Questions for the pregnant lady, part IV

I guess I can't dodge this question any longer:

Do you have any names in mind?

Yes, of course. We have a list of ideas posted on our refrigerator. Oh, you mean names I don't mind sharing with the entire Internet? That's a trickier question.

When we were trying to choose a name for Isaac, I would happily discuss our options with anyone who asked (and even with those who didn't ask). But it turns out that when people offer their opinions, it causes problems. If you dislike a name I love, that's a problem. If you love a name I merely like, that's a problem. And, strangely, if you love a name I love, that's a problem -- assuming I'm a contrary-minded person, which seems to be the case. At any rate, I feel like it's impossible for me to hear useful feedback at this point.

So how about if I just tell you the kind of name we're looking for? Actually, the goals I detailed in this past post about choosing Isaac's name still hold fairly true:

I knew what I wanted in a name -- something classic and dignified that sounded intelligent, but with fun nickname possibilities, and that wasn't going to sound outdated or trendy in ten years. I kept saying that I wanted a name that would fit a future Supreme Court Justice (although this is more important for a girl -- Justice Tiffani-Amber just doesn't sound right to me). Although I didn't want a name that was too popular, I wasn't concerned with uniqueness -- I wanted a recognizable name with history rather than a one-of-a-kind creation.

I'm not concerned with having fun nickname possibilities this time, perhaps because it's turned out we seldom call Isaac by either of his potential nicknames. As we are having a daughter, I'm especially interested in choosing a dignified, smart, classic name that will help her to be taken seriously (and help her become a Supreme Court justice if she so desires). And after three years of having a child with a complicated hyphenated last name*, I'm really not concerned with uniqueness -- I still don't want trendy or popular, but having an easily recognizable name is crucial.

- - - - -

*I have never regretted our choice of a hyphenated last name for our kids. But it is sort of complicated. It's only four syllables long, which isn't too bad, although it does have 13 letters. But although my last name is perfect in every way, Craig's is a real mouthful. Just kidding! But his name is very difficult to spell and pronounce, and it constantly trips people up, so we don't want our kids to have complicated first names as well.

17,999 and counting

Who will be visitor number 18,000? (You can check the very bottom of the sidebar to see if it was you! How exciting! )

And to think that when I set this blog up I seriously thought I would only need a four-digit hit counter.

The One-Minute Clean-Up Game

I must have read about this idea somewhere, because I could never have come up with a house-cleaning idea all on my own:

Start in the family room, which is full of toys that actually belong in the living room*. Tell Isaac we're going to play the One-Minute Clean-Up game, which means we're going to fill the little shopping cart with as many toys as we can in only one minute. Set the timer and yell "Go!" with great enthusiasm. Quickly fill the shopping cart with toys, all the while calling exhortations of haste. When the timer goes off, abruptly stop picking up toys and run with the shopping cart into the living room. Swiftly empty the toys into a laundry basket waiting there. Now you're done!

The first time I tried this, I got one minute's worth of cleaning up out of Isaac, and that was it. (Although that one minute made a pretty big difference!) But when I tried it again tonight, he really enjoyed it -- and in fact he insisted that we keep doing it. We must have played the One-Minute Clean-Up Game seven or eight times in a row, which added up to a lot of minutes and a lot of cleaning.

We eliminated all the toys after the first two or three rounds, so then we had to move on to items that belonged in other parts of the house -- taking books to Isaac's room, waffle maker to the pantry, clothes to the laundry hamper, markers to the art box, and so forth. This wasn't quite as easy as dumping toys haphazardly in a basket, but Isaac didn't seem to mind. Eventually I didn't even set the timer -- I just yelled "Go!" and he got to work. He ran down the hall pushing his shopping cart and having a wonderful time.

By the time we were through, he'd picked up his stuff from the family room, hall bathroom, master bedroom, and guest bedroom. This idea may never work again, but I relished it while it lasted.

It's not like the house is actually clean, though. For one thing, there's a laundry basket in the living room that contains three or four shopping carts' worth of unsorted toys. For another, we didn't tackle the rest of the living room, where Craig and Isaac have been playing for several days.

- - - - -

*You could call the living room our "playroom," but that would be short-sighted. "Play" happens in every room of the house, often with items that are not actually toys (such as the waffle maker). However, the living room has a large open carpeted area, which makes it ideal for playing on the floor. And it also contains our toy storage system.

This homegrown system involves containers and a rigid system of taxonomy. There are eleven smallish clear plastic bins which contain eleven different types of toys: tools; dress-up items; little vehicles; plastic people and animals; stuffed people and animals; building blocks; other types of blocks; puzzles; sorting toys; Duplo; and toys for babies. There is one large tub which long ago became much too small to actually contain all of the big vehicles, so there is overflow parking all around it. There is a wooden box for musical instruments. There are two stacking metal containers on the table that serves as the pretend kitchen: one for dishes and one for food. And, the thorn in my side, there is one medium-sized plastic bin which contains objects I couldn't fit into my filing system. (Yes, I am a librarian.)

Craig and I have very different styles of working with this system. With Craig, Isaac can dump out any bin that strikes his fancy, which allows for wild cross-pollination of items as they play. After Craig and Isaac have been playing, it's not unusual to be unable to step into the living room, so thoroughly has the floor been covered in items, and many of the bins will stand completely empty. On the other hand, I try to enforce a "one bin at a time" policy. Well, some toys do go together, so I'll allow the tools and the dress-up clothes, or the little vehicles and the blocks. But I do regularly say, "No, you can't get out the Lego until we've put all the blocks away."

Yes, Craig is more fun to play with!

Career plans

Back in June, my father asked Isaac what he was going to be when he grew up. Isaac gave him a look of puzzlement and said, "A man."

Now that he's almost three, however, Isaac finally has career plans. Today was the first I've heard of them. This afternoon he told me he was going to drive a combine when he grew up, so he was going to be a wheat farmer. He then elaborated and said he was going to be a daddy who was a wheat farmer. (He plans to grow this wheat in our back yard, by the way.)

And tonight as we were having our usual pre-bedtime chat, he told me he wants to be two things: a wheat farmer who also fixes vacuums.

- - - - -

When we lie down in his bed together to snuggle and talk for a while before I leave the room, I always ask him what he wants to talk about. Practically every night he responds by asking, "Why did our shop vac break?"

Before Isaac was born, we used to own a shop vac. Then one day it stopped working. We were lazy and, not really needing a shop vac anyway, threw the whole thing in the trash. Isaac simply cannot believe we would do such a stupid thing. He wants to know (1) why it broke, (2) why we didn't know what went wrong with it, (3) why we didn't know how to fix it, and (4) if the people who work at the landfill could help us find it now so we could fix it.

I usually try to list some reasons why the shop vac might have stopped working, but it's difficult. Can you name more than three ways a vacuum might break? I usually resort to suggesting vaguely that the motor might have "burned out." Someday very soon Isaac is going to ask me what that means, and then I'll be in big trouble. He already disapproves that we know so little about the small appliances that surround us.

He wants to be better educated than his parents. Today he watched a four minute instructional video on YouTube about replacing a broken belt in a vacuum cleaner.

Ultrasound

"This isn't very interesting for me," Isaac said after about two minutes of my 20-week ultrasound on Tuesday.

So Craig took him back out into the waiting room, thereby missing most of the action. He doesn't need to feel bad, because it wasn't that great anyway. I mean, all the results were fine, which is great. But Isaac sort of had a point.

After I saw the baby's face and the prenatal thumb-sucking, then my enthusiasm waned. At that point the technician began to focus on measuring each individual internal organ, and things got kind of technical. I would even say it got dull -- kidneys, anyone?

Worse, both the technician and the doctor, who came in to do a follow-up ultrasound a little later, had a hard time getting the precise view of the heart that they wanted. The amount of time the doctor spent looking at the heart was nerve-wracking. Craig and Isaac came back in when the doctor arrived, and even Craig, who isn't easily rattled, became convinced there was something wrong.

There wasn't -- only poor bedside manner.

There was a long worried silence as Craig and I waited for the doctor to tell us something. Finally she said that everything looked great, and that she liked the way the heart looked. Only she kept examining it, squinting at the screen as she pushed the ultrasound paddle this way and that. Eventually I asked her, "Are you sure you like the way it looks?"

