Thank God I just have to give birth for now...

Sunday mornings usually find C, Coop, and I hiking through one of our usual haunts. This morning it the canals, a series of ponds and trails next to the Rock River surrounded by scrub forest. There is a lot of shade (good for us) and a lot of swimming (good for Coop).

These walks have become a Sunday ritual I look forward to (especially now - post-morning sickness). I suppose it has become our own Humanist house of worship. I learn the names of native plants and species, join in the killing of Japanese Beetles, and converse on rearing Castlehaven. This morning's topic? Spanking. Extra-curricular activities.

My husband and I were both spanked as children. He is a proponent of spanking. I am not. During a lecture on learning theories in grad school, we were discussing positive and negative reinforcement. Spanking is your classic negative reinforcement example. Upon discussing this, my professor offered up this remark, "The only time you should spank your child is if he or she is in imminent danger of hurting him/herself". I suppose his statement clarified my opinion on the subject. A pop on the butt to stop a child about to run into the street. It makes sense - but at the same time, spanking does nothing to instruct the child on proper behavior. And frankly, I feel there are children out there to whom there would be a much more effective form of punishment. "If all I have to endure for doing X is a swat on the butt, I'll happily get that punishment - and keep on doing X". I feel the punishment should fit the child. So many circles we went in - and I believe our intent and our process was the same. An intervention (his - spanking, mine - to be determined!), a discussion on what was done wrong, a discussion on what is a better choice, etc.

Extra-curricular activities. C and I grew up doing some of the same things. We both took piano lessons into Junior High upon which time we stopped, but instead took up playing an instrument in band. We were both very active in music throughout our schooling and both wish we had kept up with our piano skills (doesn't everyone?). I spent my younger days in gymnastics, swimming, and softball. He was heavy into Tae Kwon Do with a smattering of baseball and swimming. While he detested the last 2, he sees great benefit in swimming. I see it as a life skill necessary to get along. Maybe like being able to drive manual transmission. I think we both have a desire that our child be active in areas that teach them discipline, coordination, committment, etc. The conversation turned interesting when we discussed, "At which point do you let them decide?" C quit track with a month left in track his junior year - stress on his knee and too many A.P. classes. My opinion - no discussion. Health and grades come first. But to just quit because you don't like it? In the middle of a season - or because you just don't like it anymore? That's a hard one. Giving up control will be a hard one for me. Allowing them to dress themselves when all they want to pick is that scrubby sweatshirt instead of the cute little dress - it starts small for me. At which point do you let them take over the reigns? Especially when you see them quitting something that could be so good for them?

In the end, I'm glad I don't give birth to a 5 year old.

New Beginnings

I have been meaning for some time to revive the blog. Get on a schedule. Give little updates. Create a journal to remember this time.

I'm just over 13 weeks pregnant. I'm entering my second trimester. Right now, the baby is the size of a peach, a small peach albeit. The nausea is subsiding. My pants are getting a bit snug. I have a stack of books I refer to daily. I read every week what is developing, how big the baby is, etc. I definitely love anything by Dr. Sears - I proudly announced one Saturday evening that I learned how to breastfeed. Then I proceeded to demonstrate the correct method, what to look for to know things are working correctly, various positions to try, etc. I suppose its like reading a book on how to ride a bicycle.

I like to push out my stomach and gauge where my feet are. I am on the cusp of a pregnant belly. Right now - it's still a belly. My bust looks as though I could feed sextuplets. I suppose that's been the biggest plus of the first trimester. That and I managed to grow long nails on one hand - just one hand and only on 4 fingers. I suppose both add a bit of femininity when I don't feel well; I gaze at my pretty nails when I can't lift my head off my desk. I think I'm beyond dreaming of that round stomach I see in the maternity ads. I am just proud of my body for intuitively knowing what the baby needs. My mother has told me that during birth and the early months or year, your body is not your own. You are a vessel. You are a feeding machine. A source of comfort. I suppose this process of letting my body take over and do its work is the beginning of it - and good preparation.

I share stories with my mother, and she encourages me to write these things down. C and I will like reading them years from now - as will our little one.

So, Herodotus. In an effort to refrain from saying "It", we've taken to calling the baby different names. We have our favorites based on anything from Greek historians to favorite bands to made-up names. Herodotus (5th century Greek historian). Little Yob (favorite band of C's with "Little" attached to denote a sort of fondness or cuteness). Castlehaven (who knows).

Work has been quite stressful lately. I feel as though I am slipping in my work, not staying on top of projects as I am used to. I consistently receive unsolicited reassurance that I am producing material at a rate and of a quality above and beyond what they had hoped. For myself, it doesn't always feel like enough. At the end of a 11+ hour day on the drive home, I just felt drained. And lonely. The feeling of swimming against the tide in a great vastness and making little progress. As I drove and let the tears flow, it occurred to me that I wasn't alone. It was remembering just in time you put something in the oven and didn't set the timer because you knew you'd remember. While I am always mindful of my pregnancy, I sometimes forget what that means. When that happens, I pat my belly and say, "Hi, baby. Mama's here".