Out of Avalon

May 27th, 2009 by Ascelyn

It’s official.  I’ll be at Pennsic for war week.  The boss has agreed, the money has been sent in, and unless I’m under doctor’s orders to stay at home in bed, I’ll be living in a canvas house at Cooper’s Lake for the first week of August.  (I can’t really call that camping.  I’ll have an actual bed and won’t be eating hot dogs and s’mores every day.)

Obviously, I need to get around to making tent poles for the Duplex Wall Tent of Doom.  And if I intend to physically be able to get out of bed in the morning, I need to build a bed that will be up off the ground rather than just relying on my trusty little camp cot.  But beyond that, one would think that I wouldn’t have much prep work to do.  After all, I’ve been there two years now, so I obviously have everything together.  Right?

Wrong.  I was there for two years that I was either not pregnant or not knowingly so.  I had a cotehardie, a sideless surcoat, and an armload of tunics last year, and I was quite happy with that.  Unfortunately, the cote no longer buttons, and I need to try on the tunics and see which ones currently fit.  Some won’t now, and others won’t as of Pennsic.  We’ll see.

As of this weekend, thanks to Eadric’s mom (thank you!), I have one front-lacing gown with long sleeves.  I think the sleeves are tight enough that my cotton/linen blend tunics won’t fit underneath comfortably, so I need to actually get off my rear and make a proper lightweight linen shift.  As of this moment, I’m somewhat uncertain how to go about doing that, but emails have been sent and I’m hoping that I’m right in my suspicions and it’s not too difficult.  I want to make another front-laced dress of this linen, which will be short-sleeved.  If I make 4 shifts to go under them, depending on how many of my tunics still fit, and do laundry once during the week, I might be okay.  I’ll also have two sidelesses (the linen one with Eadric’s household colors and a wool one that needs to be hemmed) and possibly my blue Norman tunic.  There’s no way my brown and red tunic or ren fair-ish garb will fit at all.

In other words, I have a lot of sewing and woodworking to do.  Much of which I’ll need help with.  Ugh.

Just over eight weeks ’til Pennsic!

May 26th, 2009 by Ascelyn

Dear baby,

The bladder is not a moon bounce.

Signed,

            Your mother

May 20th, 2009 by Ascelyn

Looks like the cold night, or something, did in my basil.  Oh well.  Looks like I have to go plant shopping again!

May 19th, 2009 by Ascelyn

Last week, I finally became un-lazy (ha!) and weeded the herb garden.  Since it’s a rather small thing, it’s not like this was a massive undertaking.  I’ve just been tired and procrastinating as usual, and besides (reasons the lazy girl), the weather’s been fluctuating wildly as it is wont to do here in the spring, so why bother now when it might snow tomorrow?

Right.  Except that the weeds had gotten so tall that I couldn’t even see which of the plants I’d stuck there to overwinter last fall had actually made it.  As it ends up, those would be the thyme, peppermint, chocolate mint, and orange mint.  The apple mint and all the other cooking herbs bit the dust.

In order to make myself actual go outside and pull weeds, I offered myself a bribe:  I could buy new plants when I had a clean bed in which to plant them.  Usually, I’d be horrified at the idea of paying for individual plants instead of starting them myself or begging cuttings from friends, but I never got around to doing any of that this year.  Besides (again with the lazy reasoning), the herbs at Nature’s Art aren’t all that expensive at all, and I love that place and would like to help ensure that they remain in business for the rest of eternity.  Plus, they don’t die on you like the stupid plants from Lowe’s and Walmart do, and the people who work there are friendly and super helpful, unlike the people at the other local greenhouses.

As of yesterday evening, my garden has the preexisting thyme and mints, plus lemon thyme, purple sage, tricolor sage, three kinds of lavender, sweet basil, Italian oregano, curly-leaf parsley, cilantro/coriander, lemon balm, and chamomile.  And a random weed that currently has very pretty blue flowers that I hadn’t the heart to pull out.