Then she finally looked at me instead of the screen, and she smiled sheepishly. She must have realized that she was making us worry, because she apologized for her furrowed brow, and said, "I'm sort of compulsive, and I'm trying to get the perfect picture."

- - - - -

Even though he claimed he wasn't interested at the time, Isaac played a remarkably accurate ultrasound game the next day. I was lying down on the bed, and he raised my shirt and pretended to put the jelly on my stomach. Then he used various objects as ultrasound paddles. (The best one was a souvenir in the shape of Michigan carved out of a Petoskey stone.)

But Isaac obviously thought the most important part of the game was the computer. He stared fixedly at the back of a folding chair, which was propped against the wall, and typed rapidly on it. It made a satisfying rattling noise as it banged against the wall. After a barrage of typing, he would then pause and furrow his brow at the "screen."

I said, "Are you the doctor?" When he assented, I said, "You should really look at me sometimes, and smile."

He turned toward me and gave me a terrible toothy grimace, then returned to his typing. He's all ready for medical school.

- - - - -

They calculate the baby's weight, by the way, at 12 ounces, right on target.

Interrogation

Suppose you ask a three-year-old a question, and he doesn't know the answer. Maybe he doesn't understand the question, or maybe he doesn't remember the answer, or maybe he really doesn't know. How do you think he will respond?

(a) I don't know.
(b) Do you know?
(c) You tell me.
(d) Do you remember?
(e) I really could not say.

The answer, of course, is (f), All of the above. I don't know which I like best -- answers (b) through (d), where he tries to turn the tables and get you to answer the question for him, or answer (e), where he sounds like somebody's prim and elderly maiden aunt.

All those answers presume he's interested in the question, however. If he doesn't care, he'll just ignore it. This happens mostly with questions asked by adults other than his parents.

New pictures

I just realized that as tomorrow is Isaac's third birthday (!!!), tonight is my last chance to add pictures to the "Photos of the sixth 6 months" album.

So I added those that remained on the camera. Tomorrow we'll start a brand new year and a brand new album, ready and waiting for those inevitable birthday photos.

Isaac actually asked for specific presents this year, including a backhoe and a tricycle. Will he get them? Do you have any doubt? Check back in a few days to see what the photos reveal ...

Happy Birthday

Here Isaac is taking a really big breath, getting ready to blow out those candles! He did it, too.

You can see a few more photos from Isaac's third birthday in the brand-new album.





















And here are two photos from birthdays of the past:

First day of preschool

And how do I feel about it? Well, it's certainly not like, "Great! Isaac will be at school for three whole hours! I can do anything I want!" Although it is very strange to be temporarily without my son, somewhat like going out without my purse, it's not an entirely unpleasant feeling, and I'm sure I'll get used to it (and maybe even eventually look forward to it). However, I'm taking my liberation in stages. Although preschool started at 9:00 a.m., I didn't actually leave him there until 10:00, and even now I'm writing this post in a cozy window seat of our town's public library, just a few minutes away from the preschool.

Why? Even though I don't have to pick him up for another hour and a half, I'm not quite confident enough to go all the way home. I may even go back to the school in a little while and see how he's doing.

And how does Isaac feel about it? I'm pretty sure he's fine. He might be feeling a little uncertain, but I don't think he's going to get too upset. I seriously doubt that he'll cry. When I left, a few other kids were in full meltdown mode and wailing for their mothers. Isaac wasn't even looking around for me.

I did try to ease Isaac into things. I sat with him during his circle group, and I walked around with him as his teacher Jennifer gave him a brief tour, but then I busied myself setting up his cubby until he got bored watching me. When he told me he wanted to go play, I told him to go ahead, and he ran off toward the playdough without looking back. The first time I asked him if I should leave, he said no. After that, I tried to stay out of his sight. After 30 minutes, I went to check with him again, and he was sitting atop a huge wooden block with a full-size steering wheel attached. I said, "I'm going to go up the street to the library for a while, and then I'll come back. Is it okay if I leave?"

He was very busy trying to figure out a way to arrange another block as a trailer, and he didn't answer at first. I repeated the question, and he eventually grunted his assent. Not a really enthusiastic assent, but an assent.

So he found something fun to keep him busy while we were apart, and he thought he would probably be okay without me. I think I'm doing just as well.

First day of preschool, part II

When I went back to the preschool around 11:00, a full hour before it ended, Isaac was in the playhouse. Before he could catch sight of me, Isaac's teacher Jennifer came up and told me that he had been having lots of fun, and that she thought he was adjusting very well.

I stood back and watched as he worked busily. He took something off the stove, set it on the table, went back to turn off the stove, and took a baby doll out of the crib. I then watched as a little girl, already holding a doll, came into the playhouse and removed the baby doll from his arms. Isaac let her take it without complaint.

I had been considering leaving without revealing myself, but I felt like I had to ask him whether he wanted the doll back. But as soon as he saw me approaching, he said with some urgency, "I'm not done playing!"

That was a good sign. He said he didn't want the doll, and in fact he had moved on to the fire engine puzzles, so I told him I was leaving again.

When I came back just before noon, it was circle group time again. Teacher Jennifer was leading his group in a song with accompanying hand gestures, and Isaac was watching her with a smile, although he was resolutely sitting on his own hands. I guess he didn't want anyone to get the idea that he might actually consider participating in a fingerplay. I again observed from a distance, but this time when Isaac caught sight of me, he happily cried out, "Mama!" and gave me a big hug. Then he snuggled up in my lap for the rest of circle time.

That was a good sign, too.

A question about content

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know that I try to keep a narrow focus -- all Isaac, all the time.

Well, it's impossible to write about Isaac without also writing about myself. I'm not an objective reporter, so I reveal something about myself in every post (even if it's just my dumb sense of humor). However, I do try to keep overt discussion of my personal life limited to the context of parenting Isaac -- my frustrations and joys, challenges and successes.

Anyway, I seldom write just about me. So that's why I have a question about content.

After the baby is born, I'll make room in this blog for her as well as Isaac. But what about before then? Obviously I'll continue to write about Isaac's reactions to my pregnancy, and I won't be able to resist sharing my birth story when the time comes. But do you, my readers, want to hear regular pregnancy updates? Even if they don't include Isaac? Even if they're just me complaining about my aching back and hips?

Please, leave a comment and let me know. Your opinions are welcome.

A lot more real

Problem: I'm expecting a baby girl in January, and my first child is a boy; my cousin is expecting a baby boy in November, and her first child is a girl. What are we going to do with all these wrong-gendered baby clothes?

Solution: Baby clothes exchange!

We visited my parents this weekend, and we got together for a big extended-family gathering at my grandmother's house today. That's when the exchange went on -- I handed over two boxes of clothes, and in return I received two boxes of clothes. That's the kind of "shopping" I like!

I've only taken a brief look at the clothes so far, but there was something about touching those tiny ruffled t-shirts that made this baby seem a lot more real. You'd think her ultrasound photos and kicks to my abdomen would already have driven home the point, but for some reason I found viewing her future wardrobe to be more concrete. There really is a new baby coming, and she really is going to be that small.

I don't know whether to be enthusiastic or apprehensive.

- - - - -

Today another cousin returned the childbirth books she had borrowed from me, which was an additional bit of reality. I certainly hadn't forgotten that I'm going to be giving birth, but I had been thinking it was going to be far off in the distant future. But when Isaac asked me tonight "When is our new baby sister coming out of you?" I found myself surprised by my answer.

Only four months from now? That's not very far away. Maybe I should start re-reading those books now.

Third day of preschool

My goal was to leave Isaac at school, but only after I had his permission to do so. Today I tried the same separation strategy I had successfully used on the first day of school: staying on the other side of the room while he was having a good time without me, and then asking him if it was okay for me to leave. It was a flexible strategy by design -- if he said "no" at first, I would retreat to a distance and ask again a little later, assuming that eventually he would feel comfortable and tell me I could go. Unfortunately it didn't work this time.

(In case you're wondering, the second day of school was one of my work days. The preschool is cooperative, so each parent works as a teachers' aide one day per month. So on the second day I was there for the entire time, but I was busy in the kitchen helping the kids with their snack. Perhaps that confused Isaac -- I was at school, but out of sight, and not readily available. On that day, he ended up crying right before it was time to go home.)

Today, however, he cried after just 30 minutes of school. And he cried several other times after that. There was a lot of crying, basically.

