nursery

Ellery's room has been ready for three weeks now, and I'm three weeks away from my due date.  I sort of wish I hadn't gotten everything ready so soon, because now time is dragging on.  But I think I subconsciously believed that if I had everything ready for her, she'd decide she's ready and pop out.  So far, no such luck.  I don't feel close to labor at all.

But since I have everything ready, I thought I'd share pictures of the nursery for those too far to come see it in person.  It was a complete collaboration between me and Sam.  He painted the crib and put everything up on the walls and had lots of input on where things should go.  He's not the type to let me make all the decisions myself. :)

The banner near the ceiling and the fabric garland surrounding the canvas were both decorations from my baby shower, made by Sam's sister, Kari.  She let me have them after the baby shower and I love how they add some fun colors and girliness to the room.  Sam and I aren't crazy about pink, so I did a lot of mint green and turquoise, with little bits of peach/coral.  And of course, I couldn't resist adding a little bit of yellow.  I really like how it turned out, and it still looks like a little girl's room.

I'm taking out the crib bumpers until it's safe for them to be in her crib, but I put them in to see how they look.

My dad wrote a song for me when I was born, so I framed it.  I wanted to include music so Ellery knows her roots.

And this song was written by Sam's mom.  This girl will know how to read music.  Sam and I both play multiple instruments, so she really has no choice. :)

Now all we need is a baby girl to finish the room!  We are ready to meet you, little Ellery.  Very ready.  See, here's my stuff for the hospital, ready to go!  This pile has also been ready for the past three weeks.

So now we wait.  I'm still working, and I'll probably work on getting the house clean and making some freezer meals for after the baby.  I might even sew her a couple blankets if I get really crazy from all the waiting.

And before anyone tells me to just enjoy this time because I'll miss being pregnant, save your breath.  First of all, I'm not one of those women who has loved being pregnant, especially with my stupid diabetes.  Second of all, how on earth could it ever be better to be without her than with her?  I just want to be able to see her, to hold her, and to let Sam hold her, because I'm tired of carrying her around all day. :)  I know it's going to be really rough at first and will be a huge adjustment, but I just can't wait to meet this little human and get to know her.

And here's my 37 week belly:

Lord Willing

Of all the memories I have of my grandmother, one of the ones that sticks out most is the phrase, "Lord willing."  Grandma repeated this after every statement of plans, even seemingly insignificant ones.  "I'll see you at dinner on Sunday, Lord willing."  It's a phrase that reflects how Grandma lived her life, completely at the will of God, allowing Him to be in control.  I wonder when she learned that life is completely unpredictable and surrendered her will to His?  Was it after she buried her first baby, Jimmy?  Was it after she buried her second baby, Sandra?  Or was it when she learned of her nineteen year-old son Hal's death?  I wasn't around for any of these tragedies, but I always knew they were experiences my grandma lived through, among many other enormously difficult circumstances that I don't think I could ever survive.  To say she was a strong woman is an understatement.

Over the past year or so, I've found myself saying the phrase "Lord willing" often, even if only to myself.  I'm learning not to count on tomorrow or the plans I've set forth.  "I'll be 37 weeks pregnant on Saturday, Lord willing."  Or, "Ellery will get to meet her great-grandma Roggie in July at the family reunion, Lord willing."

I wanted so badly for Grandma Roggie, my last living grandparent, to meet my first baby.  I imagined Grandma's face as she held her, full of joy at new life.

I assumed she'd make a comment about how much she reminded her of me as a baby.  I'd take plenty of pictures, and I'd treasure them forever.  But for whatever reason, that wasn't the will of God.  Instead, last night, He decided to take her Home.

I wasn't able to say goodbye to Grandma, and because of my pregnancy, I'm unable to go be with my family to grieve.  Instead I'm left here with my unborn child squirming inside, my mind filling with memories of this woman I was lucky enough to know, crying over the loss and wondering why the timing worked out the way it did.  So since I'm not there to share stories with my beloved Roggie cousins, aunts and uncles, I'll write them out here.

