One of the greatest (and, at times, frustrating) things about being pregnant is the constant stream of advice. Some women really, really hate the guidance, but I'm the least capable mother-to-be on the planet. I need all the help that I can get.
Lately, I've appreciated having the sense to listen to the following tidbits:
1. Keep an extra set of undies with you at all times (very handy for when one full-on wets one's pants...at work. So much for those Kegels.)
2. Keep a granola bar with you at all times (a great antidote to first trimest nausea, second trimester cravings, and third trimester "Good Lord, my esophagus is on fire" heartburn)
3. Labor feels more like pressure than pain (work with me on this...I don't want to hear your horror stories)
As I prepare for BabyBear's arrival, there are days when I've been in a complete, flat out sprint. Too busy to really stop and enjoy this pregnancy experience, as some have instructed. This week I was forced to pause when the book publishing world took note of Randy Pausch, the well-known father, Carnegie Mellon professor and cancer patient, who offered The Last Lecture to his students, the YouTube community, Oprah's audience, and, now, readers.
Ultimately, Dr. Pausch's lecture was not meant for the millions of people who have watched or read his thoughts. Instead, he compiled his thoughts for the sake of his 3 children. Their father's wisdom will be there for them years after their memories of him fade.
I look forward to learning from my daughter in the coming years. But if she asked for my take today, I'd share these thoughts:
1. Write thank you notes. And not just the standard 3 or 4 lines when you receive a nice gift. Be specific about what people mean to you and why they matter. In turn, save the thank you notes people write you and re-read them when you need a boost.
2. Call your parents frequently after you've moved out. Thank them. Share your life with them.
3. Work very hard some of the time, but not all of the time. There will always be people who are smarter, who can get results quickly. Sometimes you can only succeed by outworking others. But if you do this too much, you'll miss out on the rest of what you should be doing.
4. Run a marathon at least once and do it with people you love. There is nothing more satisfying than working towards a goal, connected to friends and family during each step of training and racing.
5. Marry your best friend. (My mother taught me this one...although she also suggested that I find a best friend with aspirations to become a doctor, lawyer or dentist.)
6. Learning something new is never a waste of time. (See Steve Job's commencement address, particularly the connect the dots backwards take-away.)
7. Girls can be mean, even when they are grown up girls. Don't be one of those girls. And if you find yourself slipping into their ways, stop immediately and say you are sorry.
8. Read a lot. Lots of different kinds of books on lots of different topics. You'll find that the most interesting people out there read a lot too.
9. Remain friends with people years after your paths naturally cross. Keep in touch with good people, even when it's not convenient.
10. Offer to help others without knowing if/when they may be in a position to help you. This creates a virtuous cycle around your personal brand and it feels good in the moment.
What advice do you have to offer?
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Kids say the funniest things
An assortment of thought-provoking questions from kids who say the funniest things:
1. "Is the queen going to be OK?" (Asked after a kindergarten class sang "God Save the Queen" for the first time.)
2. "Why does the bear wear pants, but no shirt, while the duck wears a shirt, but no pants?"(Asked while reading a children's book. Her mother took this opportunity to introduce new vocabulary, like anthropomorphism, to her 3-year old.)
3. "Will you be my valentine? But don't tell Tom. I don't want to create an environment of competition." (Asked by my then 5-year old neighbour. Where did he hear of environments of competition?)
4. "Dad, how is the dollar doing?" (Asked by me, at the age of 6, over breakfast one morning in 1981. Clearly, I was destined for business. Clearly, Dad was obsessed with the foreign exchange markets.)
What have kids asked you lately? Did you know the answers?
1. "Is the queen going to be OK?" (Asked after a kindergarten class sang "God Save the Queen" for the first time.)
2. "Why does the bear wear pants, but no shirt, while the duck wears a shirt, but no pants?"(Asked while reading a children's book. Her mother took this opportunity to introduce new vocabulary, like anthropomorphism, to her 3-year old.)
3. "Will you be my valentine? But don't tell Tom. I don't want to create an environment of competition." (Asked by my then 5-year old neighbour. Where did he hear of environments of competition?)
4. "Dad, how is the dollar doing?" (Asked by me, at the age of 6, over breakfast one morning in 1981. Clearly, I was destined for business. Clearly, Dad was obsessed with the foreign exchange markets.)
