I'm not Buddha, please don't rub my belly

It’s become like clockwork. Every couple of weeks or so, I indulge myself in a manicure and pedicure (why I never thought of doing this years ago, I have no clue). The nail salon is run by a few Vietnamese ladies that I’ve gotten to know over the last couple of years. They were ecstatic when they found out I was pregnant. And ever since then, the moment I sit down, one or two or three of the girls will inevitably come over and rub my belly and give ecstatic comments in broken English. It’s very sweet, really.

Our next door neighbor is also thrilled at the idea of us having a baby. Now in her early 40’s, she never had a child, and the idea of being a wall away from one has given her the idea of living vicariously through us. She has rubbed my belly a handful of times in passing, while overflowing with excitement and anxiousness to babysit. The idea of quick baby watching a few feet away actually sounds pretty convenient.

A great friend of ours is simply in awe of the whole pregnancy/baby phenomena and has become so emotionally in tuned to my experiences. Every so often in hugs of goodbye, he’ll add a rub of the belly with a fond farewell to the baby. Never fails to make me smile.

Now, these are people I know and trust, so I’m in no way wierded out by their physical act. I’ll admit, it was a little strange at first, especially in the early stages where there was really no baby bump (as much as I loathe that term, it seems appropriate for visual purposes here) to see or feel. Just my own fluffy tummy that I suppose could be mistaken for said baby bump. That’s where it became a little embarrassing on my part, but I chalk it up to naivety and ‘whatever they don’t know won’t hurt’ idea.

For months, I began to worry that I wasn’t really ‘showing’ the obvious baby ‘swishing’ inside. I was tempted to buy a shirt that said ‘baby’ with an arrow pointing down. Or another shirt I found amusing said, “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant…..and fat”. Because, for all I know, strangers simply viewed me as another fluffy girl. A girl at work didn’t even know that I was pregnant. Guess rumors don’t fly as much around here as I expected. Really….I AM pregnant people.

Now that I’m in my sixth month, I can finally sport the ‘baby belly’. And with that, I realized I couldn’t squeeze into my regular clothes any longer. I was stubborn, and was attempting to hold out on new clothes for as long as possible. Well, I finally caved in and bought maternity wear: stretchy pants with wide belly bands and flowy blousy shirts. It was quite a change in look for the girl who lived in jeans and t-shirts her entire life. I finally felt, and I hate to say it, girly. I wonder what people think when they see me in pink patterned shirts waddling around.

But, sporting this new 'do' brings on the ‘Touchers’. I haven’t had the luxury…yet…of having a complete stranger come up to me, cooing as they rub my belly. But, I’m sure that’ll come soon enough. What I wonder is why complete strangers feel they have the right to touch a pregnant lady. I may need to get a shirt that says, ‘No touchy!’

From what I know, most woman do not like to be poked and prodded by a doctor, let alone some random person off the street. I’m assuming it’s a need for connection to the miraculous wonder that’s happening within. I mean, for a pregnant woman, she feels the baby move all the time and immediately has that physical connection. A symbiotic relationship can transcend any relationship. But, for these ‘outsiders’, they don’t know or haven’t experienced that feeling and by merely placing a hand on the belly somehow connects them physically to that baby inches away.

I guess.

Maybe I’m over analyzing it. Maybe it’s like Buddha, and they rub my belly for good luck.

All I can say is, if you’re going to rub my belly for good luck and prosperity, then you better bring me offerings of money and or snacks.

A case of BBS

Here I was, thinking that I've surpassed yet another so called pregnancy symptom, along with throwing up and having weird cravings (which I have yet to have).

Nope, I was wrong. I have developed BBS, or Baby Brain Syndrome. BBS entails lack of memory, random mumblings of made up words and for simpler terms: just being dumb.

I was talking with Jeremy on the phone today and I mentioned that I was going to get a coke Slurpee on the way home from work (nothing makes you feel better like a Slurpee). He remarked how he had one yesterday.


