, as you can see, Sweet Pea is getting big! I'm starting to show a little bit. This picture is just amazing to me. You can see the features of the baby's face! I told my students about the pregnancy this week. Didn't want them thinking I was eating too many Oreos. I could be wrong, of course, but I have a feeling this little sweet pea is a girl. We have names picked out either way. We'll find out in about a month.

Blueberry

Our little sweet pea is currently the size of a blueberry. (Well, I guess a little bigger than a blueberry at this point.) We got a sneak peek earlier this week:

Hey, little one!

I'm sort of hoping for a little girl this time. I would also be perfectly fine with another little boy, of course. But I guess my mom and I have always had a close relationship, and I would love to have that kind of bond with a daughter.

This is probably it for us. I feel sort of ambivalent about that. Just the idea that something is your last. However, to be honest, I'm anxious about the transition from one to two. Everything we're doing now, all of the expenses we have now, imagine them doubled. Two pick-ups and drop-offs. Two daycare tuitions. Twice as many diapers to change. (We're working on potty training with little buddy, and he has sporadically pee-peed in the potty like a big boy, but we still have a ways to go.)

Right now, I'm enjoying telling select people about the pregnancy. I love the way the words "I'm pregnant" elicit smiles, congratulations, surprise, hugs, laughter. They're such powerful words. But at the same time, I also enjoy the fact that it's still more or less a secret. You're sitting there, typing at your desk, going about your normal life, seemingly the same person you always were, but little do they know that you're not the same. That you have a tiny baby inside of you.

More Adventures in Motherhood

Happy New Year!

So...yeah. It's been a while. At this point, I'm 99% positive my audience consists of cricket noise. Nevertheless, if you're still out there, somewhere over the rainbow, consider yourself privileged to be privy to a tiny bit of life-altering info that I'm still processing.

I'm pregners.

It's not that it's a "surprise," necessarily. We were consciously trying for #2. But I guess I'm still in shock that it happened so quickly. With our first, it took 9 months. This time, it only took 3. My best friend says my body was "primed," and I have read and heard anecdotal evidence that it doesn't take as long with subsequent children, but still. There was still a niggling doubt in my mind due to my "advanced maternal age." No lie, the medical field calls the pregnancies of women over 35 "geriatric pregnancies." Ugh. I've also read that the older you get, the longer it takes. And I am rapidly nearing the precipice of my 40s. But we're not going to talk about that right now.

We're definitely excited. I mean, this is what we wanted. Little bud turns 2 in a couple of weeks, and we wanted him to have a sibling. And, like I said, I'm nearing the precipice of my 40s, so we don't exactly have the leisure of waiting too much longer. Ya girl ain't a spring chicken no more. That's for sure.

However, baby #2 opens up a whole new set of considerations, the most pressing of those being our living situation. We have a great little bungalow, but it ain't going to work with 2 little buddies running around.

We'll sort it out, with the Lord's grace and guidance. Right now, I'm just trying to focus on being happy and grateful about the prospect of having another child. It truly is a blessing.