On my walk home from the bus stop yesterday, I was imagining the two potential scenarios that might unfold during my ultrasound the next day. I closed my eyes (briefly, because I have enough difficulty walking and not tripping with my eyes open) and pictured the ultrasound technician saying either "it's a boy," or "it's a girl." And I pictured the reaction I would have to each. Both involved tears, naturally, but the emotions were slightly different. And I felt a little guilty about that.

I think Julie of A Little Pregnant summed up my feelings about gender really well in her post last March, when she found out that she, her husband Paul, and their son Charlie would be welcoming another little boy in August. Before her ultrasound reveal, people would ask her if she wanted a boy or a girl. Her response:

"Even being sure I'd asked it myself at some point, I had no idea until recently how common the question was. I was asked it an awful lot when we recently went south, by relatives I hadn't seen in years. The assumption seemed to be that we wanted a girl, since we already have a boy. That the experience of raising a girl would be qualitatively different, and something I'd not want to miss out on.

"That may be true; I wouldn't know. It's hard to imagine, because I don't think of Charlie as a boy, if that makes any sense. I don't identify his fundamental personhood as belonging to one gender or another...That he is occasionally bouncy and loud I chalk up to the fact that his body needs regular exercise and a venue where noisemaking is not only allowed but encouraged. His love for helping in the kitchen and doing housework is not a sign of any gender affiliation; rather it's the mark of a three-year-old's eagerness to do what his parents are doing. He is a boy, but I see his sex as incidental to the person he's becoming, rather than utterly essential. I seem him as simply — simply! — Charlie.

"Ultimately, I can't fathom a girl being any different. I know many people feel that girls are intrinsically different from boys, that biology implies destiny to a certain degree. I know there are forces beyond my control that influence how our children grow up and what roles they eventually assume...I don't feel that's sufficient reason to formulate a preference in that direction."

Julie has summed up here basically what I feel about who Charlotte is as a person, and the relationship of Charlotte the person to one aspect of her identity: her gender. And I know that a lot of people disagree with me (and Julie) about this, but I maintain that many of the so-called "genetic" differences between boys and girls are actually more a result of nurture, not nature. Not all of them, of course, but many. So I don't see Charlotte's love of cuddling and feeding her baby doll as any more "natural" or indicative of her true identity than her devotion to chucking projectiles, balls and otherwise, across the room.

So I felt guilty when I found myself feeling a little bit sadder when the ultrasound tech in my imagined scenario said "it's a girl!" As I explained to Jeff last night, it's not that I wouldn't be happy with a little girl. I mean, Charlotte's a girl, and look how rad she is! It's more that I'd be a little wistful, wondering "what if?" What would things be like with a boy and a girl? What would it feel like to have a son and a daughter?

And, of course, there's the fact that that scenario replicates my own sibling situation. I grew up with a younger brother. That relationship informs all my thoughts about kids and siblings. I have to admit that I always envisioned a situation where we'd have a daughter and son. Especially after we had Charlotte first...of course the next one would be a boy! Isn't that how it works?

But then I'd look at sisters I know (my cousins Angie & Monica, Amy & Laura for example) and remember how I'd feel slightly envious of their relationship when I was growing up. Maybe Charlotte would get to experience something I never did.

The truth is, no matter what we ended up having, Charlotte would be experiencing something I didn't. Even with a younger brother, there's no guarantee her relationship with him would be the same as mine with Scott. And Charlotte isn't a carbon copy of me (thank goodness); her relationship with any sibling would be a new creation, not a mirror imitation of someone else's relationship with someone else.

I knew all that, but I still went into the ultrasound with a shaky stomach and shallow breaths. I was nervous, or anxious, or...something. Jeff and Charlotte sat by, watching the baby on the "scream" (as Charlotte put it) in the darkened room. But as the tech took all the measurements, pointing out the three-vessel cord, the four-chambered heart, the head and stomach and kidneys and thigh bone all of proper length, my nervousness faded. I found myself focusing on the baby, the little person-to-be in there, and that baby's health. Everything looked good. The baby spazzed out just like Charlotte had during her big scan, kicking and punching and rolling around randomly. I could feel the movements and see them correspond on the screen.

So when the tech finished all her important work (including playing the galloping heartbeat not once, but twice, at Charlotte's request) and zoomed the little wand down to the baby's southern hemisphere, I had almost forgotten about that part of the scan. Almost, but not quite. I caught my breath again as I thought I caught sight of something on the screen.

"Charlotte," the tech said, locking in on something on the screen. "How'd you like a baby brother?"

And just like I predicted, I cried.

Boy or girl?

Stay tuned to find out later today!

This past weekend, Jeff, Charlotte and I traveled to Kansas City to take in a Royals/Tigers game.

The weather was beautiful, perfect for an early evening game. Jeff speculated on our way there that we'd have no trouble getting tickets at the gate. "I'm pretty sure the Royals never sell out," he said.

We were both surprised to see crowds of people and long lines at the ticket windows. It turns out there was a concert following the game; many people only bought tickets to the game because it was bundled into the deal with the concert. We were lucky enough to get two seats in the upper deck. We made it to our seats in time for the first batter.



Charlotte held up remarkably well, lasting all nine innings with the aid of peanuts and a hot dog. She sang along to "Take Me out to the Ball Game" and cheered "Yay, Tigers!" when appropriate.

All in all, a very fun experience.

