Friday, May 13, 2011

Some things I'm learning- Part 3

The definition of Layette: an outfit of clothing, bedding, etc., for a newborn baby. I had never heard this word in my life until a few months ago.

Every time Jericho asks about the baby, talks "at" the baby or hugs me around my round tummy, it melts my heart. When we are saying our goodbyes in the morning, he'll often say "I love you, both." Though I think I've discovered that when I tell him to feel the baby move and excitedly ask "Did you feel that??" and he says "Yes", he's sometimes lying so I'll leave him alone.

I don't like when people give me wiser-than-me comments on parenting. I.E. "Oh, just you wait" or "You have so much to learn." This is often followed by a little smile and sideways glance at another nearby parent like all parents are in on a secret joke. I hope to make an effort to not treat all non-parents like they have yet to join the super-cool parenting club and because I've been a parent for 5 seconds means I have insta-parenting genius. This may not be a big problem since the first few months of parenting will probably have the ease and grace of wrestling an octopus into a cardboard box.

My appetite has not been as ravenous as I expected. Our culture portrays pregnant women shoveling in food like the plane is going down but I haven't experienced this. Maybe it'll come later. At 28 weeks, I only feel slightly more hungry. It's moreso that I'm hungrier more often instead of increased hunger per meal. I do get a little sicky feeling when I eat too much of something sweet. This has thankfully not affected my ability to eat ice cream, my only noticeable craving so far. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure this "craving" is pregnancy specific.

I will not be hand-quilting baby quilts for my subsequent children.

I'm enjoying strangers making comments to me about my pregnancy. It makes me feel special. And also that I'm finally clearly pregnant and not just like I'm gaining weight. People are always happy when they comment on your pregnancy. At least that's been my experience. I do know women who've had horrendous things said to them. To one friend at about 20 weeks: "Wow. You're gonna have that baby any day now!!"

Things I didn't expect would be harder: 
Leaning on the bathroom counter to pluck my eyebrows
Making my bath towel wrap all the way around
Not being able to go to the tanning bed
Coughing/sneezing and having that be the only thing I do
Keeping the front of my shirt clean
Sitting comfortably

    Monday, May 2, 2011


    As long as I can remember, I've never been a picky eater. I even pride myself a bit on my non-picky eaterness. Which is why it continues to trouble me that I don't like olives. Olives!!! I'm one quarter Italian for crying out loud! I love olive oil, can eat my weight in rustic cheeses and will put garlic on everything but my breakfast cereal but I absolutely do not like olives.

    Usually when you don't like something, you don't eat it, right? I don't like artichokes so I never order a dish with artichokes. Makes sense. But I continue to eat olives. I keep thinking, "Maybe this time, I'll like it. This olive will be different." It never is.

    I find myself fascinated by those that go to the beautiful olive bar at Whole Foods and come away with their exotic medleys of green, purple, and black olives. Olives seem so decadent. Have you ever seen those people that sit down with a jar of olives and pop one after another into their mouths? They seem so blissfully happy and no one ever thinks this is as gluttonous as if it was a jar of Hershey kisses [which, however, I can do]. I keep hoping that one day, I'll find that heaven-sent olive that will win me over and not make my right eye twitch incessantly. Each time a coworker brings back one of those tubs of exotic little olives from Whole Foods, they say, "Here, Kelley, try this kind. You'll love this one." Do I? Never. But I keep trying.

    Since I tend to eat at Italian restaurants often, you'd think I would need to ask the server to hold the olives on a regular basis. I don't. Instead, I pick them off my plate and give them to Jericho.

    Because Jericho loves olives.

    There is an episode of How I Met Your Mother when it is discussed that all great relationships will satisfy the Olive Theory: one of you loves olives and the other hates olives. It's a perfect balance. When we saw this episode I exclaimed, "See! That's why we're great together!" I'm pretty sure Jericho's response was something like, "Sure. Or you're just weird because you don't like olives."

    Not that the Olive Theory should be a deal-breaker for any relationship, but I like the basic sentiment of it. Relationships are about balance. We go through life trying to be the best we can in every area possible, but we're not superstars at everything and that's okay. It's okay that we allow someone else to be the superstar when we can't. And it's okay when someone else's superpowers are lacking. Great relationships make up for the deficiencies and pull each other along when the deficiencies are shared.

    So perhaps I need to stop trying so hard to love olives. Perhaps I need to accept that a lover of olives, I'll never be. Jericho will be the lover of the olives in our marriage. I'll continue to pick off my olives and put them on Jericho's plate. And he'll gladly take care of them for me, no questions asked.

    Happy two years to my friend, my companion, my love. 

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