As I did on the first day, I waited until he was busy with an activity, then asked him if he was ready for me to leave. When he said no, I told him I'd be sitting on the other side of the room. I had planned to talk to him again in 15 or 20 minutes to tell him I had to leave, but I never got a chance. The next thing I knew, a parent volunteer was leading a crying Isaac to me. He had looked for me, hadn't been able to find me, and had gotten upset.

Things never went right after that. He didn't want to leave my side, so I accompanied him as he did several activities, but he never really settled into them. He kept saying that he wanted to go home. He even got teary-eyed periodically, perhaps anticipating my eventual departure. I realized that unlike his first day of school, I wasn't going to have the opportunity to make a smooth transition away. I was going to have to either reassure Isaac that I was going to stay the whole time, which wasn't a precedent I wanted to set, or simply leave despite his protests, which wasn't a fun idea either.

His teachers were fairly patient with me, although it was clear they felt I was making the situation worse by staying so long. I completely agreed with them, but I also wanted to explain to them that my methods had worked once before. I wanted them to know I wasn't just another worried parent hanging around without a plan. They didn't really listen. They've probably heard it all before.

So I told Isaac that I was going to run a few errands, but that I would be back soon. He began to cry immediately, even though I was still standing there. He cried more when one of the teachers picked him up and tried to suggest fun activities. He cried even more still when I walked down the hall and out the gate. He was sobbing whole-heartedly, as if his heart was breaking.

And did it break my heart? Not really. I knew I was coming back for him, after all! Not to sound callous, but instead of feeling guilty or sad at leaving him, I was instead frustrated that my separation strategy hadn't worked this time, and irritated that the teachers hadn't listened to me when I tried to explain the strategy.

I stayed away for 40 minutes, and when I came back Isaac was just fine. His circle group teacher, Jennifer, had read him a book about excavators (three times in row), and that cheered him up. She reassured me that they would have called me if he hadn't stopped being upset. And she was only slightly disapproving that I hadn't waited longer (like until the very end of the school day) to come back.

So today was not a success. But we have an actual plan for Thursday, instead of the flexible approach that I had hoped would work today. Isaac and I have been discussing the plan. I'm going to stay for circle time and one activity of Isaac's choosing, and then I'm going to leave. "And then Isaac is going to cry," Isaac said matter-of-factly.

"Maybe," I said. "You can cry if you need to. It's okay if you feel sad when I leave. But then later you'll feel happier and you can have fun at school. And then I'll come back and get you!"

We'll see how it goes.

Nonfiction

I know it's a terrible cliche that kids ask their parents a lot of questions -- and it's an even worse cliche that the parents often don't know the answer. Recently Isaac has asked me:

• Are germs heavy?
  
• Why is the sky always black in space?
• Why did the dinosaurs die?
• What's on the other side of the center of the earth?

And, of course:

• Why did our shop vac break?

This is nothing new. About six months ago I compiled another list of the questions Isaac was asking, which included:

• Why does chocolate melt?
• Why do skunks stink?
• Why does the sun come up?
• Why do pistons go up and down?

I always do my best at stumbling through an honest answer, although Isaac doesn't always follow me, because eventually it will start to make sense to him. And in time he will understand things much better than I do, and then I can ask him questions! Temperamentally, I think he's one of those people who really wants to understand how things work.

Isaac enjoys reading nonfiction, which surprised me at first, because I don't remember liking to read about "real" stuff when I was a kid. (The first book Craig remembers reading, however, was called "The Sun is a Star," so there you go. Is this a gender thing?) At first the only nonfiction books I brought home from the library for Isaac were about vehicles, and of course he loves those. But eventually I realized that he wants to learn facts from books, in addition to being entertained by language and story, so we began exploring the nonfiction section.

- - - - -

When I was a child, I assumed that my mother had attended some kind of educational program designed for future mothers, because she always seemed to know everything. Didn't she go to a special mommy school just to learn the answers to all the questions I had for her? And maybe she really did know everything, but I am beginning to suspect she faked it a little bit. After all, I have an education that is bizarrely identical to hers (bachelor's in English lit, master's in library studies, both from UC Berkeley) and I'm not exactly sure why chocolate melts.

Actually, that one sounds like a question for Isaac's father, the chemist.

- - - - -

Isaac's not all fact and no fantasy, though. He'll inform you that there are special tigers that can live at the center of the earth, and that they eat the moles they find there. Also, even though most of the dinosaurs died because the climate got too cold, Loader Driver (Isaac's alter ego) has dinosaurs at his house in a special cage with a heat lamp.

Three-year check-up

The doctor says Isaac is healthy and developing well, you'll be glad to know. Except that he's shrinking!

No, not really. But Isaac, now three years old, has finally graduated to having his height measured while standing, and when he felt the measuring device pressing on the top of his head, he stooped. The nurse measured him as 37 1/2 inches tall, which would put him only in the 60th percentile for height, incredibly low considering his previous growth patterns.

The doctor himself pointed out that the measurement was inaccurate. After all, six months ago Isaac was measured at 37 3/4 inches. He didn't shrink a quarter of an inch in that time. He's probably still in the 80-90th percentile for height, just like usual.

But even though we don't know his real height, we do know he's packing on the pounds. The doctor said they like to see kids gain about four pounds between the ages of two and three, and although Isaac gained only 0.7 pounds in the first six months of that time period, he made up for it by gaining three pounds in the last six months.

So now he weighs 30.7 pounds, which puts him way up in the 55th percentile for weight -- he hasn't ranked that high since he was eight months old! It's especially crazy considering that six months ago he was at an all-time low, registering only in the 30th percentile for weight.

And yet you can still see his cute little shoulder blades sticking out!

Fourth day of preschool

(This happened way back on Thursday, but hey -- better late than never.)

To put it simply, I followed the plan I had been discussing with Isaac ever since Tuesday's separation difficulties, and it worked.

Actually, one part was slightly different than planned -- Isaac had said that he was going to cry when I left, and he didn't. His teacher said that he didn't shed a single tear all day. I suspect that she did, however, have to work very hard at keeping him distracted.

Before we even left for school, Isaac was upset and worried. He kept saying, "I don't want to go to school." When I asked him why, he said, "I don't want to see the other kids." So I told him that there would be both good and bad things about school, but that overall I hoped he would have fun.

When we got to school, everything went according to plan. I sat with Isaac during circle group, and when it was done and the other kids went to play, I read him Digger Man, which he had requested ahead of time. Then I cheerfully announced that it was time for me to go. His teacher also knew the plan, so she was standing by with a different book about vehicles, and before Isaac could get upset she offered to read it to him. Isaac was so busy looking at the new book's cover that he didn't even glance up at me when I bent over to kiss him goodbye.

His teacher told me she ended up reading "Digger Man" to him at least four times over the course of the day, whenever he needed a little reassurance. Add that to the three times she read it to him on Tuesday, and I bet she's getting tired of it. She's doing a good job.

The medicine

"Mama, you need to decide about the medicine," Isaac told me several nights ago.

If you've spoken with me recently, you know what medicine he was talking about, because I no doubt discussed it with you: should I take Dramamine to prevent my inevitable motion sickness on an upcoming flight to visit Craig's parents?

Trying to decide whether to take the medicine has been on my mind lately, so perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised to hear that it was on Isaac's mind too. I certainly never spoke with Isaac directly about my dilemma, but obviously he is paying attention to my conversations with other people. Maybe one conversation wouldn't have made much of an impression on him, but after hearing me talk and talk and talk about it, he must have realized I was having a hard time making up my mind.

I was impressed by his sensitivity and attentiveness. And although I might have felt pressured and irritated by the same remark coming from anyone else, it was pretty sweet coming from my three-year-old son. So I told him, "I'll decide sometime before we get on the plane, honey. You don't need to worry about it." Of course, I continued to worry about it myself.

- - - - -

I get motion sick very easily, and Dramamine helps a lot. If I don't take it before a flight, and we hit any turbulence at all, I'll feel terribly queasy and probably even throw up. Plus I've been more queasy than usual during this pregnancy, so I've had more problems with motion sickness as well.

Dramamine is rated Category B for pregnancy, so it isn't exactly a dangerous drug. And since I'm already 23 weeks pregnant, I'm way past the danger zone of organogenesis -- at this point the baby pretty much just needs to get fatter. Both my OB's office and my midwife said it was okay. Every study I looked up said it was okay. But I was still uncertain.

