(Wo)man's Best Friend

Finding the right words to adequately describe the chaos that goes by the name of Ripley is not an easy task. Moving past the what-happened-to-you-training-the-dog-I-don't-know-anything-about-training-dogs conversation, we are the proud owners of a hyper, shoe-stealing, toilet paper-shredding, power-chewing, bundle of muscular energy. She can sniff out food on the counter in a single bound. She has pulled books off of bookshelves and literally digested them. Our backyard has been littered with chewed up parts of things not meant for consumption, like the rubber valves of baby bottles left out on the counter to dry after being washed and the tinfoil wrappers of a bag of mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cups that she ate one New Year's Eve that resulted in a call to the emergency vet and two doses of hydrogen peroxide which did absolutely nothing. The dog even nearly ate a semester exam I was grading once. (Do teachers get to use that excuse like students?) She quickly earned the nickname the yellow bandit after an incident in which my husband and I each thought the other had put away the Reuben sandwiches from supper the night before. It turns out the dog did it for us, and it was the first of many counter-top thefts. Notorious for being chewers, our Labrador retriever has earned her own hashtag on my Twitter feed: #thingsmydogate. Of all the things I have had to wrangle free from the clutches of her jaws, baby Jesus from our Christmas nativity scene has to be the weirdest item ever pried out from between her teeth.

In our house, baby toys and dog toys are interchangeable depending who is chewing on it.

Maybe I should have followed the advice of friends, colleagues, and professional therapists about getting rid of the dog in order to bring myself a little sanity. There was a moment once when the dog bolted after getting spooked by a medical helicopter flying low over our house, nearly losing her to a cornfield on the northeast end of town, that I honestly considered it, and I actually sent a text message asking a family friend if they would be willing to take her to train her. In my stubbornness, I have always argued that our daughter would be crushed to lose her best friend, but in reality, I felt we were in too deep to back out. Armed with an arsenal of books from the library, I was prepared to dig in my heels for doggy boot camp. Starting with the book Marley & Me was probably not the best place to begin, though. My husband told me he had never seen someone laugh so much while reading a book; I told him I could not help it because Ripley has to be long lost cousins with that dog.

Ripley gets into pretty much anything - my husband's slippers are her favorite.

But what makes for a good family dog? There is a meme on the Internet that states Pit Bulls were once used as nanny dogs because of their protective nature with children. Any attempt at researching the validity of this claim comes up with a plethora of blog posts arguing either for or against support of Pit Bulls. Debate over the safety of certain dog breeds typically used in fighting rings is not a modern argument, though. "The world in general... [has] some weird ideas about dogs. One of their pet theories is that any dog who has 'bull' in his name is savage, ugly, faithless brute fit only to associate with stable boys, corner loafers, prize fighters, and downright thugs" (Haynes). In The Bull Terrier, Haynes goes on to say,

"This is undoubtedly a memory of the days of bull baiting, that very barbarous sport once upon a time relished by our English fore fathers. It is quite true, and it can be proved, that in the veins of the English bulldog and the English bull terrier flows the blood of dogs who, three centuries ago, did bait bulls. It is equally true, and some go to considerable pains to prove it, that many of us are descendants of the gentlemen who enjoyed watching bull baiting. That is, of course, very shocking, but we console ourselves by thinking of the wonderful improvement made by the human race since those dark days. Why do we give the dogs no credit for improvement?" (Haynes).

Sourced from Pinterest

While certain breeds have a reputation today for being good with kids, types of dogs that were in favor with families at the beginning of the 20th century looked remarkably different with collies, Boston terriers, and German shepherds topping the list by the American Kennel Club of most popular dog in America. First recognized as its own breed in 1917, the Labrador retriever has held the number one spot on the list since 1991 (American Kennel Club). The American Kennel Club describes the breed standard as “one of a kindly, outgoing, tractable nature; eager to please and non-aggressive towards man or animal” (AKC). Historically used as a fisherman's aide off the coast of Newfoundland, many people who like to fish or hunt own Labrador retrievers because they make a good sporting dog and typically love water. For someone not accustomed to dogs, any novice pet owner would welcome a canine that is "easy to train, love[s] to have fun, and adores their human above all else" (Pavia).

Ripley's crazy personality fits in well with our quirky family.

A connoisseur in pets and butt rubs, our dog is the epitome of a people-loving Lab. She has patiently let our girls use her furry body to stabilize themselves as they first learned how to stand. She has tolerated having her ears, paws, and jowls investigated by tiny hands before my husband or I notice and swoop in to rescue her from the girls' clutches, but even then she sometimes has gone back to the kids like a glutton for punishment. Ripley joins in the chase when the girls start running around the house with too much pent up energy, and she seems to not care when the girls try to ride her like a horse, which happens more often than it should. In her eagerness to get a treat, Ripley easily gets careless at chomping food from my hands but gently nibbles at anything offered from our girls - and boy did our kids learn quickly once starting solid foods that our dog will eat pretty much anything. Of course, this has led to some bad table manners on the part of our dog, as was evident while I helplessly watched from across the kitchen as Ripley pulled an entire corn dog off the stick that my daughter was holding in the blink of an eye. Tears were involved in that yellow bandit incident.

When our younger daughter was in the bouncy seat, chances were Ripley would go in for a head cuddle.

