A Crib!

One of my husband's co-workers has offered us an almost-new crib.

PEOPLE SEE US AS PEOPLE WHO WOULD NEED A CRIB!!!!!!!!!

A feeling of real-ness abounds...a feeling I've been waiting for. We were offered a second-hand crib!

And of course we'll accept. Not only does it make me feel like I'm taking a small step towards my goal of environmentally responsible parenting, not only does it solve the problem of whether to buy one crib or two, but it means I will have in my house a physical representation of the moment this all started to feel real.

A second-hand crib never sounded so good.

Hi. I have a hairy belly.

I am not a hairy person.

Throughout my life, I've often been asked if I shave my arms. This is a bizarre and rather personal question. I don't go around asking random people which body parts they choose to de-hair, but apparently, something about my inviting demeanor brings forth such questions.

I do not now, nor have I ever, shaved my arms. They don't look hairy, especially from far away. But if you look closely, (which I expect you would be inclined to if you'd be so forward as to ask whether I've shaved them or not) you will see that I do have hair on my arms. It's sparse, and fairly see-through, but it's there. And in fact, it's quite long. Like, probably 2/3s of an inch long if I were to measure, which I won't.

One summer I decided not to shave my legs in order to be a more informed consumer. Cause if I'm going to choose to shave, I want to know what I'm giving up. That wasn't my prettiest summer. Apparently in addition to unnaturally long arm hair, I grow leg hair, too. And while it may be sparse, it certainly is not see through.

But overall, I've sort of led a charmed life in the hair department. No weird back hairs, no uni-brow, no lady moustache.

I think the charmed phase is coming to an end. And it scares me a little bit.

On a recent trip to the beach, the babies and I were enjoying some sun (safely, with lots of SPF and water...no lectures here). My pottish belly was all hanging out of my bikini and my loving husband had convinced me that my physique screamed "pregnant" and not "fat." So life was pretty good. And then I looked down to admire my spherical form, and came to a rude awakening.

I look like a peach.

Round, plump, and fuzzy. Those translucent, sparse, yet long hairs of my upper appendages seem to have migrated to the belly region. In no particular order. No happy trail here...just a random forest of silken strands. And should that sound sort of appealing, let me remind you, that calm forest resides on my belly.

And yet I can't find it within myself to complain. Compelled to share? Yes. Complain, never.

I've always kind of liked peaches anyway.

tiptoeing

I've been a bad blogger again.



I've been quiet. And that's quite rare for me...both in the blogging world and the real.



Today I'm ten weeks pregnant. My babies are now officially considered fetuses. I am over the moon excited, yet for once in this very long journey, I don't know quite what to say.



I've spent the last month contemplating how to put my feelings into words, and the reality is I don't know how. I'll get back to that. In the meantime, here's what's been happening:



So many people have left me really nice comments. My mother and sister, quite the bloggers themselves, tell me it's rude that I don't reply to comments. I never knew that. I probably still won't really reply to comments. Not because I'm rude, but because good lord it took me a month to write this blog, imagine the lags I would have if I actually tried to step it up.



I've been living life as a wedding crasher. Except that I've been an invited guest. But goodness, is love in the air. If I'm out of touch with the blogosphere, all those lovebirds out there are not helping. The nerve. (Congratulations to all you beautiful people).



I've been sleeping. For probably 85% of the last month.



I gained six pounds and not an ounce of guilt.



I grew a little pot belly. And it's damn cute.



And through it all, I've felt moderately speechless. Through three years of infertility, I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I learned to live with a hugely broken heart and an overbearing sadness that was omnipresent. I never allowed myself to consider what life would be like if I became pregnant. And now I've become pregnant.



You'd think that after three years this wouldn't feel like a shock. At least that it wouldn't feel sudden. But it feels both shocking and sudden. It feels incredibly surreal. I'm terrified of waking up and falling back into the grips of infertility.



So I'm living life a little more quietly. Maybe I'm hoping that if I keep things on the real down-low, that infertility won't notice me quietly working my way through my first trimester. I'm taking it all in as I wait for my broken heart to do its healing. I'm awed by life in the absence of sadness. I feel cautious.



Slowly, I'm working on throwing that caution to the wind. But I'm taking baby steps to do it.