bekka

free to junky home

Somehow I received two books from my book club yesterday that I don't recall ever ordering. I swear I told them not to send this month's selection. And I was fooled somehow and thought it was some other books I'd ordered. So I opened the box, and once you do that, they're yours. No sending them back with "REFUSED" writ across the label with the industrial strength sharpie.

Since I don't watch television, I have no clue who Sue Whitney and Ki Nassauer are. Duh, I'm slow today. I thought they had a show on HGTV or something. How'd I get that wrong? So, no show, but they've guest starred on other home decorating shows.

Whitney and Nassuaer are lovely on the cover of their book; they look ready for hard work. And there's nothing wrong with the book. The rooms they transform are amazing. Their aesthetic tends toward the modern, sparse look, which I'd love to pull off amid my clutter, but doubt that will ever happen. But it's modern, sparse, and junky. Or rather, industrial.

I looked through the book and like I said, it's lovely. The photography is spot-on. Each page is slick, glossy, and color infused. Sadly, I'm not feeling up to any kind of room makeover. And there aren't any cool architectural reclamation joints in my part of the state, so I'm basically SOL as far as picking up daring and delightful pieces to showcase in my home. The other thing I noticed at the book's end, in the resources section, is that two-thirds of the companies they cite are based in Minnesota. Another mark against my finding this book particularly useful. As much as I'd love to visit the state of 10,000 Lakes, I won't be making a special trip to find funky junky pieces for my home.

So, if you want it, leave a comment about your favorite junk piece in your home. Or any old comment will do, really.

Oh, I almost forgot the best part. This isn't just a book of lovely before and after photos. Also inside are instructions for replicating specific projects they've incorporated in their clients homes. So, it's possible that you can devise a reasonable facsimile.  In my current state of mind, I think I'd be terribly disappointed if I could not exactly duplicate it, you know? And since I live in resourceless east Tenn. 'Nuff said.

paper piecing pain

Monday night's quilting class was rough. I understood just enough of what our teacher explained to be dangerous. Rather, I understood the concepts, if not the exact techniques.

First, there was all this standing and cutting. Cutting through 10 and 12 layers of fabric and then cutting out paper quilt piecing pieces. Way too many p's. This could be a tongue twister.

We spent much of the evening cutting out pieces and only in the last ten or fifteen minutes of class did we haul out the sewing machines and begin sewing. Ahem, piecing. But even trying this so-called "gentle art" my back ached. I crawled into bed as soon as I arrived home.

This class, this project, is way more involved than I imagined. And I roped Laura into it. She's never used a sewing machine before in her life. I planned to loan her one of my Singers, but I took in the circa 1984 one to have it serviced, almost two weeks ago and the guy hasn't called me yet. That means that he hasn't gotten to mine yet. Ho hum. Luckily the shop had an extra machine that Laura could use. It was a Pfaff, and was pretty nice.

My circa 1997 Singer was the loudest machine going. Rat-a-tat-tat. Sounded like a machine gun. I was embarrassed to sew. Felt like I was working-class piece-sewing factory girl, even though those are my origins (fyi: Grandma, Aunt Donna, Aunt Ruthie, and even my Mom did stints as piece-work sewers at Industrial Garment of Erwin, Tn.),  toting in her industrial strength machine. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Just that everybody else's machines were super-subtle and quiet, which I think equates to high-end, expensive machines.  My complex surely lies in my librariaish nature: Quieter is better.

Anyway, the class was supposed to be just this one. Was I naive? Yup. Silly Rebecca thought we'd whip out that table runner in three hours. No way. No how. We stayed until about twenty of 10:00 p.m., believe it or not, just to make it through the rough stuff. I think our teacher was Linda. She said we'd meet at least two more times, possibly a third.

I'll need that help. I tried working on homework tonight and fear I fudged it up real good. I can always start over, with some close supervision and guidance. But ripping all that out, and cutting out more pieces. Sigh. I didn't have enough yardage for one, maybe two parts of the project anyway, and there were other women from the quilt shop who helped me select exact yardage I'd need according to my pattern.

So, lots of cutting. Come to think of it, the cutting was sort of fun. Then we set aside certain piles of fabric into specific plastic bags. That's another new technique I've learned. Is it a technique, or merely an organizational trick? Whatever it is, surely it foretells the difficulty ahead.

Linda said she'd be in Saturday that we could come in for help. Yup, I may very well do that, if the day is yucky and I can stand being inside.