Somehow the last week and a half have been full and busy, yet when I look back I have a hard time remembering any specific thing we've done. The days run together into a blur of quick shopping trips to Iowa Street (the main business drag) for the various small things one needs when one moves, such as extra wastebaskets, a curtain set, extension cords, etc., unpacking random boxes (speaking of which, we're still missing a box of kitchen goods somewhere. I keep needing random things, like my garlic press, and discovering that thing is in the mystery box), going for quick walks around our new 'hood, and just getting settled in. It fills the day, but doesn't make for very exciting prose.

I've been going through some changes in the last two weeks, too...namely physically. Suddenly there are clothes in my closet that are off-limits: too-tight pants or too-short shirts. I actually wore a maternity shirt (one that isn't very maternity-y, but still) the other day. I distinctly remember when I began showing like this with Charlotte, and it was about a month later in my pregnancy than I'm showing this time. I wanted to be more diligent about chronicling my growth in pictures this time, so I guess it's time to bust out the Nikon. I'm 19 weeks along, if you're counting.

I'm also feeling a lot (a LOT) of movement out of this baby already. Today while I was reading on the couch I actually saw several kicks/punches through my abdomen, a phenomenon I recall happening later with Charlotte, too. It was very cool, if again a bit reminiscent of certain scenes from Alien (or Spaceballs, if you prefer). Charlotte likes to feel the baby kick, although I don't think she's patient enough to really feel anything. The bigger movements later on will no doubt impress her.

Some funny recent Charlotte quotes:

While Jeff was attempting to put Charlotte down for a nap:
Charlotte: You make ME so mad. You make me SO mad. You make me so MAD. You make me so mad, okay? You make me so mad all day. You make me so very mad. (All said in a very pleasant tone of voice).

Still trying to nap:
Jeff: You can suck your thumb.
Charlotte: No, I can't do that. I'm too worried about it.
J: Why?
C: I can't suck it. Cuz I'm worried about the thing. It's occupied (ed. note: here I think she meant ocky-pied as in "ocky"). It doesn't taste very good.

While Jeff and Charlotte are outside coloring with chalk, Charlotte asks Jeff to draw a baseball. He complies. She proceeds to surround it with wobbly lines.
Charlotte: I'm doing the miracle.
Jeff: The miracle? What? Why? How is that the miracle?
Charlotte: I'm drawing the spinning, the round and round and round.

This morning when I asked Charlotte what she'd like for breakfast:
Charlotte: I think some string.
Jana: Some string? String cheese?
C: NO! No string cheese! Some STRING!
J: I don't know what you mean, then.
C, sighing: Oh, mama. Just get it.
J: Well, I can't get it if I don't know what you mean.
C: Yes, I think you can.

While Charlotte was coloring and I was on the couch, reading:
Charlotte: Mama! I found a color for you! It is your favorite.
Jana: Oh, thank you!
C: Now you will color with it.
J: Oh, I will, will I?
C: Yes. You will get off the couch, and say "thank you Charlotte," and we will color.
J: Sounds like a plan.
C: Get off the couch NOW, mama!
J: moving slowly
C: BUNS ON THE GROUND!

That last one had me laughing for some time. It's what we say to her in the bathtub when she needs to sit down. I had no idea she'd appropriate it in such a situation, but it worked.

I'm sitting in a bookstore overlooking "Mount" Oread (I'm sorry, I have to include the quotes. It's a hill, people!) on the campus of the University of Kansas. The last week has been a whirlwind of unpacking, acclimating to our new home, and exploring our new city. The week before that was an even bigger whirlwind, perhaps even a cyclone, of tying up loose ends in Athens, throwing everything we own (save three suitcases) into a moving truck, and driving 775 miles (over three days) to Kansas.

Looking back, I'm really glad we decided to spread the trip out over several days. It gave us a nice buffer between the loading and the unloading, and it limited the hours we spent trapped in a car with a two-year-old who would only interrupt her medley of songs to ask rhetorically, "What do I want, mama?" in a tone that can only be described as petulant. Or perhaps whiny. What she wanted was a mystery. It was typically some food item we didn't have on hand.

Overall, Charlotte did very, very well, and has continued to do well. She loved staying in hotels, swimming in the pools, sleeping in the little cribs. And she loves our new house, and is adjusting well to her "new" bed, which is really just her crib mattress on the floor. We hope to transition to a toddler bed or a twin soon.

Jeff and I feel the same way about our new house: it's fantastic. The space, people. THE SPACE! It's so huge compared to what we were used to, and even what we were expecting. Our living room alone is about the size of our former first floor. And the kitchen...well, we had three people in there at the same time the other day, and none of us felt crowded! I couldn't be alone in our old kitchen without feeling claustrophobic. We're still getting a few things unpacked and put away, but my mom (a.k.a. Hurricane Kathy) descended upon the boxes and lo, there was much unpacking and organization. It was wonderful.

Today is our first day in our house with just the three of us (plus the baby in utero, I guess). It feels a bit quiet. Charlotte misses having a grandparent around to command to read to her, feed her, hug her, etc. But it also feels like this really is our home...not just a strange, temporary place we were filling with our stuff.

We're here! And so is our stuff!

We'll be spending the next couple of days getting moved in, but I'll try to post a bit if and when I can.

And...we're off!

The truck has picked up the trailer, and as soon as we take one last walk-through, we're outta here.

Kansas, here we come!

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.