When I was pregnant with Isaac, I flew twice -- once very early on, and one at about six months along. I didn't take Dramaine either time, and I remember feeling very ill. But I believed strongly that preventing a few hours' worth of my nausea just wasn't worth taking what I saw as a potential risk to the baby. I wanted to do the right thing, even if it caused me personal distress, and even if the risks were very minimal.

But this time? I took the darn Dramamine. And when it started to wear off after four hours, I took a second dose.

I think this is one of the first times I've realized that having a second child is going to be a different experience.

- - - - -

My decision was made much easier by the fact that I actually started to feel ill while we were still in the car driving to the airport! If I was going to get carsick so easily, I knew I was going to be in big trouble on the airplane. And the plane did hit about 20 minutes of constant turbulence, so it's a good thing I took the medicine.

- - - - -

Isaac luckily has never been motion sick -- he seems to have inherited his father's sturdy stomach. They recently went on one of those spinning teacup rides at an amusement park, and they both really enjoyed it. I felt queasy just watching them.

New pictures

I've added photos from recent events: Isaac opened late birthday presents from my parents and sister, we went to the county fair (we went last year, too), and Isaac played with his second cousins.

This picture of me and Isaac milking a pretend cow at the fair (rather poorly, I might add) brings to mind another potential risk I haven't taken since I've been pregnant: coloring my hair. Yep, that's what 20-odd weeks' worth of roots look like. Not good.

Three pillows

It made me really happy to read your supportive comments in response to my question about blog content. Thank you! And since many of you swear that you don't mind reading about boring old me, instead of my incredibly entertaining son, then here goes ...

- - - - -

I now need three pillows to sleep at night. I must be pregnant.

I also have to sleep on my side in the fetal position (how ironic), another indication that I'm pregnant, because otherwise I would sleep on my stomach. That hasn't been a real option since the end of the first trimester -- not because my abdomen had grown a whole lot at that point, but because my breasts had! (And they were sore, too.)

Anyway, getting back to those three pillows. Naturally, I need one beneath my head. But I also need one to tuck between my bent knees, to raise my thigh until it is nearly horizontal with my hip. And, as of last night, I need one to stick beneath my belly.

I didn't think I had gotten that big yet, since I don't feel uncomfortably large during the day. But after waking up multiple times last night with an unfamiliar ache in my mid-back, I finally had to admit it. When I lie on my side, the weight of my unsupported belly pulls on my back muscles, especially the part that is right in line with my navel.

I've needed the pillow between my knees for a long time already, much sooner than I did when I was pregnant with Isaac. If I don't support my knee and thigh, they drag my hip downward, and the stretching causes pain in my hip joint. The pillow doesn't cure the problem completely, and it's certainly annoying to have to rearrange it throughout the night, but it helps me to hold my deteriorating body together.

Gotta love those loosening ligaments -- all my connective tissue turned into mush just as soon as I entered the second trimester. And since this leaves my joints and muscles unsupported, I am prone to a dozen little pains, mostly concentrated in my hips and pelvis, including a deep stabbing pain that appears without warning right in the center of either buttock. (Although I also pulled a muscle in my shoulder by sneezing -- ironically while I was lying in down in bed resting after having strained a muscle in my back.)

Most of these little pains appear after I've spent too long (meaning about ten minutes) in one position -- tailbone after propping myself up to read in bed, hips after sitting in a desk chair at work, buttocks after driving. But even though I'm complaining, really it is far from debilitating. I can walk off the worst of the pain after a few minutes.

These ligament-related pains are currently my worst pregnancy side effect. That's because the fatigue, queasiness, and headaches have subsided! Stay tuned for the my third-trimester complaints, however, coming up in just four short weeks.

- - - - -

I only know that I'm 24 weeks pregnant because I just checked. I keep forgetting the exact number and having to look it up in my datebook. I don't think I ever lost track when I was pregnant with Isaac. So there's another difference with the second pregnancy!

Also, after Isaac was born I kept track of exactly how many weeks old he was for an embarrassingly long time, way after I should have transitioned to calculating his age in months. With this baby, when people ask her age I'll probably just say something like, "Oh, she's about three months old, I think."

Milestones from the trip

We have returned from our week spent visiting Isaac's paternal grandparents in South Carolina. We all had a lovely time, and Isaac had a blast. (I'll give you details, plus upload photos, a little later -- right now I'm trying to unpack the luggage, wash our dirty laundry, water the garden, and deal with the huge mess we created before we left. At least I already picked up the dog and the mail.)

But there were a few milestones from the trip worth mentioning briefly:

(1) First rain -- that Isaac can remember, that is. (It rained last winter, of course, but that was over six months ago, and he doesn't recall it very clearly.) He kept asking, "Why doesn't Grandpa turn off the windshield wipers?" He thought they were just used for washing the windshield free of dirt, not continuously wiping away rainfall.

(2) Most hours awake -- just over 16 hours. (This easily beats the previous record of just over 15 hours.) Isaac napped for an hour on the plane coming home, but he was otherwise awake from 6:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m. (PST), and he spent most of that time traveling. And how was his mood? Consistently cheerful, if a little wild-eyed by bedtime. (What are the chances of the next baby having such a pleasant temperament?)

(3) First McDonald's -- a Happy Meal cheeseburger, to be precise. Isaac has eaten fast food a few times before (including celebrating his second birthday with dinner at Nation's Giant Hamburgers), but we just never had an opportunity to eat at good old McDonald's until we were stuck in an airport. He liked the fries a lot, and the cheeseburger seemed popular too. Well, at least we opted for milk rather than Coke, so he still hasn't tasted soda.

- - - - -

I enjoyed my fries and cheeseburgers too, I must admit, although I wouldn't have dreamed of eating a fast food hamburger while I was pregnant with Isaac. First Dramamine, now McDonald's! To what indulgence will I next succumb? A Listeria-ridden hot dog? A mercury-filled tuna fish sandwich? Maybe I'll just go ahead and dye my hair.

What it means to have everything

"Someday I want to have everything," Isaac said tonight.

I suspected I knew what he meant, but I was still careful not to ask any leading questions. I only said, "Oh?"

"I want to have all the model vehicles," he said. Then, wanting to be more specific, he added, "The ones that are versions of the big vehicles."

My suspicions were confirmed. He got an incredibly detailed Bruder backhoe for his birthday, as much a model as a toy, and it has been hugely popular. Also, we went to a toy store while we were visiting his grandparents in South Carolina, and they had an entire aisle of Bruder vehicles, which furthered his enthusiasm.

"So you want to have all the model vehicles?" I asked. "All the backhoes, and loaders, and trucks and things?"

"No," he said immediately. "Just the backhoes."

"You want to have all the backhoes?" I asked.

"Not all of them. Just the different ones," he said.

"So you want one of each different backhoe?" I asked.

It turned out that was precisely what he meant. I was correct in assuming that "everything" meant Bruder vehicles, but incorrect in my scope. Maybe someday he'll dream of aquiring the entire catalog, but for now the backhoes will suffice.

Actually, since Bruder only makes one scale model backhoe, by his definition Isaac already has everything.

Index

For quite a while now Isaac has enjoyed looking at books in the "Can You See What I See?" series by Walter Wick. These books feature photographs of elaborately constructed scenes, usually containing toys or clever miniatures, with minimal text that suggests that the reader search for ten or so specific hidden items on each page.

Today we were reading Dream Machine, one of the books in that series, and after searching in vain for a hidden hot dog bun on one of the pages, Isaac finally said, "Let's look in the index."

He even flipped to the back of the book in search of it, and he seemed confused to discover that there was none. I explained that although it would have been useful to be able to look up "hot dog bun," it's usually nonfiction books that have indexes.

I think I've mentioned previously that he's a librarian's son.

Active baby

So far this has been an active baby. Early on, even before I could actually feel her kicking around in there, my medical care providers remarked on her activity level. The ultrasound technician at the CVS was surprised to see her flipping around so much, and one (lame) doctor at my OB's office couldn't even find her heartbeat because she kept scooting out of the way of the Doppler monitor.

Around 16 weeks I started feeling her move for myself. It was just as they describe: a shifting feeling like a stomach rumble about to happen, or the glancing brush of a small fish. Then over time the movements grew stronger and stronger, until eventually they felt more like a snake trying to find its way out of a paper bag.