I assured Laura that if she mastered this technique that doing normal quilts, like the simple square pieces in a square block that Traci showed us, would be a snap for her. I can't wait to finish this up so that maybe she and I can take on a really simple one like a Nine Patch or Picket Fence or some such.

horse days

cutie pie with bunnies

I got way too much sun Saturday. I went to Horse Days, a biennial event that Jim, owner of the farm where I hang with horses, puts on at the locally owned feed and seed, Mize. There are two Mize locations, one in downtown Johnson City, close to home, and the other out in Gray, not too far from the Fossil Site, and that is where Horse Days was. Supposed to be overcast most of the day, so I didn't bring a hat.  Jim invited me to previous Horse Days to help out, but I've always declined, looked at those Saturdays off as another day to sleep in late. But this time, I came to help out.

And sleeping late? I have memories of that. Roxy wakes me up around 6:30 every morning. I put her off until, oh, maybe 7:10 and then let her outside. She's getting me into that early-morning mode which surely will be helpful when baby arrives.

Jessie bobs for apples

Horse Days has a clown, horseback rides, face painting, bobbing for apples, and a petting zoo with Wilbur the calf, Chiquita the lamb, and a goat with no name. There were bunnies, too. Almost forgot that Trap, father of my Roxy, displayed his frisbee catching skills as well. My job, for much of the day, was being Trap's keeper. Not such a bad job, though there were dicey moments when we thought he might break pottery or get aggressive with other dogs.

Jessie and Joelle ahorseback

Mostly to socialized with Laura and all the other equestrian types. Also answered a few questions about the summer program that their non-profit org is having beginning in June. Little Dudes Ranch Project meets on Thursdays from 12-5 throughout the summer and is free. Kids of all ages learn horsemanship, gardening, animal husbandry, and farm chores. I just wish I could help out during the summer, but I have work. Wah. So maybe I'll take a few days of annual leave just to be involved with that.

another cutie pie, Jim, & Jewells

Whew, never enough horsey activities for me. Horses, horses, horses. One of the highlights was seeing all the children's faces light up at the sight of the horses.  From toddlers to teenagers, they lined up and waited in the sun for twenty or thirty minutes at a time to have their chance to go around the parking lot on Biscuit or Jewells.

a big decision

One night while working on my quilt Ian decided to spring the "Big Decision" on me. It's not one that I'd given much thought to, but it was heavy. It's the "Who do we ask to raise our child if we both die?" question. Whew. So instead of working on my quilt and being relaxed and happy, we talked about the possibilities because I thought it might be rude to slip my fabric happily along thorough the feeder during the discussion.

That my mom is too old, but our first choice. That my sister is only 22 and not established in her life and raising a child might over-burden her, plus, we're not convinced that growing up in Scott County, Virginia, and all that entails, is what we want for our child.

Then we discussed our friends and mostly categorically dismissed them: They're perfect, but they live overseas; He's much older than she is; They're great parents, but their relationship borders on the abusive; They'd be wonderful but they live in upstate New York and her health is precarious, etc.  Whew.

Basically Ian's priorities are that our replacement parents live in this area so that the grandparents are involved in baby's life, that they be our age or younger, and that they're a traditional two-parent household. Oh, and that they're financially okay, though our babe should have some $$$ coming to it should we perish. I agree that most of those are sound criteria, but I'd still prefer that my mom be our first choice if it is something she can take on, and I doubt that it is.

What else? I'm slowly working to de-clutter our computer/sewing room, for that is where the baby will be. The state of that room is embarrassing.  But we're hoarders who feel that our time is better served by leisure and not by obsessively keeping our bits and pieces tidy. Now it's come back to haunt us. And, all that cleaning and snuffling around in dust is so very very bad for me.

My pregnancy is high risk because of my age and my asthma. My step-dad, the retired OB/GYN, said that my immune systems essentially shut down in order to accept Ian's foreign-body sperm and get on with fertilization and the whole party. I'm much more susceptible to asthma attacks than I was previously. So walking from my car to the library each morning stresses out my lungs what with all the yuck and pollen in the air.

This asthma and allergies have always been the best excuse for never cleaning, because stirring up dust throws my lungs into a fit. And cleaning products make me loopy and quicken the descent of a major modern migraine upon my poor head. Yet, I must take responsibility and clean out baby's room. My mom offered to help. I may take her up on it, but I know she is of the "Throw it all out" school of cleaning, and I'm of the "Take my time and go through it and end up storing 70% of it" school.

consuming baby

I swear. Did becoming parents always seems so daunting? We've made several trips to Babies R Us and sort of finally decided on a crib and changing table. That's all I managed. Ian wanted to pick out a stroller and high chair and pack n play and... You get the drift.

