For the love of storks

Believe it or not, even with all my discomfort and sleepless nights, sometimes I forget that I am pregnant.

I will be sitting here, minding my own business, and my belly will stretch side to side. I catch myself thinking in split seconds like this, "Wow, my stomach is really active. What the hell did I eat?"

Then I realize, "Oh, shit, there is a person living in there! I forgot!"

(Read the post on brain farts to understand why such thoughts cross my mind.)

Prior to getting pregnant I wished for storks (and some days I still do). I couldn't fathom the idea of my belly growing that far with a human being in it and natural birth always seemed so unnatural to me.

I didn't want to go through pregnancy. I just wanted the baby.

My husband explained it to me one day, as he set on his son's bed after he left, that nature wants me to carry a baby so I can get to know him, little by little.

My stepson had just left when that summer was over and he would be gone to his mom's, which is in another state, for a few months.

This always hits my husband really hard. He usually gets quiet for a few hours, if not a few days.

Whenever he arrives from dropping stepson off at the airport, he puts his son's belongings away in a slow and morose manner. I learned very fast to avoid this disheartening ritual by cleaning up the area before husband could get back. He had asked me one time, "Can you put his shoes in a closet?" and initially I thought he was being lazy, but soon realized he just didn't want to deal with the fact that the house felt quiet and empty without his hyper kid.

Even after straightening up the place as to appear as if no child had ever visited, such as this day, my husband would still sit on his son's bed, and look out the window, lost in thought.

Feeling helpless, not knowing what to say, I thought with my buttons, "I have to give this man a child; pregnancy, stork or not," and that's where the idea of a baby came about.

I said out loud, uncomfortable with his looking out the window and feeling so low, that I was ready for a baby, but not ready for pregnancy. I asked him, joking, attempting to light up the mood, why weren't there storks, when he explained to me why pregnancy was so necessary in a parent's experience.

I wondered, how can I get to know a fetus, though? It's just a fetus, it's not a baby yet. It doesn't have a personality, or thoughts, or wishes, or free will.

Or does it?

While going through painful contractions the other night, I learned from my baby books that contractions start with the baby. His brain sends a signal that he is almost all cooked and is about ready to make his entrance into the world.

I had no idea that babies actually have any saying on when they can come out.

Also, my baby has taught me some interesting aspects of his personality, already in the womb.

He doesn't like showers, or when I shower. The moment he hears the water, he kicks and stretches and throws a fetus tantrum that usually stops after the shower is over.

Baby also doesn't like when I scratch my itchy belly. He will punch the source of the itch. My husband has this theory that my nails in contact with the skin sound loud to the little one.

The baby reacts to the voice of my stepson and to my husband's touch. I picture in my head him leaning his ear closer to the edge of the belly and trying to hear what is going on, then acting nuts wanting to come out and play.

By eight o'clock every night, he wakes up and starts his mambo, which lasts until, oh, about three in the morning, when I finally sleep, just to wake up an hour later with acid reflux.

I guess husband is right (but don't tell him I said so) : storks would totally kill the mood. I barely know this person and I love him so unconditionally much already, thanks to his kicks and random jabs. Now I can honestly say I wouldn't have it any other way and that there is, in fact, a science to this madness.

Nursery (phase 4) - I think we are done!

Pinterest.com is like craft porn. You pin the crafts, look at the pictures, imagine that you are doing them, but that's how far you will go...

I wanted to make my craft fantasies come true, so I decided to create a distressed canvas of stepson for the baby's room.

I figure the baby's room needs a picture of his brother, since he lives far away.

When I told my husband my new project, he said, "What's up with all the old and run down looking stuff for the baby's room?" (he was referring here to the other crackled stuff) and I smirked, "It's to match his dad, so we are keeping a theme going: old and run down."

Truth is, I can't afford antiques and do enjoy very much making a mess. Some day I may get tired of old and run down looking things, but as for now I can live with them (my husband included - just kidding; he is a very handsome guy).

First, I needed to finish the other projects:

I glued some type of velcro behind the letters so that they wouldn't damage the walls. I don't trust them that much, even though the package says they are sturdy and trustworthy. We moved the crib away from the wall, since I can totally see those letters flying about with the first little earthquake.


Next, we hung up the crackled frames and curtains.

I told stepson to go stand next to his dad and pretend he was helping for this picture (while his dad cussed under his breath because he couldn't get the curtains straight). Stepson did a pretty good job pretending he was helping! He learned from the pro!