In return, our girls do not let 60 pounds of brute strength push them around. Watching a three-year-old give a dog twice her size commands to sit is quite the amusing sight, and it seems remarkable that the dog has begun to adhere to a little girl's commands lacking in proper enunciation. Not to be outdone, our one-year-old has picked up on me telling the dog to be quiet when she starts barking at yet another squirrel taunting her from the backyard. It makes me laugh to watch such a tiny toddler shout commands with gusto. Giving the dog a treat to release one of the girls' toys from its clutches has almost become a ritualistic game in this household, a much more welcome game than tug-of-war with an infant as she gets gently pulled across the living room floor much to her giggling delight. As a result, my girls do not have a fear of dogs, and they are thankfully learning at a young age how to interact with other people's animals simply because we own a large dog breed.

A favorite pastime of these three peas in a pod is watching out the window.

What was at first an annoyance for me has actually become a blessing in disguise. The life of a stay-at-home mom is quite isolating, and circumstances have made it so that I can have stretches of multiple days in a row with no adult human interaction. In the struggle to find a new normal with postpartum depression and anxiety after baby number two, because that anxiety likes to creep back in at any given opportunity, Ripley became my escape out of the house for some exercise along with some peace and quiet during our nightly walks. I honestly think those walks were the best medicine as there is something quite soothing about walking in the moonlight. In our house, the dynamics of PTSD has made it more challenging to learn how to juggle two kids, with 2019 being probably the toughest year we have faced. Yet through all the ups and downs, Ripley has been dependent and stable (and maybe a little anxiety-ridden). She is my shadow around the house, following me everywhere. She whines when I try to get stuff done at night when she wants her cuddle time, and she is my reminder to sit down to recharge... dog in lap, of course. Once the bane of my existence, she continues to be my worst student and my most needy child, but she has morphed into my best companion that I never would have guessed I would absolutely need. For that, I am grateful.

My evening cuddle buddy gets quite whiny if you skip her nightly lap-time.

Sources:

American Kennel Club. American Kennel Club, Inc. www.akc.org. January 30, 2020.
Haynes, Williams. The Bull Terrier. Outing Publishing Company. New York, 1912.

Pavia, Audrey. The Labrador Retriever Handbook. Barron's Educational Series. New York, 2001.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

Lately I have been wondering how my grandmother's generation and prior dealt with the challenges of motherhood. Becoming a parent is hands down the hardest job I have ever had, this coming from a middle school teacher. Just when I feel ridiculously frustrated or worried, I meet the stranger who looks at my daughters and tells me, "I remember those days. It wasn't easy."

The older sister modeling tummy time for the younger sister.

Eleven weeks postpartum with baby number two and a two year old, I am finding the fluctuation in hormone levels and the overwhelming shift of introducing a new person to the family also brings about postpartum depression and anxiety. When our first child was born, I powered through the symptoms. You tell yourself at first that you are merely sleep deprived and later stressed out from working full-time and then some on top of trying to keep a household together. Last time around I learned that when you fail to nip it in the bud, it can develop into clinical depression and anxiety, which is where I found myself last spring. The doctor I saw about a little over a year ago told me anyone who worked full-time, had a part-time job on the side, with an infant and a new puppy (that my husband agreed to train with all the enthusiasm of a twelve year old boy that has no idea what he just signed up for) would be sitting in that same chair. Enter new baby, and any progress I made in the past year on alleviating symptoms of anxiety and depression, while juggling full-time teaching and homemaker responsibilities less one part-time job (because no sane person keeps going at the same pace when overstretched) has quickly vanished.

But is this postpartum thing just a phenomenon of the added pressure women in my generation have to do it all? It turns out postpartum depression is not a modern ailment. Prior to World War II, this condition was known as insanity of lactation. Curiously enough, many women in the 19th century were afflicted with something called puerperal insanity. It came in three forms ranging from melancholic to manic: pregnancy, parturition, and lactation. In other words, women could show signs of mental illness from the beginning of pregnancy through nursing infants two years after birth (Williamson). The rate of diagnosis varied, but across the board it would seem some cases diagnosed were legitimate while some were likely other causes misdiagnosed as the generically used term of puerperal insanity.

For certain, the standards by which women were judged were not the same. To be specific, most commonly diagnosed was insanity of parturition. Typical symptoms of puerperal insanity were things like a woman "letting herself go", neglect of personal hygiene, and "indifference or hostility to children and/or husbands and women's tendency towards obscene expressions" (Theriot 74). Mild symptoms often reported within a few days after labor were "an intolerance of husband or child, a willful disregard of the doctor's directions, a peevish irritability of temper toward everybody, accompanied by restlessness, sleeplessness, and constipation" (Williamson). Severe symptoms of the manic form of this condition could range from behaviors like "incessant talking, sometimes coherent and sometimes not; an abnormal state of excitement, so that the patient would not sit or lie quietly; inability to sleep, with some patients having little or no sleep for weeks; refusal of food or medicine, so that many patients were fed by force; aversion to the child and/or the husband, sometimes expressed in homicidal attempts; a general meanness toward caretakers; and obscenity in language and sometimes behavior" (Theriot 73). Treatment typically consisted of "the removal of any discoverable cause, absolute rest of body and mind, freedom from the exhausting influences of talkative friends, weaning the baby and its removal form its mother's sight and hearing" (Williamson). If symptoms did not improve, usually a more severe case was diagnosed.

While we have a better understanding of the physical aspects of childbirth and any associated mental illnesses now, there is a mystery to the brain that modern medicine has yet to crack. Since psychology functions by defining what is abnormal, I am forever grateful that I am judged by 21st century standards. On any given day in the past few hazy, sleep-deprived months there has been neglect of personal hygiene, neglect of household duties, and you can only imagine my level of patience for family members on those really tired days. If we were basing a diagnosis off of 19th century standards, I am sure my husband would have grounds to have me committed. Thankfully, the modern day mom gets a free pass because motherhood is hard. Having a newborn is hard.

