ex(PR)essed

Prior to my maternity leave, I had visions of regular blogging complete with photos of my darling baby and perhaps a tale or two of a new recipe tried or a book finished. (And maybe those days are yet to come!) I’m only three weeks into my lifelong stint as a mother, and I’m realizing how naive I was about a lot of things…not the least of which is how I might spend my time at home.

Really, motherhood is craziness. It’s a huge paradox. I find myself both looking forward to when Adele will fall asleep so I can get a few things done and then anxiously waiting for her to wake up so we can snuggle. Every morning, usually around 4 or 5 a.m., I negotiate with her and try to convince her that it’s really sleep, not food, that she wants. (I haven’t won that one yet, by the way.) I love her to pieces, but I’m also having a mini identity crisis…trying to figure out who I am in my new role as Adele’s mother while maintaining other roles like wife, daughter, friend, and yes, eventually, assistant director of public relations again.

So, as I’ve stewed over these changes…sometimes through tears of joy and sometimes through tears of exhaustion and frustration, I keep thinking about a phrase from a U2 song in which Bono sings about “running down the road like loose electricity.”

“Loose electricity” just seems like an apt descriptor for this new mom — all at once frayed yet feeling so very alive.

Last Tuesday when I was blogging about my cankles, I could hardly have imagined that I was only a few hours away from meeting sweet Baby Lorow in person! Tuesday proved to be my last day of work and in the past seven days, Jeff and I have survived a challenging labor and delivery and fallen completely in love with one Miss Adele Elizabeth Lorow.

I’m a bit tired and emotional, so I can’t string too many coherent sentences together, but I do want to say that being a mother to Adele is the most rewarding, fulfilling, joyful thing I’ve ever done in my life. She has turned our world on its ear, and we don’t mind one bit. As a matter of fact, we can hardly do more than just stare at her all day.

I am learning that sleep is nice, but spending quiet time with your baby is nicer. Eating and typing can all be done with one hand while snuggling a sweet bundle of sleeping baby with the other. Love at first sight does exist: sometimes that type of love happens across a crowded restaurant but for me it happened in a delivery room at Harrisburg Hospital. Jeff is a wonderful father. I never doubted that he would be, but it’s endearing to witness.

We are completely smitten. And it’s exhausting and blissful and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is the glamorous side of pregnancy. I mean really…everyone focuses on the swelling belly and the maternal glow and decorating the nursery while the cankle goes totally unappreciated.

I must admit, on December 28 when I realized I was pregnant, the cankle wasn’t on my mind either. Instead, I was distracted by an odd cocktail of feelings that included fear, joy, apprehension, concern, anticipation, and so forth.

It was late May when I first lamented to my co-worker Kim that my left ankle had disappeared. And, since that time, it has only returned for quick, guest appearances in the early morning hours or at the end of an unusually restful weekend.

Being the realist that I am, I couldn’t not document this signficant aspect of my pregnancy. For months now, my left foot has been swelling to various degrees, and last night was a doozie. Hence the picture, which will certainly find it’s way into the pregnancy scrapbook. Interestingly enough, my right foot swells as well, but never to the same degree as the left.

I suppose you shouldn’t blog about things that you don’t want to draw attention to (and really, I’m not inviting your comments about my feet, my stomach, or my “waddle”), but I couldn’t help myself from photographing the cankle at its finest last night. Jeff and I were playing Yahtzee and eating ice cream, and I could feel my foot swelling while I sat at the table. Nearly every evening, my left foot tightens to the point where it almost feels like it’s falling asleep. One of the first times this happened, Jeff and I both freaked a bit. It had swollen so quickly and significantly that we put ice on it! Jeff is an athlete after all, and that’s what you do for injuries that bring swelling.

Well, the ice is useless, according to my doctor, so now I just watch in amazement every night as my ankle disappears and the top of my foot balloons up and up and up. (The doctor assures me this is purely an unfortunate cosmetic side effect of pregnancy and in no way treatable or of concern.) I always bring this phenomenon to Jeff’s attention, inviting him to feel the squishiness of my foot. He politely declines and always throws a sympathy nod my way for having to be in a condition that robs me of my ankles.

