Se Hace Camino Al Andar

My mother is one of my biggest fans, as mothers are wont to be. She asked me the other day, mournfully, if  this “slice of life” thing was almost over?, and would I continue writing them?, because she loves my SOL posts.

Today is the last official day of the Slice of Life challenge. Yesterday, Ruth posed this question:

I was touched by Kevin’s heartwarming reflection via a podcast that he posted today. He reflects about why he writes for 31 straight days each March. Will you follow his lead and reflect about how the challenge has impacted you?

It is an excellent and appropriate prompt for this, my last daily slice for the challenge.  I don’t normally blog everyday, and sometimes I go a few weeks without writing a new blog post. I suppose that is the curse of having a personal blog that doesn’t really have a theme or a direction. I just write about whatever I want, whenever I want, if I feel like sharing. I certainly don’t write for the feedback, because I think I can count on two hands, the number of regular readers I have!

Because this was a “challenge,” I was determined to see it through to the end. I did the challenge last year and didn’t submit a post everyday. This year, I’ve succeeded in that sense and I tried to stay true to the theme of the challenge–offering daily glimpses into my life, both inner and outer. Since it is not my habit to blog everyday, it’s inevitable that some of my posts would end up being less-than-interesting and maybe even trite, or what I call “phoned in,” just to get my daily post in, for a sense of follow-through.

Overall, though, I think forcing myself to write everyday, or more importantly, making the time to write is an excellent exercise for someone whose writing chops have gotten a little rusty, and whose personal time revolves around a certain somebody’s naptime or bedtime. When I was in the classroom, I tried to write along with my students when they did their daily writing. Beyond wanting to model thoughtful writing,  I also valued that time on a personal level, and hoped to impart that sense of value to my students.

I also enjoyed discovering some new blogs. I couldn’t respond to everyone, everyday but I tried to comment on a variety of blogs every week. I admit, I tended to comment on the blogs that whose lead-ins I found interesting or compelling, from the links posted on the SOLC page. I was also more likely to comment on blogs whose links showed up in my twitter feed, or by reciprocation, commenting on the blogs of those who made the time to comment on mine. I’ve made a suggestion to Stacy and Ruth for how SOLC sharing and commenting could be easier the next time around, so hopefully next March will bring a better /easier/more efficient way of getting around all the blogs that participate in SOLC!

Looking forward, I see that all this writing is incredibly important for me, because in the act of writing, I’m making time for myself. I’m compelled to generate writing prompts for myself, to make blog writing easier (you can take the English teacher out of the classroom but…). Even if I don’t write everyday, I’d like to write more regularly. April provides an excellent opportunity for this, since it is National Poetry Month! I used to plan my poetry unit around this month, so why not plan my blog around it? I have an iPhone app that I downloaded, at my mother’s behest, called Poem Flow. (Even if you don’t have a iPhone/iTouch, you can check out the poems, on their website.)  What will happen with this new personal challenge? I don’t really know but you can stay tuned to find out!

I received a text message today relaying a voicemail from someone at the hospital where I am due to give birth in a few weeks. Right away, I knew what the message was about. I called the hospital back, and the person on the other end told me that my c-section was scheduled for April 20th at noon.

I “pencilled in” the date on my Iphone calendar, and labelled it “tentative.” The baby is still moving a ton, and it’s been making BIG movements lately, just having a ball in there. We think it’s a combination of a small baby and a healthy amount of fluid, taking advantage of all that room. What a lucky baby to have the penthouse version of a womb! So, yes, I’m hopeful that the baby will eventually settle down into a headfirst position and the hospital will be able to cancel my OR reservation.

But note that hopeful does not equal completely delusional. I am all too aware that there’s a good chance the baby will remain breech (or go back to breech, as the case may be), and I’ll be keeping my date with my OB on the 20th.

Most of all, I cannot wait to meet this baby already, whom I’ve already dubbed Cranky Pantalones The Second. How can I not? I really cannot wait, because CP The First has been such a joy.

I spent an exhausting but fun day with Alice and her cousins, and a friend and her charge, then wrapped up the day sitting around the table with my family for the first Seder of Passover, late into the night. And here I am, at 11:40pm, writing a slice under the wire. That’s how you know it was a good seder.

Chag Sameach, friends.

Well, we didn’t get a new ride but it feels like we did! Our car has been through a lot since we moved, and even before then, it was long overdue for a tune-up and oil change. Why did we wait so long? We were busy, I guess, with moving and adjusting and so forth.

The car was making a rattling noise and it was very loud inside the car, especially when going above 65 on a highway. We’re in Albany for the passover holiday and when a local friend found out that we needed to get the car serviced, she implored us to bring the car into her husband, a mechanic.

This friend is due two weeks after I am, so this was an opportunity for us to go visit and catch up. They live on a farm and Alice loves to watch the chickens roaming around, raising a ruckus. We picked up all the supplies Chris would need to change the oil, and do the tune-up, and picked up a pie, too (banana split pie, YUM!). With Alice and her cousin Bella in tow, we made our way to their farm in a rural area outside of Albany.