I need to dig out and pot or relocate two of the mints before they start flowering and hybridize.  I’d like to fill in those spaces with veggies, maybe carrots or a pepper plant.  I’d really wanted to try growing mustard and garlic this year, just to experiment, but I’m not quite sure how to start.  I tried onions one year, but not a single one of them grew, so I’m not wasting my time right now.  It’s too late to start peas, but I might try green beans out back where there’s more room for the trellis.  Strawberries would be nice.  Maybe I’ll put in a few strawberries just so I can munch on them while I’m pulling weeds this summer.  Too bad I don’t like lettuce or tomatoes.  I’m really good at growing lettuce and tomatoes.  As in, way more in one little patch than my parents and brother could consume.

Now let’s hope last night’s unexpected frost didn’t kill them all.

May 19th, 2009 by Ascelyn

Today was Giant Ultrasound of Awesomeness Day.  Because I had an ultrasound.  I’m super good at naming things like that.

I followed Jen #1 and Girl Mike’s advice and requested that it be done at a local stand-alone place called ADR instead of at the hospital.  As I’ve learned, the hospital’s radiology department, or at least the ultrasound portion of it, SUCKS, so I figured ADR couldn’t be much worse.  Indeed, it was much, much better.  The waiting room was clean and not overcrowded with sketchy people, I was called back promptly, and best yet, the tech was kind and polite and–get this!–actually knew what she was doing.  She made identifying tiny blotches in the moving sea of pixels look easy, which inspired serious amounts of confidence.  No “I’m not sure what this is” or “huh, maybe this could be…” from her.  She repeatedly asked if we had any questions, while the hospital techs refused to answer any.  I didn’t; she’d already told me everything I could’ve asked.  I wanted to kiss her by the time she was done.  And if that wasn’t enough, I had the option of discussing the results with one of the actual radiologists afterward.

And then there was the baby.

Our baby boy.

He’s perfect.  Ten little fingers and ten little toes, a beautiful heartbeat and a growing brain and a sweet little face.  I love him, even if he did moon me within seconds of my first sight of him wiggling around.  Yeah, he’s definitely a boy.

May 13th, 2009 by Ascelyn

I finally got around to calling to schedule childbirth classes.  Since the scheduling office closes hours before I get off work, and because I’m still paranoid that something’s going to go wrong and I wouldn’t need the classes after all, I’ve been putting it off.  That was a mistake.

These are the only classes offered in about a two-hour radius.  There is one class series every two months.  They will take, at maximum, fifteen people.

What the heck, hospital?  You do realize, right, that there are usually multiple people giving birth within your walls each day–a lot more than the roughly seven per month that will have had the opportunity to take your stupid classes?

Instead, I get the “back-up” class.  Two days of teaching with a third day of special speakers (mostly the anesthesiologist) and a shortened tour.  I was told to bring a pillow “for my comfort” on the first two days.

I don’t want to take classes.  Sure, I’ll probably embarass myself immensely while in labor, but I don’t particularly see any reason to do so while laying on the floor in a room full of other overheating, pillow-toting women.  I can get the class part on the internet, bastion of all information.  There are online childbirth class videos that cover much more detail than the hospital’s live classes do.  I mostly just wanted a tour and an idea of what to expect from this particular hospital.

Oh, and that one last vacation I’ve been looking forward to all year?  Is the week of the special speaker/tour session.  I scheduled myself for the class anyway, but if I get permission to go to Pennsic, I’ll be cancelling.  I’m assuming that they have to give tours at points other than the classes for all those people who miss such a golden opportunity.  If they don’t, it will be tempting to use my perks as a daughter of two nurses and get my mom to show me around quickly.

I know I ought to be more angry at myself for procrastinating once again, but mostly I’m just irritated that Life and Perfection aren’t falling into my lap with a bow on top.  Stupidheads.

May 5th, 2009 by Ascelyn

Eighteen weeks.  Four and a half months.  I’d say “almost halfway there,” but that’s kind of scary.  It’s easier thinking this is never going to end–and that the diapers are never going to begin.

