Author Archives: amerrill

winter gloom

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Fog City, Massachusetts. This has been the scene outside my windows for weeks….sigh. I desperately wanted to move to the mountains, I wanted cold weather and constant snow. Though we didn’t make it to a large mountain range, to a mountain we did move. Granted it’s a very small mountain, but it’s been quite evident since the beginning of winter that it is enough of a mountain to alter our lifestyle drastically. It’s always 15 degrees cooler up here and seems to always be snowing just a little bit, even though the weather hardly ever predicts it. When we drive down the hill (45 minutes!) to get groceries it’s suddenly warmer and the ground is absent of any white stuff. But, that drive down the hill is often impassable and incredibly treacherous…..so I’m stuck inside looking at the gloom or walking down to the general store where everybody knows everybody and nobody is concerned with not being able to get off the mountain because they have a freezer full of meat they shot and killed themselves and a pantry full of canned produce that they grew in their backyard over the summer. I think I was successful in finding the exact opposite of the last place I live, that’s for sure.  

I seem to be forever restless and constantly wondering if that will ever change. So far, it hasn’t happened. I suppose what has changed in me is that I am able to quiet the impulse and not act on that restlessness. It just seems that no matter how wonderful a place I am living, I always have a wandering eye. 

I hated that I grew up in Connecticut so I chose the farthest point in the U.S. away from it and made sure it was a place that was always warm: San Diego. Of course, I got there and it really was incredibly different in every way…and I couldn’t stand it. So, up to San Francisco I went in search of earth-crunchy, intelligent people and a breathtaking landscape. As much as I loooooooved San Francisco, I was oddly homesick for boring Connecticut after a few years. Back to Connecticut I went, but this time it was to the Gold Coast, which is basically a mini-NYC, rife with Wall Street yuppies, an intense money culture and so much smog that my childhood asthma returned after a 17-year hiatus. That was the point when I suddenly started craving small-town living, mountains full of fresh air, friendly people that bring you bowls of peaches when you move in (this did happen), and a hippie community. Well, here I am. And I love it….yet, looking out at that winter fog I find myself daydreaming of someplace else. But, you know, I think I’m okay with that feeling. I’m constantly seeking, constantly dreaming, constantly hitting the refresh button on my life. And I hope that never changes.

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27 weeks

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I can’t believe this is the final week of my second trimester. Next week I will begin the final stretch. It’s absolutely insane! And it might be a little early to be saying this, but I kind of can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore. Like everything else about pregnancy, it’s a mixed emotion—I’m elated at the thought of being able to bend and twist my body any which way I choose, sleeping without 45 pillows propping up various body parts and maybe not being in pain when doing so, enjoying a cup of coffee and a caesar salad (perhaps not together though), being able to run instead of waddle. But, of course, I know I will also feel a twinge of sadness when the journey is over because there is something tremendously special about being pregnant and being thisclose to my baby girl at all times. Part of me feels like the minute she leaves my body she will be leaving for college the next day and that…..well, it makes my heart hurt.
But, really, the end of pregnancy is not the most comfortable of times. Something shifted in my body last week and I reached a new stage in which I like to exclaim “I’m just too pregnant!” followed by some sort of animal-sounding grunt that could only escape a pregnant woman’s mouth. This usually happens when I try to lift myself off the couch, get into bed at night or dress myself. So I’ve been wondering why there isn’t a manual every pregnant woman receives that is filled with practical how-to’s and solutions. I don’t mean the standard “you’re going to feel like throwing up. When this happens eat some ginger, munch on crackers, never leave your stomach completely empty.” I’m talking about “you’re not going to be able to put on your own underwear, pants or socks. When this happens find yourself a pair of tongs with extra long handles and use these as an extension of your own arm to pull those suckers on.” Really, the list of things you can no longer maneuver is quite extensive, I think it’d make good sense for someone to come up with some solutions. It’s just not practical to assume I have someone following me around all day putting lotion on my legs for me, picking up everything I drop on the floor and cannot retrieve, or spoon feeding me because I cannot reach my plate at the table. I mean, I nearly severed a toe attempting to cut my own toenails the other day. That doesn’t seem fair.
It seems unnatural to transition into a sappy pregnancy sentiment after everything I just said, so I’ll leave it at that for the week:)
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where’s this all going?