Yet the real symptoms of concern are the gut-wrenching feelings of panic involved with any social engagement including family, deep feelings of sadness, crying more than usual, and the inability to fall back asleep some nights despite being exhausted. Add to that the anxiety over knowing at some point in the near future a full-time job is waiting for me to take on even more responsibility after a twelve week maternity leave, pondering if it is really worth almost half of my monthly salary to rush my daughters off to a daycare where there could be issues, and knowing that my family cannot really afford to lose my income.

Which leaves me with the toughest decision I have ever had to make, tougher than I thought it would be. The pangs of guilt for not being there for your child when she gets hurt at daycare or having to walk away when she cries as you drop her off in the morning because she does not want you to leave her with a stranger are tough for a mom to take. Walking away from quite possibly the best teaching job I will ever have is not easy either. Yet there comes a time when you have to make the right decision for your family and what you are comfortable with in how you would like to raise your kids, but more importantly for you. For me, it would seem scaling back and taking care of me first for once is the right fit. And we are going on blind faith that it is the right decision.

Sources:
“Health | Infant-Killing and the Victorian Mother.” BBC News, BBC, 15 June 2003, news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/2985632.stm.

Loudon, I. “Puerperal Insanity in the 19th Century.” Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine, vol. 81, Feb. 1968, pp. 76–79., ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1291468/pdf/jrsocmed00165-0018.pdf

Theroit, Nancy. “Diagnosing Unnatural Motherhood: Nineteenth-Century Physicians and 'Puerperal Insanity'.” American Studies, vol. 30, no. 2, 1989, pp. 69–88., journals.ku.edu/index.php/amerstud/article/viewFile/2472/2431

Williamson, A P. “Puerperal Insanity.” Transactions of the World's Congress of Homoeopathic Physicians and Surgeons, held under the auspices of the World's Congress Auxiliary of the World's Columbian Exposition, in Chicago, Ill., May 29 to June 3, 1893. archive.org/details/transactionsofwo00inte

40 Weeks and Counting

Someone asked me this week if I enjoyed being pregnant, and I honestly had to respond no. The miracle of life is certainly amazing, and it is crazy to think how something the size of a poppy seed has grown into something the size of a watermelon all inside of me. But I would not count the past nine months as something easy to get through.

The belly at 40 weeks makes one feel like a beached whale.

It takes a lot of work to grow a tiny human, and there are so many things that the body tolerates in order to do this. While I anticipated the morning sickness (a.k.a. all day nausea that never goes away), I did not anticipate nine months of insomnia, water having a metallic taste, and bleeding gums nearly every time I brushed my teeth. As the weeks wore on, I anticipated my uterus stretching to make room for the growing baby, but I did not anticipate sciatic nerve pain, sore hips, shortness of breath, restless legs, and sharp pains in my abdomen any time I sneezed for months on end. My usually strong immune system became suppressed, which led to nasal congestion every single day, trying to keep a fever at bay while fighting off the stomach flu for nearly five days, and coming down with pink eye of all things.

As a very petite individual, with a starting weight of 112 pounds, my frame seems to have adapted reasonably well to the 44 pounds gained in about nine months, but the final weeks have been the most miserable as my legs started to swell from water retention. Who knew ankles could swell so much, and who knew plantar fasciitis was something that could developed on top of swollen feet?

Those baby kicks that started as something exciting and adorable have certainly gotten stronger and more painful as the baby has run out of room. It hurts when the baby kicks your ribs! While my doctor has reassured me that Baby will not be reenacting the movie Alien any time soon, I still have my doubts after viewing the misshapen curve of my belly on numerous occasions. The skin of my abdomen is stretched to the max and itches all the time, and the area around my belly button is still quite numb for the most part.

After having not felt well for nine months, I am ready to give this kiddo the eviction notice. The thought of giving birth is both exciting and terrifying, but the enthusiasm my husband has displayed as it all becomes more of a reality for him this week is encouraging to say the least. He and I have been on an emotional roller-coaster of feelings throughout the whole pregnancy, going from excitement to worry and fear to now restless anticipation, and it will be interesting to see what life brings postpartum.

For certain, I am thankful to my aunt for giving me a prayer card to St. Gerard (patron saint of mothers) which has helped keep me grounded all this time. The prayer for a mother with child has been a good mantra:

Almighty and everlasting God, through the operation of the Holy Spirit, you prepared the body and soul of the glorious Virgin Mary to be a worthy dwelling place of your divine Son. You sanctified St. John the Baptist, while still in his mother's womb; listen to my prayer. Through the intercession of St. Gerard, watch over my child and me and protect us at the time of delivery. May my child receive the saving graces of Baptism, lead a Christian life and, together with all the members of our family, attain everlasting happiness in heaven. Amen.

My New Respect for Parents

My husband and I were told at the end of December that our baby's 20 week ultrasound scan showed a few cysts. Initially I assumed it was me who had the cysts after the nurse told me on the phone that my doctor was going to wait to see if they go away on their own. After finally getting a chance to sit down with our doctor at the latest monthly check-up this past week and ask about that bit of information, it turns out these cysts were seen on our baby's brain. There was a big long name for this, but bilateral cysts are pretty much the only words I remember.