I bought something called gel medium (the matte kind, but the glossy is also nice), a sponge brush, a cheap canvas and something to hold the canvas up.

I blew up a cute picture I had of stepson at our wedding. I had put it into sepia beforehand and printed with our own home printer on plain paper.

Then I applied gel medium to the canvas, splashed some water on the paper image and glued it upside down to the canvas.

About three hours later, when the gel medium was dry, I brushed water on the picture and started to rub it with my finger until the paper left the canvas (like a beer logo leaving the beer bottle when it is nice and cold - did someone say beer?).

This is tricky because you can easily rub the ink away.










After rubbing the picture as much as I could, I applied another coat of gel medium to keep the integrity of the image. While wet, the gel medium looks blueish, like on this image.


Stepson looks like an important military figure from the 1800s. It turned out very cool!

I put this picture on the crackled dresser, which is still pretty naked (we may add a lamp there).

Here is the end result of the nursery.

We may still get a tiny lamp for the dresser, probably with a red shading, the color of some of the patterns of the bedding and maybe a rug.

I think otherwise it is pretty much done!!!

What would the honey badger do?

If the honey badger looked larger than life in pictures...

If the honey badger didn't sleep well for several nights and came across as a royal bitch the next morning...

If the honey badger cut into a line of people waiting to pee because it really needed to go...

If the honey badger had to say no over and over again to people inviting themselves to visit the honey badger baby and came across as antisocial...

If the honey badger went off on a jerk that cut him in traffic...

If the honey badger started to get back fat...

If the honey badger came across as selfish and paranoid for claiming he will hoard the honey badger baby and not let anyone touch it...

If the honey badger is caught eating pumpkin cake again...

The wise thing to ask yourself in moments like this is, what would the honey badger do?

The honey badger wouldn't care, because the honey badger doesn't give a shit.

(if you have never heard of the honey badger, look up Crazy Nastyass Honey Bagder on YouTube)

"Nothing can stop the honey badger when it is hungry"

Things that make you go hmmm

The Octopus Alien (read the post on octopus alien in the September file to be introduced to it) has been more active, more alien, and less octopus. I can now distinguish a little head, a little butt, a little back and sometimes feel a little limb waving hello across my belly button, which means this little guy is still breach.

During the last ultrasound, the specialist found amusing that he was standing straight up, head on my stomach, feet on my cervix, like a tiny soldier in detention. As she moved the ultrasound machine on his belly, though, he set down, got comfortable, and showed us his man parts proudly.

Sometimes he decides to lay sideways and stretches his entire little body, making my belly flatter and punching a rib in the process. I have been woken up because of this baby yoga. Last night was no different, so here I am, posting about it.

There are some weird movements, however, that no books will touch and talk about. Heck, some doctors don't even know what they are. I wanted to share them here for some other moms out there in the cyberspace googling this and, like me, losing sleep over it.

Belly clicking sounds

Sometimes my belly goes "click" when the baby yoga begins. I am not sure why that happens but I have read that it is either just water slushing or little cartilage-bones cracking. Some parents have reported that the baby still makes a similar sound after it is born, because their little joints are so stiff (or maybe so malleable?).

Baby "breathing-like" movements

My little guy is facing my back, so that's one good news about his position, which means he may not be born sunny side up.

Because he is facing my back, I can feel his head and sometimes it bulges significantly out, right above my belly button.

Lately, this little head makes strange movements, in and out, as if it is breathing or sucking on something really fast.

Even my husband saw it and got concerned that maybe the baby could be having a seizure. The Internet doesn't help much with titles that say, "weird baby movements may signify the probability of autism," but reading the rest of the article, the author clarifies that this is after the baby is born.

I have found, surprised, from talking with other moms in pregnancy forums that the movement pattern is in fact breathing practices. The baby is inhaling and exhaling amniotic fluid and this is actually a good sign that the little one is practicing his future wailing for when he comes out.

For all the mommas reading this out there, relax, those things are common and normal.

Know thyself

I learned a lot about myself by first moving to another country on my own and then by going through a divorce.

Some of the lessons, for instance, were that I don't like, nor understand, people who do drugs, that Scuba diving and caving can be spiritual experiences and that my grandfather was right: while siblings are friends God gives us, friends are the brothers and sisters that our heart chooses.

I have also learned that my favorite hiking trail was as beautiful without my ex husband and started to truly appreciate my own company.

Growing a person is another rite of passage that has forced me into looking at my character and soul through a life rear view mirror.

