Before it’s not January anymore, and my excuses are all gone, here are some of the lovely absolutely freakin’ AMAZING photos Miss Evans took over the course of my pregnancy. She’s something, ain’t she?
Calla and I did a pretty good job of documenting my pregnancy, but I was bad about posting the photos right after Peanut was born. However, since I was pregnant for most of 2009, I can now post them under the guise of a year-in-review post, and still make it look like I’m on top of things.
In the beginning, we took photos every week, but got a bit lazy somewhere in the middle. Still, it gives a good overview of how I went from TinyPants to Mama the Hutt in just 40 weeks.
I gained a total of 30 pounds, lost 20 after the delivery, and am now heavier than I was when I was running, but lighter than I was before I was running. I’m not too concerned because all my pre-pregnancy pants (the ones I had to buy after I started running because everything was suddenly too big) fit (albeit they’re more snug than before), so I can at least be stylish again, and whatever extra I’m carrying will be taken care of when I return to my beloved sport. I can only attribute my weight loss to breastfeeding and daily walks, because I’ve definitely not altered my intake of food.
Looking at these pictures makes me realize why women miss being pregnant. Sadly, I can remember what it feels like to have doctors rooting around inside you during a c-section, but I’ve forgotten the feeling of Peanut inside me. Oh well, he’s more fun on the outside anyway.
He was “…from his mother’s womb / Untimely ripped.” ~ Shakespeare
Perhaps not quite so untimely, but on September 24th, at 5:04pm, after 36+ hours of labour, my darling little Samson was born by cesarean section. Hubby and I never really went through the whole “he’ll have your eyes, but hopefully my nose” thing, but the unspoken concensus was this would be a swarthy baby. I often had to convince myself that I could and would be pleased with a little ape.
Well, instead, I got a chirpy little bird fellow. I think his Polish animal name* is destined to be ptaszek, which is rather unfortunately also a euphemism for what makes him a little boy. Perhaps we can think of something a bit more manly for him like hawk or stork or chicken or something.
Samson, where did you come from?
* Everyone Polish has an animal name their family knows them by. Seriously. Ask them. Fathers are usually misiu (bear). My mom’s żabcia (frog). I think I used to be rybka (fish) for my mom, and małpiszon (monkey) for my dad. I’ve also known a piesek (dog), and a myszka (mouse).
I haven’t blogged in a while, but it’s just that–and maybe this is a post for hubby’s blog–having twitter and a smart phone really feels like I’ve been keeping everyone up to date. With six weeks to Peanut, I feel like I have too many real life things to do to also take the time to blog about them. But to snap a picture with my Blackberry and upload it to Twitter? Oh everyone has time for that.
I’ve thought of a system, though, so expect some quality blogging in the next six weeks, and hopefully I’ll be able to keep it up so that y’all will know more about Peanut ex utero than you did about Peanut in utero.
Now–where were we. Ah. North Carolina.
Coon Dog Day was great except for when our (now we know) gun shy dog wriggled out of her collar and took off on us, trying to escape the Civil War era soldiers firing muskets at the start of the parade.
Hubby had time to tweet “Here comes the parade”, I had time to take these shots, and…..
……away went our dog, along the railway tracks and into the deep, foreign woods, and after her we went: hubby in sandals, and I, 7 months pregnant, in flip flops that broke shortly after we began our chase. It’s hard to find a dog in the woods when you’re a) having to wade through brambles and wild raspberries that are cutting up your legs and b) your dog has no collar and is therefore completely silent. We’re hollering, calling her, trying to sound as sweet and reassuring as we can. Both of us are unsucessful at whistling her whistle, because the heat and stress has just dried up our mouths. I’m trying not to cry too much, but I just keep imagining the trip back to Toronto without our dog and I can’t bear it. I’m sobbing. Hubby’s working out in his head what to offer as a reward, since we saw coonhound puppies for sale earlier that day for $150. He figures (he later tells me) $300 would be enough to convince someone NOT keep a gun shy, mostly-useless coonhound, but instead buy a puppy. Maybe two!
He finally tells me to go back out to the railway tracks to see if she’s out there, trying to keep me calm so I don’t go into labour in a country in which we’ll have to pay for the birth. At some point I get tired of carrying all my camera equipment so I dump it by the side of the tracks, because I figure–it’s Saluda–no one’s going to steal it. I think shortly after that I broke down again, hubby came out of the woods to comfort me, and then–there she was–cautiously coming back up the tracks towards us. The problem was, to get back to us she had to walk in the direction of the parade, which she was not willing to do, as she could still hear sirens (from the volunteer fire department). We tell her to sit. We go to her. Hubby instructs me to hold my dog, which is both useful for us to keep her restrained, and it helps me calm down. I put her in a tight hold around her body and grab her leg once my arm is around her. I’m not letting go no matter what she decides at this point. We put her halti on, but don’t even connect it to the leash, then leash her at her collar. I think hubby tightens her collar. It’s felt like hours. It’s been about 10 minutes.
We had to wait out the parade (it’s waaaaaay in the distance), because everyvtime we tried to walk in that direction, she tried to go the other way, tail firmly against her belly.
Eventually I had to go to the bathroom, and as I walked away, hubby asked her if she wanted to follow Mummy, and she did. So we were able to get back to the festivities. It’s really too bad she wasn’t in full form because she would have kicked ass at the treeing contest.
And really, nothing will give you a better impression of what Coon Dog Day and coonhounds are all about than video with sound. (I can’t figure out how to embed them so you’ll have to go here, here and here, if you’re interested.) You can see Addie being unusually quiet in the last one.
Hubby’s bummed that Tinypants has been quite silent during this pregnancy, and I daresay he’s not the only one. I do apologize for the lack of peanut updates. I have one in queue–it will be here shortly. And until then, here’s a placeholder to tide y’all over.
That’s my son in there.