When I think of Grandma, several things stick out above all the rest.  The first is lipstick.  Grandma was always wearing lipstick, and it was always Jafra.  She was always very beautiful and put together, exactly how a woman selling cosmetics should be.  I remember countless nights at her house, getting makeovers, playing with the new lipstick and blush and nail polish Grandma was selling.  Birthdays and Christmas usually meant Jafra gifts, which were mostly appreciated, except for the year when she gave me Jafra's acne cream and all the other girl cousins got lipstick.  Subtlety was not one of Grandma's strong suits.

I also think of Grandma's monkey bread, cinnamon and sugar sandwiches, and the fact that she was always cooking or baking.  It was rare that she actually sat down to enjoy the meal with us, but she loved serving her family.  I think her happiest moments were when we all sat around the big table in her house, eating, playing games, talking.  Speaking of moments in her kitchen, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how often Grandma said, "You order it, you eat it," whenever my cousins and I tried to go play before finishing dinner.

Another favorite memory is Grandma at the piano.  I can still hear her sweet alto voice singing hymns, or leading me and Vince in songs like, "Life Without Jesus is Like a Donut," or "Come and Join the Joy Parade."  I think listening to her and my mom sing in church made it so that I always drop to the low harmony when I sing.

Grandma and Grandpa had a huge tan van that fit most of their grandchildren.  We took it to the beach and to the Sequoias, but it was mostly used to drive the neighborhood kids to church.  Their neighborhood out behind the furniture store was full of kids from Rockford, kids who probably would have never gone to church if it wasn't for Grandma picking them up every Wednesday night.  I didn't comprehend then just how significant that was, and how seriously my grandma took her job of ministering to kids.  I wonder sometimes just how many lives she touched in that neighborhood.  Grandma and Grandpa lived in that house on Magnolia Avenue for many years, and from the time my mom was a little girl to the time I was a little girl, she and Gramps continued to show Jesus' love to whatever children they encountered there.

I used to be embarrassed by how blunt Grandma was in talking about Jesus.  Whenever I introduced her to my friends, she immediately asked if they went to church and invited them to ours.  Now I see her unapologetic love for the Lord and desire for others to know Him as something I strive toward.  She was truly a servant of Christ, a woman who loved and served.

And she will be greatly missed.  It still hasn't quite hit me, and I keep imagining that she'll be in Porterville the next time I go visit.  It's strange to think that she's gone because for all my life, she lived about five minutes away from my parents' house.  I saw her at church every Sunday, she came to all my musicals and swim meets (never my dance recitals though, because good Baptists don't dance), and every birthday party  It's hard to imagine life in Porterville without here there.

I'm so sad she's gone, and I'm so sad I couldn't be there to say goodbye.  But I'm so grateful for how long I was blessed to know her, and for all that she taught me about being a woman of God.

I love you, Grandma.

The Good and Bad of Gestational Diabetes

About six weeks ago I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes.  The only known risk factor was that my great grandmother had diabetes, and the only other possible problem is that I have celiac and don't know it.  (Apparently I had a bonehead doctor who didn't think to test me for celiac once she determined I was allergic to gluten, and undiagnosed celiac can lead to severe problems like cancer and, you guessed it, diabetes.  Needless to say, I am no longer seeing that doctor.)

Along with this diagnosis, I was given a hefty dose of information about risks involved in my pregnancy, all of which completely terrified me.  I understand it's the job of the nurses to inform me of everything that could possibly go wrong, but to tell an already anxious pregnant woman that all the things she worries about are now much more likely to happen is just mean.  The worst was being told I needed to perform "kick counts" to make sure my baby was still moving around enough, because gestational diabetes increases the risk of "fetal demise".  Great.  Thanks, nurse.  Now every time I don't feel my baby move for more than ten minutes I freak out.  I guess the bright side is that I'm getting a great lesson in trusting God with my baby's well-being, because at this point there's not much else I can do.

