sugar

I've had a few revelations over the last weeks, sometimes while taking walks outside in the mild Carolina weather, or while watching my baby make bubbles and faces at me, but nothing really worth writing an entire blog entry about.  So, I'll write about what's been on my mind:  sugar.

I was overweight for a lot of my life.  I was a chunky kid and teen, before the obesity epidemic hit and most kids weren't chunky. My mom cooked all our meals and we ate nutritiously, but subscribed to the, "finish your plate" concept.  Or maybe I just liked to overeat? I lost weight for a short time in high school, but I don't really remember what drove me to, or how I did it.  I didn't enjoy sports or come from an athletic background so I didn't exercise.  Once I got to college, I gained a freshman 15, then a sophomore 15.  By the time my sister graduated high school in the spring of 2002, I didn't even recognize myself in a photograph, I had gotten so fat.  How did I get that way?  I walked everywhere, and had jobs in kitchens where I was on my feet the whole time.  One of those jobs was as a cake decorator.

While working, there was always something to snack on in the bakery.  Fresh chocolate chip cookies, leftover cake crumbs, you name it, it was there.  My significant other and I would treat ourselves once a week or so to a dinner at a restaurant, and probably cleaned our plates, not realizing each plate was really meant for a family.  I developed a  love for cooking, and used a lot of butter, olive oil, and I'm sure I didn't eat enough vegetables.  Anyway, by the time I realized I was fat, I was pretty fat.  It really grossed me out to see that photo.

One day sometime around the time I started graduate school, or maybe before that, I decided once and for all that I would start getting active.  I realized my current diet and exercise routine was not cutting the mustard, and so I got a bicycle and told myself I would ride it to work one day a week.  Slowly, I enjoyed it, so I increased the amount of times I rode to work.  Then, I kinda just started riding it everywhere.  Sometime after that, I decided I wanted to do yoga.  So, I checked out this DVD from the library, liked it, and moved to the next level once that got easy.  Slow changes. 

My love of cooking started in college.  I remember my friend Melissa and I would relish our Saturday nights when we could watch Iron Chef together on the free college cable in her dorm room.  We would marvel over how the chef could butcher an eel and create five first-class dishes in one hour!  Nothing was off limits, and boy, was I curious.  Growing up, I thought I hated steak because steak was black and chewy.  It wasn't until a "steak dinner night" in the dorm cafeteria that I realized steak could be pink and soft and tasty!  Granted, I did go to an ag school (woot woot Oklahoma State!), so they knew about their beef, but you get the point.  An entire culinary world awaited me that I never knew existed, and I intended to grab it by the horns and make it mine.  That included the cake decorating and baking world, the magical world of sugar.

Fast forward like 5 years to today.  So, I took up running when my nephew was born, September 2008 but didn't really get any distance behind me.  I ran 2 miles like 5 days a week with my dog, and I had really gotten my diet to a healthy place:  lots of fresh, local veggies, fresh fruits and not very much meat, but legumes and yogurt.  Whole grains, all that good stuff.  Cooking nearly every day, for myself and for friends.  Then I joined the Peace Corps, and lo and behold, lots of runners in my intake group!  Several people, especially, were so encouraging that I keep running and try for a marathon.  Me, who has never been athletic, or even that physically fit, run a marathon?  You've got to be kidding!  I thought.  But, I thought if I could get to South Africa, live in a village and do crazy education work that I know little or nothing about, I guess I could train for a marathon.  And so I did!  Living in the village with no oven and a very tight budget, I did not make very many sweets.  A couple times, i made cinnamon rolls in my leftover food tins and took them to school, and they were a very big hit.  But, I bought and soaked my beans, ate rice often, veggies, fruit, and battled for the clean water.  Talk about healthy living!  But I really did miss making those cakes.  Before I left the USA in July 2009, I was doing wedding cakes and other celebration cakes on "the side" out of my kitchen, here and there in my spare time.  While I was away though, I realized that is something I'd like to pursue full-time.  But there arose a quandry:  how to rectify my new healthy changes to my baking?