What have kids asked you lately? Did you know the answers?
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Mom hair and bowling balls
I got my last pre-baby haircut last night. I asked my stylist to cut it a bit shorter than usual, because I won't be footloose and fancy free in 2 months time.
My bad eyesight has always prevented me from seeing what a hairstylist is doing as he/she snips away. When I put my glasses back on last night, I was a surprised by the new style on my head. There is no doubt about it - I have Mom hair.
In that instant, I had a moment. I looked at my Mom hair. I looked at my stylist, a young thing whose spikey Crayola red hair rarely caught my attention in the past. I looked back at my Mom hair.
It's official. I'm now a 33-year old mother who gets her hair cut by a 22-year old club hopper. A very nice, very young woman who said just yesterday that she "feels so old now that she's staring down 25". With this realization, I counted her 14 (visible) piercings and wondered why I hadn't noticed them in the past.
In other news, I felt very smug this morning when my lower back pain eased. Perhaps it was the backrub from PapaBear last night. Perhaps it was a good night's sleep. Perhaps I'm just a fabulous specimen of breeding biomechanics.
A few minutes ago, I stood from my desk and felt a "thud". Something literally dropped in my midsection and now it feels like I have a bowling ball in my pelvis. I'm guessing that my evaporating back pain was more a function of the baby migrating south and less about my dedication to yoga.
My bad eyesight has always prevented me from seeing what a hairstylist is doing as he/she snips away. When I put my glasses back on last night, I was a surprised by the new style on my head. There is no doubt about it - I have Mom hair.
In that instant, I had a moment. I looked at my Mom hair. I looked at my stylist, a young thing whose spikey Crayola red hair rarely caught my attention in the past. I looked back at my Mom hair.
It's official. I'm now a 33-year old mother who gets her hair cut by a 22-year old club hopper. A very nice, very young woman who said just yesterday that she "feels so old now that she's staring down 25". With this realization, I counted her 14 (visible) piercings and wondered why I hadn't noticed them in the past.
In other news, I felt very smug this morning when my lower back pain eased. Perhaps it was the backrub from PapaBear last night. Perhaps it was a good night's sleep. Perhaps I'm just a fabulous specimen of breeding biomechanics.
A few minutes ago, I stood from my desk and felt a "thud". Something literally dropped in my midsection and now it feels like I have a bowling ball in my pelvis. I'm guessing that my evaporating back pain was more a function of the baby migrating south and less about my dedication to yoga.
Monday, March 24, 2008
En route to the chute
I'm still waddling and wearing the one pair of shoes that still fit my swollen feet. Fortunately, I had oodles of energy this weekend, so I kept up with PapaBear while running errands over the weekend and making a spiffy impromptu dinner last night. Even made banana bread on Friday - you'll have to trust me on this as I just polished off the last crumb.
While I nest, the babe appears to be interested in escape. Based on all the wriggling I feel in my lower elevations, I suspect that she's crafting her exit strategy.
At times, it feels like my daughter is scratching her way out, like she has a dull spoon in hand with which she is slowly but surely working to break free. Remember that old movie in which prisoners of war dig a tunnel and carry out sand in their pockets? If POW can stand for Prisoner of Womb, then I might have a pending prison break on my hands.
My pregnancy library sheds very little light on this scratching sensation. The books have loads of information about the first 2 trimesters, but very little to say about the final days. Perhaps authors realize that pregnant women stop reading by this point. We are either asleep, stressing about labour, or jumping ahead to books on breastfeeding.
Has anyone out there felt as I do (ideally when you were pregnant)?
While I nest, the babe appears to be interested in escape. Based on all the wriggling I feel in my lower elevations, I suspect that she's crafting her exit strategy.
At times, it feels like my daughter is scratching her way out, like she has a dull spoon in hand with which she is slowly but surely working to break free. Remember that old movie in which prisoners of war dig a tunnel and carry out sand in their pockets? If POW can stand for Prisoner of Womb, then I might have a pending prison break on my hands.
My pregnancy library sheds very little light on this scratching sensation. The books have loads of information about the first 2 trimesters, but very little to say about the final days. Perhaps authors realize that pregnant women stop reading by this point. We are either asleep, stressing about labour, or jumping ahead to books on breastfeeding.
Has anyone out there felt as I do (ideally when you were pregnant)?
