expecting

go, Gogurt, go

We’re kinda middle of our cohort to be having our first kid.

For years, our policy had been, “Let’s procrastinate for as long as we can,” but a year or so ago, while on a hike, with little concrete thought about it before or after, H and I game planned.

The main constraints were, naturally, how old I was willing to be if we decided to have a second, and what chapters of his career would be most forgiving for a first hard year of infancy.

The conversation was probably subconsciously triggered because he’d decided not long before then that he would continue into ACHD training, and we also knew the nature of that program. We knew who he’d be working with as co-fellows for the first year of training, and that the year after, all bets were off.

“So the best time will be during first year of ACHD, after settling into the new job, after boards in October, but before 2nd year starts in June.”

At our age, we’ve seen friends go through all sorts of fertility hardships, so we eyed that 7 month target window with some unease.

But we were lucky. We got it pretty much in one.

Gogurt is due in November.

—

So now we’re expecting.

To be honest we’re expecting very little.

Some of it might be because our parents raised us with a bit of ennui about the whole affair.

My mom had an attitude of “heck, I guess I married this guy, so I should give this family a kid” at first. They tried for a bit, made a fetus that never developed a heartbeat, had to get rid of that, got over it, forgot about the whole endeavor because they got busy with their careers, and then I showed up accidentally¹. After that, the the sentiment was “Oh shit, how am I supposed to do this alone” in Taiwan, while my dad was in the States.

I was raised with a lot of help from the grandparents. Good thing I was the first grandchild and really freaking cute; my mom got the help she needed. She also taught at an English language tutoring center/daycare, so we got all the hand me downs we needed. I was clothed and housed erratically, but very well provided for and cared for.

H’s parents were together, but they had it even harder because he was raised here, away from any sort of support and just as busy.

We learned last week—as my MIL showed me the adorable onesies she bought for Gogurt—that they were so poor when they had H that he usually wasn’t even clothed as an infant. Little dude owned one onesie, and mostly just wore a diaper. Good thing he was a spring baby, he could put on some fat before the winter. Communication home was also poor then (phone calls were expensive), so his parents just sorta…. winged it.

We turned out alright.

We were both very, very loved.

And we were both very, very inconvenient.

Knowing how we were raised in those early years, we’re acutely aware that H and I are in a very different situation from that of our parents at our age, when they were considering a child.

Unlike for them, the price of a onesie is hardly an issue for us. Our infant will be clothed, and have both parents and three grandparents.

Unlike for them, our nuclear family will be well supported by our community.

Unlike for them, we’re cautiously optimistic we might even have two.

—

I don’t think we ever seriously questioned that we were going to have kids, but there’s still less enthusiasm behind the decision and commitment than, really, I would have hoped.

We’re really not the most enthused couple, in combination, but it’s definitely me dragging down the hype.

H likes kids more than I do. He’s also way more fun. And has a softer heart. The man burst out in tears when he saw a newborn last year.

I’m terribly lazy. I think babies are gross. Childbirth kinda sounds like the worst, and the nature half of the nature vs nurture package is a real cause for anxiety for me. H and I got good genes. Remarkably good genes, really. Regression to the mean is of course, likely and expected, but the real fear is, heavens, ANYTHING could go wrong. How painful love can be.²

—

But. All my griping aside, I’m on an uptrend on baby enthusiasm.

Over the last month or so, I started getting baby things from the Buy Nothing group in Westwood (there’s a lot more babies in Westwood, near UCLA, than there were in West Hollywood), and reading the marketing material for things people gave me was actually exactly the kind of brainwashing I needed. All these people getting specialized baby gear are so excited to welcome an infant home! They’re thinking so hard about what makes babies comfortable, safe, and happy!

I felt a particular, unexpected sense of connectedness and warmth when a lady gave me her child’s entire outgrown wardrobe in a big cardboard box. I sorted the soft little clothes that I knew had been for another soft little person who’s grown bigger and stronger now, and just… felt the love.

On Prime day I bought a few swaddles and spit rags (I refuse to call them burp cloths. They’re for when babies hurl.), and handling more soft cotton things helped me feel more connected to the generations of parents who all want their babies to touch only the softest, cleanest things.

I really didn’t want to buy and own more stuff, but I guess every parent finds a way to nest.

It’s also perhaps obvious in retrospect that the family gearhead who likes being prepared for things would grow more enthusiastic as the baby knickknacks piled up in the corner.

—

And of course there’s the grandparents.

H’s parents are overjoyed.

My mom was anxious like me. But she loves babies too. If you think she’s a bit extra with her cats, just wait for her to get a child.

I’m extremely excited for our parents to have the baby-experience they missed out on when they were too young and haggard with us.

We love our parents. This is a very important thing for us to do together.

—

And ok, H and I make it fun where we can.

“Gogurt” came after our friend’s baby was codenamed “Chobani” for all the yogurt the mother-to-be was eating. We decided to stay on theme. I hadn’t had a gogurt in years, but it turned out be especially great, because we’re in LA summer and frozen gogurts are bomb.

The codenames have really tickled me. We have friends who called their babies Booboo, Hotdog, Cutie, Broski… Naming is a small first act of love. Every evocation feels like a little prayer. It can feel hard to talk about a person who’s not quite a person yet.

I’m excited for Gogurt to become a person.

Today Gogurt is mostly a cause of cramps.

—

I suppose I hate being pregnant about as much as I expected.

First and second trimester are going by with little incident. I was spared most of the worst pregnancy symptoms. I’ve just been dealing with fatigue, constipation, backache, and the occasional nosebleed. Chill.

Decreased exercise tolerance is some bullshit though.

Earlier on, I was so convinced I’d keep up the running from earlier in the year, maybe pick up some yoga. Y’all said 30 minutes, 5 times a week? No problem!

lol.

I don’t want to move at all.

Apparently you end up with up to double the blood volume when pregnant. And your resting heart rate increases. And you have to breathe more (and somewhat less effectively) as your diaphragm gets shoved up and respiration needs increase. My lungs and heart hate me.

I don’t know how women just shrug this shit off. (Lady who ran a half marathon at week 20, you know I’m looking at you.)

Oh, and about 80% of my wardrobe stopped fitting around a month ago. I’m a fucking cylinder. A cute cylinder—I really don’t feel that bad about it, and I got an order of thrifted dresses that make me still look presentable when I need to—but man I didn’t realize I had a waistline until it went and disappeared entirely on me.

As shit as exercise feels, the rather inspirational women around me are peer pressuring me off my lazy ass. It helps that my fatigue’s now much better than it was in first trimester, and I’ve had both better sleep & a more flexible work schedule. I can try to move as much as I can before I become a whale. 😛

I climbed 3 laps of the stairs in our building today! Thought I was going to faint on that last one (Sorry, Gogurt) and will do it a bit slower next time. I’ve been picking up the 10lb weights and doing my best with them. (My favorite is what I call my Seismic Repulsor dance which is squats with a french press. These can be done while watching tv and is usually accompanied by many war cries.)

So. One stair, one squat, and one day at a time.

Hope this body holds up well for what’s ahead.

—

I hope Gogurt has my hair.

I hope he has my mom’s skin.

I hope he has my dad’s bones.

I hope he has H’s heart.

I hope he has my MIL’s enthusiasm for life.

I hope he has my FIL’s brilliance.

We’re really not expecting much, but we hope for the world.

1. The rhythm method doesn’t work, guys.

2. One of the first things I said after I tested positive for pregnancy was, “Oh my god, the genetic dice have already been rolled. I really hope it turns out alright.”