I'm 25 weeks pregnant now, and according to the charts of average fetal development, the baby could be 14 inches tall (and a pound and a half in weight) by now. A few times I've felt her stretch out as far as she can go -- a poke down by my groin, and a simultaneous shove up by my ribs. That'll get your attention! Or have you ever heard bad news and had your stomach lurch in response? Sometimes the movement feels physically like that, but minus the negative emotional reaction.

Most often, however, it just feels like a gentle but persistent knock on a very soft door, usually two inches to the right of my navel. For nearly four weeks I've been able to see her movement in that area. (This week Isaac felt it there too, and he seemed pleased!) And for even longer there has been a definite pattern to the movement: a lot of thumping right when I wake up, then again around 3:00 p.m. (a time when I often sit down and relax after Isaac is asleep for his nap), then a big barrage of activity when I lie down to go to sleep.

That's why when, three weeks ago, I noticed this pattern of movement change, I was concerned. There was very little movement at 3:00 p.m., none in the evening, a big flurry of movement around 4:00 a.m. (which I noticed because I was having a hard time sleeping due to worry about the lack of movement!), but then very little in the morning. I called my midwife, who seemed to think it was too early in the pregnancy for me to be expecting fixed patterns of activity. Even doctors who recommend their patients do "kick counts" (mine never did) don't suggest them until the third trimester, or 28 weeks of pregnancy. The midwife did send one of her assistants over to my house with the Doppler monitor, although by the time the assistant got here the baby's activity had picked back up. However, we were all pleased to hear a nice strong heartbeat.

Everything went back to normal after that one day. But it's happening again now. Last night I felt a gentle thump or two, but nothing like I'm used to feeling, and this morning was even quieter. And 3:00 p.m. has come and gone without a real flurry. There's not no movement, so I know there's still somebody kicking around in there, but there's a definite change.

I guess I could drink a big cup of juice to raise the baby's blood sugar, and lie down quietly so I can notice the maximum amount of movement. Except now it's after 4:00 p.m. and it's time to wake Isaac up from his nap!

Just waiting

I was trying to load the dishwasher recently, and Isaac stood stock-still in the middle of the kitchen and announced, "There's a person standing here just waiting to be snuggled!"

Well, you can't ignore a remark like that, can you? Although eventually I did have to return to the dishes, despite his continuing pleas for snuggles.

Three anecdotes

This morning, the very instant that Isaac woke up he said, "I've got something to tell you."

He had come into bed with me sometime during the night, so his head was right next to mine on the pillow. And what was his first waking thought? It turned out to be this: "Two Bobcats in the back of a double dump truck!"

He meant a Bobcat brand skid loader, of course. I asked him if he had been dreaming about the loaders, but he denied it. We have yet to discover what Isaac dreams about. He claims he doesn't have any dreams.

- - - - -

This weekend we dropped by our local elementary school's Halloween carnival, where we checked out the pumpkin patch and the children's cake-decorating contest. Some of the cakes were, frankly, horrifying. I guess when you're in fifth grade it's funny to cover a cake with bloody dismembered baby dolls, but it's just not as appealing when you're an adult. Not only is it gross and disturbing, but how do you explain such a thing to a curious three-year-old?

Whenever Isaac had a question, we just said that some people celebrate Halloween as a scary holiday and that it's okay because they like being scared. He didn't really understand either aspect of this, but he seemed to accept it for now. Actually, right now Isaac doesn't have enough context to be frightened by death or the supernatural, so it will probably be harder to explain the appeal of Halloween horror when he gets slightly older.

Have you ever realized how inappropriate Halloween can be for a small child? Even the decorations surrounding the pumpkin patch made me uncomfortable -- a graveyard with joke tombstones and bony half-rotted arms emerging from the soil. And sure enough, later on Isaac asked, demonstrating his complete lack of understanding, "Why is it supposed to be scary when people come out of the ground?"

- - - - -

Over the weekend I noticed Isaac occasionally using the word "stinking" as a modifier, but I didn't understand where it had come from. Then yesterday I heard him say, as he pretended to drive somewhere, "There's gotta be at least one stinkin' sign!"

Trying to keep my laughter to myself, I immediately called Craig and asked him if he had been the source of that particular remark. My question was answered when I overheard Isaac saying politely, as he pretended to make a phone call of his own, "Do you know where the hazardous waste drop-off is?"

On Friday Craig and Isaac had gotten lost on their way to the dump to dispose of some old paint, and Craig had called me at work several times so I could help them navigate. I guess this whole situation made a big impression on Isaac. In fact, Craig told me that even when he was frustrated about getting lost, he had been very careful to use the word "stinking," suspecting that Isaac would find it hilarious and pick it up for himself.

I especially like how Isaac is always careful to drop the G. It's important to be precise when you're learning the language.

Napping

Earlier today I was planning today's blog post, which I was going to write during Isaac's nap -- in fact, I was going to write about how well he had been napping lately. I never got a chance to do it, however, because (you guessed it!) he didn't nap!

In the two weeks since we returned from visiting Isaac's paternal grandparents in South Carolina, he has been napping like a dream. We're still following the sleep schedule and strategy I detailed back in August, and it's working very well. He goes to bed peacefully, I leave the room, he doesn't cry (usually), and it only takes him ten minutes to fall asleep. Then he sleeps solidly until I wake him up. He only failed to take a nap on one occasion in the past 15 days, and that was probably because, due to a leaky sippy cup in his own bed, he had to try to fall asleep in the guest room.

And, of course, he didn't nap today. So what went wrong?

Although I didn't get the chance to bring on the mishap by blogging about my good fortune, I did boast to two separate people this morning that not only was Isaac still napping at three years old, he was napping better than he ever had. Gotta watch that hubris.

Or it might have been because I myself really wanted a nap.

- - - - -

But at least I got my revenge on him for his lack of napping by refusing to play with him. Instead I wrote my blog post!

- - - - -

As an aside, it occurs to me that these have been golden days indeed -- it's a magical time period when your child is old enough to be toilet trained and still young enough to nap.

New pictures

What happens when you allow nearly 200 pictures to accumulate? When you finally get around to it, you end up adding 22 new pictures to the album.

Most of them are from our most recent visit to South Carolina to see Craig's parents. (We were also there in the spring of this year, you may recall.)

Here, however, is Isaac at a nursery down the street from our house, posing with some pumpkins. (We also bought a snapdragon, which he was excited to learn how to snap, and to help plant.)

















And for old time's sake, here's a pumpkin picture from two years ago, when Isaac had recently turned one year old. He hadn't quite learned how to walk, and he still enjoyed chewing on things.

My helper

One of the questions I'm often asked about our planned homebirth is whether I intend for Isaac to witness the birth. The answer is not necessarily.

At the very least I'd like for him to be close at hand during the birth so he can meet his new sister right after her arrival -- unless, perhaps, it's the middle of the night, in which case we all might be happier if we just let him sleep. (Rocking a toddler back to sleep is the last thing we need to do right after having a baby!)

Isaac will be three years and four months old when his sister is born, which is probably old enough to witness her being pushed out into the world, but probably not old enough to sit through hours of labor beforehand. He would probably find labor to be a combination of dull and stressful -- dull because nothing will seem to be happening for so long, and stressful because I will be in pain, working hard, and not paying any attention to him.

Speaking of my not paying any attention to him, that's another aspect for me to consider -- will I find his presence to be a distraction? Will I be prevented from finding my groove because I'm worried about him? Will I be too inhibited to make good laboring noises because I want to avoid upsetting him? Or will I actually like having him there? I don't know if there's any way to tell beforehand.

But I'm keeping our options open. Isaac might leave the house during my labor and stay at our neighbors' house, either with our neighbors or with my father when my parents arrive. Or he might stay at home, but in a different part of the house. Or maybe he'll want to watch the whole birth!

We have been talking about what happens during labor, as well as reading a fairly detailed picture book about a homebirth, and Isaac seems more curious than worried. Tonight he was asking me lots of questions about it. He wanted to know why contractions happen, and if the baby's head comes out first, and why the baby will be covered in mucky stuff, and why our midwife likes helping babies be born.

"I'll help you, Mama," he said confidently. I gave him a kiss and told him that was a very sweet offer. "I'll hold you up," he said.

He must have been thinking of the mother in the before-mentioned picture book, who gives birth standing, supported by the father. I asked him if he thought he might be a little short for that, and he said yes. For the first time, he sounded a little uncertain.