Choices. There are too many choices. Which baby carrier should I get? A snugli? A baby bjorn? A sling of some kind? And what about those brands? So we recognize the Jeep brand strollers. And I have a small acquaintance with Carter's. But what of the rest? Who to trust? What is good? What is not? And where are Beatrix Potter themed baby stuff? Not that I'm a fan of the themed nursery. We won't do that.

When I talked to Scout and shared the news with her via telephone,  she gave me a few bits of advice. Like: Buy the most expensive breast pump because they express milk faster than the cheap ones. Or, you'll be expressing at each breast for thirty minutes each and as soon as you're done, it's time to feed baby again. But then, maybe she said that I could rent one from Specialty Hospital instead.

And money will be tight while I'm away from work. The State/University doesn't have paid maternity leave. I must use all my sick and annual leave, which is paid, before I ease over into the Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA). Frankly, having a baby and being out for work for three months can financially devastate a family. We're saving as we go along, so that maybe our nest egg will sustain us December through February. Who has paid maternity? I'd really like to work for them. I've begged Ian to move to Norway or Sweden, or even Canada, for years, but he's very negative about leaving the USA.

She touted the video monitors, too, rather than the typical audio monitors. She cited one friend who uses her video monitor to decide whether to go to her baby when she's self-soothing. It saves her a great deal of time and effort. And Scout talked about how after her brother was born her mother awoke one night to his screaming. Scout had climbed into his bed and was pinching him and pulling his hair. A video monitor could be helping when there are malicious sibs in the house.

Then last night Ian told me how his friend Richard and wife Melissa battled over their boy's feeding schedule. Tricky Dick, as I call him, works for the railroad like Ian and so his schedule is erratic. But when he's home, he gets Noah to sleep through the night, or at least with just one feeding. Whereas Melissa feeds Noah on demand whenever he makes the slightest whimper. Noah is also 2. I probably won't breastfeed our child for longer than 6-9 months, if I can make it that long, just because I've heard latching-on, and bloody, crusty nipple stories that make me think the process may not be so rosy.

Scout recommend a co-sleeping bed. She said that is so much easier than getting up out of bed and gathering baby from a bassinet or crib. That's what I wanted originally, but Ian's greatest concern is that our dogs, who sleep on our bed, will be too close to baby. Scout thinks we can easily train the dogs. I told Ian the dogs could easily sleep in another room and not with us. So I may return to my original thought. I think what matters most to me is what will ease my exhaustion and fatigue, no?

Really, the decisions are overwhelming. Which bottle? Which bottle sterilization kit? There are far too many products. Making the "right" decision is stressing me out already and it makes me want to not make any decisions at all. But then there's the added horror of signing up for baby registries. Ugh. Are baby wipe warmers really necessary? Some of these things seem like just another needless product to waste money on. Sure, I want to pamper my child, but whatever happened to the bracing reality of a cold wipe? Perhaps my thoughts will change one it arrives. Ian and I are mostly pragmatic, school-of-hard-knocks types and so we roll our eyes at what we consider frou-frou baby stuff.

issues of girth

How can you go from size 12 jeans to size 16 jeans in three months by only gaining four pounds? Must be the strange manner in which my body expands for this baby. So yeah, I've always had body image issues, and thought I'd mostly gotten over them. But now, every time I pass a mirror or try to pull together an outfit for work, I cringe and moan and am just unsatisfied with my appearance. It's terribly frumpy and lumpy.

And, of course I'm always noticing other pregnant women wherever I go. Which reminds me, a year or so ago we took a day trip to Gatlinburg, Tn. and I swear, 1 out of 8 women tourists there were preggers, too. Really something weird about how pregnant women flock there. Must be the funnel cakes , taffy, donuts, and foot long Fannie Farkel corn dogs. Fudge, too.

Anyway, so I'm noticing all these obviously pregnant women wherever I go--the doctor's office is a given--and a few days ago I pointed out a woman to Ian and said "Does she look pregnant to you?" Neither of us could tell. She might have just been an apple. It made me feel bad, like other people may point to me and ask, "Is she just fat, or is she pregnant?"

