We're having a baby! (20 week update)

If the only way you knew me was through my blog, you wouldn't know the most exciting thing that's been going on in my life for the past few months: I'm pregnant! Baby is due November 18. Today makes 20 weeks (5 months).

I've been keeping a journal for myself, but a blogger I enjoy (Melissa at Growing Up Geeky) does weekly updates on her pregnancy, and it's fun to see how things change over time, so I've decided to start doing updates. I'm sure I have some friends who would not mind that at all. So here's what's up with me and my pregnancy this week.

Yesterday we had a gender reveal party!

How far along? 20 weeks - halfway done already.
Weight gain/loss: +10 on my bathroom scale - I go to the doctor tomorrow and will see what I weigh there.
Feeling: Still great! I love the second trimester so far. Yesterday we went to the Renaissance Festival and walking around for 6 hours wore me out though.
Maternity clothes? Pants, yes. Although the full-panel ones don't really fit well. My belly's not very big, but it's enough that regular pants don't work.
Sleep: I'm waking up several times a night to go to the bathroom. It's annoying, but not hard to fall back asleep. 7 hours or so seems to be enough sleep.
Food cravings: None really.
Movement? I feel movement pretty regularly. If I eat a lot of bread, it's a party in my uterus.
What I miss? Not having to pee every 20 minutes. And beer.

Best moment this week: Our gender reveal party yesterday was lots of fun!

Candy coming out of the pinata...

We're having a boy! 

What I'm looking forward to: This coming week, my college friends are having a reunion. So excited to see them!
Next Appointment: Tomorrow.
Milestones: This week, baby is about 6.5" long from head to bottom.

For a usually healthy body

I have neglected my gratefulness-blogging. Oops. Unfortunately, I have something to talk about now.

Last weekend while I was skiing on some black diamond moguls at Loveland (I have to tell you it was a black run to save some of my dignity), my left ski got stuck in a mogul and my right ski tripped over it and kept turning so that it got stuck tip-down about four feet directly below my also stuck, normal position, left ski. This, as you might imagine, twisted my left knee in a manner that was rather prolonged and painful. To make a long story short, I got a nerve-wracking toboggan ride down said black diamond mogul run thanks to the ski patrol, went to the doctor last Tuesday, and learned that I sprained my MCL (that's the ligament on the inside of the knee).

So, for the last 9 days I have not been able to bend my left knee more than about 30 degrees before it's too painful to move anymore. I can't walk normally, run, do tae kwon do, kneel to get things out of low shelves, curl up in bed, or put my pants on right leg first. This is one of a handful of sports injuries I can remember having (mostly hand injuries) and definitely the worst injury I've ever had.

So here's what I'm grateful for: a healthy body. (Also, I'm grateful that a sprained MCL is the worst injury I've ever had.)

I do actually think about how happy I am to have a healthy body when I am not injured or sick, but being injured certainly makes me think more about it. Limping is exhausting, and in the last few days, I have desperately been wanting to curl my leg up under myself. At this stage in my life, I actually am perhaps more invested in sports than I ever have been before (which is not saying that much, but I ski, run semi-regularly, and do tae kwon do) and it is really frustrating not to be able to do any of those things - and to know I probably won't be able to for a few more weeks.

I am also grateful for friends' and coworkers' niceness. Bonni and Jess changed the tires on my car last Sunday so I could drive an automatic transmission. Last week, my boss did a knee exam on me (he's a doctor) and was careful to let me sit rather than stand as much as possible. Lots of coworkers have asked how my knee is feeling. It's nice to feel cared about. I am also so grateful to know that my knee will heal in a few weeks and I will once again be able to move normally.

Thinking about Santa

Because it's Christmastime, Ross and I have been talking about Santa Claus and what we would like to do with the kids we will hopefully have at some point. Ross is very opposed to the idea of teaching our kids to believe in Santa because he doesn't like the idea of lying to one's children. I don't care so much about that (realizing that parents and caretakers deceive children in small ways all the time) but I am uncomfortable with the creepiness of Santa "watching" behavior (the Elf on the Shelf, for instance, just creeps me out). Rather than saying Santa was watching, my mom would just tell us that if we didn't behave at Christmastime, she would take our presents back to the store. It's the same threat without the perverseness of an invisible, omnipresent judge. (I wouldn't want my kids to develop that concept of God, so why would I encourage that concept of Santa?)

Most of the buzz about not observing any Santa Claus tradition seems to be from conservative Christians who disagree with secular observations of Christmas, but that doesn't factor in for us. I love a lot of secular aspects of Christmas (lights, trees, decorating, gift giving, that it's observed in December...) and have no problem incorporating them into what is still a religious holiday.

I grew up with Santa bringing candy and small gifts to fill my stocking. All the presents under the tree were from their actual giver (usually parents). As a kid I sometimes wondered why Santa brought other kids things like bikes and dolls but they got almost nothing from their parents. I never really wanted Santa to bring that stuff since my parents fulfilled a lot of my wishes (and received the exclamations of thanks on Christmas morning!), and we received a moderate amount of gifts. I realize that it's tradition for some families to give tons of gifts from Santa, but to me it seems really over the top.

I remember the conversation I had with my mom when I realized that Santa (and the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy) was not real. She explained that Santa was not an actual being, but a spirit of anonymous giving and a way to make the world a little more magical. I was initially unsatisfied with that answer, but came to love it pretty quickly. (I also was still perfectly happy to receive a stocking full of candy and little gifts!)