In order to remain true to myself, my purpose, my calling, I had to find a way to bake more healthfully.  Sure, a big, fat, rich, piece of chocolate cake is amazing to eat every once in awhile, but do I feel good about proffering this to a public saying, "this is good for you, buy it?"  not really.  So, I've been on the hunt for recipes that are more healthful than the traditional butter, sugar and refined wheat flour-filled treats we are accustomed to, and recipes for those with special dietary needs like gluten-free and vegan diets.  It has been kind of a bumpy road, let me tell ya.  Nothing is worse than pulling your pan out of the oven and having the item look like a science experiment, or waiting patiently for a cupcake to cool only to have it feel like gummy sand in your mouth.  When the highlight of my day is waiting for enough time to put together a recipe, and it is a bust, it can be depressing.  But, there have been some bright spots, which is encouraging.

I tried Jessica Seinfeld's recipes from her book Deceptively Delicious, thinking that is a great idea, to use veggie purees instead of milk or oil in recipes, but they aren't right, IMHO.  You can tell there is something "amiss" and sometimes even taste the veggies in the finished products.  I've tried lots of different suggestions for vegan stuff that doesn't involve "fake butter" or "fake eggs," and those don't really work out either, for the most part.  I've had the biggest successes with the gluten-free items, blending different flours together to get good taste and textures for some things.  So, I think this will work.  It's just too bad that seven minute icing doesn't last longer than a day, because that is the perfect icing!  Very low fat, marshmallowey texture, and oh-so-dreamy...I digress.

A good friend of mine thinks that sugar is evil.  In order to stop my unhealthy habits of eating, in the beginning, I had to think that way, too.  I had to take it out of my diet almost completely in order to be able to incorporate it moderately.  I realize though that each person has his or her own way of dealing with difficulty.  I also realize that, in my never-ending quest for knowledge that our bodies process sugar in the same way they do alcohol- as a toxin.  On a chemical level, our body cannot tell the difference between fructose, glucose or alcohol.  Sugar is found rarely in nature and is not a part of a whole-foods diet.  It has been linked to obesity, particularly in children.  Etc, etc. etc. etc.  So, what is the answer to a health-conscious bakery question; to replace all sugar with Splenda?  To make products that are just much less sweet?  Yes, no, other.  To promote an active, balanced lifestyle and "practice what I preach" seems to be a good solution, sort of.  One of my friends was recently training for a marathon, and I told her how awesome that she keeps us aware of her fitness updates.  I think my exact words were, "You're a machine!"  She said, "No, I just have a wicked sweet tooth."

Learning Compassion

Immediately, when I read or hear the word, "compassion," I think of the two aspects of a Bodhisattva, an enlightened being trying to achieve nirvana, wisdom and compassion.  A Bodhisattva is a follower of the Buddha, one who wishes to throw off the shackles of attachment to worldly goods and thoughts, to help others, to achieve moksha, or freedom from the cycles of life and become one with the universe.  These two attributes are most difficult to learn, and even more difficult to put into practice. 

One personal goal I hoped to achieve by leaving my professional track in the information sciences was that of compassion.  I wanted it, and not like a new bicycle or bag of apples.  I wanted it like one wants a good pair of jeans or a cashmere sweater, something to last a lifetime and something that gets forgotten about but used all the time.  I sincerely desired to become a more compassionate person, as opposed to the cerebral, clinical, critical cynic that I am.  It was paramount at that time to make a foolish financial decision by leaving my student loan debts, contacts, career and home behind in favor of a period of personal growth and diminished physical goods.  The rationale was that I could always work, but I could not always be so unemcumbered to embark on such an adventure.  And I don't regret it.  I'm just wondering what happened to the zeal I had for wanting to soften up and get to my underbelly, to live in the bottom of the pot of human need and emerge with a new sense of humanity.