I have found for instance that,

A) I am annoyed at humanity more often than I'd like to admit. I don't really like people, whether in traffic or not, and that has nothing to do with pregnancy. The hormones just overhype my pissed off days and allow me to get away with it.

B) I dont have ADD, as one therapist suggested. I was just too overworked to think straight. I may be a little scattered brained, though, but nothing worth Ritalin.

C) Coming from someone that has always been very active, I finally get it: working out is HARD, and it is so much more appealing to grow fat while laying on a couch.

D) On that same note, I used to not be able to sit still for more than five minutes and thought people that watched too much tv had no life... I have learned that I am perfectly capable of laying on the same position for hours on end without feeling guilty and that there is something truly addictive and fascinating about mindless tv shows.

E) My body has a mind of its own and that I should have been listening to it more closely. Pregnancy has put me more in touch with it. For example, my body knows when it is hungry. It tells me when it is full. It gets jittery and acts funny when there is too much sugar in it. It gives me a headache if it doesn't have enough water. It craves something similar to what it needs and it is my job to interpret it. It gets bloated when there is too much sodium and too little potassium in it. It knows coffee makes it anxious. It gets lethargic and tired (and maybe even depressed) as a way to tell me to slow down and pay attention. It feels fantastic when it is active.

F) I have become excellent in distinguishing and eliminating toxic people from my life.

G) I don't hate my body. Although I joke and complain about my weight, I am surprisingly comfortable with my figure, maybe for the first time ever.

Turkey, baby and I

It's five in the morning and I am here in the kitchen with a defrosting turkey that doesn't look defrosted at all. I am looking at it and it is looking back at me, defiant. I take him out of the refrigerator, sit him on the counter and whisper to it as to not wake anybody up, "You should be nice and ready for the oven by now, you know? You're such a turkey!"

Today is thanksgiving day and we all finally went to bed at midnight last night. Of course that's when Matthew woke up, stretched his little legs and started to wiggle his little behind side to side to what it feels like the Macarena dance (and of course that's the song that stays in my brain for the rest of the night).

Every time I start to doze off, out from my unconscious come the voices of latino singers, at full blast, HEY MACARENA! AAAAY!

Yesterday, however, the baby got me worried by not moving as much for a stretch of two or so hours.

I switched positions, poked him, got him upside down in a downward dog position and finally pissed him off enough to receive the largest blow on my ribs to date.

Laying in bed after our fight, I mapped my belly to find out where exactly his head was.

Here is how to map a pregnant belly:

Belly Mapping

Suddenly a hard bulge protruded by my left oblique and I literally held part of my baby's head on my hand. It is the size of a grapefruit and oh, so tiny!

Moments like this make me so thankful that his kicks are painful. It must be terrifying for those moms who stop feeling the kicks. You know the baby is in distress and maybe even gone.

Now it is six o'clock and the sun is rising. Matthew and I are still awake. At least he will go back to sleep in his cozy cave. I, on the other hand, in a few hours will have my fingers inside of a partially defrosted and raw poultry's ass. Wish me luck.

Nursery (phase 3) - Appliques make it into frames

The frames and letters have dried and I applied a protectant to the crackle finish.

The appliques arrived and I glued them randomly to the hard paper for frames that I got at Michael's.


I put the appliques on the frames without the glass, so it would become more clear and blend in with the wall of the nursery.


The letters are also ready. Now we just have to find a way to attach them to the wall!

Mismatched soundtrack

I listen to jazz and blues and other old people music.

This always catches people by surprise because I do it mostly when no one is looking. Just like my self-help books, they are not to be seen by others. For guests eyes, I will usually leave out on the coffee table a Hermann Hesse classic or something about astronomy and they will be listening to Led Zeppelin (which is also a classic, mind you).

The soundtrack that goes on in my Pandora and my car, however, is lately something boring you would hear in a coffee shop. My mother said from behind me, a week ago, "That's something my father would listen to," catching me by surprise in my room while I jammed to Louis Armstrong. "Please don't tell anyone," I joked.

With that in mind, I want you to make a mental picture of a small pregnant person driving a Jeep, where her belly is almost touching the wheel (no, I haven't traded cars with my husband yet), and the song playing is "Salt & the Sea" by Gregory Alan Isakov: (open this song on a separate window and come back here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIIryGosfZk).

Now picture tall, overachiever palm trees along the road and the ocean in a distance. It's sunny and uncharacteristically warm for a fall day.

