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.

Getting Lucky

At 24 years old I've had the opportunity to gamble intermittently through the years. I've played some slots, had a couple of scratch tickets, bought in on some raffles, and even participated in the occasional harvest party cakewalk. Now I know everybody says this, but really--I never win anything! I'm not counting things that require any sort of special skill, like sports events, or bowling tournaments. That would really help drive the point home, but it would also be really depressing in my case. I'm talking, pure, unadulterated, luck o' the draw type situations. Okay, I did win a cakewalk once, but I think everyone won in that particular event cause it was a bunch of kids, and they didn't want anyone to feel like a loser...but really, in retrospect, winning a whole cake all my own is not really what I would consider great luck for a chubby 11 year old girl--that old "lifetime on the hips" adage is haunting me to this day. Okay, okay, this is not meant to be a pity party entry, let's focus people! I know you have been eagerly awaiting the news about a possible bun in the oven over at the Migas house. I'll settle the suspense by telling you that the only baked goods developing over here this month are simply the remnants of my 13 year old cakewalk win. The June baby is a no-go. It seems we may be looking at having a kid who will never know the joy of a birthday party during the school year. Some might call it cruel, but I say, all the better for a Wild Waves birthday party right?! Right. So let's talk about luck a little bit. I don't usually subscribe to it cause my Grandma always said if we believe in luck we are taking our faith away from God's ability to provide for us. But let me tell you, my friends, this whole getting pregnant thing feels a lot like a crapshoot. Even when I've done everything to put the odds in my favor, there's not guarantee that I will have success. My expectation, as you know, was not that it would happen right away. I was kinda hoping it would though. Just cause I don't like playing games for too long when I keep losing. I've racked up quite a few unfinished games of frisbee golf in my day, which can attest to this. Let's be real: twenty-one over par on one hole is not worth seeing through 8 more--unless I'm going for my all time highest over par score, which is an entirely different story of course. I'm not saying that I'm gonna give up if I don't get my hole in one. I've gotta keep throwing, I just feel a lot less in control of the outcome. I can make sure all the pieces are in play when they're supposed to be, but will I be lucky enough to have two teeny tiny elements meet at the exact right time in the right conditions and become a viable life? So much of my life, especially my childhood, included situations which I couldn't influence or control. I've had to learn over and over again how to stop striving and just rest in the will of God. But taking that step from grasping for any bit of control I can muster, into faith, and trust, and hope in the the blessings of the King...it's just one step but I swear, in between the two there's death-defying canyon with crocodiles swimming around snapping their jaws in a rushing river at the bottom. I know, I'm not sure how the crocodiles are able to swim in place in a rushing river, or how come they can see me well enough to get really mouthwateringly hungry for dinner when I'm like 100 feet above them either. But it's all there, and it's freakin' scary. I need a sturdy rope bridge Lord! I've just got to remember that feeling of getting over to the other side. It's so much less stressful over there. They have fruity beverages with little umbrellas in 'em and stuff. You can just rest. "Be still and know that He is God" and bathe in the warm sunlight of His vast, uncompromising, miraculous, love. Deep breath taken, one last look into the eye of a ferocious crocodile, and I'm just gonna ease my way over there.

I just heard a quote the other day that I really liked, "I'd rather be an optimist and a fool than a pessimist and be right." So I'm off on my fool's quest, and as always I'll let you know how it goes.

I know my husband isn't overly disappointed--there's a few days this month he can pretty much guarantee he's getting lucky ;)

p.s. He apparently has been able to "just tell" I wasn't pregnant for about a week or so now but he didn't want to upset me by saying so...I guess I don't need to buy any more pregnancy tests for November, haha.

Halloween and Hypochondria

Well, my friends...we are just waiting now. Waiting and waiting and waiting. We are in a period commonly referred to by baby forums the world over as the "two-week-wait." Essentially, John and I have taken care of all that we have control over and now we can just sit back and relax to see if we bear fruit, as it were. Here is the challenge, however: I CAN'T WAIT! dangit! And I certainly cannot continue through a day, or several days, knowing something may be taking place in my body and not allow myself to analyze every little thing to death. We're talking about someone here who has self-diagnosed probably 20 terminal and non-terminal illnesses in herself in the last week. Ok, that may be an exaggeration, but still. (I'm just gonna clarify here and say that I am not dying, or almost dying, I'm just a hypochondriac, or in layman's terms, a woman). I gotta know! The fact is that on every website that deals with early pregnancy symptoms--and believe me I've visited every one--they make it pretty clear that symptoms before a missed period can't be trusted. They could be ovulation symptoms, they could be PMS symptoms, or any number of other things. But visit any forum of women currently in the two-week-limbo, as I like to call it, and we are all experiencing at least 5 things that (cross our fingers) most likely spell baby for us. Some of us may guard our speech and say I hope that means a positive test is coming my way, but really, you should know, we've already convinced ourselves. You might be asking yourself, why I seem to think of myself as such an expert on the subject since I've only been trying for a month. Well let me help you understand how serious of an issue this two-week-wait is for me. Every single month that I have been married I have, pretty successfully convinced myself that I was pregnant. Even though I knew that the chances were little none. Every month. So if I can't keep myself from going insane even when there's little to no hope, how can you expect me to keep it cool when I know we very well could be--PREGNANT!?! Aaaaahhhh! If I have bald patches next time I see you, you'll know why, alright. It's this freakin' baby. I'll be able to test on Halloween, so I'll let you know if I've acquired a spooky little stranger, or if all my possible baby symptoms are just an apparition.

I've got to have SOMETHING to do while I'm waiting for school to start...

So, John and I safely returned from Europe last week. If you'd like to get an overview of most of it you can go to http://www.migasj.blogspot.com

Now I am just at home...doing pretty much nothing...ALL THE TIME...

I start my instructor training and Northwest Hair Academy in November, but until then I am kind of trying to somehow justify getting no housework done even though I'm at home by myself all day.

One rather exciting distraction has been educating myself on the surprisingly exact science of making a baby. I know what you're thinking--shouldn't I have learned this in health class? Shouldn't I know about the birds and the bees by now after two years of happy and wonderful marriage?...well not so fast you apparently uniformed and overly judgemental reader. It's not all that simple. Some people are lucky enough to come upon the accidental pregnancy here and there...but not ol' Cherie, oh no. I've been crossing my fingers for an accident for two years now (27 cycles actually, but who's counting?). But it turns out those people over at Trojan apparently know what they're doing and we've been unfortunately well protected up to this point. I have, however, finally convinced the Mr. that now is a great time to start a family, and I'm not leaving it to chance anymore. I'm being proactive with my procreation, as it were. I am reading books, taking temperatures, checking consistencies, and counting down the days to expected ovulation. My husband claims that he can sense fertility, and while I've assured him that it could take several months to conceive, he is convinced I'm going to get pregnant right away. I don't put any stock in his apparent "sixth sense," and I'm not going to let the whole thing rest on his ability to "just tell," as he says with a nervous gulp. I do hope that he's right, though. Cause I am incredibly excited to move into this next phase of life. Let's just hope I can get the living room cleaned up by the time the baby comes.