Okay, who flipped the two switch?

Some Charlottisms from the last week:

While eating pancakes: Ripping off her bib, she shouts, "NO! I don't want any!" A minute later, she says, sotto voce, "Okay Char-char! What do you want now?" Nice try, kid.

Prompting us with what she thinks should be our lines is a big thing overall. She'll sidle up to me and say, "What do you want?" I'll respond with, "Okay, baby. What do you want?" Her inevitable response is "Huh?" That means she wants chocolate, a word to sacred to be uttered aloud. Besides, she knows we'll say no. But perhaps by repetitively responding with "Huh" she'll drive us crazy enough that we just give in! (Hasn't worked yet).

Cruising through the grocery store yesterday, she was in full-blown two-year-old mode. "Ooh, look at that! I want it. I NEED it!" That last one made me laugh. No way she really needs Fruity Pebbles, taco shells, or a colorful pack of adult diapers. Marketing, I tell you.

Arguing against logic is another big thing. At her bedtime, I tell her it's time to get ready for bed. "It's starting to get dark, baby. Let's get ready for bed now." Her response: "No, mama! It is NOT getting dark now. It is NOT night."

She's having lots of imaginary conversations with her stuffed animals. "Oh, hello Bear! How are you today? I am fine, thank you! Oh, you are very naughty!" Ultimately, every one of her toys is very naughty.

Big congratulations to my cousin Amy, husband John, and daughter Joclyn who welcomed Jack Myers Tracy into the world at 3:48 this morning. He is a nice, chubby baby in the Terlouw tradition. I also understand that Amy may have beat my 3 hours of pushing time by a few minutes. My sympathies! We'll have to compare notes soon.

Welcome to the world, baby Jack. Your cousin Charlotte is already eager to read you some books.

Happy Birthday, Charlotte!

We had a fun, low-key birthday today. There were cupcakes.

There were presents.

And, of course, there was corn on the cob.

And this little girl turned two.

Happy birthday, sweet girl. I'm so glad you're here.

Right off the bat, I felt like this time was different from the last time. Sure, I had morning sickness (misnomer: all day sickness, really) with Charlotte. But this felt like...more. I thought I might just not be remembering clearly. But some of the symptoms just seemed unfamiliar.

I felt tired and weak all the time, even long before any weight loss and appetite loss should have made me feel that way. Walking up the hill from the parking lot to my office had me completely winded. My heart would pound and race for fifteen minutes after I unlocked my office door. Walking up the stairs required a break. I started taking the elevator up the two flights to the copy room. I still couldn't catch my breath.

Then the insomnia struck. I would be completely, utterly exhausted, and yet I couldn't fall asleep. My legs would twitch, my joints would ache, and I would toss and turn until 2, 3, 4 a.m. And then I would want to sleep all day. If I let myself, I could sleep 12 hours every night. And then go back for a nap a couple hours later.

When my doctor today told my that my blood work indicated I had hyperthyroidism, I was surprised. But when he started to list the symptoms (including feeling nervous, moody, weak, or tired; having hand tremors, or have a fast or irregular heartbeat, or have trouble breathing even when you are resting; and losing weight even though you are eating normally) something clicked.

We did some more blood work today just to check my levels, but I'm going to start taking some medicine to help regulate my thyroid. The meds can pose some risk to the baby (although that is rare), but not taking the meds is apparently worse.

What I'm curious about is whether many of my nausea symptoms are actually related to or caused by my thyroid.

Interestingly, my dad had hyperthyroidism when he was in high school. I talked to him on the phone today and we compared symptoms. Perhaps concerned that I was going to inherit all his medical maladies, he asked how my blood sugar is. So far, so good...

For some more information on hyperthyroidism and pregnancy, here's a website I found particularly helpful.

Some scenes from teaching

September 2005--It is my first day of graduate school, and my first day of teaching. My class, an English 151 Composition course, starts at 9 a.m. I am awake and ready before 7, the butterflies in my stomach flying laps around my breakfast. I spend hours preparing for this first class, which will essentially be introductions and reading through the syllabus. Nonetheless, I do everything up to writing out a script for what I will say. I have never been so terrified of 20 18-year-olds before.

November 2005--I have been teaching for weeks now, and feel a relative ease in front of my students. I still spend far too much time prepping for each class, but since it's my first time in the professor's seat, it's not too surprising. But something else has come up--I'm several weeks pregnant, having some spotting, and am ordered to take a week of bedrest. I teach every day. Fortunately, one of my friends is available to teach my class, and I learn for the first time the glory of a well-chosen movie. She stretches the movie out over three days. It's a snap.