When these cysts show up, doctors will point out they are sometimes correlated to a chromosomal abnormality that can have serious complications. So my doctor did mention that, but she also was quick to say there were no other markers found on the ultrasound. Stupidly, I looked it up when I got home from the doctor. Because who does not scour the Internet for more information these days? (Probably people who know better than to go down that rabbit hole.) Of course the first results that come up for a search on bilateral cysts on a baby's brain in utero discuss how babies with this particular chromosomal abnormality associated with these kinds of cysts have a higher risk of stillbirth and often do not live past infancy.

Hello, freak out moment!

The reassuring news is that there was nothing indicating physical developmental complications, which would give doctors a high possibility of concern for this chromosomal anomaly. The rational side of me has had to repeatedly remind my husband and myself that if there were strong indications of something atypical with our baby the doctors would be scheduling tests immediately, not waiting weeks to perform another ultrasound as is the plan. While this is quite logical thinking, keeping one's sanity and having patience while we wait until week 28 is easier said than done.

The fact that there are so many results that even came up on an Internet search should tell me this is a fairly common phenomenon. I did find someone's post suggesting a correlation between seeing cysts on an ultrasound and extremely high IQ's in children after birth. I joked to my husband that perhaps we have nothing to worry about because we very likely made our very own Sheldon Cooper (from our favorite TV show The Big Bang Theory). My husband did not seem to find the humor in that.

And so we wait. Now every time the baby kicks me I pray that he or she is healthy because that is the only thing I can do. And I try to remember on days where there is less movement that I may not feel every kick because our baby had to be a rebel and attach him/herself to the front of my uterus.

News like this changes the tone of expectation for the birth of a child. We went from teasing each other about whether we will raise a boy or a girl to concern over the mere survival of this child. It is a gut wrenching fear that sits in the back of your mind and has no comparison for any other fear previously experienced in life. It creeps into your thoughts in the middle of the night as it invades your slumber, and it stalks your thoughts in the middle of the day. It gives me a whole new respect for parents.

But I am grateful for those little things that remind you perhaps everything will be okay. On day two of trying to wrap our minds around this unexpected hiccup, my husband and I received a package in the mail from a former co-worker of mine. She sent us a book to read while we wait for the arrival of our blessed little one. How coincidental is it that just as my husband and I are feeling anxious, a dear friend sends us the book Waiting Is Not Easy! by Mo Willems? In the book, Piggie has a surprise for Gerald, but Gerald is frustrated because he has to wait for the surprise. Piggie reassures him it will be worth it, and in the end Gerald declares it was worth the wait.

And so we wait.

It's a...

...boy? ...girl? Well, that does seem to be the question some grandmas-to-be would like to have answered. My husband and I had been going back and forth over whether or not to find out the gender of the baby, and when it came time to decide whether or not we should find out, we opted for not finding out.

While ultrasound technology's origin actually dates back to the late 19th century, medical ultrasounds were only first developed in the 1940s. Even so, sonograms for pregnant mothers were not commonly done until well into the latter part of the 20th century. The procedures are considered routine today, and the screenings are used to date the pregnancy; to detect viability, looking for any abnormalities; to monitor the baby's location, movement, and heartbeat; to check the location of the placenta in relation to the cervix, which can mean higher risks if the placenta is too close to the cervix; to establish a multiple birth versus only one baby; and to determine the sex of the baby.

The belly at 20 weeks begins to make it difficult to move around.

So before the use of this technology, how did expecting mothers know what they were having? Rather than wait for the birth, many women often relied on folk wisdom to determine the baby's gender. Modern science discredits these as mere superstitions, but there is something to be said for long-standing folklore and tradition. Science has even proven a few old wives' tales to be true over the years, like carrots helping your vision and honey helping to suppress coughs. Most of the old wives' tales about baby gender are unreliable, but it is still fun to speculate nonetheless.

And since we will have to wait until May to find out if this growing baby is a boy or a girl, it cannot hurt to use some folk wisdom to make a few predictions...

Baking soda test: If a pregnant mother collects urine in a cup, she can add baking soda to help determine gender. If the mixture fizzles, the baby is a boy. If it does not fizzle, the baby is a girl.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I attest to trying this. Apparently the thought behind the test is that the male baby hormones produce a more acidic urine. When I added baking soda to the cup, there was a brief fizzle, but then nothing. It certainly was not quite the same reaction as mixing baking soda (sodium bicarbonate) with vinegar (acetic acid). Conclusion: GIRL.

Bread: Not eating the crusts off a loaf of bread means an expecting mom is having a girl.

Usually I LOVE bread, especially hearty loaves. But lately, it seems I have to choke down most breads, especially the crusts. In fact, I will admit to not eating the crusts on a few occasions recently. Conclusion: GIRL.

Chinese birth chart: Finding your age at conception and the month you conceived on a Chinese birth chart is said to give you the gender of your baby.

Using an ever-so-scientific Chinese Gender Predictor, the prediction of the baby's gender is that of a girl. Conclusion: GIRL.

Cold feet: If a pregnant mom's feet get colder during pregnancy, she is having a boy, but if her feet are toasty warm, she is having a girl.

Having cold hands and feet all the time is something I have known all of my life. My mother used to tell me, "Cold hands, warm heart." My family used to get a jolt during the Sign of Peace at Mass during the winter months especially. It could be all that extra blood flow, but lately my feet have never been toastier. Conclusion: GIRL.

Dreams: Old wisdom dictates that everything in a person's dreams is said to occur opposite in real life. Thus, if mom-to-be dreams she is having a boy, it is actually a girl; if she dreams about a girl, it is actually a boy.