I wonder, though, how to go about not teaching belief in Santa in a culture where small children will certainly see depictions of Santa and be asked about their interactions with Santa. How do you keep a child from feeling disappointed about their parents rather than Santa filling their stocking, or even worse, from developing a belief in Santa anyway and thinking that us rather than Santa filling their stockings is a reflection of their inherent badness (since Santa allegedly doesn't visit bad children)? I'm glad I won't have to figure out how to negotiate this for a while.

Readers, what do you think? Did anyone grow up never believing in Santa? What did your parents teach you, and did you still do stockings from parents? How did you feel about it? Parents, if you aren't doing Santa for your kids, how do you address the cultural pervasiveness of Santa? What do you teach your kids?

Grateful for: IKEA

Okay, so I don't love Ikea in the same way I love my mom or Thanksgiving. But hey, if I'm going to write a bunch of blog entries about things I'm grateful for, I'm going to run out of family members eventually.

Yesterday Ross and I filled up a wall of our bedroom with the Antonius clothes storage system from Ikea. (Or more accurately, I filled the wall since I put the whole thing together.) I've had one set of drawers from that system for several years and I really like it. We've been needing to buy at least one more dresser, and this frees up a dresser or two for upstairs (so I can reign in the fabricsplosion up there).

I was SO EXCITED when I found out an Ikea was opening in Denver. I'd previously only been to one in Michigan, and I think the experience is a lot of fun. I love seeing Scandinavian design, although its clean lines, liberal use of plastic, and compartmentalization are a little too modern for what I actually want in my home. It is visually pleasing, but not cozy.

Walking through the showroom every so often is fun - you get to see lots of creative ways to arrange furniture and utilize space that often goes unused, which is always nice - plus they have some products you can't get elsewhere very easily... like lingonberry juice! And everything has silly Swedish names! Oh, Ikea. So much fun. I am so happy there is one in my city now.

Grateful for: Vinyl

I've been working on a quilting project lately, and since our music player in my sewing room is a record player, I've been listening to records. Mostly a Mannheim Steamroller Christmas album. But it only has 8 songs on it, so when that gets old, I listen to Ross's other records, which include a lot of 1960's and 70's folk.

As far as I know, my mom has never quilted. She is a much more talented seamstress than I am, so she makes things like clothing and silk wall hangings. (I have never successfully made any clothing, my costumes rely heavily on staples and hot glue, and I've been working on the same Christmas wall hanging for like five years.) I make quilts and blankets because they come together quickly and following a pattern is not necessary.

Anyway, as I've been upstairs listening to records and sewing, I've been feeling connected to my mom. I don't think she's ever worked on a quilt while listening to Peter, Paul, and Mary or Simon & Garfunkel on vinyl, but when I do, I appreciate sewing and folk music - and my mother - in a new way.

"We who were formerly no people at all..."

In my newspaper today, which was devoted mostly to the tenth anniversary of 9/11, I found an ad for picture frames on sale. So this afternoon I bought a frame for this print, which I have had for almost a year:

Among other things, it says this, if you can't read the picture:

"The Prince of Peace is Jesus Christ. We who were formerly no people at all, and who knew of no peace, are now called to be a church... of peace. True Christians do not know vengeance. They are the children of peace. Their mouths speak peace, and they walk in the way of peace."

-Menno Simons, Reply to False Accusations, 1552

Ten years to the day after the solemn voice of my high school principal interrupted a test I was taking in freshman Drama class to announce that planes had flown into the World Trade Center and Pentagon, I will hang in my home this call to peace written by the founder of the church I embraced because of 9/11.

On that day, I was worried: first for the safety of my cousins who live in New York City, and then, increasingly as days and weeks passed, about what new horrors would arise as a result of the terror of that day. I felt angry - first at the nebulous, powerful, extensive terrorist organization I was learning about for what they had done, and then at the bloodlust I saw from politicians and ordinary people as they responded.

Flags flew, voices on the radio and television called for retaliation, the National Anthem was played more than ever in my life, Arab and Muslim Americans were made victims of hate crimes, flags showed up on politicians' suits and people's t-shirts, bombing began in Afghanistan.

I said the Pledge of Allegiance on one of those early days and for the first time, I thought about what I was saying. "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America..." which was omnipresent in those days, "...and to the republic for which it stands..." which was breaking my heart with its swift retribution.

I wanted to take part in the national mourning, but the national mourning in one breath expressed grief and called for infliction of further violence. How could we cry for the loss of three thousand innocent people and at the same time demand more death? I wanted calls for peace, I wanted to think about how a country makes brave strides toward forgiveness and seeks true justice in the face of terrible violence. I remember George W. Bush on television, assuring America that "You're either with us or you're against us" as he called for war. I felt profoundly alienated.

Each successive 9/11 anniversary, my anger and alienation have lessened and sadness and commitment to peace have grown.

On this 9/11/11, may we be reminded that we humans are children of peace. May our hearts overflow with peace. May we speak peace and walk in the way of peace.

Vaya con Dios, mi hermanita

Today my sister Grace leaves for a one-year service term in Santa Cruz, Bolivia. Which means (I just calculated) that she will be 4,785 miles away. I am incredibly proud of her for doing this. Several of my friends have done terms with SALT, but mostly after college -- and Grace is going before college. I wish I had taken a gap year.

She is nervous and excited about going. I am nervous and excited for her, but not being the one going, and six more years of perspective, means I'm mostly just excited for her. I know she is going to have an amazing experience and learn so much. She is already a thoughtful, funny, mature young woman. She will come back with a more global perspective, kickass Spanish skills, and who knows what other invaluable experiences. In case you want to follow her journey, she's blogging about it here.

I have been pretty happy about my sister since about the time I found out I was getting a sister. That's me (age almost 6) on the right, my brother Nicholas (4) on the left, and baby Grace in the middle. Circa March 1993.

And more recently: