Okay, I fixed the link to the movie below. Enjoy!

I'm taking a break from packing (speaking of which, why do we have so many books? WHY?!?) to post a couple things. I've been pretty sporadic with posting lately, what with all the traveling and scrambling to find a place to live and moving and being pregnant and tired and needing to make a sandwich and maybe eat this whole bag of Doritos, etc. But so much has been happening that I really need to bring this blog up to date. I'll start by posting a video with a few highlights of our trip to Michigan this past week:

Charlotte's Week in Michigan

Here are a few posts I'll try to write in the next few days before we move: The Long History of (Giving Charlotte) the Finger, The Amusing Anecdote of Charlotte the Flower-Girl, The Tale of Feeling the Baby Move and Realizing I'm Actually Pregnant, and The Jeff Tig Story, or Why Do We Have So Many Stinking Books: An Autobiography of a Bibliophile and a Pack-Rat.

Just a sneak peek:

This is just to say: We got a place to live in Lawrence.

I guess my dream of a beautiful hobo palace built of moving boxes is over. Not that I'm sad. No, no, no.

WE GOT A PLACE!!!

I'm fourteen weeks into this pregnancy, and the dreams are back.

I've always been a vivid dreamer. At night, I'm whisked away to a magical land where I take part in elaborate, complex plots that unfold with just a dash of my real life in them to make them weirdly familiar. I almost always remember my dreams, often down to details of setting, time of day, colors in my surroundings, differences in the people I know (you were there, but you had a moustache! A long, Yosemite-Sam stache.). In the morning, I often have to lay in bed for a few minutes...not to fully wake up, but to process the drama of last night's dreamland offering.

Pregnancy seems to turn this feature of my non-waking life up a notch. My memories of my dreams are even more vivid. Often the real turns surreal (And then your moustache started singing to us!). I'm frequently traveling to places I've been, and everything is different. Last night, I dreamed I was back in Oxford, and all the streets had been renamed and repaved in rainbow-colored bricks. I only had one day to navigate the city, and by the time I figured out which street was which (oh, okay...Walton is now called St. Cunningham's, and all the bricks are pink) it was time to catch my bus back to London. I didn't have time to visit any of my old favorite spots.

I like my crazy dreams. I love waking up in the morning with what seems like a novel's-worth of strange new material in my brain. I even love boring people with the details of my weird dreams (sorry!). I know no one cares what I dreamed about, but I can't resist sharing.

Strangely, I haven't had any delivery-room dreams yet. They were pretty common when I was pregnant with Charlotte. Perhaps this reflects my lower level of anxiety about the delivery of baby #2.

I hope to put together a video of Charlotte sometime this week. Watch for it here!

In brief:

Today, according to my pregnancy calendar, I have reached the 14th week of pregnancy. This is the first day I've gone without my anti-nausea meds, and...I feel good. Almost normal. Hooray!

And this from Jeff:

Charlotte: I LOVE SANDWICHES!
Jeff: You like sandwiches. You love me. And mama and Baby Jesus and the baby in mama’s tummy and –
C: and baseball games!
J: Well…right. And baseball games.
C: And the sky! And strollers.

So, I haven't written here in some time. Several times I've opened up the new post screen in blogger, typed that exact sentence, and then sat, waiting for the muse to descend. Usually, instead, Charlotte came to me begging for another reading from one of her new "monkey George" books, or for some chocolate (whispered in hushed, reverent tones), or just to demonstrate inarguably that she is, indeed, two now by crying and collapsing into a heap.

Seriously, that last one happens all the time. Is this common two-year-old behavior? I can understand the collapsing weepies in response to someone cruelly thwarting her demands, but often she turns into a quivering heap of snot and tears over absolutely nothing. I remember feeling that way as a teenager. Is two the new teen?

I've begun coming up with creative ways to deal with her little "spells." A couple days ago I took a picture of her every time she started crying. This would either cause her to cry harder ("No, don't take a picture, mama!") or stop her ("I see the picture, mama?"). I got some good shots. I might make these her new wallet photos, as they seem like the most accurate representation of Charlotte as a two-year-old.

It's becoming more real to me that we'll be adding another kid into the mix here sometime mid-January. I mean, I've had several weeks to come to grips with this news, but it was the ultrasound last week that finally flipped the "a-ha" switch. I don't know what I was expecting when I went into the ultrasound. "Oh, looks like you're not pregnant after all...it's just sea monkeys!" You'd think the crippling nausea for the last two months would have been indication enough. But seeing the little alien-headed sprog pop up there on the screen, kicking away and grabbing the umbilical cord, was apparently all I needed to really, truly realize I'm going to be a mother of two.

So I've started thinking less of Charlotte as the center-of-the-universe, one-and-only-child that she's been around here, and started imagining how she'll be with a sibling to deflect some of her glory. One big thing I wonder is how Kid 2.0 will differ from Charlotte. Will he/she be a big baby like Charlotte was? Will this one sleep (please, God)? Will the second child be as bizarrely verbal as Charlotte is?

See, we tend to think of Charlotte as just the way kids are, since she's our only model at this point. Then we get together with other parents of kids of similar age and realize: Oh, Charlotte's not quite as adventurous as some other kids. Whoa, none of these other kids speak in complex, full sentences. Wait, your two-year-old falls asleep ON HIS OWN? (Cue tears [mine]).

Speaking of complex sentences: I continue to struggle with insomnia. I'm trying to get to bed, lights out, earlier, but most nights find me tossing and turning, cursing my crazy-legs, until the wee hours of the morning. Last night I was in bed incredibly early for me, but right as I was drifting off, Miss C woke up. After I got her back to sleep, it took me a couple hours to get there myself.

So then this morning Jeff got up with Charlotte when she woke up so I could get a little more sleep. She wasn't terribly happy about this arrangement, but she snuck into my room to wish me well, anyway. "Hello, mama! Have a good morning! Have some nice dreams!" Jeff and I looked at each other like, what did she say? Belatedly, I called after her, "Thanks, honey!"

I'll try to be better about posting here, but we've got some crazy weeks coming up soon, so it might still be sporadic. No promises!

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.