Lately, I have been reminded of my cruel humor and that I delight in others' failure.  While this may sound terrible, it is true.  I just can't wait to point out what someone has done wrong, and find it hard to hold my tongue.  I just want to give everyone advice, as if my thinking and knowledge are the right ones.  What about those lessons I learned in rural South Africa, about the importance of family, and looking out for one another as fellow humans, giving attention to a child because maybe nobody else does?  What about all that listening, and time spent observing and helping, rather than being the first to criticize?  There were entire days that would pass in SA where I wouldn't speak more than a greeting, and I sure did an awful lot of helping.

One theory is that, because the pendulum swung so drastically from "free, selfish American" to "poor, stranger, volunteer" it's now swinging back to the selfish American side again.  Instead of softly and gracefully transitioning back to this cushy, wasteful lifestyle, I whirled like a dervish into it, thrashing about, trying to find my way amid a cespool of wasteful gluttony, gasping and grasping at whatever I could find that seemed normal. 

Another is that, by choosing to live with my family, with whom I had not addressed several deep and large issues from the past, I compounded my difficulty of readjusting to American life, and have been failing miserably at achieving my goals because I just couldn't hack it.  I really only have those two theories, so if you have a better one, please send it my way.

By becoming a mother, I automatically have more compassion for babies and children, as this is a biological necessity for survival, I think. I must be sensitive to the needs of my child or he will not prosper, and that just makes sense from a scientific perspective.  Crying means something is wrong, whether it be company, diaper change, hunger, or sleep.  Movement indicates development, so once he starts moving a lot I must be more careful where he lays, such as, not from a high ledge or near anything sharp or precariously balanced.  Ok, that makes sense.  But I'm trying to make sense of this set of values that is cruelty/compassion, and that is not as clearly sensible.

In one of my classes in "library school," I enjoyed learning about information seeking behavior and sense-making.  All queries, informal or formal, are a person's way of making sense about the world.  As we study the different ways people can come at a problem, we can understand a lot more about them and about the discipline of information management (new term for library science) as a whole.  One big surprise to me was that most people, especially professors with doctorate degrees, will first ask a colleague when they need a question answered. That's right, they want to talk to a human being, not an encyclopedia, or a peer-reviewed journal, a buddy.  Medical doctors are the same way.  So now, physicians bring laptops or notebooks into the exam room and record their info into your digital chart, but you know what?  Even though they have access to the internet, to look up medical information in journals or medlineplus.gov or whatever, they don't do it.  They go next door to consult with their colleague or they rely on their memory to give you the information you need.  The South Africans I lived with placed their trust entirely in those with authority for their information seeking.  Need help with a tea, go ask the sangoma (traditional healer).  Want someone to help you fix the water, go ask the kgosi (chief).  Need help with your homework, go talk to the legkoa (white person).  It was pretty simple, you ask the person who knows.  You don't go to the internet and "google it," or ask around until you get the best deal. 

So far, what i have done to feed my query is the following:  sought out books, documentaries and web sources to remind me what is important i.e. sustainable food and living, composting and gardening, living a life of little carbon footprint.  I have been in communication with friends who are compassionate and seek the same kind of higher living and thought.  I have asked trusted family members to help me with my quest, and engaged them in some difficult conversations.  The key, it seems, is awareness.  Now that I am again aware of my quest, and aware of my shortcomings, I can begin to achieve success in my goal.  I don't see this as a terminal quest, but one that will take a lifetime.  Sometimes the task seems daunting, but mostly I see it as an exciting challenge.  The tough part is trying to explain to people how the moral compass fits into life outside the box of religion...

in da club. parenthood club, that is...