December 2005--I finished filing my grades weeks ago, so I check in on my teaching evaluations from my first quarter of teaching. They are surprisingly good. I am relieved. This scene will repeat itself every quarter, except for:

December 2006--My first quarter back teaching after Charlotte was born was a minor disaster. This will go down as my biggest teaching disappointment. I had the opportunity to teach a 200-level literature course for the first time. A combination of not enough time to prepare (infants take up all your time, I found), an unclear idea of the goals of the class, and a group of underprepared and underwhelmed students led to my worst teaching experience ever. I dread reading my evaluations. They are not uniformly bad, but almost each one is critical of the course, the materials, and (gulp) me. I go into winter break determined to make my next class a success.

June 2007--My last two quarters of teaching were the most fun I've had as a professor. Each quarter I taught one section of junior composition focused on the theme of women and nature. My students were bright, articulate, and JUNIORS! I cement my love for 21-year-old students as opposed to 18-year-old newbies. They know what a thesis statement is! They understand the difference between paraphrasing and quoting! I love them!

July 2007--Ugh. I hate juniors. Teaching a summer course in junior comp was a huge mistake. My students have jobs and other obligations, and don't understand that they're required to do as much work in five weeks as they normally would in ten. I never have perfect attendance. Several students stop coming at all. For the first time, I give multiple students an "F." Why do I feel like the failure?

April 2008--I receive an email from the graduate director at KU offering me a first year fellowship. That means one year without teaching, only taking graduate courses and doing my own academic work. But...I love teaching! Do I really want a year off? Uh, yes please.

June 17, 2008--I head to the office to finish up grading for the quarter. Most of the papers are already graded. I have some extra credit to calculate, some revisions to read, and then I just plug it all in to Blackboard to calculate. It takes less than fifteen minutes to finalize all 60 of my students' grades. Then, with the push of a button, I'm done. I'm done! I'm all alone in the office, so I take a moment to do a happy dance.

So now my teaching cap is off until fall 2009. I hardly know what to do with myself!

Happy Father's Day!

Wait...fathers'? Fatherses?

Anyway. Thanks to all you dad-types out there.

Catching Up

In case my last post was too cryptic, I'm happy to say that last week I picked up my anti-nausea meds. Hallelujah. The judicious use of said meds kept me human this past weekend, during which we were busy with this:

That's Miss Charlotte, cutting a rug with Uncle Steve and her new Aunt Katy. Holy cow, did Charlotte have a great time this past weekend. She was surrounded by doting grandparents, uncles, and soon-to-be aunts (and honorary aunts, a.k.a. Mindi) who wanted nothing more than to color funny man after funny man with her, read her endless stories, and listen to her sing her own slightly fractured versions of lullabies. And to top it all off, on Saturday she got to put on a pretty dress, go to a wedding and a party, and dance her fool head off.

She was very reluctant to leave the wedding reception, and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night, if not the rest of her life, rockin' out on the dance floor with her various willing relatives. But finally Aunt Mindi, the evening's designated babysitter, tore her away from the festivities around 9:30 p.m., only to have her car stall out after driving through standing water less than a half-mile away. Yikes. Mindi, I salute you. (They made it home safely after waiting out the torrential downpour in a nearby parking lot).

We had been talking up this wedding and reception for a while to get Charlotte ready. I don't think she actually got the concept (she maintained that "we all getting married" and I didn't have the heart to tell her that Calvinists don't condone group marriage) but she sure got into the spirit. My favorite memories of the night: her ridiculous fake laughter during Jeff's best man toast; saying "I listen to Uncle Mark talking" during Mark's best man toast; her confidence on the dance floor (she walked right out onto the floor as soon as she saw other people dancing and started her bizarre head-bobbing, shoulder-shrugging jive that is her signature dance move--if only I had video!).

For a few more of the photos I took at the wedding, click on the Flickr link at right. I'll be posting more this week.

Ode to Zofran and Phenergan
(with apologies to Wm. Shakespeare)

Shall I compare thee to a normal day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough heaves did shake my stomach all of May,
And naptime’s lease had all too short a date:
Sometime too strong the stench of husband shines,
And often is his nuk’d dinner rank;
His willingness to tolerate declines,
As day by day my soul grows weak and lank;
But my eternal relief shall not fade
Nor lose possession of my stomach’s cache;
Nor shall Death brag I wander'st in his shade,
When I no longer to the toilet dash.
So long as I can eat, your eyes can see
So long live I since you gave life to me.

I think Charlotte got the memo that she's going to be a big sister, and therefore a big girl, around these parts, because she's suddenly acting like such an imaginative toddler instead of a baby.

She just walked up to me holding a little bag over her arm, and said, "Okay, I go bye-bye now!"

"Where are you going?" I responded.

"Mmm...the grocery store," she said.

"What will you get at the store?"

"Some groceries!" (Duh.)

Then a minute later I heard her murmer to herself, "Don't forget the grocery list!" She grabbed a crayon and some paper and began to "write" down her list. "Some oranges...some bananas...some yogurt." Then she put the paper in her bag and repeated the first part of our conversation.