So I said, "You can still help, sweetie. You can help Dad hold me." That made him happy.

A long boring list of stuff for baby, part II

With a new baby on the way, I've been thinking about baby stuff and wondering if we already have everything we need. So I re-read Part I of my list of the items we used when Isaac was small. Obviously at the time I wasn't that interested in the topic, because although I originally wrote the following draft for Part II back in February 2007, it's taken me a year and four months to get around to finishing it! (It's not as detailed as Part I, so I guess I'm still not that interested in the topic.)

Anyway, so what stuff do you really need to take care of a baby? I don't know the answer to that, but I can at least tell you what we used. Along with Part I of the list, which covers "On the Go" and "Sleeping," I've listed practically everything we relied on for the first two years. With the exception of clothes, books, and toys, if I didn't mention an item, it wasn't a necessary part of our lives.

(Pacifiers, security blanket, and soothing lullaby CDs? Didn't work for us.)

Feeding

Nursing pillow (Boppy; we used this until Isaac weaned at 33 months old and 38 inches tall!)
Comfortable chair (IKEA Poang; this was our favorite nursing chair)
End table (also from IKEA; this was exactly the same height as the arms of the chair, ideal for my nursing station, and so it held my laptop, beverage, and so forth)
High chair (Eddie Bauer Wooden High Chair; Isaac started using this at seven months old, and used it until he moved into a regular dining chair)
Also: bottles (for expressed breastmilk), plastic dishware, and sippy cups

Changing & Grooming

Changing table (a piece of particle-board junk from Babies R Us, but it was tall enough and had built-in storage and hamper)
Contoured changing pad (and two terrycloth covers)
Diaper pail (originally a Diaper Dekor, which only took expensive specialized bags, until it broke; and then a lidded metal trash can, which worked just fine and took regular grocery bags)
Small toilet seat (originally we used a Graco Soft Seat Potty Trainer, but I think we could have just started with the awesome but long-winded Xpress Trainer Pro All-in-One Real Simple Potty Training Family Toilet Seat)
Bathtub (The First Years Sure Comfort Newborn to Toddler Tub)
Baby nail clippers (but not any other item in the fancy grooming kit)
Bodywash / shampoo (California Baby brand)
Diaper bag (I bought the designer bag of my dreams, a discontinued second-hand Fleurville, on eBay for about $60; considering I carried it every day for over two years, it was worth it)
Also: baby washcloths, diapers, wipes, non-slip bathtub mat, stepstool

Hanging Out

Bouncy seat (hand-me-down Fisher Price model; he didn't really enjoy it, but we always kept it in the bathroom so we'd have a place to set Isaac while we were in there)
Swing (very basic model with no music or fancy swing patterns; Isaac didn't care about swinging one way or the other, so we usually just used it as a chair for him during the brief periods when he consented to being set down)
Playmat and gym (hand-me-down Baby Einstein model; this could be considered a toy, but was really more of a place for us to hang out and interact)

Documentation

Camera
Video camera
Photo-sharing Web site (Kodak Gallery)
Online baby data tracker (Trixie Tracker)
Baby memory book (Blogger)

I thought I'd end the list with our various forms of Web presence -- while writing a baby blog isn't a necessary part of raising a baby, it has certainly been an important part of my experience.

Two things about babies

This morning Isaac was playing with a bunch of pillows in the master bed, and he invented a new game for himself. He surrounded himself with four of the pillows and declared he was in the uterus. I put another pillow on top of his back. He said it was very comfortable in the uterus, but that it was time to be born. So as I made grunting noises and (gently) squeezed the pillow around him, he slowly wriggled his way out.

"Did you see him?" he asked. "Did you see the baby's head coming out of the vagina? Is he now right there in your lap?" So I cuddled him, told him how loved he was, and generally welcomed him to the world, just like with an actual new baby. Unlike an actual new baby (thankfully), he ended up being born about seven times in total.

- - - - -

Do you recall our brilliant plan for putting the new baby's crib in the master closet? Unfortunately it was derailed by a recent study that found that running a fan in an infant's bedroom reduces the risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome by 70%. If good air circulation plays such an important role, I didn't see how we could stick a crib in a windowless closet, even one that's 77 square feet.

So instead we're going to put the crib into a room that's 81 square feet. It's not much bigger, but the ceilings are higher, there aren't a bunch of clothes hanging in it, and it has a window. And this way we can make it into an actual dedicated bedroom for the kid, not just a place where we found a little bit of room for her to sleep.

The room currently serves as our office, which means that all the stuff in there -- desk, filing cabinet, computer, router, printer, etc. -- needs to be relocated. Where? Into the master closet, I guess.

When? It had better be pretty soon. Only 12 weeks left to go.

Girl clothes

We've borrowed baby girl clothes from two different families, so you'd think we would have everything we need. But somehow we ended up with 30 short-sleeved onesies, but only three pairs of pants. We have six sleeveless dresses, but no sweaters. And we only have two pairs of footed pajamas. Here's a tip: if you are expecting a baby in January, you should make friends with people whose children were born in the winter!

So this weekend we went shopping for baby girl clothes at my favorite second-hand store. With Isaac we waited until after he was born to buy any clothes; since we received so many gifts, there wasn't much we needed. (Also, he was born in the heat of late summer and didn't need to wear much!) I don't think we'll get many presents with a second child, however, and I felt uneasy having next to nothing that could keep a new baby warm.

Ever since we announced we were expecting a girl this time, people have been telling me how much more fun I was going to have dressing a girl. I absolutely did not believe them. I had really enjoyed little boys' clothes, for one. Furthermore, I resent having no choice but pink, I dislike gratuitous bows and ruffles, and I find glitter and rhinestones excessive. I have problems with the symbolism of little girls' clothes, including the emphasis on frivolity, ornamentation, and preciousness. Can't a little girl be something other than silly, vain, and cute?

But you know what? There actually are a lot of really cool clothes for girls. In fact, when I started shopping I found it was hard to limit myself. I mostly bought practical stuff in size 0-3 months to keep the baby warm: two pairs of leggings, two pairs of pajamas, a hooded sweater, a sweatsuit. But I also couldn't resist a few unnecessary items for size 3-6 months, including a blue-and-black checked dress with smocking and a pair of jeans with apples embroidered on the knees.

Upon consideration, I realized that boys' clothes also have stylistic pitfalls, including sports and military themes that emphasize aggression and toughness, and we successfully avoided those. It just takes careful shopping.

- - - - -

And when children of either sex get old enough to choose their own clothes, all this careful consideration of the semiotics of their wardrobe goes out the window. I don't hate clothing with vehicles on it, for instance, but it wouldn't be my first choice for my offspring. But Isaac loves his many vehicle t-shirts. Now that he has his own opinion, it's time for me to step back and let him make his own choices.

At least I'll be able to choose the clothes for this baby girl for a while yet, right?

Weight gain

I recognize that there are few things worse than someone without a weight problem complaining about her weight. And yet, as my son says gleefully when he's about to undertake a forbidden action, I'm going to do it anyway!

At my appointment with the midwife this morning, I weighed 153 pounds.

Actually, earlier on in this pregnancy I was afraid that I wasn't gaining enough weight. Ha! I'm not exactly sure how much I weighed when I got pregnant, but I'm guessing it was about 120 pounds. Back when I was 16 weeks pregnant, I estimated that I had gained 12 pounds. At 25 weeks, I had gained a bit over 20 pounds. And now at nearly 29 weeks, I've gained 30 pounds.

Apparently women who are of average weight when they get pregnant are supposed to gain 25 to 35 pounds in total -- around five of those pounds in the first trimester, and around one pound per week for the remaining 25 weeks. So how did I manage to gain nearly ten pounds in just four weeks?

Right now the baby only weighs two and a half pounds (this is just an average estimate, not an actual calculation), so she's got another six pounds before she reaches her brother's birth weight. And I've got another 15 pounds before I catch up with the amount of weight I gained when I was pregnant with her brother.

Think I can keep my weight gain down to a pound per week for the next 11 weeks? Not a chance. I'm not worried about it, however. At least I don't seem to get stretch marks -- haven't yet, anyway!