"PLEASE ACCEPT MY RESIGNATION. I DON'T WANT TO BELONG TO ANY CLUB THAT WILL ACCEPT PEOPLE LIKE ME AS A MEMBER". attributed to Groucho Marx

I find it strange, crazy and hilarious that I am in the parenthood club.    For one, I don't even really like kids.  For two, I did not receive a copy of the handbook.  I like my own kid, and kids I get to know on a one-on-one basis, if they are reasonably well-behaved, but large groups of children in general, I have never really enjoyed.  South African village living did go a long way in changing this fact about me, as I had many enjoyable moments with children there, but had many dreaded moments with the thought of being around children all day long, as well.  And I am a Virgo, which means I like to know the rules, regulations and expectations of any given situation before embarking on membership.  Unfortunately, this club has very few rules, and is really hard to understand the purpose unless one has joined.

One thing I've noticed that is different since joining this club is that I make sure to keep up with other people's kids and their goings-on.  I wasn't very good about doing that before, but now, I see how much a priority one's child becomes in one's life.  For example, I've started keeping track of kids birthdays and plan to send cards or greetings each year, if I cannot attend any functions due to proximity barriers.  I remember my birthdays as a child, and they were always a lot of fun even though they did not usually include friends, but cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents.  We lived near many family members, which made these family parties easy to facilitate.  Once there was a birthday in the park with a pinyata (tilde, where art thou?), a raggedy ann cake my mom made, a Casa Bonita birthday, the list goes on. Anyway, people really shape the life of a child, and I guess I didn't really "get" that until now.

Another thing that's different is that I find things "cute" where I would have sneered or not batted an eye at said things a few months ago.  Such as, my nephew jumping on the bed and my four-week-old son being bounced up and down to mimic his jumping on the bed, too.  Or a newborn flannel shirt.  Or the small, dark watchful eyes of my son.  You get the idea. 

Another thing that really gets me about this whole "parenthood" role is that there need not be fanfare or hullabaloo surrounding the transition into parenthood, especially after pregnancy.  It's just the most natural thing in the world to take care of the thing that was growing inside you, at least that has been my experience.  My friend Barbara said that very thing to me, giving me small snippets of this sage advice as I was preparing for the birth of my child, and she was certainly right on.  Most answers can be derived from instinct.  Those that require outside help can be quickly and easily found if one has a good network in place, and accurate media.  The first few weeks were rough, attributed to the adjustment of mother and child to aspects of our new lives and the rush of hormones that accompanies delivery.  Now, it's pretty gravy, akin to troubleshooting a computer problem.  That cry means something's wrong...hungry, diaper, lonely?  That cry means he is angry.  Gas?  Too long in one locale?  That cry is kind of a fake one...he just wants some cuddle time.  Kind of like, did you plug in the machine?  Did you try restarting the program? 

I've enjoyed taking tons of newborn pictures, sending out birth announcements, comparing baby's body parts to mom and dad to see who he resembles more, trying to keep socks on his feet, figuring out what he likes to do best so he doesn't cry all the time, and my life has been completely consumed by my child.  Instead of this being an inconvenience, or a bigger deal than I expected, it has just been the way it is supposed to be, the next step of the journey.  I wonder how much of this ease comes from biology, and how much can be attributed to conditioning (aka spending time in the Peace Corps)?

Labor and delivery, some after birth (but not placenta)

So anyone who tells you there is something romantic about natural childbirth is a dirty liar.  Just want to preface that right away, get it out in the open.  Now that's out of the way, I can try to describe my labor and delivery experience, resulting in one teeny baby named Jasmir Francis Alam.

For about one week up to the day of delivery, I started having mild cramps that lasted for a few minutes, mostly in the evening time, similar to a normal monthly menstral cramp; that is to say, not too painful, but an indication that some change is happening.  The first time this happened, I thought it might be the indicator that labor was shortly coming.  Then, when it didn't, I just kind of ignored them, or just got used to them and didn't really pay closer attention.

