Growing with Johnny and Jack

Just above this text, you can see the image of my incredibly good-looking husband reading up on the finer points of vegetable gardening while simultaneously engaging in said gardening.

I love this for several reasons.

One: I love the way he studies up on every single thing he wants to do. It's one of those endearing qualities that would never make it on your junior high "what I want in a guy" list, but is now firmly on my "reasons I am madly in love with my husband" list. I think it has something to do with the fact that I rarely do the proper amount of preparation needed for my various endeavors. Now that we do lots of things together it means that I have someone to take care of me when the unforeseen surprises I would have foreseen had I learned anything about the thing I'm doing, are expected and subsequently dealt with by my studious lifemate. He takes care of me. He is very well-read on many things.

Two: We have a shamefully tiny back deck in our one-bedroom apartment in Bothell--a deck I have for a long time considered useless and annoying. Last summer it reached the height of uselessness when a family of wasps built a nest in the the awning. There was no point trying to reclaim the territory from the hive, as it was clear that they were able to derive far more purpose from the space than we were. Plus I was afraid of getting stung. Winter took care of the problem, anyway, and wasps don't nest in the same space twice, so we are luckily wasp free this season. But Johnny has not given up on or sad little deck. He's found a way to store the bikes we never use back there. Now he's going to utilize the once-infested awning by hanging starter planters filled with the seeds of various vegetables that should hopefully make it into a salad or two in the coming months. I love the way he is dissatisfied with the status quo. While I would be content to burn it and let it fall off the side of the building simply out of disgust for how puny and ridiculous it is--he is building it up. He does the same thing with me during particularly difficult bouts of low self esteem and anxiety.

Three: I just love having a handyman around. Here he is with his power-tools placing the hooks for the planters:

How does he know how to do stuff, and what exactly to do in the first place? This wasn't in the gardening book. He did have a job remodeling houses for a short time, where he got to try his hand at several different household fixer-uppers. He's also been dutifully instructed by his very handy father in various manly household tasks such as: building a fence, moving dirt, tinkering with cars, and other such manly enterprises. Growing up at Grandma's house, with my mom and two sisters, household challenges were the responsibility of the women folk--cause we were all women folk. While this was at times incredibly empowering (my mom built our swing sets, weed-wacked the garden, put up an above ground pool after leveling the lower area in the back yard, etc.), testing the limits of what we could accomplish on our own--every once in a while a limit was met for whatever reason. Luckily we had an incredibly helpful neighbor dad who would pick up for us wherever we left off in a particularly trying project. This often made me feel a lack in our household. Jennifer, the neighbor girl, had a strong figure to look up to that could seemingly take on the world--and we were always pushing the extremes of our skills. As a very anxious individual, I can say there is a difference between going into a situation and just seeing if it could be handled, vs. going in with the security of knowing we could triumph. That's the way Johnny makes me feel now. Now, I'm not saying you need a dude to take care of your stuff, I'm just saying that having that person who makes you feel taken care of, whoever they are, is an incredibly valuable relationship. One that I am so grateful to have.

And (finally) four: For the last six months I have been devouring book after book about growing my baby. I've been attempting to provide appropriate nutrients and environment for little Jack. I've been excited and astonished by the stages of his growth (and mine). This endeavor on our back deck looks suspiciously to me like Johnny's iteration of this same experience. I know it's on a smaller scale, but it feels so symbolic to me. I don't know if John is subconsciously attempting to share in the process of growing a new life in his own special way--more likely it's just that he finally got around to doing something that he's been meaning to do for a while. Mostly, I just think it's sweet. We've got four months left to wait before we meet Jack face to face. While I'll be doing my best to keep him strong and healthy, and to prepare our home for his arrival, Johnny will be doing the same with his little hanging garden. We're gonna be parents soon, and we're learning how to be responsible for things right now. Yes, it makes me tear up a bit-but let's be honest, what doesn't lately?

The finished product

Three Knees

The day we'd been waiting for finally came this last Tuesday--the gender ultrasound!

A friend of mine told me that, expecting to hear the gender of her second child, she was shocked by her doctor who informed her that her precious child had three knees. She was mortified, but her doctor earnestly continued on, "a left knee, a right knee and a weenie."

Well, the Migas baby is similarly afflicted--our little bean is going to be the Fifth John Andrew Migas

Johnny 5

For fun (and for a little change) we're gonna use Jack as a nickname. I'm very excited! It's made quite a difference in my day-dream life. Now I know it's little Jack in there, and I can make plans, and pray for him by name.

I must admit, I do feel I have far fewer options for playing dressing up and doing hair with a boy--but I'm sure I can make it work. I'm honestly quite relieved that we got a boy the first time around--or even at all! I am one of 4 girls, with no brothers, and I have two beautiful nieces. Up to this point the descendants of William Redfield have enjoyed an exclusively female membership. I'll be very interested to see what my dad is like with a little boy. What kind of adventures can Police Sargent Redfield have with little deputy Jack?