For the most part, ankles go unappreciated in our society. I, for one, certainly never paid much attention to mine prior to that fateful May day when the first one started to disappear. Now, second only to meeting Baby Lorow in person, I am most excited to get acquainted with my post-pregnancy body. I know it will look different and I might not feel like a million bucks, but I do look forward to having ankles (and a waist and non-sausage-like-fingers and a defined collarbone…) again. It’s such a little thing, I know, but don’t rob of me this anticipated joy.

A few bloggers that I follow have recently done this little exercise on their blog. My turn!

I always
• Look forward to spending time with my cute parents.
• Want to live in a house full of books.
• Make the bed.
• Wish my memory was better.
• Brake for squirrels.
• Look forward to a vacation with my husband.
• Have music or NPR on in the car.

I sometimes
• Regret not having a master’s degree.
• Wish I could be more laid back.
• Crave red meat even though I have vegetarian tendencies.
• Think God must be very frustrated with me.
• get called a brat by people who know me pretty well.

I never
• Enjoy seeing worms on the sidewalk after it rains.
• Get tired of cereal…or ice cream.
• Could have anticipated what it would feel like to be just days away from meeting Baby Lorow.
• Thought I would enjoy cooking and baking.
• Want mushrooms in or near my food.

We are exactly two weeks from our due date! I suspect, as do some wise others, that we might meet Baby Lorow before August 12, but it’s crazy to think about the nearness of this grand event after nine months of preparation.

I’ve been following the Henry Louis Gates story pretty closely. I’ve been weighing each side, trying to sort my bias, and each day re-evaluating what I think. I’m really appreciating blogger Jenell Paris’ insight.

I was pretty naive in high school. A classmate recently posted some videos on Facebook of the high school antics of many of my classmates. I don’t think I ever fully comprehended the amount of drinking that went on at my high school. It’s has been fascinating to read people’s comments about the videos; turns out that we were all pretty stinkin’ insecure about ourselves.

For the past few months, Jeff and I have played countless games of Yahtzee while enjoying bowls of ice cream. I like this tradition. I wonder if the baby will forever be soothed by the sound of five dice in a blue plastic cup?

Please tell your friends, family, and countrymen that it is never appropriate to 1) tell a woman that you noticed that she is putting on weight or 2) tell a woman that she is waddling. The next person to risk a waddling comment around me will have no choice but to waddle away from me once I inflict bodily harm. Listen, if you don’t know what to say to someone who is obviously pregnant, you could always resort to polite pleasantries like, “I hope you are feeling well today; we are so looking forward to meeting your little one.” Or, “You look adorable today; I hope you’re feeling well too!” Or, “I hope that baby is treating you well in these last few weeks of your pregnancy. We’re praying for a safe delivery and healthy baby.” Maybe instead of pointing out your weight gain to your husband, people could say things to him like, “I hope you’re being extra good to that sweet wife of yours.” Or, “We’re so happy for the two of you and can’t wait to meet the newest member of your family.” It’s really not that hard. Pregnant women are still people…even though our bellies are mis-shapen with the miracle of life, we are able to converse about more than our bodies, and we would appreciate if you made a similar effort. Rant over…for now. (Note: Snarky book or series of blog posts coming your way about pregnancy and the challenges of social interaction; stay tuned.)

If you’ve been in my loft where I do most of my crafting, you know that I have a Rosie the Riveter picture framed and hanging on my red wall. If I had seen this rendition earlier, I would have helped Rosie undergo a bit of a makeover these past nine months.

It’s Tour de France season, a three-week stretch in the middle of the year that I’ve been known to coin as “the most wonderful time of the year.” During Lance’s seven glorious years in yellow, I was a faithful, avid fan. I listened to the broadcast live while at work and then watched the television coverage in the evening.

These last few years without Lance were filled with unwanted drama, and I was embarassed for the sport. I lost interest for the most part after one doping mess after another.

It’s great to see Lance back in the saddle again this year; he’s still making it look totally effortless! While I would love to see him in yellow in Paris (and, quite honestly, I’m totally bitter that his teammate might be instead), I’m really thinking today about how my love for cycling got started.