So, how am I feeling?

Does it answer your question to know I've been googling hyperemesis gravidarum?

Yeah, not so good.

This is going to be rough.

Those of you who knew me when I was pregnant with Charlotte know I had a rough go of it the first couple of months. Severe nausea and exhaustion plagued me from week seven until at least week fourteen. I remember not being completely nausea-free until mid-January, about week sixteen.

On Friday, I was fit as a fiddle. No real pregnancy symptoms except sore boobs (sorry, guys) and a voracious appetite. Saturday morning I woke up with that distinct sensation: weird, dryish mouth, unsettled stomach, shaky all over.

Each day since then has gotten progressively worse. It's not even been a week and I'm already wishing there was some way I could bypass eating for a couple of months. Just hook me up to a feeding tube or something. Wake me up in August.

Monday, I could walk down Court Street past all the restaurants without much fear of the cooking scents making me ill. Today, the faint whiff of stir-fry from neighboring apartment sent me running for the bathroom.

And the whole world stinks. Yes, even you. Smells I never noticed before, like the overwhelmingly putrid odor of the refridgerator, are suddenly my cues to begin deep breathing and walking slowly toward the toilet. Poor Jeff eats a slice of onion for lunch, and I can't get within a yard of him later that night.

When I was pregnant with Charlotte and the nausea first set in, I had only a couple weeks of school left before the winter break. I spent almost the entire break from mid-November until mid-December lounging in bed. I had a bell to ring to summon Jeff when I felt well enough to take sustenance. He would bring me oatmeal, or popcorn, or grapefruit procured at midnight from Wal-Mart. The world was our oyster.

I remember wondering at the time how on earth I would ever manage the second time around. How would I deal with the crippling nausea and debilitating exhaustion when I had a toddler to chase around?

Well, the answer is: not well.

Jeff deserves a lot of praise already for stepping up to the extra duties required when caring for a toddler and a sick pregnant wife. Normally, he's on Charlotte duty until I get home from school. But this whole week, I've dragged myself over the threshold and made a beeline for the bed. "I just need to rest a little," I explain each time. My normal school day, which is typically pretty tiring, is now completely draining. To his credit, he hasn't complained at all. He also hasn't gotten many breaks. That might work for a week, maybe two. But eight? Or (gulp) even more, if my nausea lasts longer this time?

I haven't had my first prenatal appointment yet. I have different medical coverage this time, so I'm hoping this time I can afford to get some kind of anti-nausea miracle pill. We'll see.

Until then, if you need me, I'll be hunched over the toilet.

Man, what a week. First there were the 60 papers to grade. And lessons to plan. Essays to read. Oh, and then we're in the middle of looking for a place to live in Kansas. Ugh, what a nightmare. And Charlotte hasn't been sleeping that well. And there was something else, too...what was it? Oh, yeah:

In case you don't know what you're looking at here, this is my fridge. There's my spring schedule, up at the top. There's a cute little magnet with a martini glass on it. Oh, and there's my doctor's confirmation of my pregnancy.

Here's a close-up:

So, yep. Busy week.

By the way, what are you doing on or around January 11, 2009? Maybe...coming to my house in Kansas to do some of my laundry?

More prayers

Charlotte: Thank you for the day. Thank you for the tree. Thank you for hiding unda the tree. Thank you for having a picnic. Thank you for chocolate.

A bit later....

Charlotte: Thank you for the day. Thank you for orange juice. Thank you for beans. Thank you for Charlotte's business. Thank you for dada bald head.

Happy Mother's Day!

What better way to celebrate Mother's Day than with matching mother-daughter Hawaiian dresses?

I don't know whose brilliant idea it was that I should teach three classes this quarter, but whoever it is needs some sort of psychiatric evaluation. Oh, that's right...it was me. I clearly remember ASKING for a third class right before spring break. "The extra money will be nice," I mused. "If I teach two sections of the same course, the only extra work will be grading! No problem!"


I got my third course, another 308j (junior comp). And right now is that horrible vortex time in my syllabus that I couldn't avoid when I was putting the schedule together. I have papers from all of my classes. All 60 of my students. Forty papers on the American Dream. Twenty on consumer culture. And I need to grade all of them in the next five days.

This is depressing. How about a picture?



Ahhh, that's better. Charlotte with the poppies. Ooh, and how about a story?

Two years ago, when I was starting to become enormously pregnant, and I had a new digital camera that I wanted to take for a test drive before using it to take pictures of my newborn, I noticed a gorgeous row of poppies against a weathered fence a few blocks away. I waddled over with my camera and took a bunch of pictures, the first I took with my Nikon D70s.


Two years later, I am much more adept with my camera, and the poppies are back. I forced Charlotte to once again pose with flowers ("More tulips," she sighed, resigned). The above picture is my favorite from the set.