While Henry and Chris worked on the car, Rachel, the kids and I hung out in the kitchen, catching up and eating pie. (Don’t worry, we saved some for the men!) A few hours later, thanks to Chris, we had a car that was almost like-new again or so we felt, in comparison to how it felt before Chris got his hands on it!

I thought I was going into labor last night but it turned out to be a false alarm. But now I really can’t wait to get this baby out. What a tease! Moving on…

There’s only a few days left of this SOL challenge, and I don’t normally blog everyday.  I usually don’t have anything to say that’s worth blogging about and tonight is no exception. But I’m determined to see this through to the end, since I didn’t last year!

And with that, I bid you good night.

It is Friday and I. AM. BEAT. Not from this week but just today! Alice and I spent most of the day out of the house, our first stop at The Picture Book Museum. We caught the tail end of storytime (I tried so hard to make it on time!), then hung out in the library there, playing with the toys and looking at the books until I decided it was lunchtime. We had ourselves a lunch date at a market nearby, sharing an egg salad sandwich and potato chips. Then, it was off to Target where Alice, mercifully, slept in her stroller the whole time so I was able to shop for more than just one thing. I picked out some things I thought I might need for my hospital bag, figuring that at almost 37 weeks, it’s probably time to pack that bag.

We headed over to the pet food store, where Alice checked out these very cool colorful, fat little fish that peered at us through the glass. Before leaving, she said “Bye Bye Birdie!” to the birds in the store. (And yes, I had Bye Bye Birdie stuck in my head for awhile there!) We took the long way home, a meandering drive over Route 47 that took us past bucolic farms and through small town centers. Because there are no traffic lights on this route, it was actually not a long ride at all!

A new episode of Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution is on in a few minutes, so here’s my sign-off! Tomorrow, we’re off to visit an artist friend of ours in upstate NY, then headed to my parents’ to spend the Passover holiday, where Alice will be reunited with her beloved cousins. Can’t wait!

Henry and I bought this limited edition print by Eric Carle sometime last year. As soon as we saw it, we knew we had to have it because it was a variation on a recurring theme in our lives at the moment.  We were anxious to leave the city and finally make the move to Western Massachusetts. We were out of excuses for why it wasn’t the right time. The only thing that stood between us and Western Massachusetts was a job for Henry.

I am a firm believer in the power of positive thinking (thanks largely to my dad). I only applied to one college and I got in. I applied to one graduate school and I got in. Most of the things I’ve gotten or accomplished in my life, I owe to the power of positive thinking and it’s partner-in-crime, pro-activity. I don’t believe in God, per se but I do believe there are forces at work in the universe that guide us on a path, that things happen for a reason and it’s best not to muddle too much in the affairs of the universe. By the same token though, if you want something, you have to work to get it. You have to actually plow the field, and not just think about it. Action gets results, one way or another. Action sometimes just has the effect of keeping despair and negativity at bay, which is a good result in and of itself, because it gives you the will to go on, in the face of obstacles or delays.

So, when Henry and I decided that we had to make this move happen, I made it clear that he needed to stop looking for jobs in New York, that he should focus all his attention on Western Massachusetts, even if it took a long time. (And it did take a long time… nearly a year to find the position that he has now.) We felt that the longer we waited, the harder it would be to move. As it is, we moved at a difficult time. When the job came up and we moved, I was 7 months pregnant, and our apartment was languishing on the market (and still is!). We knew we were taking a big risk and a big leap of faith but it felt right, we felt like we could deal with the financial hardship of paying for two residences, despite the salary cut that Henry took. We have our eyes on the prize and it is literally a field. Someday, the apartment will be sold, and we will have the money we need to buy our farm. It might take five years or it might take ten years. Like my dad told me when I applied to my one and own college, “come hell or high water,” we’re getting there.

When I did my weekly grocery run at our local supermarket, I swung by the meat section to check out the selection, as I usually do and as usual, I walked away empty-handed. This particular supermarket is pretty good at carrying local produce and some local speciality items but that’s not the case with their meat. We opted not to join a meat CSA this year because we don’t eat enough meat, nor have enough freezer space to justify laying out hundreds of dollars upfront to buy a meat share. Our local food co-op has a slim selection of meat that is incredibly expensive. So, my fallback, when I want to buy meat is to just go to Whole Foods, since the is the farmer’s market is not yet open.

When I mentioned that I was going to take a trip out to Whole Foods (and yes, from where we live to where WF is, is definitely considered a trip), Henry suggested that I try to find a more local place to buy the meat. I was skeptical but I did a google search and hit upon the CISA website, which lists sources for buying locally in the wintertime. Jackpot! I scrolled through the list and found what I was looking for, the last farm on the list. It turned out to be only a few miles from us, so I checked out the website, found myself suitably impressed and we gave them a call to see if their farm store was open for business today.