The day I actually went into labor was Saturday.  I visited a local bicycle shop with my mom, sister and nephew because I asked for a bicycle for my birthday gift.  Since I was 41 weeks pregnant on that day, we knew labor could happen anytime, so we thought we should go try out some bikes while I could comfortably sit and before September 10, which is my birthday, rolled around.  So, in the early afternoon, I found this great cruiser that was on a special clearance, and it happened to be super comfortable and awesome, so I took it for a test spin, and could comfortably ride at 9 months pregnant, so deemed it a good fit.  Then, we went to eat lunch at a local Thai restaurant, kind of a hole in the wall place, and with an incredibly amazing sushi bar.  I know that certain things are not recommended for pregnant women to eat, raw fish included, but being the rebel that I am, I took my chances several times throughout and indulged.  We ate, took a grocery shopping trip, which entailed me hanging out in the parking lot with my nephew, letting him pretend to drive, then headed home.

After a few hours, I started helping with dinner.  That's been something nice my family has been trying to do, at my request, is eat dinner together.  That was the "last meal," as I started having some serious labor pains after dinner.  It just slowly creeped up on me, starting more that morning, then just coming like in 15 minute intervals, then 10, then 5, and by that point, I was starting to freak out a little.  It was really hurting, and I thought, "well, this sucks." My sister suggested it was time to go to the hospital, but I just wasn't ready.  Mentally, I thought I would be more prepared, but I wasn't.  But I just started getting in that mode where I listened to her, then my doula, once we arrived at the hospital, then went into my own world from there.

We arrived at the hospital at midnight, and they kept me in triage for over an hour.  My cervix was dilated 4 cm and the baby was at -2 station, so maybe they were keeping me a bit longer so they could admit me.  I'm not really sure, and the contractions had sort of stalled out by that time, and weren't very painful (in comparison to the later ones, anyway) so we were just chatting with the nurse and waiting on my body to do its' thing.  Once they admitted me, after about an hour or so, the contractions started getting really painful and I was, well, surprised about how hard it was.  When I broke my leg, i thought I could not top any pain like that, ever again, as that was so intense and so crazy, and it made me kind of bitter, so I thought labor would be a cinch.  Wow, do I ever feel like an idiot!

So for some reason, I had decided I wanted to keep my new running shoes on.  Ever since I broke my leg and could walk again, I have pretty much lived either barefoot or in running shoes.  My mom bought me some a few days before I gave birth, so I was ecstatic about having foot comfort again, after limping around in my old South African running shoes.  And I know myself, how I don't ever just sit down, and thought I'd like to be comfortable during labor.  And I was right on the not sitting down part anyway.  I didn't sit or lie down once, until they made me at the very end.  No position was comfortable, to say the least, but the best ones were sitting on the toilet, squatting up and down, and grabbing onto any handle-like object and leaning or squatting.  Good lord, that was the craziest most painful thing I have ever done in my life.  It certainly trumps surfing, breaking my leg, nearly getting arrested, or any other crazy things I've experienced.  All the books, stories, and information that talks about birth as this romantic notion I can understand in the abstract, but in concrete, real-life, I think it is hell.  I still feel all queasy with nausea and teary-eyed thinking about how bad it hurt, and how I felt like my sanity was super close to teetering off the deep end several times throughout.

My doula and my sister both commented on how focused I was, and how well I did, but I was moaning and groaning and screaming because I couldn't help it.  I kept thinking how I ought to be able to go to some happy yoga place in my mind to trick it away from the pain, but instead, what I focused on.  They say every mom finds her way to get through it.  Then, at the end, the reward is this baby.  But I was just glad it was over!  I didn't really think of it that way at all, until after the suctioning, stitching, cleaning, etc. were complete and I could get a chance to focus on life outside labor again.  It was a totally tunnel-vision type of experience, but not religious whatsoever.  Before labor began, I was really sad that Jackei couldn't be with me.  Now, after it's over, I'm really glad he wasn't here.  Nobody should have to see somebody they love go through that crap!  I'm really amazed my sister actually wanted to help me, and was really, really glad she was there.  I'm also really glad I hired a doula.  The two of them made a great team, and I could NOT have done it by myself.  The nurses and everyone in the hospital taking care of me were great, too, because they all supported my plan to go "au natural" but if I ever do it again, a) I must be crazy, and b) I'll take a Tylenol or something!