Old wisdom does not give direction on what happens with you have dreams about both genders. First I had a dream about a girl, but then I had a dream about a boy. Conclusion: Inconclusive.

Dry hands: Having dry hands and feeling the need to lather up with lotion all the time during pregnancy means the expecting mother is having a boy.

I have dry skin to begin with, but pregnancy seems to have exacerbated the problem. Conclusion: BOY.

Face: If a woman's face swells and gets rounder, the baby is a girl. A long and narrow face means the baby is a boy.

My face seems to have filled in a little, but that is likely due to putting on ten pounds more than anything. This one may need to be reviewed later in the pregnancy. Conclusion: GIRL.

Food cravings: If mom-to-be is craving sweets, it means her baby is a girl, but if mom-to-be is craving salty and sour foods, her baby is a boy. Perhaps this is why girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice?

I inherited my grandfather's sweet tooth, so I crave sweets to begin with. I certainly crave sweet foods more than salty or sour foods. In fact, salty and sour foods have triggered some aversions for me. I did tell my husband to hide the candy we keep at home from me. Conclusion: GIRL.

Gracefulness: If a woman feels clumsier during pregnancy, chances are she is having a boy. If she remains graceful, chances are she is having a girl.

If clumsier means having one too many incidences of the dreaded pregnancy brain, then count me in. If it means physical clumsiness, I have never been graceful to begin with. Conclusion: BOY.

Hair: If an expecting mother's hair grows thicker during pregnancy or if she finds her body hair is growing abnormally fast, she is said to be having a boy. If the expecting mother notices little changes in body hair or if her head of hair is dull and limp, she is having a girl.

When I first read about possibly seeing changes to my hair, I was all pumped for more luscious locks. In reality, I have the same fine, limp hair as always. Conclusion: GIRL.

Headaches: Women suffering headaches throughout pregnancy are said to be carrying a boy.

I have the occasional bout with migraines, but headaches have been fairly non-existent during this pregnancy so far, other than a few pesky ones that were probably due to slight dehydration. Crossing my fingers it stays this way. Conclusion: GIRL.

Heart rate: Many women swear by the baby's heart rate. If it is under 140 BPM, she is having a boy, but if it is over 140 BPM, she is having a girl. This one would seem to make sense since adult women tend to have a higher heart rate than adult men, but science has been unable to find any correlation between the baby's heart rate and gender according to a few medical studies completed in the 1980s.

At the ten week ultrasound, the baby had a heart rate around 160 BPM. At the twenty week ultrasound and other check-ups, the baby's heart rate has been between 140 and 145 BPM. Conclusion: GIRL.

History of parent's kids: Apparently the order of your mother's children can determine the gender of your baby. If mom-to-be is the first born, she will have what her mother had starting with her second child. If she is the middle child, she will have what her mother had starting with her third child. If she is the baby of the family, she will have what her mother had in the exact same order.

My mother likes to point out that I only became the middle child at age seventeen. I have always been in the middle of older and younger siblings, though. I did became the true middle child in 1999. Going with the middle child, I am supposed to have what my mother had starting with her third child, which would be the very female me. Conclusion: GIRL.

How a woman carries: A common thing women will often say is that if a pregnant woman carries the baby high and puts on weight in the hips, she is having a girl. For a boy, a pregnant woman will carry low and gain all her weight out front in the belly.

For a stick-person like me, putting on weight is not an easy feat. (Thank you, grandmother who weighed 99 pounds after her third child. Something tells me I inherited her genes.) My family likes to use the phrase "stick with eyeballs" to describe me from time to time. At Thanksgiving, my brother and father joked that now I was a "stick with four eyeballs". Ha ha. All joking aside, ten pounds does become noticeable, and I must admit that I cannot see my hip bones sticking out for the first time in my life. There is a lot more weight to put on yet, though, so things could change. Conclusion: GIRL.

Legs: If an expecting mom's legs get really big, it means a boy. If her legs stay in shape, it means a girl.

A freaky-fast metabolism means my legs are just as toned as ever. We will see if this changes as the pregnancy progresses. Conclusion: GIRL.

Mayan predictions: Similar to the Chinese birth chart, the ancient Mayan predicted the gender by adding the age of the mother at conception and the year of conception. An odd number means boy; an even number means girl.

I am currently thirty-three, and conception occurred in the year 2015. Add those two numbers together and you get 2048, an even number. Conclusion: GIRL.

Mom knows best: Supposedly expecting mothers' predictions are right about 71% of the time. Always trust a woman's intuition.

My husband has repeatedly said that he is having all boys ever since we got married. I have told him over and over again that he has jinxed himself. This momma thinks Darth Vader Princess is the perfect Halloween costume. Conclusion: GIRL.

Moody: Women who are moodier than usual are said to be having girls due to all those extra female hormones.

Feeling irritable could be due to all those surging hormones. Or it could be due to the fact that I have not had a good night's sleep since September. Conclusion: GIRL.

Morning sickness: If a woman is plagued by morning sickness during the first trimester, that little bundle of joy is a girl. If she eases on through without the slightest touch of nausea, that little bundle of joy is a boy.

Considering my innards were secretly plotting their escape from my body through my esophagus all day, every day from week four until week fifteen of this pregnancy, I am going to go out on a limb here. Also, the occasional resurgence has reared its ugly head a few times in the second trimester. And they say that is supposed to go away... sigh. Conclusion: GIRL.

Nose: If a pregnant woman's nose gets bigger and wider, the baby is a boy.