And, here's the conversation starting yesterday:

Me: "Hey let's get Slurpee's tonight".
Jer: "I already had one today".
Me: "You had a Slurpee?!! You didn't tell me!"
Jer: "Um, yes I did, in fact I was talking on the phone with you earlier WHILE drinking it and saying how yummy* it was." (*note, the term 'yummy' will be denied by Jer if asked)
Me: "Hmmm, I don't remember that conversation."

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Fast forward to later that night:

Me: "You know, a Slurpee sounds good"
Jer: "....yeah, like the Slurpee I got today"
Me: "What??! You got a Slurpee? I want a Slurpee!"
Jer: "Yes dear, I told you on the phone earlier today WHILE I was drinking it. Remember?"
Me: "I don't recall"

---------------------------------------------------

Fast forward to today's phone conversation:

Me: "I think I'm going to stop and get a coke Slurpee after work"
Jer: "Yeah, you mentioned how you wanted one yesterday, especially after I mentioned that I had one.
Me: "HUH? When did you get a Slurpee?!"
Jer: "You're kidding, right?"

---------------------------------------------------

And so, concludes the arrival of BBS or my wonderful baby brain. I think the baby is sucking all my mental strength. Good for him.

Me pregnant. Me have bad brain. Me get Slurpee now

Why can't boys like cats, too?

When it comes to the gender line, having extreme masculine on one end and extreme feminine on the other, both Jeremy and I lie towards the center of that scale. I’m proud to say there’s no ‘machismo’ running through his veins, and no ‘girly girl’ running through mine. I believe this is why we’ve always felt a kindred spirit between the two of us. I know they say opposites attract, but a lot of times, that opposition can have its pitfalls down the line. Often there isn’t a connection or understanding when sitting on either extreme.

I picture one of those fancy long tables where the man and woman sit on opposite ends with countless chairs between them. They need an intercom, or at the least, two tin cans on a wire to communicate. There’s almost a sense of archetypal duty engrained in these end seats. This is one thing I hope our son does not fall into. I think this is the fear I had with the idea of having a boy. I just have little tolerance for an extremely masculine and macho man; vice versa an extremely girlish woman. A man can still be strong, without being macho. A woman can still be feminine, without being girly. If that makes any sense.

One of the places I saw evidence of this stereotype was shopping for baby boy clothes. Everything was blue and had either a truck, a car or some sport related icon on the front. Why is this instilled in boys at such a young age? The girl’s attire had cats, while the boy’s had dogs. Why can’t a boy like a cat? Even the toys were very extreme. Boys had toy trucks and lawnmowers, while the girls had Barbie’s and play kitchens.

Personally, I would have no problem letting my son play with a Barbie or playing with pots and pans. Who knows, maybe he’ll become a great fashion designer or grand cook.

The annoyance and frustrations are not just limited for the boys. If we had a girl, I definitely wouldn’t want to instill pink and glitter in everything. My mom was a hippie at heart, and in so, she was never ultra girly, which is most likely where I got it from. I’ve always appreciated both my parent's stable gender role-modeling on me. They encouraged me in anything I wanted to do, whether it was music or sports. And, they never pushed me in one direction or another. Although, my mom never really liked me having Barbie’s, but that was due to the unrealistic idea of beauty for woman. I tend to agree, even though I still had my fair share of the dolls. On the other hand, I also had my fair share of Legos and Erector Sets.

A Renaissance Man; this is what Jeremy hopes our son to become.

I think that’s a fantastic description on how we’d like to raise him. Hopefully, he’ll have a little of both of our personalities and temperaments, likes and dislikes. Hopefully he’ll enjoy the academics as well the sports; art and music as well as video games and Star Wars action figures (this one more for Jeremy, obviously).

I know there are those out there who will say, “But, you can’t always mold who your child will become, you can’t change his personality.”

True.

But, who knows? Perhaps he will become some big WWF Wrestler or (God forbid) football player and like little to nothing else that both Jeremy and I enjoy of life.

But, we can at least instill not only morals and a sense of right and wrong, but a vast understanding and outlook on all aspects of life in general, making him a more well rounded person.

Hopefully.

It wouldn’t hurt, right?

What's in a Name?

Why can’t we pick a name?