So now I am a crazy, worried, hormonal pregnant woman.  And what usually helps this crazy woman calm down?  Comfort food.  And guess what she can no longer eat?  Comfort food.  I've gotten used to not eating gluten, but I've never craved scones, cinnamon rolls, and donuts more than I do now.  Along with gluten, sugar is also forbidden.  I can have very few carbs without my sugar levels skyrocketing, so I'm only allowed small amounts fruit after lunch.  I'm eating only meat (which is not appetizing in the least), vegetables, cheese, and cottage cheese.  There is no longer any pleasure derived from food; it is only a means of nutrition at this point.

A few people have asked if I'll maintain these eating habits after pregnancy, and the answer is absolutely not.  To think that anyone would choose to go on a low-carb, high protein diet is beyond my comprehension.  Restrictive diets like that have never worked for me and usually lead to binging, so I tend to value everything in moderation.

As much as I'm complaining, I have been trying to focus on positive aspects of this whole situation.  First of all, once I have the baby, the diabetes should go away.  Praise God.  I can't imagine having to deal with this forever, and I have an incredible respect for those that do.  Second of all, it has helped me kick any sugar addiction I had.  I'm back to drinking my coffee with just some cream in it, and fruit tastes super sweet, just like dessert.  I've been more focused on my health, which hopefully makes the baby healthier.  If it weren't for this diagnosis, I wouldn't have known I needed to follow up to find out if I have celiac or not.  Having gestational diabetes also means that my midwife won't let me go past my due date, so I'm pretty excited to know that she'll definitely be here by May 25th, or May 26th at the very latest.  Sam and I are getting really impatient waiting to meet this little girl!

Speaking of Sam, I think every woman should be lucky enough to have a partner like him during pregnancy. He's been incredibly helpful and supportive, never complaining about the fact that we have salad and chicken for dinner every night because of my stupid diet.  He encourages me and makes me feel like I'm doing this great thing for our daughter by taking care of myself.  As I get more and more uncomfortable, I'm often pretty irritable and not super fun to be around.  I get in really bad moods when my sugar levels are too high because I feel like my body is poisoning our daughter, and like I can't even take care of her while she's in the womb.  He's very patient with me and helps me calm down, even when I'm being a brat.  He works incredibly hard to provide for us, and on his days off he's painting furniture for the baby, or hanging up pictures in her nursery, or installing her car seat.  I can't wait to see him as a daddy, because as amazing as he is as a husband, I feel like he'll be in his prime as a father.  I'm definitely a blessed wife and Ellery is a lucky little girl.

And for those who care to see my 34 week belly, here you go:

Grammar

I was reading an article online today and came across a sentence that inspired this blog post:

"It could of been very dangerous."

Does anyone see the problem? 

"Could of" is what many people think is the long version of "could've."  This is not correct.  Contractions are when two words are joined together to make one, so an easy way to remember that "could've" actually means "could have" is to look at the way it is spelled.

Following are a few other common grammar mistakes that aren't that big of a deal but really drive me crazy.  I'm sure most of you won't care, but I really could not believe I saw such an obvious grammatical error published in an article.  Also, I've realized I'd make a horrible English teacher - I had to read a few papers by my classmates and could barely get through them.  And these are college students!  (That's another reason I don't equate intelligence with education.)  How do you do it, Monica and JulieAnn?

1. A lot. 
A lot is two words, not one.  Please do not spell it alot.  That is not a word.

2. Myself
My grandma taught me the trick to using myself.  To see if you're using the correct form, just take away other subjects and see if it still makes sense.  For example, "Talk to Fred or myself if you have any questions."  If you take away "Fred" the sentence becomes, "Talk to myself if you have any questions."  Obviously that makes you sound crazy, and like you're talking to yourself.  So you'd want to use "me" instead.  I've noticed a lot of people use this when trying to sound professional, but really it just sounds wrong.