I do not think it possible for this Polish nose to get any bigger or wider, but then again, stranger things have happened. Conclusion: GIRL.

Pregnancy glow: Baby girls apparently steal their mother's beauty. If an expecting mother suffers from acne and skin blemishes during pregnancy rather than get that pregnancy glow, all bets are on a girl.

Keeping a youthful look into one's thirties comes as a blessing and a curse. For instance, it is amusing to continue to be asked what grade one is in school long after those bygone college days. However, continuing to have the skin of a teenager is not something one dreams of in order to keep a youthful appearance. When people I meet find out my real age, they want to know my secret. I always respond, "Good German genes." Needless to say, my skin continues to prove its troublesome self during pregnancy, only now I have been hesitant to wear much make-up to cover it up. Conclusion: GIRL.

Protein: If mom-to-be is craving meat and cheese, she is said to be having a boy.

Usually I love meat and cheese, especially cheese. Cravings for either of these have been non-existent. Conclusion: GIRL.

Side you rest on: If a pregnant mother prefers to lay on her left side, the baby is a boy. Preference for her right side means girl.

I am actually a back sleeper, so getting a good night's rest has proven difficult with the need to lay on my side so as to avoid waking with annoying hip pain. I have been rotating sides as comfort dictates. Conclusion: Inconclusive.

Sympathy weight: If daddy-to-be puts on a few extra pounds during a woman's pregnancy, the baby is supposed to be a girl.

My husband has a metabolism almost as fast as mine, so I have not noticed any weight gain on his part. Perhaps he would speak to the contrary. Conclusion: BOY.

Wedding ring test: An expecting mother is supposed to tie her wedding ring to a string and hang it over her pregnant belly. If the ring swings in a circle, the baby is a boy, but if the ring swings back and forth, the baby is a girl. Some argue the opposite is true.

Dad-to-be is really skeptical about this one, but it was certainly fun to try. I used my wedding band, not my engagement ring, and there was some definite swinging back and forth. Conclusion: GIRL.

Toddlers: If a toddler boy expresses interest in a pregnant woman, she is having a girl. If the toddler boy shows no interest, she is having a boy. It is vice-versa with a toddler girl.

I am not sure how to interpret this one. My nephew is older than a toddler, but he is the closest in age to a toddler with whom I interact these days. Conclusion: Inconclusive.

Other folk wisdom about pregnancy not related to gender...

Birth marks: If a baby is born with light brown birthmarks, supposedly mom drank too much coffee or had unfulfilled cravings during pregnancy.

Cravings: Apparently if anyone denies a pregnant mother what she is craving, that person will get a sty in his or her eye. Be ye forewarned!

Full moon: A full moon is believed to cause women to go into labor and give birth.

Heartburn: If a woman gets heartburn throughout her pregnancy, her baby will be born with a full head of hair. This one has actually been proven in a scientific study. According to the U.S. National Library of Medicine, there is a correlation between severity of heartburn during pregnancy and hair volume on newborns.

Long labor: Having a long, intense labor often signifies that a woman is having a boy. Apparently boys have larger heads, so they get stuck more often than girls. Go figure.

Umbilical cord: If a pregnant woman lifts here hands over her head during her pregnancy, she will choke the baby because the umbilical cord will wrap around the baby. Today doctors attribute this type of umbilical cord complication to movement of the baby before birth.

At 20 weeks, the baby looks a bit like Skeletor from the front but so adorable from the side!

Gender Prediction Results: 20 for girl, 3 for boy, 3 inconclusive.

I am fairly certain my husband thinks all of this is hogwash. He mentioned the opposite will happen in real life, but that could be because so many of the gender predictions are showing signs of girl. But what first time dad does not secretly wish for a boy? My concern is mainly on a healthy baby and a safe delivery. May will certainly bring us one exciting surprise nonetheless.

Life's Little Curve Balls

It is a funny thing to stare at a plastic stick in a bathroom at five o'clock in the morning on a Saturday and realize your life will never be the same again. That was where I found myself in early September after my basal body temperature still had not dropped. I had a presumed knowledge of what was likely going on knowing the inner workings of the human body (thank you, Christian Sexuality class from freshman year of high school), but taking an at home pregnancy test and seeing a positive result is still quite surreal.

In actuality, my husband and I had not thought about kids in a while since we have been preoccupied with the can of worms familiarly known as PTSD. This year we learned just how long forty-five days can feel when he spent nearly all of June and July seeking in-patient treatment at a VA hospital after some pretty scary moments in May, and we had been preparing ourselves for an additional forty-five days as he had been scheduled to check back in to a VA hospital for more treatment at the end of September. As a married couple, there certainly have been times where it has felt like we are front-loading the "for worse" part of our marriage vows. And after nearly three years of marriage, we were naturally starting to wonder if kids were even possible, but one plastic stick in the wee hours of the morning ended any thought of that sort.

After a little breakfast while watching some morning news, an hour later that positive test result was still there staring back at me. Yep, this was really happening. The only remaining question was whether or not to wake my husband and tell him before leaving for work or wait until after work that day. Anyone married to a foreign war veteran learns quickly that waking a sleeping soldier is not usually recommended unless absolutely necessary.

In the end, telling my husband right away was probably the best decision made. While I contemplated all day what will happen in the next nine months, I found myself getting nervous about everything. I was not really sure if my husband comprehended what I had told him earlier while he was still half asleep, but then, at just the right moment, I received a text message from him sharing his excitement with me. When I expressed my nervousness, he reminded me how awesome it is to become parents.