When I was about five or six, my mom used to have a joint garage sale with a good friend who lived on the other side of town from us. I would tag along and play with the neighborhood kids there — specifically a boy named Mark and a girl named Christine. We were the same age but attended different schools, so our paths only crossed every once and awhile in our elementary years. Basically, all I remember from that particular time is that Mark had a pogo stick.

When we got to junior high, the three of us reconnected. Mark and I had classes together, and we became pretty good friends. He was into cycling and rode with a local club. I knew bits and pieces about that aspect of his life but never thought much of it. I mean, I loved riding my red ten speed around the neighborhood too…I don’t think I ever fully realized how much more serious and committed to cycling he was than that!

Mark was actually someone that I started to become even better friends with once we went off to College. His mom was battling cancer, and we had talked about that a bit. He was dating a friend of mine, so I saw more of him over the holidays during our freshman year. We exchanged a few emails. We were all looking forward to being home together for the summer.

I was fast asleep when the phone rang on my first morning of summer vacation after my freshman year of college. It was Christine calling with the news that Mark had collapsed while riding his bike with a fraternity brother and died the previous day. It was devastating news. And, to this day, I’m not sure that they know exactly what happened.

While we grieved for Mark…for his lost potential both as a cyclist and just as a kind, intelligent human being…a few of us found ourselves drawn more and more to the sport of cycling. It became a way to honor his memory. It’s funny…we never made a conscious decision to ride our bikes in Mark’s memory, but it just happened that way.

For me, I started a love affair with my green Trek mountain bike, a graduation gift from my parents. I rode it like a road bike and charted out easy and difficult rides of all different mileages around my house. I tried mountain biking and fell down a ravine, got lost in the woods when night fell, and had plenty of tumbles and scrapes along the way. I also trained for and rode in the first (second, third, and more) annual Mark E. Mengel bike race in my hometown. Mark’s dad always drove the pace car, and without fail, he or his wife would yell out the window and encourage me along the course.

I began following the professional sport, subscribed to Bicycling magazine, and found myself chatting up all things bikes with anyone who would listen.

It was fortunate for me that Jeff was interested in cycling too. We chatted about bikes on our first date! We’d only been dating for a few months when I bought a red Trek road bike so that we could spend our summer months exploring the backroads of central Pennsylvania. We took our bikes on our honeymoon and celebrated my 30th birthday by riding a century.

And, even though much time has passed, I always think about Mark when I think about biking. Unknowingly, he introduced me (and others) to a new world — one where your body works hard but your mind can sometimes rest; one where your eyes can take in the wonder of the world while your legs scream and moan with each rotation; one where you can ride in perfect silence with someone you love and be at peace in the quiet.

So, while the Tour winds through France in this final week, I will be watching faithfully. And, I’ll be cheering for Lance without a doubt. But, I’ll also be remembering Mark.

Happy Friday! I’m certainly feeling ready for this weekend. The only appointment on my weekend schedule is breakfast with a special friend tomorrow morning. Otherwise, it will be nice to just putter around the house. There are cloth diapers to be washed, thank you notes to be written, meals to be prepared and frozen, and a whole variety of other pre-partum things to be accomplished!

We had our last birthing class on Tuesday, which included a tour of the delivery and maternity floors at Harrisburg Hospital. I was only half-joking when I asked Jeff if we could deliver at home instead. There was nothing awful about the place, but there was also nothing warm, friendly, or cozy about the place either. It felt very sterile and cold. Formal and unfriendly. Full of bright lights and the promise of a total invasion of privacy. But, I know, I know…I won’t care about any of that when I’m in the thick of delivery, blah, blah, blah, and then I will be so smitten with the baby that I will continue to not care. (If you’re sensing any sarcasm, bravo! I’m growing a little weary of people imposing their experiences on me as though I will have an exact duplicate experience. Really. I’m not that naive. I’m pretty sure that both Baby Lorow and I are individuals and we will create our own experience.)

Anywho, basically all this means is that we’re getting closer and closer to meeting Baby Lorow in person. And, Jeff and I are both looking forward to that!