3. Badly
I was guilty of this one until I took a creative writing class almost ten years ago.  My teacher was telling us about a book she'd published, and she wanted to have a character correct another character who was saying they felt bad.  Her editor told her that the correct form is actually bad, not badly.  For example, you'd want to say, "I feel bad about what happened," rather than "I feel badly about what happened."  It's a nasty rumor that many people have bought into, but badly is actually incorrect.  (But even my creative writing professor thought it was the correct way, so trust me, it's a common mistake.)  It has to do with linking verbs, and if you want a real explanation, go here, but basically if you're describing an emotion, go ahead and leave it as "bad". 

4. Well
Well is another one of those difficult ones that people like to correct other people on, but it's actually not always correct.  When someone asks how you're doing, if you want to refer to your health, you can say you're doing well, but otherwise you should say good.  I know, I know, I've always been taught that "well" is the appropriate word to use, but it's another case of linking verbs, like bad vs. badly.  So it's perfectly appropriate (and even more correct) to respond with, "I'm good!"  If you don't believe me, check in with the Grammar Girl here.  And if you're still hesitant about saying "I'm good" then I recommend saying, "I'm awesome!"  That way people are reminded that you're awesome.

I'm sure very few people care as much about this sort of thing as I do, so sorry for the ridiculous blog.  I'm not claiming to be perfect with grammar myself, and I know I often make mistakes.  I usually reread my posts later on and cringe at the errors I find.  (Maybe I should start proofreading my blogs before posting?)  But if you'd like to improve your grammar, I suggest reading a lot, or picking up Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Tips book.  And if you're buying this book, you could always buy two and give one copy to me, since I'd love something like this...

Any other nerds out there who have any other grammar pet peeves they'd like to share?

The Inside

Here are a few pictures of the living area and kitchen in our new home.  Forgive the semi-dark pictures.  All our windows are on the north side of our house, so we do get some sunshine, but it's not exactly direct.  And remember, we live in Oregon.  These pictures were rapidly taken in the few minutes it was actually sunny yesterday.  Click on the pictures to make them larger.

This is the view when you walk in our front door.  The doorway on the left leads back to the kitchen.

Just another angle.  That door on the left of the wood stove is mine and Sam's bedroom.  That cat in the picture is a little ham who somehow always knows when I've got the camera out and jumps in to get his picture taken.

 

Here's the living room.  The front door is on the right, just outside the picture.

 

Another angle.  The door on the right of the front door leads to Ellery's room.

Our landlords bought us the rug that's under the table because the carpet is ridiculously stained.  They were going to replace the carpet, but when they found out we had cats, they decided to buy a rug instead.  Unfortunately, the rest of the carpet is pretty badly stained as well, and our cats have never had accidents on carpet.  But some people automatically think cats equals ruined carpets, so oh well.

Our Sara wall.  She and Heidi painted the one on the right, Sara drew the one on the left and Sam painted it, and Sam painted the one on the bottom in her memory. 

This baby keeps us nice and warm!

 

Kitchen, with my favorite thing - a DISHWASHER!!!  On the left behind the refrigerator is another room, connected to the bathroom, and the room in the back is a mudroom/laundry room.

 

Another angle.

A normal-sized oven!  Our last house had a tiny one that wasn't big enough to hold my cookie sheets.

And lots of beautiful counter space.  I do miss our tiny Petaluma house that literally had zero counter space, but we are enjoying having some space here.

 

This is definitely the favorite of the six houses we've lived in so far, and I'm sure we'll be sad when it's time to move out...unless of course it's back to California, in which case this girl will be pretty excited.  It's not that I don't like Oregon; it's just that I love California.

I've noticed on Pinterest lately lots of really cute decorating with tons of white and neutral colors.  I always think it looks so nice and clean and think maybe I should decorate with more white.  Then realize I could never live without lots of color.  I even bought a white duvet cover for our bed, and Sam covered it with a bright quilt because the white was too colorless.  Good thing we're married and both like lots of color in our lives.