Many years ago, a lot of friends questioned why I chose someone like my husband. At first glance it looks like he and I have nothing in common; he is certainly not like me in many aspects (thank goodness). Yet we are very much on the same wavelength, and I am often reminded how much of a match he is for me. He is not my duplicate but my compliment. Whenever I am weak, he is strong. If he had any nervous thoughts, I was not made aware of them, and that was exactly what I needed at the time.

After about two days of keeping this exciting news to ourselves, my husband was ready to burst. We spent that Sunday evening with my family celebrating my youngest brother's sixteenth birthday, and every time we caught each other's eye, a slight smirk crossed both of our faces. At one point my husband pulled me aside to tell me how he was going crazy keeping quiet, and he needed to tell someone. At first I attempted to convince him to wait a bit before we said anything, but he pointed out that everyone was there. When you are part of a large family, getting everyone together all at the same time can be tricky. My aunt and uncle had even stopped over, so it sure was an ideal time.

Unquestionably, there are moments of life that can be etched in your memory, and the look on my parents faces will always stay with me. From ecstatic grins to wide-open eyes full of surprise, the news of a baby has to be some of the best news in life. However, the best comment has to go to my uncle when  he said, "Good, now she can put on some weight." To which my sister responded, "Yeah, in her tummy." Needless to say, inheriting Grandma's metabolism has made me the butt of quite a few skinny jokes throughout my lifetime.

At 10 weeks, babies are about 1.25 inches long. So tiny!

After the excitement calmed, the pregnancy symptoms set in. For me, it took all of two days after getting a positive test result for nausea to grasp its hold, and it did not really let up until week thirteen. Morning sickness is really not an accurate description when the feeling lasts morning, noon, and night. Even worse, things that once worked as a remedy for feeling ill suddenly became things that exacerbated the problem, and tips from medical professionals only really took the edge off. If nausea were bad enough, add insomnia, frequent urination, shortness of breath due to increased heart rate, heartburn, fatigue, and (my personal favorite) vomiting all to the same day. Just when you think you survived the day, you realize that you get to likely do it all again the next day unless by some miracle your symptoms are cured. Eating enough food is an important thing to do, but even the thought of certain foods makes one want to gag when suffering from nausea. Oh, and water! It is hard to drink a lot of water when it tastes like metal. I am fairly certain I lost more weight than put on during the first trimester.

At 11 weeks, there is more than just bloating.

Despite those things, seeing our little tyke at ten weeks along during an ultrasound certainly makes it all worth it. My husband's reaction to the whole experience was priceless. Seeing that heart beating on the screen and watching those little arms and legs wiggle around is a great reminder of what a great miracle new life is. There is a living human getting ready to greet the world, and that miracle trumps all the difficulties that precede the arrival of that little bundle of joy. May cannot get here soon enough!

At 14 weeks, there is definitely a baby bump!

Thankfully, the end of the first trimester and start of the second has brought some relief. My body still has moments of nausea if I do not keep enough fuel in it throughout the day, but it is not quite the same as that initial constant feeling of illness that plagues you for weeks on end. It certainly came at the right time for me, but truth be told, part of me still wishes it were as easy as the stork from Disney's Dumbo making a special delivery.

New Year's Resolutions

I am not usually one for making new year resolutions, but this year I think I will make an exception. Apparently having the last two weeks of December off from work is enough for one to wallow in thoughts of all that one has not fully accomplished in one's life yet. Certainly, I have a great life and have been blessed many times over, but there have been many challenges and frustrations along the way as well. Being a perfectionist at times, it is easy to get in a rut of feeling less than adequate. This is such a female thing to do. Since I am the only one who can take the reigns in my life, I have decided to make a few resolutions, and if I put it out in the blogosphere, that is all the more motivation to follow through.

In no particular order, things I want to do in 2015:

• Be kinder to others.

This is not to say that I do not try to be kind to others in general, but everyone has moments when more patience could have been used in place of annoyance, hastiness, irritability, and a quick temper. It takes a lot of patience and effort to wait a few seconds before responding in less than ideal circumstances, but it pays off in the long run because usually a situation will either diffuse quickly or not even become a situation in the first place because of remembering to be kind to others.

Along with this, I am done with passive-aggressive apologies. Unfortunately, I caught myself this past year quite a few times in the act. "I am sorry that you took it that way... I am sorry that you were so offended... I am sorry that you misunderstood what I said." The list could go on. Any apology that puts the action back on the other person is not an apology. All it does is make the other person feel awful and incite a emotionally charged response. If you dish it out, expect it to be served back to you. It certainly was for me, and it was not fun to be on the receiving end. So, I am swearing off this type of language and might start to call others out on it because I am so tired of it. Keep it short, and keep it simple. "I'm sorry" will suffice and works wonders. Own up to actions that rub others the wrong way, whether intentional or not, and be forgiving of others is going to be a motto for 2015.

A Wedding Toast

Those of us blessed with being asked to be maids or matrons of honor are also plagued by the fact that at some point during the wedding reception you are going to have to speak into a microphone in front of a large number of people. For pretty much everyone on the face of the planet, this is terrifying. Thoughts about what one should say are difficult to formulate into coherent paragraphs, much less statements. And for us female folk, there is also the knowledge that at some point during your speech you are most likely going to start crying.