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
The agony of de-feet
Just when I thought my grotesque form couldn't get more voluminous, I've discovered a new area of expansion. Today, the reality of swollen feet cannot be denied.
At some point this morning, I kicked off my shoes and settled in to work. Because the office is quiet, I padded back and forth to the printer in my socks. Heading further afield, I decided that shoes were appropriate.
That was when I had problems putting my shoes back on. Eventually, I crammed my tootsies back into their Bass Weejuns (yes, I have a pair of Weejuns), but they were unhappily cramped. My feet actually spilled up and over the loafers' tight rims.
For the rest of the day, I might have to sport my polka-dot Wellingtons or wear (slightly roomier) black shoes with brown pants...which option would be less objectionable to the fashion police?
At some point this morning, I kicked off my shoes and settled in to work. Because the office is quiet, I padded back and forth to the printer in my socks. Heading further afield, I decided that shoes were appropriate.
That was when I had problems putting my shoes back on. Eventually, I crammed my tootsies back into their Bass Weejuns (yes, I have a pair of Weejuns), but they were unhappily cramped. My feet actually spilled up and over the loafers' tight rims.
For the rest of the day, I might have to sport my polka-dot Wellingtons or wear (slightly roomier) black shoes with brown pants...which option would be less objectionable to the fashion police?
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Food as fashion statement
I just noticed a handful of dried cranberries resting on my boob-shelf. I had some craisins about an hour ago and only now discovered those that did not make their way into the gaping hole in my face.
I think I've had 3 visitors come chat in my office since snack time and no one mentioned a thing. Did they not notice? Did they think that I had adopted dried fruit as my latest accessory?
How I long for the day that I will return to a C-cup without my belly serving as foundational support.
I think I've had 3 visitors come chat in my office since snack time and no one mentioned a thing. Did they not notice? Did they think that I had adopted dried fruit as my latest accessory?
How I long for the day that I will return to a C-cup without my belly serving as foundational support.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Rituals and habits, nesting and otherwise
I am a creature of habit. A type A personality who likes order. Someone who finds clutter distracting from creativity. Even a less than mindfully originated set of commitments in my calendar can easily become a source of stress.
There are certain things that give me peace, most of which relate to the state of my home environment. An overflowing fruit bowl. A freshly washed kitchen floor. A distinct lack of laundry and ironing to be done. And yes, I make the bed every morning.
For the past 8 years or so, my morning routine has involved a good (although increasingly slow) run, stretch and shower. When BabyBear hit the scene, that run became a walk. Over the past week or so, however, I've missed more morning walks than I have taken. Partly it's the snowy sidewalks. Partly it's the knowledge that we won't control our waking time much longer. Mostly it's the ache that I've developed in my lower back that gets worse whenever I'm vertical.
Inspired by this afternoon's sunshine, PapaBear and I ventured out for a walk. We made it one whole kilometer before I climbed my front steps and headed upstairs for a nap. I clutched his supportive arm much of the way, tentatively taking granny steps and surely not burning any calories.
This marks the final phase of my fitness progression. I once ran marathons and now I do marathon sessions of yoga. Fingers crossed that it keeps me mobile for a few more months. And if I'm lucky, my nesting activities will burn a few calories when I'm not looking.
There are certain things that give me peace, most of which relate to the state of my home environment. An overflowing fruit bowl. A freshly washed kitchen floor. A distinct lack of laundry and ironing to be done. And yes, I make the bed every morning.
For the past 8 years or so, my morning routine has involved a good (although increasingly slow) run, stretch and shower. When BabyBear hit the scene, that run became a walk. Over the past week or so, however, I've missed more morning walks than I have taken. Partly it's the snowy sidewalks. Partly it's the knowledge that we won't control our waking time much longer. Mostly it's the ache that I've developed in my lower back that gets worse whenever I'm vertical.
Inspired by this afternoon's sunshine, PapaBear and I ventured out for a walk. We made it one whole kilometer before I climbed my front steps and headed upstairs for a nap. I clutched his supportive arm much of the way, tentatively taking granny steps and surely not burning any calories.
This marks the final phase of my fitness progression. I once ran marathons and now I do marathon sessions of yoga. Fingers crossed that it keeps me mobile for a few more months. And if I'm lucky, my nesting activities will burn a few calories when I'm not looking.
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