She's here!

Baby Lia has arrived.

Message Grace at iluvalbion-at-yahoo-dot-com if you want to see the baby blog but don't know where to find it.

12 Days & Counting (it's like Christmas in July...or August)

I think I would like it if the baby decided to arrive early. Is that stating the obvious? Does every woman feel this way in the last month of pregnancy (12 days before her due date, to be more specific)? It’s not rational. I possess ample experience-based understanding of the intense workload that awaits me following this new person’s birth (not to mention the intense “workload” of labor and delivery). I do enjoy sleep and clean clothes and leisure time, and yet, by now, I’m willing to trade—to exchange my ever-expanding girth and increasing physical and psychological discomforts for the countless inconveniences caused by a demanding infant. A beautiful baby. A miraculous creature to care for, marvel over, love.

Before Birth: A Waiting Prayer

“Here, Lord,
We await your gift of life.
Grown in secret
Now in ripeness
Full fruited
Ready to be received.

Lord, we long for our child,
Borne out of covenant love,
Nurtured in love, hope, forgiveness,
Received as gift, blessing, joy.

Release in her abundant grace,
Enjoyment of all that earth affords,
Gentleness to those whose way has been hard,
Patience, kindliness and faith.

We receive, nurture and set free your gift,
Not only our child, but yours,
Yours to enjoy and delight in,
Ours to marvel at your generosity.

Lord of all the living
God of the uncreated and yet to be
Create in us community
As we await your gift.”

—Barrowby

Things to read while I wait

Since summer began, I’ve been trying to read more. I tend to be rather sporadic about reading. I have good intentions. And I have many good books. But sometimes my focus is elsewhere, such as putting on a fundraiser for work, or preparing the house for a baby, and I just don’t seem to want to read…even though, theoretically, I want to read (if that makes sense).

In the past 2-3 weeks, I have started and finished two lovely, well-written books: Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and “Women’s Work,” by Kathleen Norris, and Surprise Child, by Leslie Leyland Fields.

QM is about how God is accessible and transformation possible even in—maybe especially in—the most mundane parts of life. (That summary doesn’t do the book justice. It’s short; just read it.)

CS is the account of a happily married mom of 4 who, in her 40s, finds herself unexpectedly expecting…twice. While writing candidly about her 5^th and 6^th pregnancies, including the rise and fall of her ugly feelings, she also shares interviews with several other women, adolescents through middle age, who coped with this “problem,” too.

Last night I picked up a third book, one that has been recommended to me many times, by an author I have enjoyed in the past. About 60 pages in, I’m quitting. I just can’t seem to stomach Anne Lamott right now. Normally I can tolerate her whininess and occasional F-bombs because, underneath her edgy exterior, I find her funny, insightful and sincere in the Christian faith we share. However, her Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year is making me anxious and grumpy, and my already-hormonal state of being doesn’t need that kind of encouragement.

Moving on, I think I’ll try He Shines in All That’s Fair: Culture and Common Grace, by Richard J. Mouw. An author shift, for sure, from hippie to academic. But at this point in time, Grace needs all the grace she can get!

In Praise of Will (and clean cat litter)

Will might as well have brought me roses. That’s how excited I was to spot the box of Raisin Nut Bran on the kitchen cart where we keep our cereal. (And actually, I don’t really care for roses all that much. Years ago, I had a mean boyfriend who often brought me roses after behaving badly, as if the flowers’ sweetness would somehow compensate for his jerkiness. Not.)

Will is good. He buys groceries. He does dishes. He puts children to bed. He works hard. He sells books. (This is my rendition of Laura’s essay about Ma in Little House on the Prairie, from Season One…I think.)

In these last difficult days of gestation, while Will quietly helps in so many wonderful ways, there is one thing he doesn’t do well: Smell the cat litter. I never thought I’d say so, but I’m actually looking forward to reuniting with that task! (In case you are unfamiliar with this particular pregnancy “plight,” click here to be enlightened.)

—

A short-lived fascination with another person may be exciting—I think we’ve all seen people aglow, in a state of being “in love with love”—but such an attraction is not sustainable over the long run. Paradoxically, human love is sanctified not in the height of attraction and enthusiasm, but in the everyday struggles of living with another person. It is not in romance but in routine that the possibilities for transformation are made manifest. And that requires commitment. — Kathleen Norris, “The Quotidian Mysteries”

3 Sunday Sighs

Delivered Vi to camp today. Felt sentimental and strange because next time I see her, she might have a new baby brother or sister. Or not. (The waiting game—sigh…)

Crickets are “cricking” like mad. Reminds of summer eves in Michigan, where we visited my paternal grandparents during the “dog days.” (I had the front door open and was enjoying the nice breeze until a minute ago, when a nearby neighbor decided to start mowing his lawn. Really? At 8:42 p.m. on a Sunday? Sigh...)