My dilemma was not so much that I was going to be speaking in front of nearly 300 people (Thank you, youth ministry job, for teaching me many lessons regarding speeches in front of large audiences with whom you are unfamiliar!) My dilemma was simply that I was at a loss for what to say that would translate well in a room where I only really know half the people. Also, there were some still hurt feelings on my part that were nagging at me from my own wedding when a speech intended to be humorous did not exactly come across as planned, which at first made me less than enthused to give my own speech. At least my prior knowledge gave me a good starting point.

From an internet search for tips on how to give a decent wedding toast, I formulated an outline from multiple sites that proved to be very helpful and would recommend to others:

1. Introduce yourself (Not everyone is going to know who you are, of course.)
2. Provide a funny story or memory about the bride, groom, or couple.
3. Give some thoughts about love and marriage.
4. Articulate a wish, blessing, or toast for the bride and groom.

As always, the key to good speech-giving is to keep it short and sweet, otherwise known as get to the point. The more one rambles, the more likely it is that something could go amiss. Also, while I had gone over a basic speech in my head numerous times in the weeks before the wedding, I knew how extremely important it was to write it down. The moment the speech begins is usually the moment when your brain goes blank, so it is handy to have some notes close at hand.

Unfortunately, I did not find the time to write my thoughts down until the morning of the wedding. While we sat in the hair salon, I scribbled and re-scribbled my speech. I would recommend completing this earlier, but as a first-year teacher at a school, I do not exactly have a lot of free time these days. I had the foresight to bring note cards along since I knew I would have some down time that morning. I did not have the foresight that writing my speech was going to involve tearing up, which wreaked havoc on the false eyelashes the makeup artist had just applied. Oops.

Mom and I are trying to get a snap closed on the back of my sister's dress.

When it came time for me to speak, I opened with telling guests if anyone wanted to make money, they should pull out cell phones, start timing, and take bets on how long it was going to take until I started crying. It did get a good laugh, which helped break the ice for me a bit, and it helped to make me not feel so nervous. It was a good start.

Now of course I did not follow the written script word for word, but going off-script does have its consequences. After introducing myself, I spoke about how I could go on about stories of all the shenanigans my sister and I participated in as children, like when we used Crayola markers on our eyelids to make it look as if we were wearing eye shadow. (Thank you, Barbie doll, for that inspiration.) I also briefly mentioned the time I pushed my sister off the bed [when we were jumping on it] and she cracked open her head. At the time we were quite young, and I thought she was going to die. Our older brother tried, unhelpfully, to console me and told me that everything would be okay because if Katie died we could just get a new sister. It was here I nearly lost composure, but I paused and asked who won the bet to give me time to stop crying. After I was ready to proceed, I explained how my sister always tells me I am a mother hen to her, so I was going to do just that that evening.

My written speech was as follows:

For those who do not know me, I am Katie's [older] sister Amanda, also known by Rosie just to confuse people. I can attest I am happy to be here on such a joyous occasion, and I would like to thank Mom and Dad, Carol and Paul for hosting today. It is always a delight to see the hard work of preparation and planning come to fruition.

Perhaps Katie and Chad have heard many jokes over the years about when were they going to get married, much to the consternation of my sister, but all things happen for a reason and in their own time. Katie and Chad, today is your time.

Not too long ago, Pope Francis was in the news for commenting about couples throwing plates at each other, which by all means if you feel the need to do, I highly encourage it. But the news stories forgot to mention the rest of his message. Pope Francis went on to say, "Love is stronger than the moments in which we argue, and I therefore always advise married couples never to let the day draw to an end without making peace. There is no need to call in the United Nation peacekeeper. A little gesture is enough: a caress, see you tomorrow, and tomorrow we start afresh. This is life, and we must face it in this way, with the courage of living it together. Marriage is beautiful."

Katie and Chad, while I cannot promise all of your days will be as blissful as today, I can promise you the Beatles were correct when they sang, "Love is all you need." But they did miss a few other important things for a good marriage. Since I'm a teacher, we're going to review a few important phrases every couple needs to know, so pay attention because there'll be a quiz later. Repeat after me:

Proszę. Bitte. Please.

Dziękuję. Danke schön. Thank you.

Przykro mi. Es tut mir leid. I'm sorry.

Keep those sayings in your marriage toolbox, and they'll fix almost anything.

Walt Whitman once wrote, "The strongest and sweetest songs yet remain to be sung." Katie and Chad may you find many sweet songs to sing together in the years ahead, and may God bless you as you begin this new adventure in life together. To Katie and Chad!

Lamentably, the brief crying incident made me extremely nervous whereas before I had felt rather composed. Because of this, I skipped over a few sentences here and there, and I was definitely shaking more the longer I spoke. I guess that is why they call it the jitters! Thankfully, I was collected enough to ad-lib a few additional things, like how Pope Francis had my back on my suggestion that the Beatles missed a few items or explaining I had to include Polish and German into the key phrases to repeat since our family comes from those traditions.

On the bright side, the only thing I really regret is that I forgot to tell the guests to raise their glasses for the toast. I remembered it at the very last, but it felt so anti-climatic to me. You are your own worst critic, though. So, advice I would give to any future speech giver is to jot notes down about when to prompt guests to raise their glasses, just in case.

My beautiful sister the bride and me at the wedding reception.

At the same time, it was great to see my sister and now brother-in-law full of such joy that evening. That should always be the focus of celebrating a marriage. I do not know what it is about weddings, but they certainly display the best of what humanity has to offer. The bride in particular is so radiant. In general, a smile is plastered across her face from dawn until well past dusk, and it makes her glow all the more. It was a gaiety to sit back and watch my sister because I do not think I have ever seen her as joyful or beautiful as she appeared on her wedding day.