One of the best parts to having a child, is the privilege of naming him. This tiny miracle of creation that was made from love and dedication, will embrace a chosen name that will become his identity as he sets forth into this world.

No pressure, right?

I doubt if guys have ever really thought about this growing up, but us girls have already picked names for our future child, ever since we ourselves were a child. These golden names tucked away under lock and key in the back of our minds. We know the name for boy or girl, even before we ever have the official “baby chat” or for that matter, even meet our significant other to whom will be a part of this whole baby making process. The names have been chosen and set in stone.

But, there’s one small thing glitch in the plan us girls had. When it finally does come down to naming the child, we never really considered our partner’s preferences on names, which are, of course, completely contradictive to our golden names.

So, the stubborn conflict and argument begins.


Me: “I’ve always like Lucas”

Him: “Sounds too much like Mucus….no way”


Him: “How about Bruce”

Me: “Um…no.”


This goes on for months. Names are thrown at each other, and shot down before they even hit the floor. Baby name books are highlighted and dog-eared. Names are circled, scribbled, then circled again beyond comprehension. The names become a blur of consonants and vowels. And, desperate moments come when some random ancient Japanese name doesn’t sound half bad.

The cat was so easy to name. Why can’t we just agree on a name for this boy?

The problem I’ve faced has come down to either stubbornness or settling. There are names I simply cannot part with, however, this comes from the other end of the parent as well. We both have names we each love…but not for each others. So, does one of us cave in for the other’s passion and settle on a name we’re only so-so on? If we can’t give in to each other, do we simply find one we marginally agree on, simply to name this child? Can I live with a name that I don’t love?

I could be devious into attempting to get my golden names. I could wait till during and after labor, when he will see how much I’ve gone through to produce this tiny joy and is simply overcome by a flood of happiness that he will simply agree to anything I suggest. It could work….right?

Here are a few very narrowed choices that we can somewhat agree on. Mind you some names I love and others he loves, but nothing conclusive, and each have their own issues.


Luke - Jeremy (and I) are quite the Star Wars enthusiast, so we're afraid people will think that's why we chose that name. It’s not quite the reason for our choice, but nonetheless, should that be an issue? Plus, it may not flow to well with the last name of Treat. (And, no, I have not taken this last name myself, as of yet. Yes, it may be a controversial topic for another time, but this is 2008, people)

Malcolm - We chose this name because we adore the character from the sci-fi show, Firefly. However, do we really love the name or just the character behind the name? Plus, Mal in Latin means, “bad”. Should that be an issue? Is Latin even a language people care about anymore, let alone know?

Logan – This is one of my personal favorites out of the list, but will kids associate him with the comic book character, Wolverine? Do people even know that that's Wolverine's name? But, a cool associate, I think? Every kid loves Wolverine, right? And, every woman loves Hugh Jackman, right?

Brendan – Cute and simple, but to me it sounds a bit too "All American boy next door". I'd like some uniqueness for a name that doesn’t just sound like every other name out there.

Atlas – He’s a Greek mythological character (which I would love to throw in my heritage), but people don't usually know that historical reference. "Oh, like the map?" people say. There are tons of stranger , even made up names, so, why does this one get such funny looks?


I’ve thrown out many polls for people to chose their favorites from our small list. The results are never truly conclusive to one name. Great. All that proved was everyone has their own opinions of what sounds good. But, it doesn’t get me any closer to deciding on a name.

Should I care what other people think? Isn’t the name something my husband and I should love and cherish, not just what other people love? I keep waiting for that “Ah Ha!” moment of clarity where we both cannot see this unborn child named anything but that golden name.

I don’t know. This naming thing is giving me a headache. Maybe by the time the kid is thirty, we’ll have come up with a name.

Oh Boy! It's a boy....

Every soon to be parent tells people that all they want is a healthy baby, no matter the gender.

I repeated this mantra to myself as I laid back with (thankfully) warm jelly squeezed on my exposed belly. It was time for the gender detection ultra sound. The lights were dimmed and soothing, almost nauseating instrumental lullaby music played in the background. A giant pull down screen was before us as we watched our little one move around.