I still have a bit of a waist. I don't want anything on it though. So I'm either wearing my skirts and pants below by breasts or low on the hips, and not all my clothes can accommodate such vast ranges. Once that disappears, the waist, that is, I think I'll be okay. That way, I'll definitely appear pregnant and not like, like Jenny said last night on the phone, "Like you've eaten too many cookies." I challenged her and said, "Nope, like I'd eaten too many pints of Ben & Jerry." Everyone knows I don't like cookies.

So a little bit at a time I'm cleaning out our computer/sewing room to make way for baby. I'm finding all these darling patterns, sewing patterns, that I never made, as well as all the corresponding fabric I bought, and it's making me sick. Really sick. All those cute dresses and skirts and I can't make them now.

not specifically maternity patterns, but could be adapted

To counteract those negative feelings, I stopped by two fabric stores yesterday and perused maternity patterns. Don't do it. I beg you. The selection is miserable. Really. Rarely did I find anything bordering on cute. Surprisingly, Simplicity boasted the greatest number of maternity pattern, almost 6 pages, I think. I ended up buying several patterns that I thought I could modify to suit my expanding girth, somehow. Luckily for me, the style in patterns, and at stores this summer, is the empire waist, which totally goes with being in my state. Totally lucked out on that one. Let's hope it sticks, at least through the fall when I might score some long-sleeved things to take me through Thanksgiving, which, last night my BIL said would totally be ruined by my giving birth on or around that holiday. Yeah, he's a real doll, that one.

So I found a Burda maternity pattern I bought and will try. Except that the dress is way shorter than what I'm comfortable wearing; no above the knee business for me. Won't be too difficult to lengthen it a good six inches. And saw all those adorable Oliver S patterns (featured in the latest Home Companion) and so wanted to buy them all, especially the dresses, but since I don't know what I'm having, and don't want to know (have I mentioned that bit yet?), it seems pointless to buy them.

Then, I'm also wondering exactly how smart it is to make anything for this pregnant body. After reading Morgan's experience with her Amy Butler lounge pants that don't fit because she's 40 weeks pregnant, I suspect that toiling on my sewing machine on clothing for myself may be for naught.

Here's hoping that a lot of my regular clothes can take me through a few more months. The slim, fitted look was a momentary lapse cause I lost 20 pounds or so. I still have my comfy sack-like loose dresses and pants and skirts, so maybe they'll do.

One other thing: I feel strangely liberated from all the clothing catalogs I get in the mail. I almost don't want to look through them. Invariably I do, because I' m afraid I might miss something that could work for me. Mostly I'm tempted to throw them out completely without browsing their pages. Makes going through the mail less time consuming. Might at well cancel my subscriptions to Vogue and Marie Clare, too. What's the use?

Oh, wait. I read them for the articles.

i'm telling!

Who knew telling everyone you're pregnant could be such a major undertaking? We told Ian's parents and my mom and step-dad on Easter and then spent at least two weeks trying to get together with Dad and my step-mom to tell them. You know, that's something you want to tell in person, not just over the phone. Although.... my dad told me over the phone about my sister when she was on the way. He called to tell me that they had a surprise. It was when I was 14 or 15 and the only thing I wanted in the world was a cherry-colored honda scooter (1985). When he told me I was getting a brother or sister, yeah, I was disappointed. A scooter or sibling? What could be better?

Okay, okay. As a single child I was jealous of those who had siblings. But now? No way. No way could I have shared my mom's attention with someone else. Ian thinks that my being a single child has something to do with my unsociability. What? Yeah. He said I was never forced to get along with others. That I just escape to my room and read. And he complained that we didn't have a lot of social events at our house. I explained that I learned to entertain myself and self-soothe and that a lot of times, too much loudness and interaction with people completely exhausts me. Sure. I'd rather be home reading. Or knitting. Or petting my sweet dogs.

But really, I have excellent social skills. I was an introverted child, and still tend toward introversion, but I can socialize with the best of them if I must. Why, my colleague Marie says that I have a true gift for engaging people in conversation and drawing them out.

I ended up living with Dad and my step-mother for the first seven or so months of my sister's life. She squalled whenever Margie left her with me. There was no calming that kid down. But I digress. This is about telling.

So all the parents know. And all were shocked. My sister knows and she's thrilled. She's almost never let up with the "When am I getting a little niece or nephew?"