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When I started this blog I simply wanted a place to post some pictures and surface-level thoughts as I played around with my photography. After almost a year though, I had a more concrete plan and started posting every day. I had many reasons for this—it was a way to hold myself accountable, to feel committed to working on my photography/business/creative journey, it was a way to make sure I was always writing, it was an outlet, it was something I believed would help me stay on my path and arrive at whatever destination the Universe had in store for me. And I had clear-cut topics for this blog for quite a while. Then I got pregnant. 


Sadly, I haven’t found myself very artistically inspired since I’ve been pregnant and that’s a fact that I really struggle with. But, that’s not to say I am not inspired. I feel inspired to write, to put my experience out there for what it’s worth. I tried to keep the pregnancy posts to a minimum at first, but it’s been the greatest source of writing material I’ve had in my life next to heartache (go figure). So I’ve been writing, and you’ve been reading. In fact, more and more people have flocked to this humble little blog since I began writing about pregnancy. So how could I stop? But, I often wonder where this is all going. I am still an artist above all, I still have goals and dreams for my life as an individual and I hope to get back to all that when it’s possible. But, my blog has slowly morphed into a motherhood/parenting blog, and I’d wager it will continue once my little bean arrives (the greatest source of inspiration imaginable). I have a feeling this will all make sense someday soon though…I have a feeling that becoming a mother is closely tied to the direction I am meant to travel career-wise. Stay tuned….

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26 weeks

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I’ve reached the rapidly expanding phase of pregnancy (two thirds of the way there, baby!)—my pants look/feel like they were painted on, the double chin is in full effect, my once mid-thigh length shirts now barely cover my belly, and trying to put my own socks and shoes on is not only painful, but a job I have to outsource many a day. This is it, the end is barreling toward me. I had the realization the other day that I could give birth in just 10 weeks with my midwives (36 weeks is the cut-off, before then is considered premature). That is just crazy. And it set my mind racing with endless lists of things still to be done before this little peach arrives. This is not helping my insomnia.
The nursery is STILL not done on account of yet another list of unforeseeable hiccups in the reno project. This fact is killing me softly. The house is piling up with baby gear and my nesting hormones are relentless. Please Universe, stop putting obstacles in our way so I can get this frickin’ room done!!! I will say, though, that I am pretty excited about the design I’ve put together for the room. More on that soon.
I cannot say how accurate mother’s intuition is, but I do know that I feel it all the time. I’ve mentioned that I often feel like I know so much about this baby and her personality already. I get the sense that she is so ready to live life. She constantly remains at the bottom of my uterus, as close as possible to her exit route. I can sense her independence even though she’s still completely reliant on me at the moment. She is strong and has an incredible presence about her. She is stubborn. She knows what she wants. She is driven.
As is evident from my completely transition-less writing today, my mind has become a scattered mess of thoughts punctuated with passing anxieties. Everything feels so urgent at this point, everything. I realize that is biology doing its thing, coaxing me to prepare for this monumental event, but that fact doesn’t erase the urgency. I’ve also been worrying that the heightened sense of urgency coupled with baby girl’s zeal to live life means she’s coming early. Gulp. Of course, that could also be because my sister-in-law put that idea in my head, followed by her 3-year-old prophet-of-a-daughter (the same one who told me I was pregnant the day after I conceived) told me the baby was going to come out now (then again, she also told me the baby would be born April 27th at night). I suppose only time will tell, so in the meantime I’m going to go attack my house with non-toxic furniture polish and make about a billion lists of to-dos, color-coded by priority level.
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the bond of pregnancy

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Pregnancy is a funny thing. In one way, it is a very isolating experience given you are the only one who can go through it. No one can join you in all the aches and pains, the worries and fears that keep you up at night, the months of nausea, the magic and bonding between you and your unborn baby, the bizarre sensation of all your body parts stretching, moving, and morphing into a completely new arrangement, the crazy impatience and excitement, or the intense odyssey that is childbirth. Sure, you can look to others to emotionally support you through all of that, you can find hands to hold and shoulders to cry on. But, ultimately, it’s all yours.

