Being Reasor's Mother

The following post is disorganized and scatterbrained. It's all a part of the "Being Reasor's Mother" theme.

I was downstairs during nap time (Reasor has had a nap relapse. Hallelujah!) doing some research on schools for Alena next year. The dehumidifier was going full blast in its attempt to dry out the carpet after our flooding incidents so I didn't hear Reasor wake, climb out of his room, and go hunting for a snack. Reasor is always hunting for a snack. The child eats like no one else. For example the other day he had an orange and a half, a handful of strawberries, two bowls of bran cereal, and some 100% whole wheat bread with jam for breakfast. (I'm not trying to prove I'm healthy by mentioning the whole wheat and bran, just trying to prove that the foods he was eating should have had some staying power.) About an hour later, while we were out, he convinced the 8 year old girl he and Alena were playing with to give him a banana and a half. Then he came to me looking for crackers. And now you know why I'm searching for high protein snacks so he'll stay full semi-satisfied for more than 10 minutes. What is the hypo-allergenic alternative to string cheese? Or spreading peanut butter all over your breakfast? When your child doesn't eat almond butter. Or almonds. Or vegetables. Reasor, It's not fair being picky and allergic. You're just going to have to pick one.

Anyway, I eventually made my way upstairs and discovered Reasor sitting at the kid sized table covered in chocolate. He was holding a cup of chocolate syrup, which he informed me was chocolate milk. The nutritionist in me has been uninvolved in my conscious and unconscious thought since my third trimester began, so the maid in me (which is fully involved in almost all of my thoughts) was delighted that he had removed any type of milk from the recipe, as that would most likely mean a quart of almond milk on the hardwood. In addition to the chocolate, scattered across the floor there were: the peel from one clementine, two unpeeled clementines, the remains of an unwashed unpeeled carrot (I assume the rest was eaten), another 2 pounds of carrots, a head of lettuce, 2 opened bags of pecans, and 1/4 of a green pepper (the rest had been used in meals earlier this week).

After the bath/clean-up, Reasor in his sweetest voice asked whether we could cuddle on the rocking chair and read a story. That sweet moment lasted an extraordinary 10 minutes before he wanted to eat again.

Delicate Condition

Picture this: Pregnant lady walking. And walking. And walking. Occasionally finding a shoe section in a department store because they have places to sit. Walking some more. Sitting down to eat really, really delicious food. Walking and standing some more. Standing. Walking. Being offered a seat on the train. Then walking. And standing. And walking. Seeing incredible things. Fending off incredible crowds. For 10 days. And then, coming across a display of massage chairs that a person can try out for free. Sinking into one of the chairs. Reaching for the 'on' button. A man approaches. "Please. No. You have a baby." Translation: You're not allowed to have a vibrating chair because you're pregnant. Because vibrations would...what? Be different than riding a bus? Relieve some aches and pains? Out of all of the people in the incredible crowds, there were few who would have benefited more from a massage chair. (Most notably the 85 year old men toting 50 lb. bags of rice all over the place.)

In my first pregnancy I asked my OB how I would know if my bath water was too hot, because I'd seen the warning for pregnant ladies on every hot tub in the country. He looked at me sort of funny and said, "If it burns you?" I then asked about the hot tub warnings. "Oh those," he said, "They're afraid you might pass out if you get too hot." Solution: get out if you're feeling dizzy or light headed. Now, I may be wrong, but it seems like that would be good advice for anybody. There is legitimate risk to the baby if you raise your body temperature above 102 degrees during the 6-8 weeks of pregnancy. It seems like overkill (if not plain old mean) to forbid all achy third trimester pregnant bodies from warm water because they shouldn't have gotten in really hot water several months ago.

Kevin and I, while in Hong Kong, took a hot air balloon ride to see the view of the city from the air. As we were buying the tickets Kevin read on a sign that pregnant women were not allowed to fly. Having experience with people base-lessly disallowing pregnant women from anything fun or delicious I bought the ticket anyway. The lady noticed my protruding belly only after I was heading to the balloon. "Excuse me. Please be careful with your baby," she said. And now let me describe the great peril into which I put my baby by taking this hot air balloon ride. I got into a fully fenced basket. Like, fully fenced. I couldn't have climbed out of it were I a monkey. Then the balloon went straight up, remaining tethered to the ground the entire time, to a height of less than the high rises. We stayed up for 15 minutes, and then came straight down. Perhaps I'm a terrible person putting my unborn child at risk like that, but it seemed to me that baby was at more risk, say, while I was sitting comfortably on a couch somewhere.