- - - - -

The baby continues to "measure big," which she has done consistently. That just means that the top of my uterus is higher than they would expect, by about two inches -- each inch supposedly represents a week's worth of fetal growth. (The same thing happened with Isaac, who was taller than average when he was born.) Are newborn girls usually lighter than boys? Or do second children, regardless of sex, tend to be heavier? I'm just wondering what I can expect as far as birth weight goes.

- - - - -

Bizarrely, the BMI calculator still claims I am "normal weight." I am still wearing size six maternity pants, although I've moved up to the DD cup bra. Actually, that might explain the weight gain.

Weight gain II

I have a major revision to yesterday's post about my 30-pound pregnancy weight gain, nearly ten pounds of it in the last four weeks. At my prenatal appointment yesterday, you may recall, the midwife's office scale claimed I weighed 153 pounds.

But my bathroom scale this morning said 143 pounds. That's only a twenty-pound weight gain.

So which number is correct? Why such a big discrepancy?

Part of the problem is being weighed on four different scales -- three different ones for my prenatal visits (first an OB, then the midwife, and yesterday's appointment was at a different office than usual), and then my own scale at home.

Another issue is that I got my baseline pre-pregnancy weight of 123 from my home scale using typical home-weighing techniques -- that is, weighing myself as soon as I wake up in the morning, before eating any food, and while wearing very little. When I'm weighed at a medical provider's office, it's later in the day, and I'm well-fed and fully clothed.

So although according to my home scale I've gained only 20 pounds since I became pregnant, I suspect the accurate number might be slightly higher. But I am completely unsure how much weight I gained over the last four weeks. In the end, it doesn't matter. I eat when I'm hungry, and that's not going to change. Plus the midwife would let me know if she had concerns. I just wanted to provide an addendum to the historical record.

I'll pay more attention to my chart at my next prenatal visit. Maybe I'll even jot down a few notes for accuracy's sake.

Parent-teacher conference

Now I know for sure I'm a parent, because I participated in my first parent-teacher conference!

Most of the conferences were held at the start of the school year because they were intended as a way for parents to tell the teachers about their children. We just had ours on Tuesday, however, because we were out of town at the time of the originally scheduled conference, and I only recently got around to rescheduling it. (In the spring we'll have another parent-teacher conference, and at that point Isaac's teacher Jennifer will actually tell me about his progress in school.)

The conference only lasted ten or 15 minutes, but much useful information was exchanged. Jennifer said that Isaac seems very comfortable at school, and that he had only cried that one day he was confused about my plans for leaving. She said he had successfully made the transition from attachment to me, but she seemed a little chagrined when she admitted that he hadn't yet made the transition from attachment to her. She said it was probably her fault for comforting him with books at the start of the school year, but it was hard to resist because she really enjoys reading to him!

Sometimes when I ask Isaac what he did at school, he says, "I pretty much followed teacher Jennifer around." It turns out he's not exaggerating. He follows her, carrying a stack of books with him, and whenever he sees an opening he asks her to read to him. He is often responsive when she suggests he try something else -- he always does the day's art project, which Jennifer doesn't supervise -- but he immediately comes back to her when he's done.

So Jennifer and I agreed that some of our goals for the year are for Isaac to separate from her, to broaden his range of activities at school, and to select activities on his own. I suggested that perhaps she could start by sometimes suggesting that another adult to read to him, which she thought was a good idea.

I was sure to point out to her, however, that Isaac's behavior is not because he hasn't adjusted to school. It's consistent with his behavior at any busy and stimulating place, whether it's a playground, a kids' museum, or a birthday party. He is not shy or frightened, but he is cautious and slow to warm up. It just takes time before he is comfortable leaving the side of an adult he trusts. When he finally gets comfortable, however, he has a fun time exploring on his own. (It can take an hour or two, though, which is a very long time to have your kid standing close by your side while you say, "Why don't you go on the climbing structure?" or "Don't you want to try the petting zoo?")

I also mentioned that Isaac, being mild-mannered and easy-going, needs help learning to assert himself with other children. Far from being a shove-and-grabber, he's more likely to stand back when another child takes a toy from him. We've practiced role-playing exercises at home, but his polite "I wasn't done playing with that" or "May I offer you this toy instead?" are likely to be ignored in a fast-paced and noisy environment like his preschool. He also has a hard time with playground negotiations, like figuring out whose turn is next to use the digger in the sandbox. Jennifer agreed that without an adult to help guide him through these transactions, a child of Isaac's temperament is likely to become discouraged, and she said she'd bring it up at their next staff meeting.

I'm not sure how consistently the teachers will be able to help, though. It's a big school (40 three-year-olds in his classroom, plus they share the playground with two- and five-year-olds) and although there are lots of adults constantly interacting with the kids, I've noticed that the needs of quieter kids can get overlooked. Well, at least he's not hesistant to advocate for his right to be read to!

On the positive side, Jennifer reports that Isaac loves books (duh), has an impressive attention span, and has no problem sitting and focusing during circle time. He also loves to help her clean up at the end of the day!

Halloween

Here's Isaac on our front porch posing with our Halloween decor -- the strange look on his face isn't political commentary, but an attempt to imitate the jack-o-lantern's expression. He said he wanted a sad pumpkin, but I think it ended up looking worried instead.

We live in a suburb full of kids, but our house is at the end of our subdivision, on a cul-de-sac, atop a hill, in an area where there are only houses on one side of the street, at the edge of the city limits. Also there are no streetlights or sidewalks. It is an awesome place if you like privacy and quiet, but it is not prime trick-or-treating territory. We ended up getting just one group of trick-or-treaters, five boys about 11 years old. They were very polite, especially considering all the work they went through to get to our house.

And did Isaac go trick-or-treating himself? All week he had been claiming he didn't want to, but at the very last minute he changed his mind. (I think he was inspired by the sight of the candy we'd bought for our own potential trick-or-treaters.) So Craig dressed him up and took him to the houses of our three nearest neighbors, who were thrilled to see him. Then it started to rain so they came back home. Three houses for a three-year-old seems about right, actually. (Plus we have all that left-over candy of our own.)

What was Isaac's choice of costume? For the last month he has been consistent: he wanted to dress up as Mario, one of our house-cleaners. This was hero-worship, plain and simple, as Isaac has been a big fan of Mr. Mario ever since he started working for us back in early 2007. But Mario wears jeans, a t-shirt, and Converse sneakers -- not much of a Halloween costume, especially for Isaac, who mostly wears jeans, a t-shirt, and Vans sneakers. So I was planning to fix up a house-cleaning toolbelt for Isaac, but then Isaac said he did not want to go shopping for a kid-sized squirt bottle, squeegee, or bucket. I wasn't going to force him to wear a costume, and plus I was secretly relieved to avoid all the trouble, so we didn't make any costume preparations at all.

So what kind of a costume did we come up with at the very last minute? Construction worker, just like last year. We already had the kid-sized hard hat, tool belt, tools, and workboots. Cute and easy. Perfect.

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Even though we don't have a costumed picture from this year, here are two from the past: an elephant in 2006 and a construction worker in 2007.

Voting

Voting is just one of the ways in which I am a big nerd. Even during my dissipated youth I only ever missed voting in one election. (For the record, it was in the fall of 1989 when I was 19 years old and had just moved to Berkeley; I couldn't vote because I had failed to re-register in time for the election.)

Since Isaac's birth I have taken him with me to the polls for every election. Do you think it will make an impression on him? While I don't remember my parents explicitly teaching me about voting, they never miss an election themselves, and I imagine it's from them that I got the idea that voting is a right and and a responsibility, one of the benefits and burdens of adulthood. (I told you I was a big nerd.)

But in 20 years of voting, I've never stuck a bumper sticker, posted a yard sign, or given money to a strictly political cause* -- until now. Although I have been strongly moved by things happening in politics, I've always kept my feelings private. (Well, almost always.) But now, for some reason, I'm going public with my opposition to California's Proposition 8, which would change the state constitution to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry.

It's a civil rights issue and a matter of logic -- the country already decided against "separate but equal" 40 years ago, so every adult citizen should be allowed to make the marriage of their choice. Settling for domestic partnership just isn't equal.

But what has really gotten me upset is the false and fear-mongering argument that somehow same-sex marriage is bad for children -- not even the children of gay couples, but all children! We've gotten a bunch of pro-8 propaganda in the mail that tries to scare parents by suggesting that their children will be taught about gay marriage in school (as if that was a bad thing). I even saw a yard sign that read "Prop. 8 = Parental Rights," which enraged me so much that I practically foamed at the mouth.