The first person outside the family that I told was my BFF Jennifer. We've known each other since eighth grade and we're still friends. I'm the godmother to her son Brandon who is like 12 or 13 at least. I called her Monday (7 April) to tell her the news, but she wasn't home. So she called me Tuesday morning and we chatted about her leaving on a cruise with three other women this week.

And I told her I had some news. She said "You're pregnant!?" And I said yes.

She was thrilled. She screamed and cried into the phone. She is happy for me and wants to spend all kinds of time with me helping me out, etc. Wants to be at the birth. Though, I'm not sure I want anyone else in there other than Ian. My mom didn't act like she wants to see her baby in so much pain, so I wouldn't force that on her despite always thinking that I'd have her by my side should I go through that experience.

So it's fun telling people that we're expecting. But I'm still hesitant. I don't feel out of the woods yet. And so I'm keeping mum on the news, maybe telling one more person a week, or so. Sure, I'd love to tell everyone in person, but with my BFF Kel over in Doha, it's not like I can phone her up and tell her the news. The most fabulous piece of news about her is that her sister is also pregnant and is due sometime in October. And so instead of coming home in the summer like she and her family normally do, they're coming in the fall so they can be home for Christy's labor & delivery. And she doesn't know it yet, but she'll be here for mine, too!

I couldn't ask for anything more. I have such wonderful friends. And it's going to be perfect being surrounded by them as well as absorbing up all their mother/baby knowledge.

what we did on may day

Planted and weeded and prepared our flower beds for some upcoming rough stuff. I eyed the annuals and perennials at Mize, my locally-owned feed & seed for days and days until I got paid. With money to back my flora fueled compulsion, I picked out three boxes of plants to bring home, including two tomato plants. Hooray. Fresh grown tomatoes in my own backyard. The rest is just to look at.

Mize didn't offer the same shade of very light pink geraniums that I bought last year, so I went with the slightly shrimpy color. It's more soothing to the eye than the electric red and electric hot pinky other geranium selections. Although, in this photo, my geranium appears pretty electric. And what am I talking about subtle colors for when I bought a super-brilliant orange begonia (below)?

Actually, I planted a few things in my containers. I've always loved getting my hands dirty. I remember playing in mud puddles and building dams in the rainwater run off at my Mamaw's house in the summer. And the best thing ever was rain coming down as the sun shone. What I wouldn't give for one more barefoot frolic in a mudpuddle under those conditions.

Ian did all the heavy shoveling and hoeing and demarcation of flower bed boundaries. He wants to buy a roto tiller to properly turn the soil and prepare it for what we decide to plant in it. Our half-acre is surprisingly barren given the almost ten years we've lived here. Whilst living in an apartment I yearned for a yard of my own to landscape and work in. But once I had that yard of my own I determined that I really wasn't up for much working and weeding. Planting and watering I could do, but other than that?

Still, I'm stymied by too many choices. What if I plant that and hate it? That's why we've mostly only planted hostas, spirea, and a few rose bushes. Other foundation plants and trees are so permanent. It's the indecision that had led to our home being the least landscaped one on the block.

Then today I returned and eyed their roses, ferns, echinacea, hydrangea, and sedum. I may return yet again tomorrow with Ian so that we can decide what to plant in which bed.

our seahorse

Went for my first visit to the OB today (7 April). All my tests were normal. My blood pressure is excellent. But since I'm over 35 and asthmatic, I'm considered high risk. Okay, HOW many times can I repeat myself on this fact? I didn't have too many questions for the nurse practitioner who saw me today. I've absorbed a lot of pregnancy information over the years. And I bought several books, but I'm not certain I'll actually read every bit of them. I got books by Sears and Kitzinger and Simkin.

The highlight was having an ultrasound where we (Ian accompanied me) saw our little seahorse. Ian didn't think it looked like a seahorse, but I did. And the ultrasound technician said, "I can see how you could see that." Baby's heart rate was 168 per minute and that's great, so we're pleased.

I asked the tech, "So there's only one fetus?" When she didn't answer right away I worried. But she was preoccupied with something technical and eventually she confirmed that there was only one fetus. And, we were thrilled. We worried about the possibility of twins. My grandmother was a twin and older mothers often release more than one egg at a time, so there was that possibility to contemplate. Whew. Double sigh of relief.

Next, I'd like to find a doula. But my part of the state is notoriously medicalized; there IS a medical school. There are few to no midwives, like that's an option for high-risk me, and possibly fewer doulas. Frequently I bemoan the lack of culture or lack of good food or lack of my kind of shopping in my immediate area, but this is just another thing we lack in East Tennessee.