Just Some Rambling Thoughts

I'm not sure how old I was when I started to feel that my value was measured by my intelligence.  My parents never did anything to pressure me or make me feel that I had to perform well in school, so I can't say that it came from them.  Perhaps it was because I was the youngest, with three brilliant older siblings to follow.  At the beginning of the school year, the teacher would say, "You're a Wuth?!"  From the shining, hopeful look on their faces, I knew they were expecting me to be just as smart to uphold that Wuth name. 

I'm sure part of it had to do with my own perfectionist personality.  When I was in fourth grade, my dad called my teacher wondering why I had been assigned so much homework. My teacher met with me and went over my work and told me I was going far above and beyond what was required, and was actually creating more work for myself than she was expecting.  I was simply doing my best, what I thought I needed to do to be successful, and apparently was doing too much.  I felt I was letting my teachers down if I didn't get the best grade on a paper, or finish math tests with the best time.  My teachers never did anything to intentionally pressure me, but their reaction to my work accompanied by their praise became something I felt I needed.  If I wasn't getting the best grades, I thought they were disappointed in me.  This continued into my high school and college years.  I remember when my college advisor told me I needed to get my first B, so that I could see that life still goes on without a 4.0 or better grade point average.  But for some reason, I felt that if I wasn't known as smart, I didn't have much else to offer.

I had to drop out of college for reasons I'm not ready to talk about on my blog.  Looking back, I might have been able to stay in, but at the time I didn't see how it was possible.  I signed over my full-ride scholarship and assumed I'd never return to school again.  I thought I had let down my teachers and principals, all those people who had invested in my education.  I thought I was such a joke - a valedictorian, dropping out of school halfway through her sophomore year.

I try not to think about the fact that if I'd stayed in school at Long Beach State, I would have had school completely paid for, and wouldn't have student loans looming over my head.  I try not to think about the fact that I have enough credits to graduate, just not all in the same degree focus.  I try not to think about the fact that by now, I could have two bachelor's degrees and a master's degree.  I try not to think about the fact that if I'd stayed at Sonoma State, I would have graduated a year ago.  I try not to think about the fact that when I left SSU, I only had nine classes left, and due to transferring to a different school, I suddenly needed seventeen classes to graduate.

I try not to think about those things, but obviously I do.  Each thought carries the weight of regret, the shame of what I feel were bad decisions made in my youth.  Sam reminds me that if it weren't for all of those things, he and I probably wouldn't be married, and I certainly wouldn't be pregnant with our little girl.  I wouldn't change either of those things; I just wish it didn't seem like I ruined so much of my future. 

I feel that until I have that silly degree, that stupid piece of paper, no one will think I'm smart.  People will just assume that since I'm not a college graduate, I don't have the intelligence it takes to finish school.  Unfortunately, I know too many college grads who aren't that smart, who simply passed their classes and had the means and opportunity to go to school.  So I know that's not true; but still, I can't help but feel this way.  It's completely a pride issue.  Why do I care so much if people think I'm intelligent?  Why does the opinion of others matter so much?  And why am I still holding on to that false belief that I'm only as good as how smart I appear to others?

Sam and I have been taking Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace classes, and have been really motivated to be wiser with our finances.  Last night we came to the conclusion that the best thing to do right now would be to hold off on school.  We don't want to take out any more student loans, so until we can pay for it outright, it doesn't make sense to continue with classes.  And at this point, I'm planning to stay home with Ellery, so it's not as if I need a degree in order to further my career.  I do hope to have a career one day, hopefully in publishing or editing.  (Sam promised me that if I get a good job with a publishing company in San Francisco, we can move back to my beloved California, and glorious Sonoma county.)  That's still my goal, but I don't feel the desire to pursue that type of career until all our kids are in school.  So really, there's no rush at this point to get my degree.