Suddenly, the small pregnant person realizes that there is an over sized and camouflaged war truck tailgating her (now larger) behind uncomfortably close. Said truck finally passes small woman, speeding angrily, as if she is occupying space by driving on the speed limit.

About five tan helicopters, those with two helices and mean looking people inside, pass by also too close for comfort to the top of the Jeep on their way to land, interrupting Gregory Alan Isakov from singing about the salt and the sea.

Bombs explode in a distance, sounding like thunderstorms, shaking the windows of the car momentarily.

Men in uniform stop to salute the Jeep while parked in a red light because it has a sticker on it that announces who is driving it. I'd hate to break it to them, but this small pregnant person with a pink tank top is no officer. I wave, a little embarrassed, but secretly enjoying the salutation.

Other trucks, tall trucks, show up out of nowhere, angry music playing in their speakers, and pass the Jeep that plays the mellow song. The young looking drivers with their heads shaved give the pregnant lady a stink eye, until they notice surprised that the driver is a short civilian girl and that there is a blue sticker on the car, and they slow down.

You see, my music and I don't belong in a military base. We are too calm and too pregnant.

I wondered with my buttons, "Why is everyone so pissed off here? Is it a prerequisite to go to war?"

I arrive at the commissary pre-thanksgiving and realize why that is; the overall bad mood, that is.

All kinds of elderly people and pregnant women have decided to buy turkey today as well. So this is where we round shaped and jazz listening people gather in a military base. Also, this is where we stand in the way, taking up space and just acting dumb.

Bottom line, the commissary is an infuriating place to be during the holidays (or any weekend, for that matter). For those who have never been to the commissary, it is a cheap grocery store on steroids, for military personnel only.

Because it is cheaper, you have to be armed with blunt rudeness and prepared to get frustrated. If you try to get cranberry sauce in a jar, for instance, you will be pushed and shoved so many times in your attempt to get it, that you may just give up and decide it is easier to make it from scratch, just because there is no one in the aisle of things that are made from scratch.

An advice to anyone that hasn't been to a commissary yet: don't go pregnant. You will need to pee fifteen times and when you get back from the bathroom, your shopping cart may not be there anymore. Heck, your cart may not be there when you leave it unobtrusively in a corner to go fight for the cranberry jar.

I leave the commissary so angry that now my Pandora plays Metallica and I am tailgating the person in front of me uncomfortably close, because I need to get out of this godforsaken place.

Now I understand why Marines are so pissed off all the time. It's not their training. It's the commissary.

Brain Farts

The urban dictionary defines brain farts as,

A massive, horrible release of stupid that is often offensive to the senses and may create a social faux pa in some settings. Brainfarts often result in an intense feeling of embarrassment and shame compounded by an inability to explain what the hell just happened.

and also,

A gap, interruption, or uncontrolled shift in a chain of thought resulting in a lull, pause, and/or blank stare during oral communication and sometimes involving the loss of short term memory.

My brain has been farting a lot since conception. This is one more thing they don't tell you (and I am telling you friends that are considering getting knocked up) : when you get pregnant you check out from common sense world, or any train of rational thinking and normal body balance and start releasing a lot of stupid.

You bump into furniture and sometimes mumble sentences that make no sense, but it's all good because you will forget all about it in a second, anyway, since your short term memory is worth crap.

You will find yourself doing some of the following:

- Looking for your cell phone all over the house, and getting really worked up about it while opening every drawer and every purse until you hear your friend on the other side of the line, "Aren't you USING your cell phone right now?" and you will have to say, embarrassed, realizing suddenly that the phone has been with you all along, "I found it!"

- Trying to turn off the TV and saying, "Damn you piece of shit, just turn off!!" and realizing your car is honking because you have been pressing the panic button of your car key thinking it was the remote control of the TV (because they look so much alike, right?).

- Finding the actual remote control of the TV in the refrigerator.

- Sucking your belly in for another person to pass because you are taking the whole aisle space of a grocery store and realizing that it doesn't go in.

- Looking at your reflection in the mirror and realizing that your hair brush is half way through it from a few hours ago when you were brushing your hair and got distracted with something.

- Parking in front of Starbucks when you are supposed to be at a client's house at the other side of town and only then realizing you don't even want coffee and have no idea how you ended up there.

- Throwing the cheese sauce from packaged macaroni and cheese in the trash and the paper in the pan.

- Forgetting what this blog was about and have to read it again.