Prayer

Charlotte: "Thank you for mamas and dadas. Thank you for shopping things. Thank you for apples. Thank you for Berenstain Bears. Amen."

Tulip Time

Last weekend we traveled to Iowa (via Kansas City and Lawrence) to celebrate Tulip Time. This was Charlotte's first, as we were unable to travel out last year. But being almost two, this year Charlotte was really able to appreciate all the bands and "floaps" and tulips.

On Thursday, we marched in the baby parade. I was decked out in my Aunt Sylvia's old costume with my grandma's old hat (mixing provinces! For shame!). Charlotte was wearing my cousin Amy's old costume. At one time my mom and I had similar costumes in blue, but they've gone missing, apparently.

Jeff also got into the spirit, wearing a costume complete with klompen and marching along.

We had a great time visiting my family. I noticed their moods were in general perky and optimistic...perhaps related to the fact that in a few months we'll be moving just a few hours' drive away from them. :)

Transcript

10:06 PM
Scott: so, this is our first 'internet' chat big step for us
me: Is it appropriate to talk about poop? Because Charlotte took a HUGE crap in her diaper tonight.
Scott: in our family? It is a necessity
me: And we were on a walk and I didn't have an extra.
Scott: how huge?
me: Small grapefruit.
Scott: like that round? ??? Like a grapefruit?
me: Once it was compressed in her little diap, it was rotund. Globular.
Scott: dear lord
me: I had to scoop it out with paper towels and then bathe her buns in the bathroom sink. Then while I was washing my hands, she peed on the floor.
Scott: awesome
me: Then a student walked in (this was in the student center in town).
Scott: that is just awesome
me: There was a dirty diaper on the counter, a puddle of urine on the floor, and a half-clothed baby running around. Not to mention a fog of fecal smell in the bathroom so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Scott: MOTHER OF THE YEAR!
me: Speaking of which, did I tell you about how I put her in a tree to take her picture and then she fell while I was snapping away?
Scott: how could you?!?!?!
me: I managed to scoop her up and evade child protective services that time. They've been tracking me. The branch was only about a foot and a half off the ground, but seriously
Scott: that girl needs balance
me: what kind of idiotic person puts a baby in a tree and walks away? I kind of leaned her back against the trunk, and thought, "That should do it!" Next thing I know, baby on the ground.
Scott: did you tell her to sit still?
me: Yep. She's disobedient.
Scott: and did she cry?
me: Yeah, a lot. She was unscathed, but scared.
Scott: thats what she gets for disobeying. and did you give her chocolate?
me: We had no chocolate, only hot dogs.
Scott: chocolate hot dogs?
me: Now when she tells the story, she's like, "Mama and Dada eat hot dogs by the river! Charlotte fell outta da tree, BOOM!" It makes it sound like we were having a private picnic while we left our baby in the tree, precariously perched and starving for some hot dogs.
Scott: You didn't?
me: Well, I gave her a chunk of hot dog to eat while in the tree. So not exactly.

The picture above is from this past weekend, which we spent with Papa and Nana Tig. We had a great weekend, with beautiful weather despite the rain forecasted. Let's hope the same will happen during our visit to Iowa this coming week.

I hope to post more about our weekend soon, but as I have 40 student essays to grade, you might have to wait. For now, this photo of Charlotte blowing "fuzzy dandelions" with Nana will have to suffice.

Karma Chameleon

We went to an eighties party this Saturday night. At first I was worried. Where would I find a crinoline and bustle at this late hour? Then I realized they meant the 1980s, not the 1880s. No problem.

First, we got Charlotte ready.

As you can see, her ensemble is an homage to Rainbow Brite. I started off with just the hot pink leggings (barely visible here) and the tank top. But then I just started adding more and more. "Legwarmers on the arms? WHY NOT!" I bellowed. I was clearly drunk off the power of eighties fashion. What you can't see in this picture is her side ponytail. She didn't have quite enough hair to pull it off, so it's more like an off-center pony.

Then it was time for me to get ready. I pulled my cut-off jean skirt out of the bucket of bleach in which it had been soaking all day, donned my legwarmers, and then got out the most powerful weapon in my arsenal: my aerosol hairspray:

That's me on the left, with my friend Heather. What you can't see are Heather's totally awesome Bon Jovi and Warrant pins. And I'm proud to say that's all my own hair. I also do my own stunts, like dancing to HammerTime (not pictured).

Things were going really well at the party until this really creepy Astros fan showed up. We were all uncomfortable and just tried to avoid looking at him:

What's a little scary is that I had to buy things for my costume. Jeff already owned everything he's wearing above. Other parts of the wardrobe required slight modification:

That's right: Jeff has lines shaved into his hair. I'm the luckiest woman alive.