I’m feeling pretty good.  My energy’s made a comeback, and I don’t feel sick anymore.  My brain has pretty much shut down, unfortunately.  Also, I eat a lot.  Like, consuming a normal-size meal for dinner and being so hungry four or five hours later that I have to eat again.  I need to kick myself back into gear with healthier foods, but we’ve been eating out a lot lately and I’ve been sort of treating myself to whatever looks good.  At least I don’t really eat any junk food other than a taste of whatever I give the kids at church on Thursday nights.  Best of all, I started feeling the baby moving around a little over a week ago, at 16.5 weeks.  I had been wondering about some strange feelings for a few days leading up to that, but suddenly it was like something flopped over in my belly.  I was just sitting at my desk finishing up some paperwork so I coudl go home and totally wasn’t expecting it.  Really, it freaked me out a little.  Since then, though, I’ve noticed stronger and stronger kicks and barrel rolls, usually several times a day.  Go baby go!

We made one of the two big announcements to the kids last week.  Chaos and shouting ensued, I was hugged about fourteen million times, and three of the girls sat on the steps for the next fifteen minutes plotted something nefarious for the baby and me.  This was all fine and expected.  What wasn’t so fine was what followed.

The moms.  The touching.  Good heavens, it has to stop.

Look, if I only know you exist because you pick your kid up from church occasionally, you don’t have permission to invade my personal space.  That rule hasn’t changed just because I’m gestating.  Just because I told your kid, who I know and by whom I don’t mind (much) being hugged if necessary, doesn’t mean you get to walk up to me, look me over, and lay your hands on my stomach.  Congratulations on making the astute observation that I “do have a bit of a bump after all.”  What next–feeling my boobs and informing me that I’m growing there, too?  What the heck?

My dad’s touched my belly once or twice, but it’s a well-known fact that my dad’s weird and I can’t do much about it.  He then commented that even the kid and I together are still the smallest member(s) of the family, so I patted his belly and went back to looking at cribs online.  Members of J’s family, mostly his grandmother and aunt, rubbed my belly the last time I saw them  They’re family, and that’s just the way they are in general.  These are the people who kiss me every time I walk in the door and hold my hands while talking to me.  It’s expected from them.  Even if it weren’t, I’m not about to shoo them away and risk alienating the part of his family that actually likes me.  But random semi-strangers?  Even my close friends know well me enough to ask!

On a saccharine-sweet side note, Aaron laid his head on my belly at Sheep and Wool over the weekend and proceeded to “talk to the baby.”  When I asked him what the baby said, he told me it was a secret.  He then told me he “loves the baby in my tummy.”  He’s so sweet!

I’m really dreading this Sunday.  I don’t have much of a choice but to go to church, since Jason and Willy are playing and all.  By then, however, the news is likely to have gotten around, and I expect to be forced into conversations with people I don’t really care for even when I’m not irritated and hormonal.  Creepy older men you barely know use the “meet and greet” time to force you into hugs lasting far too long even when you’re not pregnant.  You can’t insist on just a smile and a handshake, because we’re all supposed to be “friendly.”  (A lot like the SCA at times, actually.)  Suffice it to say that I’m not a “friendly” person when not around friends of my own choosing.  I can’t even imagine what it will be like now that there’s a baby on the way, especially on Mother’s Day.

Yes, Mother’s Day.  I believe I’ve mentioned before just how much I hate it.  It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for church, but it’s not like I can escape that particular ill-fated aspect of my life.  These are the idiots goons lovely people who like to make a big fuss about how God primarily blesses women by giving them children and demand to know why I haven’t spewed forth my offsprung into the world yet.  Which is annoying and thoughtless regardless of whether or not you’re currently trying (and failing) to have said children, and downright cruel if you are.

I glared at the pastor last time he asked until he admitted that he’ll probably never ask again.

At least most of the people at work are human about it.

So I guess the overall verdict is that things are going just dandy, but if people insist on touching me and/or making stupid comments, I might have to buy more property to take care of the bodies.