I've heard recently that boys are cuddly creatures. I look forward to this. I'm basically just having a baby so I can have my own little cuddler all to myself. Okay, that's not true, but I do look forward to a lot of cuddling. I know Johnny does too--we're a very cuddly family. I've heard that co-sleeping is a good idea for several reasons like easy access for feeding in the middle of night, and family bonding. The Migas' will be co-sleeping for all of the practical reasons, but mainly because we've got to snuggle.

In other news--my ankles are daily meeting or exceeding the width of my mid-calf. Not cool water-retention. Not cool at all.

I've got a beautiful feeling...

Some things have changed around here!!

So, I suppose this entry is a fabulous representation of my current disregard for this blog. My last post was my horrible “I’m having a miscarriage” post, and this one is my “I’m 4 months pregnant and this is how it’s going” post.

Part of the apathy comes from a strong aversion to wanting to see my last post or think about it. That whole experience was really rough, and I don’t know how “over it” I would be right now if I hadn’t accidently gotten pregnant a few months later.

Accidentally? You say. Why yes. Though we had been trying for a baby for about 5 months leading up to the miscarriage, I had written off the whole idea for the next year. That’s right—a year! This decision was affected partially by the overwhelming hopelessness I’d sunken into and partially by the impulsive move to start seeing a trainer 3 times a week. I was gonna get in shape and be healthy for my pregnancy, whenever that would come a long. One month into training, it came along. Now, I’m obviously not a medical professional of any kind, but let me tell you, I have a feeling that beginning a disciplined work-out regimen can be an excellent fertility booster. I’ve seen it happen with friends, but never put the pieces all together until it happened to me. If you’re trying to conceive and you’re not involved in physical activity (and I’m talking beyond conception activities ;)) at least three times a week, I strongly recommend it. Even if you don’t get pregnant, you’ll be a lot happier and a lot healthier. It balances your hormones, and helps balance your priorities.

So now I have a trainer who is helping me strengthen my body for carrying my child, and I love it! I do have to take a nap between work and the gym every day, and I’m not super excited about going when it means I have to get out of bed to get there, but, I still enjoy having that activity. There’s a lot of hopes that one has for how they are going to live and and eat and be while they’re growing their baby, but once you’re tired and sick and all around icky feeling, your best intentions often get set aside for whatever works best for you in that moment. So even during the first trimester when my food choices were not always the best because nothing sounded good except top ramen or a taco bell burrito—I still had my time with my trainer where I could rest a little easier knowing that at least I’m doing something right.

I’m 16 weeks now, and the anxiety of the first trimester has lifted, and I am feeling great! I’m just about coming upon the point when I stop looking like I let myself go, and start looking pregnant—though it honestly depends on the day and the outfit I choose. In three weeks I get to find out if I’m having a boy or girl(yay!). In the interest in keeping this short enough to be worth reading I’ll end on that note.

Keep looking out for future pregnancy posts on the following subjects:

Boy or girl: why I don’t have a preference but it better be a girl
I’m not a teen mom, I’ve just developed the complexion of an 8^th grader
Is that a laugh or a cry? And other futile questions from a daddy-to-be
Nesting: is it possible to make a nice space for my baby using crap I found around the house?

I have an anouncement to make---but not the one we were expecting.

I'm nine weeks pregnant today. But when we went for our first doctor visit yesterday, they said it looked like only six weeks. They also said there was an irregular heartbeat and a few other things that mean essentially that I'm not really nine weeks, and I'm not going to be pregnant anymore. I was gonna start blogging in three weeks all about my pregnancy. But instead I guess I'll do this one blog about miscarriage.

It really sucks. If I don't distract myself I just cry and I don't even know why I'm still crying. I'm really disappointed.

The really really sucky thing about it is that I always thought it happened all at once and then the baby was gone and you grieve and you move on. But apparently that's not how it goes. Also, I don't know how long it's gonna take. For this last week I kept running to the bathroom hoping I wasn't bleeding more than the last time I was there, and now I just wish it would happen already. I was hoping it wasn't gonna happen, but now that it's imminent, it just won't. That is lame because there is a foolish foolish bit of hope that lingers. It hasn't happened yet so maybe it won't happen, maybe it's gonna be fine.

Well let me tell you, when it does, I would appreciate a really big glass of wine. There's not really any number of nice things that can be said to make it feel better, because I really just wanted to have a baby and I'm not. Skip the kind words and bring me some wine. I have a friend who had a miscarriage and has been trying and she was talking to me a couple weeks ago. She's been trying again and again and she asked me about my time trying and trying. She asked if I get really upset when my period comes and I said yes...cause I do...cause I'm Cherie and that's how I am. She said she just pours herself a glass of wine, might as well...try again next month. Well I think that is great advice and I plan to follow it to the t. Except I think I'm gonna wait a little longer than a month. I can only handle 6 months of crushing disappointment at a time. Four months of trying, two months of success, and now lets say maybe six months off.