One last little observation: I genuinely like the new yellow-orange license plates issued by our state. Based on complaints I’ve heard and read, mine is the minority opinion. Yes, they’re a lot like the ones I remember from 3 decades ago, and maybe that’s one of the reasons I like them—sentimentality. But I also like the “pop” of color they give to the roadways. The white ones with subtle blue graphics always seemed rather bland to me. And I’m not the sort of person who thinks it’s important that my license plate match my car. (Actually, I’m not the sort of person who places much value on the appearance of a car at all…but I do prefer color to bland. Do I contradict myself? Sigh…)

My latest craving: Invisibility!

There comes a point in every pregnancy when I just want to withdraw from the world. I don’t want to be seen. I don’t want to waddle anywhere to be gawked at, cooed about, patted, patronized, or even genuinely nurtured by well-meaning, good-hearted friends. I have reached that point in this pregnancy. I just want to be home.

Of course, I won’t get my wish. I still have to work. My blessedly good health contraindicates an early maternity leave. I probably will need to make a few more trips to the grocery store before my labor day. And I do want to go to church to worship God, my Creator and Creator of this baby who causes me to waddle. So I will carry on. I will go about the business of everyday life, even self-consciously, and hope that I can bear some light in this world, even as I prepare to bear this new child.

(But I do long for an invisibility cloak at such a time as this!)

Sports psychology in pregnancy

When I used to be a runner (oh, how I long to be, intend to be a runner again, if I can), I would talk myself through difficult moments of training and races.

First and foremost, of course: Getting out the door. “Just go, Grace—just go!”

On long runs, when I’d find myself getting tired and losing form (straining forward or slouching), I’d say: “Straight up and down, straight up and down…” and I’d picture myself as a marionette being held up by strings, like my runner-dad taught me.

The example that comes to mind these days, as a very, very pregnant woman—37 ½ weeks along—is hills. I’m not talking about the Adirondack peak growing out of my middle, I mean the gumption and perseverance it takes to run up a hill—a long, gradual hill with a steep incline at the top. My self-talk for that situation, as a runner, is two-fold:

1) Psych up: “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it...” Or, “I own this hill; it’s mine.” And,

2) Think beyond: “The body will recover, the body will recover—just get there, just get there—the body will recover.” And I looked forward to the relief of the other side.

As now.

Sleep tight, wet towels

I just hung a load of wet wash on the line. At night. Is there anything wrong with that? Bats flitted through the dark sky above me. I wondered whether it would rain while we slept, and whether the rain would be bad for the clothes. I doubted it. (Not that that it would rain—it might. But my laundry will fare just fine, I’m sure.)

It’s been hot here. And humid. So hot and humid that most days, when I’m not at work or holed up in my bedroom with our only source of cool air in the house, I’m basting in my own sweat. It’s hard to stay hydrated under these circumstances, but I am motivated. As I might have mentioned in a previous post, I was psyched out by a day-long bout with Braxton Hicks contractions. Those are the kind that don’t lead to labor. I was only 35 weeks then—baby semi-safe for birthing, but better left baking. Not having experienced any such pre-term symptoms in past pregnancies, I felt suspicious of the pains that visited me 3-4 times each hour from Sunday ’til Monday evening. “Dehydration,” deemed my midwife. I think she was right. So now I am drinking, drinking, drinking. Mostly ice water. (And peeing, peeing, peeing…3-4 times each hour.)

In other weather-related news, we had a furnace installed in this tropical spell. Will’s idea. His Facebook “About Me” declaration comes to mind: “I’m happy being a bit of an oddball.” I mean, really! Who buys a major household heating device when it’s 90+ Fahrenheit outside…and inside?! My dear husband. But I think it’s probably a paternal protective instinct. We have this new baby coming. Our 25-year-old furnace was giving us trouble at the end of last winter. And why not take care of these things well before they’re needed, right? (WELL before!) Plus, we had some help. A hearty “Thanks!” to our generous benefactor, who may or may not ever see this post. I’ll be sure to thank the person in-person.

That’s all for tonight. (I hope my laundry’s all right.)

Thinkin' About Drinkin'

(Not that kinda drinkin'...)