First look was for the beating heart, and sure enough the baby’s heart was a steady 150 beats per minute.

Phew! The breathtaking idea of a child growing inside you is countered with the fear that the child will suddenly stop growing. It’s such a relief to actually see on a monitor that, yes, this child is alive and kicking….in more ways than one.

Now, even before getting pregnant, I always had this picture in my mind that we would have a girl. Even Jeremy had this idea in his head, and actually had a dream once.

“We’ll have a girl, I just know it, “ he would assure me.

I come from a lineage of girls: I have three sisters, and my dad was the only boy of three sisters. Even Jeremy’s mom was one of three sisters. The female gene was the only thing we knew. But, there was this nagging feeling in the back of my mind, a sort of ‘new mother’s intuition’, that this baby, was in fact, a boy. I pushed that fearful thought far, far away. After all…it WILL be a girl….

The “magic wand”, as I would jokingly call it, slid around looking at different angles of the baby. No one ever told me that ultra sounds would be physically uncomfortable as they press quite firmly into your gut. I had to concentrate on the black and white image before me in order to bypass the pressing pain.

But, what I had to concentrate more on was that original mantra, “I’ll be just happy if it’s healthy….I’ll be happy if it’s healthy….don’t cry….be happy….”

“It looks like it’s a boy,” the technician said as she focused her magic wand on the baby.

“….be happy…don’t cry…” I pressed into my thoughts, “she could be wrong….”

I couldn’t even look at Jeremy. I gritted my teeth and fought back the tears that billowed below the surface, waiting to pour, as more detailed images squirmed and kicked before us.

“Yep, definitely a boy,” the technician confirmed as she pointed to the baby’s obvious appendage.

“Oh God, don’t cry….” I pathetically and desperately told myself.

I never could listen to my own advice.

The tears started to fall. This baby girl I had dreamed about, was crushed by my surfacing gut feeling that was evident on the screen. I felt heartbroken and disappointed. And, to make matters worse, I now already felt like the worst mother on earth. How could I be sad about this baby? Why can’t I be overjoyed that the baby’s just healthy? Why am I being so selfish? My dreams of a little girl were squashed right there on the table, listening to a cheesy rendition of Rock-a-by Baby.

“Oh, honey, don’t cry, be happy,” my sweet and understanding husband said as he stroked my hair and handed me tissues. Obviously, he wasn’t as crushed to the idea of having a boy as I was.

“I am happy,” I choked.

The ride home was somber. I felt numb the entire day. Even calling family and friends to tell them the good news was heart wrenching for me. I feigned excitement, but doubt it came across that enthusiastically over the phone. Instantly, that ‘baby high’ I felt for the first months of this journey was bottoming out.

“Oh, you’ll forget all about that when you finally hold him in your arms for the first time,” everyone would tell me.

I was beginning to get tired of people’s intentions of how I should and will feel. I began to shut them out. How could they possibly understand how I’m feeling?

Once I finished my pathetic mourning over the next couple of days….weeks, I had to finally sit back and think, “what’s depressing me most?”.

One was obviously that I had always figured I was going to have a girl, and I suppose, I would miss doing all those girly things; playing with their hair, pick out cute clothes, tea parties... Doesn’t every soon to be mother desire that? I thought so. I didn’t want a clone of me; Jeremy couldn’t handle Elly Jr.! I just wanted a daughter to simply bond with, like the great relationship I have with my mother.

That brought be to what really haunted me about having a boy: that I wouldn’t have the same bond with a boy as I would a girl. Jeremy would be able to teach him video games and baseball and all that other boy bonding stuff. I simply felt left out even before this child was born.

I sought advice and other women’s experiences like mine, and amazingly, I wasn’t alone. They reassured me that even though they hoped for a girl, they couldn’t have imagined life without their little man. Long lists of “Great things about having a boy” helped slowly perk up the baby high I lost. The list contained things from ‘boys are always more cuddly with their moms’, to even ‘boys can take out the trash and kill bugs for you without question’.