The list of things a pregnant woman is discouraged from or plain out not allowed to do is much longer than the list of things that have actually been shown to be dangerous. Much, much longer. And as a person who has spent the last 5 years (not to mention several in the future) either pregnant or toting children along, or both, it is...frustrating. Even more than that, though, I'd venture to say that it's dangerous. At least for me. I have come to a point that when I see warning signs for pregnant women I think, "Stop making up things I can't do." Probably occasionally there is actual danger. But how is a person to know when? I'm even more likely to ignore or outright rebel against advice from kindhearted citizens who cross my path. And so, kindhearted citizens, three bits of information about pregnant women to help guide your advice:

1. If the load we are carrying weighs less than our children then, whether or not we should be carrying it, we do all the time. Feel free to take it off our hands, but telling us not to carry it isn't that helpful.

2. We can't button our coats up, no matter what the weather is like.

3. If it's about food...give us just a little bit of slack, please. We're doing the best we can. And really, is our risk of salmonella any more than yours? We are aware that there is a list approximately 34 pages (single spaced) long of things we're not allowed to eat. We also suspect that pregnant women in Japan eat sushi, and pregnant women in France eat cheese. And although we are hungry more often, plates with twice as much food will not fit into our stomach's drastically reduced allotted space.

All right then. I'm going to go find some hot, vibrating water and eat something delicious while I lie in it.

P.S. I realize that some pregnancies are complicated and there are more things that women experiencing them shouldn't do. I commend such women for being willing to give up things in order to get their babies here safely.

P.P.S. Kevin's working on a new album of Hong Kong pictures. It'll be here soon.

Favorite

Alena: Reasor likes Mommy AND Daddy, but I just like Mommy.
Talyn : Why do you like me?
Alena : Because I like your voice and I like the way your skin feels.

This explains her petting me like a kitty cat.

Manual Dexterity

Sometime I'm not thrilled when my kids are good at something. For instance, this week Reasor learned to turn door knobs. He also learned how to carefully unscrew the light bulb from his bedroom lamp. Thankfully he also uses those skilled hands to give the best hugs ever.

Quotes

Alena: Good thing you got married so now you can sleep in the same bed.

Bugs & Books

In preparation for Reasor's 18-month doctor's appointment, Talyn & I decided to count how many words Reasor knows. We stopped counting after we hit 50. He's a smart little boy, and he seems to be progressing exponentially! One of his favorite words is "bug". Everything that is little is a bug to him. Specks of dirt floating in the water, a mark on the wall, a small piece of peach skin he pulled out of his mouth, etc. This time he did find a bug, but it was on the outside of the window:

Alena has been learning the alphabet and how they form words for the past couple years, and she read her first book just a couple months ago, just before her 4th birthday. As you can see, she loves the fact that she can read all by herself. She certainly loves to read books. (be forewarned, this is a long video, but it's worth it)

Antecedent

You might look at this photo and assume the children are growling like a lion or such like. Not so. This is what my kids do when they are instructed to say "cheese." Perhaps it's an especially stinky cheese they are imagining?

P.S. They are shirtless because they were waiting for the Dr. to come in for their physicals.

Lately...

Lately I'm ravenously hungry all. the. time.

Lately I've exercised less often and with less intensity, eaten more often, and not gained any weight.

Lately I let the kids eat crackers and don't have the energy to fuss when they get crumbs all over the house, and then I don't have the energy to clean up the crumbs all over the house. (Especially since my poor vacuum is still waiting for a part to come from China. Apparently they walk them over.)

Lately my pants are too tight.

Lately I have a very valuable trump card. The kind that gets me extra food at youth conference.

Lately people look at me and call me cute despite the pants situation.

Lately I've spent a lot of time researching medical professionals.

Lately my daughter asks lots of questions about babies and their origins.

This is an announcement. :)