On the tails of my Tim Hortons iced mocha cappuccino confession the other day, my midwife (who, as far as I know, does not read this blog and did not know about my developing habit) gave me an earnest talking-to about avoiding sweet drinks this final few weeks of pregnancy. Basically, she said, sugar is only going to bulk up the baby, making delivery more difficult for both of us. (sigh) I know she's right. But...but... (sigh) So much for iced mocha capps for now.

When it's 90+ degrees and horrendously humid, though, it's hard to think of much else besides hydrating. I'm trying to be good, sticking to ice water for the most part. But then I happened across this yummy-sounding recipe in my daily Runner's World email message, so I thought I'd share it with those of you who are free to indulge:

Coconut Shake
Protein, carbs, and electrolytes make this an ideal drink to add to your post-run nutrition routine.

1 11-ounce container coconut water
1 cup cherry juice
1 scoop unflavored or vanilla protein powder
1/2 cup strawberries, frozen
1 banana

Add all the ingredients to a blender and whirl until smooth. Serves one.

Calories: 440
Carbs: 70 g
Protein: 27 g
Fat: 2 g

For more runner-friendly post-run beverage suggestions, here's the link. I'm looking forward to drinking and running not long from now.

Some mundane musings just to keep the blog rolling

I’ve been nesting like mad. A friend of mine is hosting a wedding reception at her house (mainly in the yard) next weekend. She’s “nesting,” too, in a different sense. “Don’t you wonder why you put off doing this stuff for so long?” she asked as we compared notes. My answer was a resounding “No!” I have no trouble finding things to do—things other than the little projects that pile up around the house. I read, I Facebook, I fart around, I blog. (Did I just write “fart around”? Yes, yes, I did. I’m pregnant and punchy—what can I say?) But now that the baby’s arrival is pending—and especially after experiencing about 24 hours of contractions last week—I’m motivated to wrap up what loose ends I can before my schedule gets swallowed up indefinitely by this new small person.

I won’t bore you with the details of my doings. But I will mention that I’ve had help, for which I am truly grateful. Some friends kindly offered to “shower” me with whatever baby things I might still need. Offers of baby stuff are rare for fourth-time moms, which is ironic in my case, since I had given away and therefore needed almost everything. However, over the past few months I have acquired baby gear galore via hand-me-downs and eBay. Therefore, I declined the shower and suggested manual labor instead. My friends (“with a capital ‘F,’” my mother says) have painted my porches, sorted my socks, and another one is coming tomorrow to scrub my kitchen floor! Thank you, friends!

My latest eBay find (and, Will hopes, my last for awhile) was a set of vintage birth announcements, like I sent last time for Pearl. I find the retro designs quaint and I like the idea of reusing something that’s already made and might otherwise go to waste. I do realize that it’s not wholly “green” to disperse the news via U.S. Mail, not to mention the fact that I’m having said vintage announcements shipped here from Richardson, Texas. But it was the Richardson that clinched it for me, after thoroughly scoping out the eBay options in this category. I ruled out any that were obviously “boy” or “girl” cards, since we don’t know which s/he is. Then I ruled out cards that were offensive to me in other ways—either by design or implication. And then I settled on the ones with the clothesline theme. I’ll let you wait and see what they look like. The clothesline reminds me of a spot-on essay I’ve been pondering lately, Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and “Women’s Work,” by Kathleen Norris. The Richardson reference is to my late paternal grandmother, who was certainly not spot-on in so many ways, but we are who we are because of those who went before us…even in the most marvelous families, it’s by the grace of God.

Lastly, a recipe. I’ve indulged in a few fancy iced coffee drinks from Tim Hortons and McDonalds recently. At Tim Hortons, if you ask for your small iced capp to be made with milk not cream, it cuts the calories by more than a third! When I asked for this substitution at the McDonalds drive-thru, the guy on the other side of the intercom actually said to me: “Yeah, it’s just a pre-packaged bag of stuff, so it won’t make a difference.” Here’s a homemade solution I found on Facebook (where else?) from a fellow pregnant lady—I’m gonna try it!

Crystal Z’s Iced Mocha Latte

Combine 2/3 cup sugar (or 2/3 cup Splenda), 2 Tbl. baking cocoa, and 2 Tbl. instant coffee with 2 cups boiling water. (Or, substitute 2 cups of hot brewed coffee for the instant coffee and water.) Whisk until well blended. Stir in 1 cup half and half (evaporated milk, fat free half and half, or even milk work well, too). Pour into 2 ice cube trays and freeze 8 hours.

Pour 1 cup half and half (again, fat free half and half – even skim milk works well, but, of course won’t taste as rich) into a blender. Gradually add frozen mocha cubes; blend until smooth. One tray makes about 2 tall glasses.

Just don’t let the kids taste it or you won’t get any.