The idea of having a boy wasn’t sounding so bad. But, I still had this fear of not becoming close with a boy. I simply had no clue about boys or how to even raise them. “How do you even teach them to pee standing up? Something about Cheerios?” I thought I heard somewhere.

Jeremy saw my growing depression and helped add to the list. He reminded me of one important fact I forgot, “Elly, you’re a tomboy. Of course you’re going to bond with this boy!”

Oh yeah… how can I forget who I really am? I’m no girly girl. I mean, ever since a kid, I was always more interested in Lego’s, building forts, climbing trees, making science experiments... How could I not bond with this boy? Call me a geek, but if he’s anything like me, we’ll get along famously!

And, so the baby high began to rise over time. I admit, it took quite a while, and I’m still getting back to the top, but, I now had a fresh new perspective on this child. I wasn’t fearing those idealistic thoughts as I once did. I was starting to picture my future as a family with a little boy. And that idea wasn’t as scary I originally imagined.

Now, if we don’t get a girl on the next try….well, we’ll come to that when that happens.

We're having a baby!

I watched that I Love Lucy episode where Lucy finds out she's pregnant and attempts to tell Ricky. After many failed and quirky attempts, she slips a secret note to Ricky during his performance to sing "We're having a baby, my baby and me" to the new prospective parents. And, upon finding Lucy at the table, the dawning of his own parenthood reveals itself to him, and he bursts out, "It's me!"...

I started to cry.

Yep, I'm pregnant....and those extra fun, over the top hormones have reached full throttle on this lady. Amazing life transforming time of life, and here I am grabbing tissues while watching the ever hilarious black and white sitcom.

I can't say I love this initial part, these steps towards 'motherhood', but it definitely gives me an excuse to be extra sappy and emotional with no consequences. I love it. I'm eating it up, and hope the next six and a half months are even more fun and…well....tissue grabbing good!

I didn’t always think I’d actually get to this point in my life. It dawned on me one day while we were picking out baby bedding and the endless search of finding a small enough crib to fit into our tiny one bedroom apartment. In fact, to be brutally honest, the idea of never having kids wasn’t sounding so bad the older I became. Who needs that responsibility, right? I could have my freedom of sleeping in on weekends, stay up late on weeknights and go out when and where I wanted with no questions asked. Ah, the life.

And, then came the inevitable pressure; that idealistic truth reoccurring over thousands of years and surfacing over every country, that plagues every single woman on this planet: Procreation. As children, this is what was expected when we grew up; it was a fact of life, really. When you grow up, you get married and you make babies. But, maybe that’s the problem. I never really felt like I grew up. Even into my mid-twenties I struggled with the idea of what it was to be an adult. Yeah, I had a full time job that paid the rent and all those lovely responsibilities that came with adolescence. But, I never really felt my age. I felt ‘ageless’ (sounds more whimsical than simply stating that I felt immature or naive).

We have a handful of old friends from high school and college that one by one has taken the plunge to marry, and have recently ventured into swimming to the deep end of the pool where they rapidly reached that baby stage. We were the last couple who were still having fun in the shallow end, sipping on Mojitos by the steps. The whole baby plan was always on the back burner for us. Actually, let me rephrase that: I had it on the back burner. The idea of kids was much more real with rapid momentum to my husband, Jeremy. I swear, his biological clock was ticking away. I think mine needed new batteries.

“Eventually, we will,” was always our response to their and everyone’s inquisitive minds as to why we haven’t started having kids yet. I always felt like I had to hide my reasoning if ever they asked, “Why?”

“Well, we’re not ready yet,” or “We have our cat, she’s a handful for us now,” or some vague response along those lines. I was always relieved when they left it at that and moved on to another topic of conversation. But, of course, with the sudden abundance of children among our friends, as if overnight, that age old truth began to swim around in the back of my mind,

“Maybe we should have a baby..."

Boy that was a strange shift in thinking. Here we were, content with our lives, with new jobs and the cars were finally paid off (don’t get me started on student loans). Everything was going pretty well for us, no complaints at all. I didn’t want peer pressure to be the cause of such change in gears. I hate to admit it, but there was some truth behind that. I just didn’t want to feel left out. It’s a status thing.