Henry took a break from work in the afternoon, and we took a drive out to Wells Tavern Farm off of Route 2, in Shelburne, MA. After a few wrong turns, we found the farm (which we had driven past as soon as we made the turn off Route 2. Oops.)  We were greeted by a flock of chickens and Farmer Carrie. She introduced herself, we made some small talk about the kids (she has a son a month younger than Alice and a kindergartner), and we crossed the road together to the farm store across the way.

I like stories and I wasn’t disappointed when I asked her how long she’d been on the farm. The farmhouse she lives in was built in 1790 and was a tavern, once upon a time, serving as a local waystation where people could get their mail and so forth. The house was built with wood harvested from a grove a few miles away and brought up to the farm by a team of horses. The farmhouse and the land it sits on has been in Carrie’s family for generations, though not continuously owned. At one point, her great-great-grandparents sold the land and years later, her grandparents bought the land back. Her grandfather was unable to enlist in the war, and so was given the task of raising 5000 chickens on this land. The chickens didn’t fare well, owing to some freak weather and a wind-blown barn roof but the family remained.

Today, Carrie and her husband raise heritage livestock and sell it at various farmers’ markets in the area, as well as from their farm store. We bought two pounds of ground beef, from grass-fed cows, and a side of maple-cured bacon. Carrie generously bestowed upon us a carton of eggs and some breakfast sausage. Score!

One pound of ground beef became meatballs in tonight’s dinner and boy, was it good. We’ve experiment with grass-fed beef from different sources and I haven’t been blown away by what we’ve had so far but this beef was good. It wasn’t overly characteristic of the grass that the cows eat, nor was it bland and flavorless like CAFO meat. I think we’ve found a winner and I’m glad to say that I know my farmer!

I’ve got about ten minutes before Lost comes on. Henry is watching Gummo, which makes me too uncomfortable. Instead, I’m eating a bowl of cereal and thinking about today.

Seriously, I have the best sister ever and Alice has the best titi ever. As predicted, she went insane when the elevator opened and she found Ari and Kate inside. I have never been so happy to see a person in my life!! They arrived a few minutes before Henry and I needed to leave to go to the hospital for the version, a procedure you can read about here: External Cephalic Version. Alice and Ari  wasted no time going to work on creating the infamous Brodsky tornado that occurs whenever two or more cousins get together to play.

I was pretty relaxed when we got to the hospital, with Alice in capable hands and Henry with me. We were put into one of the triage room, and I gowned up, while waiting for the nurse and midwife to come in to do my vitals, and get me hooked up to the fetal heart monitor and contraction monitor. The midwife did a sonogram, to check on the baby’s position. This was Henry’s first time seeing the baby in a sonogram this pregnancy. What we found was surprising– at my previous appointment, the baby had been tush-down, head-up with it’s feet facing my right side. Today, the baby was flipped the other way! Still tush-down, head-up but with the feet facing my left side. I’ve been feeling some big movements lately, and had some lower back pain that lasted a few minutes, so now I know what the little bugger was doing when I felt those big movements. I felt some big movements again today after the version, so I’m curious to see what position the baby is in at my next appointment.

What that wikipedia article doesn’t tell you is that versions hurt like hell. They really do. The article uses the word “gentle.” Ha. Not by a long shot!  I really tried to focus on my yoga breathing and to relax my body when I felt myself tensing up. I kept my eyes closed as the doctor and a resident worked in tandem to try and shift the baby’s position. The nurse offered her hand for holding, which I squeezed gratefully as I focused on my breathing. They tried three times to move the baby, to no avail. It’s tush is firmly planted in my pelvis. I have enough faith in the universe to know that if the baby doesn’t want to move, there is a reason. I’m surprisingly okay with how things went today, mostly because I felt such a positive force from everyone around me– the nurse, the midwife, the resident, Henry. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed but I also knew that the success rate for a version is very low. This was just one more “what if” to cross off my list.

So, if this baby doesn’t turn by my due date, we’ll be having a baby on or around April 19th, unless I go into labor before then.

36 weeks marks the beginning of “ANY DAY NOW” mode. Due dates are great but really, they are not that reliable… just an estimate! 36 weeks also, for me, begins another waiting game… not just arrival but turning. The closer we get to 40 weeks or 41 weeks, the less likely it is the baby will turn. So, I’m just trying to focus on the arrival countdown and not so much the turning countdown, for sanity’s sake.

Despite all that I’m doing to encourage the baby to turn, I also tell myself “que sera, sera.” If the baby doesn’t turn, there’s not a whole lot that can be done about that. I’ll just have to brace myself for having another stubborn child!

But here’s hoping for the best. The inversion is tomorrow morning. My sister is coming with my nephew tomorrow and I am so excited, even though the inversion will be anything but fun. I’m especially happy for Alice, who asks for her cousins on a near-daily basis, today included. She will go beserk and I can’t wait.

Best. Sister. Ever.