Last weekend, I enjoyed my last baby shower. It was a small affair…just me and a few of the ladies from the young married couples small group at church. It was lovely. A delicious soup and salad lunch served on Anita’s china; fun, loving conversation; adorable presents and thoughtful cards; and a time of scrapbooking as the ladies each contributed a few pages to a brag book for Baby Lorow. The day was truly a gift to me, and I am thankful to my dear friends Anita and Allyson for treating me to such a lovely afternoon.

(from left to right: Anita, cute Ruth, Alyssa, me, Jen, Allyson, and Laurie)

And, here’s a favorite site of mine — a table covered with scrapbooking and stamping supplies!

Guess what I got in the mail on Saturday? Another check from Walmart for nearly $140.

This is the third such check in the past four months. You may recall that I vented about this in May after the second check arrived, and, at the advice of yet another customer service representative, I sent it back voided and with a note.

Then, on Saturday Jeff came running up the stairs with the envelope in his hand and we realized that we were right back to square one.

Some people wouldn’t be so frustrated by “free” money, but this is frustrating to me because I HATE Walmart. I don’t want their money. I don’t want to shop in their stores. I don’t want my name and address in their system.

(Case in point: Last Wednesday, Jeff and I stopped by the Walmart in Mt. Pleasant to return a baby gift that we had received in duplicate. The parking lot was a death trap. We finally got a spot and walked into the store with our return. We were headed towards customer service when a random shopper stopped us and told us that we must tell the greeter inside the door that we intend to return the item so she can properly mark it. So, we walk back to the greeter and wait while she marks a whole line of people’s returns, including one man’s suspicious collection of unopened packets of blank VHS tapes. Then, while waiting at customer service, we can’t help but notice the rather large, lit sign reading, “Restrooms need cleaned.” Good to know. We’ll steer clear. We make the exchange (and get cash not store credit thanks to a gift receipt!) and head out. We are just getting in our car when we hear yelling. Two people in a car pulling out of the death trap parking lot are screaming at each other for all the world to hear. We both just started laughing, cautiously pulled out, and left.)

So, my blog readers, I am now faced with a dilemna. What should I do with this latest check for $140? Is it time to cash it? Start a college fund for Baby Lorow? Spend it at a competing store like Target or Kmart? Donate it to some downtown improvement fund in a city where Walmart has desolated their downtown shopping district? Send it back? Shred it?

Please weigh in and leave me a comment with your best suggestion!

On Wednesday, Jeff and I both took the day off work to drive to Mt. Pleasant to meet up with all the Bertrams. ALL the Bertrams, by the way, consist of my cute parents, my brother Dwayne, sister-in-law Barb, nephew Brandon, and aunt Barb. Yep, that’s all of us. Dwayne and family were visting from California, and it wasn’t going to work out for Jeff and I to travel to Meadville to see them, so Mt. Pleasant was the next best option.

I haven’t been in Mt. Pleasant since my grandma died in December. It felt really strange to be there and to not see her. She would be so excited about Baby Lorow and would enjoy seeing my growing belly. I really miss her.

But, on a happier note, it was great to see the rest of the family. When you live 3,000 miles apart, such reunions are few and far between.

After having lunch together at Applebees, we headed back to my aunt Barb’s house for the afternoon. Her home sits on land adjacent to my grandparents’ farm, and it was nice to sit on her porch and remember happy times spent on the farm.

Later in the afternoon, my cousin’s kids came over. His youngest, Savanna, was too cute, and I couldn’t help taking pictures of her. She is the spitting image of her father, which endears her all the more to me. My cousin John was always one of my very favorite people.

Here’s a picture of the Bertrams….all of us!

And, here’s one of my cute parents with their cute kids and grandkids! (Well, we’re trusting that Baby Lorow will be very cute…)

And, in case you had any doubt about how my dad would be as a grandfather, check out this picture!

Aunt Barb and the girls gave Baby Lorow a present — a whole stack of board books. One of them, “Brown, Bear, Brown Bear,” happens to be Savana’s favorite, and she promptly plucked it off the pile and took it from person to person and asked them to read it to her. At one point, she was even reading it herself! It was pretty stinkin’ adorable, and I can’t wait to see my cute dad with Baby Lorow on his lap!