Ian wondered what the point of a doula is after I told him I wanted one. I mentioned how she is there to support the laboring woman and to be a firm advocate for her birth plan. He asked, "Isn't that what I'm there for?" And so, I guess. I think. Sure. Maybe. I bought him a copy of The Birth Partner, but don't know whether he's reading it. He's too into his Clive Cussler and Robert Parker books right now. But it's his first child as well, and will he stand up to the doctor when he or she won't honor my explicit wishes?

first baby gate

Yesterday (31 March) we bought our first baby thing, a gate. Mostly to keep the dogs in our bedroom and keep the air flowing in and out of the bedroom. Too bad our home wasn't outfitted with Dutch doors. And we should have bought a gate a long time ago. But at least at this point we know it'll get lots of good use.

We also looked at baby beds, pack and plays, high chairs, baby futons, all that stuff. There's too much to decide about, too many consumer choices to make, though my Mom, who calls me daily and calls me mommy or mama, wants to outfit our nursery. Ian did a bit of comparison shopping on Baby Einstein things. The thing you put the baby in so it can move upright along the floor? And it has tons of gizmos at baby's hand-level? It was the same price at Target as at Babies R Us.

I told Ian that what was good enough for us is good enough for our baby. My fears are that babies are overstimulated with all that gadgetry on their high chairs and dangling from their bassinets and all that. Is that right? I have so much to learn. Please give me your thoughts and experiences in these matters because I certainly can benefit from them. I told Ian that children need to learn to self-sooth and deal with boredom and cultivate their imaginations, that many toys were unessential. But am I wrong?

My immune system is compromised so I can carry this baby. That means that whatever resistance I had to dander and dust and pollen and all that other stuff is out the window. So we're outfitting the house with air purifiers. I visited my primary care physician for a new inhaler because my allergist is so overbooked that he cannot see me until June. Naturally I'll be a high-risk patient given my age and my asthma. I don't look forward to multiple medical interventions and am preparing for the worst, yet hoping for the best.

Anyway, it's really weird to be writing about the baby and not really posting this for at least another month. But catching y'all up might be too weird.

Also bought some maternity clothes at Target. Then today I ordered a few things from Macy's and Bloomingdale's like nursing bras and camisoles and other stuff. I looked at Gap maternity at three or four different kinds of jeans, but didn't know which belly version I'd like the best.  Are those belly bands helpful at all? Like the free-standing thing you wear under your clothes to support your pregnant belly?

I asked Ian what if we don't like our baby. Not now, but later, when s/he grows up. He said we could sell it to the gypsies but then what would we tell our parents? "My baby was abducted by aliens." But then I remember all those Celtic stores about changeling babies. I also asked him what he thought our baby's interests would be. It a whole new world. For sure.

And sleep? How I yearn for a solid night's sleep. I'm up every 2 or 3 hours to pee. And I'm not sleeping. And I can't take Ambien. Oh horrors. And a nap during the day would be perfect if only Roxy would let me sleep.

My mom was stunned that we're having a baby. Ten years of marriage and me a career woman and all. She never thought she'd have a biological grandchild, though she has three step-grandchildren. She's so perfect and wonderful with them that I'd hate for her own blood grandchild to miss out on the delight of having her for a grandmother. When we told her, she thought we were lying to her, just to see what she'd do or say. She was mostly quiet. And then she called my step-dad to come downstairs to share the news with him. He's a semi-retired OB-GYN who stopped delivering babies in the 1980s, so he was thrilled with the news and so excited to experience our pregnancy vicariously.

Then Ian's parents were completely shocked as well when we told them. They have time shares in November and Ian asked which they were going to the week of Thanksgiving. And he said that we'd be birthing a baby. His mom asked, "Whose?" And I pointed to myself. She squealed about it, but Ian's father was sort of drowsy and didn't seem excited. Nonetheless, they, too, were surprised. They thought we'd only be parents to dogs.

But we wanted to keep it secret because we didn't want to get anyone's hopes up unnecessarily should we be infertile. Naturally, nobody knew. Oh, there were one or two people who spotted pre-natal vitamins in our home who I couldn't lie to. And when I wasn't pregnant right away this fall, several of Ian's co-workers got together to write him a note offering their services, since they were already fathers. That's just the kind of tight-knit group railroaders are. I kept them in mind, as potential back ups, but honestly felt that if we couldn't do it naturally, that it wasn't meant to be.