Anyway, it seems when i write anything significant, it's always about pain.  Well, it seems I entered my time of pain in life, and hopefully am kind of on the way out.  I know motherhood is a totally different kind of path, and it has actually been great so far, but lots of special pains involved with it.  It took me awhile to bond with my son, but not too awfully long, and he's terribly cute so it wasn't really that hard :)  It's just that nothing, absolutely nothing, prepares you for the long road of pregnancy, labor, delivery, and motherhood.  Not all the books and manuals in the world, the well-meaning advice from friends of family, your own imagination, nothing.  I am looking forward to what this new beginning will bring, but am really, really glad the last part is finished.

past due date, still waiting for godot

It's been nearly two weeks since we moved into our new house on Willow Oak Road, and it really feels like home.  My sister and I were both pretty nervous about moving, because we thought it just seemed so far away from many of the places we frequent:  doctors offices, YMCA, splash parks, shops, etc. but it's manageable, and it's really peaceful to live near the lake.

We've been working non-stop at a steady pace; unpacking, hanging, cleaning, cooking, while our dad has been doing things like putting doors on, fixing doorknobs, changing light fixtures, etc.  The house had not been kept up all that well, and it just seemed easier to us to get as much taken care of as possible before the new addition to our family arrives, either Jannat or Jasmir.

I've not been able to cycle or swim, or use the elliptical everyday like I had become accustomed to before the move, and that's starting to really bug me.  I have been plenty busy, and take a walk everyday as well as my yoga routine, but really looking forward to some activity again.  Come on baby!  It's really weird to think that in a matter of mere moments, I just won't be pregnant anymore.  Oh, and then there will magically be another human appearing.  I don't know how I'm going to feel about it, only time will tell.

Walking takes twice as long now, with this enormous pressure in my lower back.  I catch glimpses of myself in the mirror and do a double-take, as no human should have to protrude that much from one area of the body- it's very odd. 

is it time?

The last few weeks have been kind of tumultuous.  At least three days of each week are spent in various doctors' offices or laboratories, as I have my various ailments tended to, while I run errands and go swim at the YMCA in between and after appointments.  These errands have consisted mostly of hunting for low-priced furniture and home furnishings for my room.

When I left the States in July 2009, I got rid of my meager collection of belongings, including a bicycle, lots of framed artwork, cheap furniture, and kitchen gadgets.  I procured the biggest/baddest of the kitchen stuff while I journeyed to Oklahoma, but I'm pretty much starting from scratch.

I'm staying with my parents, so I don't have an entire house to furnish, just a room for me, my new coming baby, and fiancee.  Many items were generously given to me by friends in Oklahoma, but I needed shelving and drawers, and a bed.  I managed to get all these things, and have almost finished sanding and painting the bookshelves, and am still working on stripping the paint and old stain from a really pretty wooden chest of drawers i found at Habitat Restore, but man...I did not anticipate the time it would take to refinish this piece.  I'm running out of time, because we are moving to a new house on Sunday (this is Friday night, just shy of midnight), I may or may not be getting ready to go into labor, and I have been pretty stressed about the living situation.  Not only does my youngest brother still live at home with my parents, but also my sister and almost 3 year old nephew.  I don't have my own vehicle, and so I'm sharing with my family.  I have a lot of appointments, which places a burden on them, but mostly on my sister because my parents are always at work.  She doesn't work, but she has this pressing need to take my nephew to many places rather than stay home and find things to do.  So, being mobile, but in a limited capacity, has been somewhat of a strain.  They say you can never go home again.  Well, "they" are pretty smart because it proves to be a huge burden sometimes, although I try to remind myself of the alternative:  living in a small grocery shop in a rural South African village, 2.5 hours away from a decent hospital and obstetrician, with no car to get there. 