I didn’t want to be one of ‘those’ couples that never had kids. ‘Those’ couples are always given sideways glances and endless questions of why they never had kids, or getting comments that dogs don’t replace having real children. It’s easy if all the people around you are in the same boat and you all can go to dog shows together and go on boating trips, eating fancy cheeses and wine. But, when you’re the only one in the boat, you can’t help but feel like the odd man out; while you watch from off shore all the fun the families are having building sand castles.

Although, deep down, I don’t think I minded being one of ‘those’ couples, especially, after visiting said new families and hearing the screeching cries of babies and watching exhausted parents trying to calm them down. I’ll admit, I felt a little of happy that we didn’t have to deal with that craziness.

To top it off, one of our closest couples have a teenage daughter and don’t plan on having any more kids (as of yet). They’re already gleefully talking ahead about having an empty nest, retiring early and enjoying the rest of their years having fun. Man, that doesn’t sound too shabby to me! What’s the big deal with having children anyways? The pros and cons bickered at each other in my mind.

So, what’s a confused girl to do? Here I am, most of our friends are having children, but I didn’t quite feel old enough to have kids. However, the closer I got to that thirty-mark, the more real the idea of it being an all or nothing choice came into play. Ah, yes, now the biological clock starts to tick.

With this new and scary thought bouncing in my mind, I began to read up on everything to do about pregnancy and all that jazz. Turns out, I completely freaked myself out. Statistics of chances to become pregnant and failed pregnancies were flashing red all over my computer screen. I quickly bought books, thinking, “Well, you can never trust everything that the internet says to be true”. As I flipped the pages, passing many very confusing illustrated diagrams and charts as if it were some instruction manual from Ikea, the facts were still the same as my previous findings.

“Oh my God, I may only have a 20% chance of getting pregnant right now!” was just one of many dreary points in these baby making manuals. The painful realization that I wasn’t as young as I used to be become blatantly evident, page after page of facts. Thus, I was starting to feel my age for once. Not so humbling or enlightening as I originally envisioned it to be like.

Well, if I needed a motivation to decide to have a child, this was definitely one. It wasn’t just societal pressure to have children to be in the game; it was coming down to actually being able to participate in the game. If we were to decide to make it or break it, now was definitely the time.

Yes, women have kids well into their thirties with little or no complications, but it was more an idea of being young enough to have the energy to have little ones running around. I’m not in the best shape of my life, regrettably, so I can’t imagine having the strength to start five or ten years from now. I’m just not that kind of woman. Kudos to those women that can. I wish I had your strength and motivation.

After scrutinizing every fact and detail, I brought it up one night to Jeremy. Of course, we had a tentative plan already in place for our goals in the next few years (baby fell somewhere towards the end). It wasn’t a question on if he wanted one. Of course he did! And, the idea that I would be ok without one slowly drew fear and disappointment for our future as parents. I hated to see that realization and true feeling on him. I wanted to make him happy, so why not become parents, what harm would it really do to me? I mean, I do want a child, right? Of course I did. With that, added another layer to my already jumbled selfish thoughts of having children or not.

It wasn’t until he told me something that really put things into perspective:

“You will never really regret having kids, but you might really regret not having kids”.

That one statement really hit me hard. I’ve never been great at decision making, for fear of making the wrong decision and having to live with that regret. This would be a major regret I would have to deal with if we never had kids. I couldn’t live with that. It showed me my true feeling behind becoming a parent: Fear.

It’s no big surprise to most that know me really well. Just ask Jeremy or my mother, or even my hairdresser. I live in fear. Maybe something I should fix one of these days.

But, with that, I finally wanted to make a choice. I can let fear rule little things in my life, like whether I’ll crash in a plane or if they’ll one day stop making cinnamon Life cereal (God forbid). But, I can’t let a little thing like fearing the unknown of parenthood rule my decision. I had to choose one.

So, I took one last sip of my Mojito, and dove doggy paddled my way over to the deep end of the pool.

“Let’s do it,” I confidently said.