When I think about it logically, it makes sense.  And yet when I realized that I'd be putting off school for even longer, I was very sad and disappointed.  I felt that I was finally taking those last steps toward graduating, and now I would have to put it on hold.  Ultimately, I know we're making the best decision for our family.  It's very important to me to stay home with Ellery, to be the one to teach her and train her, and I'm so thankful Sam supports me in that.  It seems selfish to be using that money and accumulating more debt just for my own pride issues, especially when I won't be bringing in any income myself.  I knew that if I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom we would need to make sacrifices - no extravagant vacations, no buying a house yet.  But those aren't really things I care about anyway.  Giving up school was what hit me the hardest, and it didn't occur to me that it might be a sacrifice I would have to make if I want to stay home to raise my daughter.

But after some tears and comfort from Sam, I was able to see how this could be a good thing.  I've really been using school as a crutch, and an excuse not to write.  I feel so busy with writing papers and reading materials for school that I don't feel I have the time to be writing creatively, or reading those things that inspire me.  My coworker keeps hounding me to write, but I say I can't, really, until I finish taking all those creative writing classes.  That's when I can write, when I'll know what I'm doing.  Nevermind the fact that I've learned more about writing from reading Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird than in any creative writing class I've taken.  Nevermind the fact that writing doesn't demand a college degree.  Nevermind the fact that some of the writers I love the most, like Lamott and Ann Voskamp, don't have college degrees either.

I needed to write all of this out to remind myself again what my priorities are, and where my value lies.  I must forgive myself for my past mistakes at some point, and accept where I am and make the most of it.  Here's a small step toward making that happen.

Creating and Belly Truths

When I think of this little baby growing, and think about her future brothers and sisters, one of the things I hope most for them is that they are creative.  I try to think of how I can encourage creativity in my children's minds, and help raise people who aren't afraid to be individuals and cultivate their creative side.  Fortunately, we're studying creativity and intellect in my psychology class right now, and studies show that creativity thrives in environments when parents encourage new ideas and ways of thinking differently.  So the good news is, there are things I can do to foster an environment that allows children to grow in this area.  I think my sister-in-law, Becca, does a great job of this in letting my niece dress herself.  Sometimes Ashley picks out the most outrageous outfits, and I'm sure less creative parents are wondering why anyone would dress their child that way, but I love that this simple practice is helping Ashley become exactly who she was meant to be.

I will of course introduce my children to music, art, and books as soon as possible, because I think early introduction is what did it for me.  (Due to her parents' love for musical theater, Ellery will be watching Danny Kaye movies from the beginning, so she'll have plenty of exposure to that.  In fact, she's already getting it in the womb.)  Speaking of which, Mom, thanks for always reading books and being that example for me, and for encouraging me to keep singing, performing, and writing.  Dad, thanks for writing songs in the living room at the piano, because I saw first-hand what it looks like to write a song.  I witnessed the entire creative process; how difficult it can be, how much effort goes into even small projects, and how satisfying it is to be able to share your finished creation with others.

As a disclaimer, I'd like to add that I'm in no way trying to force anything onto Ellery.  If she is more interested in science and math than literature and the arts, then great!  I'll be in awe of her.  But I think even in those left-brained pursuits, there is always room for creativity and figuring out new ways of accomplishing things. 

Can anyone else offer advice on how to raise creative children?  And yes, I'm actually asking for parenting advice this one time, on this one issue.  :)

And now for some belly truths.  I think it's so nice that people have been saying that I'm "all baby", and I've been smiling and thanking those kind souls, knowing in my heart that I'm not "all baby".  It's time for some honesty, people.  Whenever I gain weight, it goes to my belly and my face.  (As you can see from the picture below, nothing has gone to the booty, which is somewhat of a disappointment to me.)  So below is a picture of me holding in my stomach muscles, so it is fairly indicative of how big the baby is right now.  The following picture is when I'm letting it all hang out, all of last night's pizza and this morning's two bowls of cereal.

See the (significant) difference?  So yeah, this weight-in-the-belly thing is fine for now, when I'm supposed to have weight in my belly, but come June when this baby is out, y'all will probably keep asking when I'm due.

By the way, I'll be twenty-six weeks tomorrow, which means that today marks 99 days until my due date.  We're in the double digits, people!  I think that's a good time to make a paper chain...

Happy Friday!