So, as I've tried my best to live within these parameters, I've also been in pretty debilitating pain.  I did something to my back/SI joint on the left side, and for almost 2 weeks, could barely walk, sleep, or really do much that involved movement.  While attending sessions with an amazing chiropractor, physical therapist and massage therapist, I was shopping for furniture, swimming, and still doing my yoga- cooking, trying to clean up after people at our house, interact with them, and battle my mood swings/pregnancy hormones with no support from any nearby friends, I think it's time.

Maybe I'm finally succumbing to the stress of it all, or maybe I am in early labor?  Only time will tell, I'll keep you posted.  BTW it's Eastern Standard Time, 11:58pm, Friday, 19 August 2011.  My sister, Esther, who lives in Colorado, just gave birth to her first baby yesterday evening, little baby Rueben (sandwich).  My mom flew out this afternoon to go spend a week helping her take care of herself and her new addition.  Best wishes to them, and best rest and relaxation for me.

more about the baby

This post is ranty.  This is your disclaimer.  This will allow me to segue into my first point...

I guess I didn't realize how much pent up energy or anger or frustration or whatever i had lurking in my heart of darkness after serving in the peace corps.  Spending two years living without things at different times:  pride, privacy, dignity, choice, attractiveness, peers, friends, intellectual stimulation, communication, transportation, comfort, etc., really took it's toll.  Combine that with some physical pain and restriction from my injury, separation from my fiancee, moving back in with my parents-sister-and-nephew, and the growing of a fetus, you've got yourself one big tornado of stress whirling your way.  I've never been so volitile and stupid (pregnancy fog), and both of those things are increasingly frustrating.

Because of my injury and abrupt termination of peace corps service, i did not have the benefit of attending any workshops the organzation provides volunteers about transitioning into "normal life" again.  I see now that would have been really helpful.  My sister tells me I talk to everyone like they're old and stupid.  (Well, they're probably one or the other right?! Heh heh, sorry...)  She says I hurt her feelings all the time because I say things too bluntly.  I find myself being increasingly less compassionate and tolerant.  How much of this is post peace corps and how much is the pregnancy and stress?  I don't know, but I think I need to create a cave.  I used to have one, it was called my own house.  And when I had roommates, I used my art studio for this retreat.  Perhaps I ought to get busy finding something similar before i alienate myself from everyone I know, eh?

Another odd discovery about pregnancy is that I'm beginning to see little parts poking from my belly.  Possibly elbows and knees, or maybe little fists?  Thanks, little one, for punching and kicking.  That means you're still alive! Who needs a machine that goes, "ping!"?  It's weird for me to feel around to try and tell which position it's in because it kind of freaks me out.  Some people just cannot accept my clinical fascination over an emotional response, but I'm not really surprised.  These same people rely on their emotions far too much for my fancy in other situations, so it only makes sense.  No matter though, because it is my pregnancy and I'll enjoy it or be freaked out by it if I want.

I've ALREADY been battling my mom and sister about baby stuff.  I am just not a stuff person, and I never will be.  And neither is my child, at least, not yet. No matter how many times you ask me, or bring stuff home, or try to convince me, I do not need stuff.  And neither do you.  You have been convinced by clever marketing to think you need stuff.  If you need a reminder of your disgusting dependence on physical items to fulfill your needs, I recommend viewing the film, "Fight Club." Reading the book is alternately recommended.  I actually find it comical that they cannot comprehend how a baby can survive without a jumping gymnasium, playmat with junk hanging down from it, whirling singing toys, and the like.  Perhaps in the same way they have done so for millions of years before the arrival of Fisher Price?  Just fine, or in fact, maybe even more successfully, because this means another human will have to be involved in the baby's exercise and playtime as opposed to the baby being left to exercise in some equipment while no one else is around.  It's not that I don't understand how a lot of these things can make life easier for a person, or how much joy they receive from their things.  I just happen to favor old fashioned people over things and would rather have less than more.