After all, if you're adamantly opposed to same-sex marriage, nothing is stopping you from teaching your kid about it at home, which will (unfortunately) override anything more objective they teach in school.

But more fundamentally, I'm offended by the suggestion that banning same-sex marriage somehow protects my child, or protects my rights as a parent. What would be the benefit of preventing Isaac from learning about same-sex marriage in school? It exists, after all. And what's more, I want my children to be taught about committed and loving families. At the age of three, Isaac knows gay people, he knows same-sex couples -- and he even knows married same-sex couples with kids. It is simply not a big deal.

But at the same time, it is a big deal. Getting married is serious business, and it's something all adult citizens should be allowed to do -- like voting, marriage is a right and a responsibility, a benefit and a burden. Maybe it's because I'm happily married myself, but I feel like it would be good for children, families, and society in general if more people got married.

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*Unless you count contributions to various human rights, civil liberties, environmental protection, humanitarian, and reproductive rights organizations as "political," which I don't. But in 1987 I did write "Bork is a Dork" on my binder during his failed Supreme Court nomination hearings, so I guess I'm not a total stranger to political action.

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Another theory is that I'm fretting about Proposition 8 because I'm displacing my worries about the presidential election.

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Edited 11/4/08 to add:

And this morning Craig called to tell me he saw a pro-8 banner that read "They condition children; we protect children." He wanted to share his fury with me. "Condition" children to what, exactly? Justice? Fairness? Tolerance? Yes, please.

Three dreams

You may remember that Isaac recently claimed he doesn't dream.

This morning right before he woke up (in my bed) he began talking in his sleep, and it sure sounded to me like he was dreaming we were at the grocery store. He said, "No, no! Not the regular cart, Mama! I want to ride in the car cart!"

Imagine Elmer Fudd saying this, though, since Isaac still doesn't pronounce his Rs very well. So he was talking about what sounded like the "cow cowt." Luckily it's a pronunciation I'm used to hearing.

The strange thing is that Isaac almost never goes to the grocery store with me anyway. He and Craig have been doing the weekly grocery shopping together for Isaac's entire life. They mostly go to Whole Foods, which I don't think even has car carts. But when I do go to Safeway with Isaac, it's true that I refuse to push him in the car cart. I think I did it once, and it was just too heavy. So now I tell him that Mama isn't strong enough. He'll grow up thinking I'm a weakling, but at least I won't have to push him in one of those cumbersome germ-filled carts.

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A few nights ago Isaac said (also while sleeping in the big bed), "I wasn't done with that." After a moment or two, he said, "I want that snapping thing back."

Neither Craig nor I could think of a "snapping thing" that we own, so I figured Isaac was talking about something at school, perhaps something that another child had taken from him. I was proud of him for standing up for himself in his dream.

When Isaac woke up, he was still asking about the snapping thing. He wasn't sure what it was, or where he had seen it, but he knew he wanted it back. He also knew what color it was: purple.

We never did figure out what it was.

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And unfortunately Isaac still has those nightmares where he thinks animals are trying to get into the house. (Craig points out that he probably does hear animals scrabbling around outside, as the raccoons and woodrats walk across the roof in search of our fig and apple trees.) Frequently after Isaac has woken in a fright, he'll ask, "Are the foxes all outside?"

Sometimes I tell Isaac that considering that we sleep with a dog in our bed, I hope for the foxes' sake that they are all outside! But not only are dreams not logical, Isaac isn't even certain of the difference between dreaming and reality.

Why homebirth?

You might recall my mentioning that we're planning for this baby to be born at home. You might also, if you are like many people, be wondering why.

Personally, I have two main motivations:

1) Since I'm planning to give birth without pain medication, I will need a variety of alternative pain management strategies, and being at home will make it easier for me to use them.

While some of the strategies I used with Isaac's birth were physical in nature -- position, movement, massage -- for me the most important strategies were mental. I believe that one major reason I was able to give birth to Isaac without using (or even desiring) pain medication was that I was able to do all of my laboring in the security and peace of my own home. I felt relaxed, safe, and comfortable, so I could focus all my attention and energy inward.

Also important to my successful mental attitude was the security and support I received from having one continuous labor support person. In the case of Isaac's birth, this was a doula who provided no medical care, so when we went to the hospital (once I started pushing!) for the actual birth, his delivery was managed by a doctor. In the case of this birth, however, we will have the continuous care of the midwife for both labor and delivery (without a last-minute drive to the hospital!), which should be a great improvement.

2) Since I believe that many of the medical interventions routinely performed in the hospital create problems by changing the course of normal labor, being at home will make it easier to avoid them.

If I am in need of medical care beyond what the midwife can provide, we'll go to the hospital right away. I am not frightened of doctors and I like Western medicine! But I'll admit that I am nervous about the medical approach to labor and birth, which advocates active management, and I'm especially nervous about the many interventions which would require me to stay in bed. I don't want to be timed, induced, augmented, continuously monitored, hydrated via IV, catheterized, sedated, or numbed. (Unless I need to be, of course.) I think of this as the "cascade of chaos," where one small action on the part of hospital staff creates a need for more action, until a real problem has been created.

Isaac was born in the hospital, and although I avoided medications, I did give birth tethered to a fetal monitor and an automatic blood pressure cuff. Although I only had the machines attached to me for the last hour or 45 minutes, they made me mentally uncomfortable, as I was unnerved by their continuous feedback, as well as physically uncomfortable, as they required me to remain in bed on my back. At a homebirth the baby and I will both be monitored as well, but the monitoring will be done intermittently, by a human being, which I anticipate will be less intrusive and disturbing.

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And what about my homebirthing readers? (I know there are at least two of you!) What are your motivations for choosing to give birth at home?

Now with 85% less patience

Starting a few weeks ago, my patience with Isaac's misbehavior suddenly decreased dramatically.

I've gotten myself back under control, but there were a few incidents where I did not deal with the situation with any sort of useful parenting strategy. I simply reacted on instinct, and it unfortunately turned out that my instinct was kind of mean and not at all productive.

I didn't do anything of which I would be really ashamed -- I didn't tell Isaac he was a bad child, or stupid, or worthless. I didn't tell him he should be ashamed of himself, or I didn't love him, or I was sorry he was born. So things could have been worse, I guess.

But I did slap him in the back of the head when he wouldn't stop smearing mud and sand on the window. And I did send him to his room when he wrote all over the family room floor with a marker while I was on the phone, and when he wailed down the hall that he didn't like his banishment, I said with relish, "Good! You're not supposed to like it!" And when he squirted water all over me to prevent me from washing his face during his bath, I poured a cup of water over his head, completely soaking his face. And when he was dropping something in the dog's water dish, I pushed him so he lost his balance and ended up with his arm submerged in the water.

Basically I allowed myself inappropriate, immature, angry responses to completely normal three-year-old misbehavior. Part of what caused me to have such unusually violent responses is something unusual on Isaac's part: his willfulness. In most of these cases I told him to stop the behavior, and he laughed defiantly and continued it -- or even escalated it! It seems like whenever I tell him to stop doing something, he throws himself into it with even more enthusiasm. That's absolutely infuriating.

I know I have been very lucky. Isaac isn't perfect, but overall he's been a pretty agreeable child, so he hasn't given me much experience dealing with defiance and misbehavior. But now he's experimenting with free will and practicing his separation skills in a major way, so I need to learn some new skills myself. Controlling my temper would be a good place to start.

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An hour or so after I smacked him for smearing dirt on the windows, he said, "I didn't like it when Mama yelled at me. It made me sad." He didn't mention being slapped in the head, and I wasn't sure that was a good thing -- shouldn't that have been unusual enough to bother him? But then he said, "Mama yelled at me for no good reason."

Then I was mad all over again! "I had a very good reason," I protested. "What had you done wrong?"

"Nothing," he said sadly. And I never did get him to admit what he had done.

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So I'm 85% less patient, yes, but Isaac is at least 50% more annoying. Plus I've had a cold, and it turns out he's been getting sick too, which might explain some of our extreme behavior.

And do people get less tolerant of their offspring the more pregnant they get? My decrease in patience corresponds pretty closely with my entering the third trimester. I've never heard it mentioned, but maybe I'm transitioning the focus of my interest from the existing child to the child-to-be-born -- practicing my own form of separation. Or maybe I'm just tired.