 

At the same time, pregnancy bonds you to others in a profound way, a completely unique way, an ever-lasting way. You may feel more connected to and appreciative of your own parents. You may feel closer than previously possible to the women in your life who have children. You may feel a deeper kind of affection for other people’s children. And then there is your spouse. This is the person who is in the trenches with you, the one who shares those hilarious/gross/surprising/troubling moments when your body does something unexpected, the one who witnesses the ebb and flow of your insane hormones, the one who brings you a glass of water after you regurgitate your supper, the one who hears that tiny heartbeat for the first time with you….the one who has given you the gift of half their DNA, the one whose love melted with yours to create this little being that only the two of you can share a similar experience of.

I was reflecting back on the experience of conceiving and being pregnant with my husband the other night as I prepared to leave for a 4-day trip up to Saratoga (as I was run out of my house by an insanely invasive construction project that made this a completely unmanageable environment for a pregnant lady). But, it was so hard to leave. My hormones were shouting “don’t leave your nest!” and my heart was aching in a way that felt familiar, yet somehow entirely new. The whole time I was away I needed to hear my husband’s voice on the phone 3 times a day in order to remain sane.

 

My husband and I have been ridiculously attached to one another since our very first date. We admittedly don’t like to spend much time away from one another and have a rule to never be apart more than 5-7 consecutive days, which honestly very rarely ever happens. And when we are together at home, we can usually be found holding hands, hugging, snuggling or the like at constant intervals (this is, of course, broken up by us spending time alone doing our own thing because, ironically, I would go nuts without my space and time alone). But, since I’ve been pregnant, the dynamic has shifted. I seem more detached, less affectionate, more introspective and less talkative to my husband. The interesting thing is, though, I’ve never felt more attached to him. I may act more aloof, but I need him in ways I cannot explain. He is the only one who has seen the cumulative experience, the one who understands (as much as is possible) my current (yet constantly changing) emotional state, my needs, and my limitations….and more importantly, he doesn’t pass judgement on any of it. He is the one who talks to this baby as much as I do, the one who knows what my pregnant body looks like naked, the one who cooks my meals and rubs my back, the one who has become so protective of me and his unborn child.

My trip away last week brought me back home to my husband. It was a chance to reflect on this journey, and realize that we’re doing all right despite the craziness that is our life. Things have changed, for sure, but we are in this together regardless of whether we fall asleep spooning or with me pushing his arm off of me because my pregnant body needs space. And we love each other in a way that we couldn’t before all this began.

Relationships change when you have a child. That I knew. But, what I’ve experienced is that they begin to shift and change from the moment you decide to try to conceive. Every relationship I have now feels different—it’s a wonderful, confusing, life-altering, surprising thing. I feel as if my life and environment are being stretched, moved and morphed into an entirely new arrangement along with my body parts. And somehow, I just know that all of these changes are setting the foundation for a new life to begin—not just the life of my unborn baby girl, but the life I was meant to live. My relationships with others will never be the same. Nothing will ever be the same. This is the beginning, and I wouldn’t want to have anyone other than my husband by my side.

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escape

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This is the week that my house is full of construction workers…and it’s just about as fun as I anticipated. On the one hand, it’s great to get so many big projects out of the way before the baby arrives. On the other hand, I am in full-on nesting mode and although it’s a bloody zoo in here, I do not want to leave my house. But, after two days of dealing with loud, crazy, inappropriate construction workers who like to hit on me and discuss my pregnant body and breastfeeding with me (seriously, I thought I’d be safe from being hit on because I’m pregnant! so creepy) I’ve had enough. This mama bird is fleeing her nest and heading to Upstate New York for a few days. I’ll be blogging from the road…

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25 weeks

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I was never very good at sharing food. I could probably blame it on my crazy high metabolism, which requires a constant stream of fuel….but, I think I’m just selfish with food. And now I’m pregnant. This means my husband has to really watch his step when entering the kitchen. I know sometimes I’m irrational, but there are pregnant ways of being I can’t ignore, like the fact that the scent of fresh pineapple is the most intoxicating scent to me right now and I NEED to consume an enormous bowl of it every morning and I  WILL notice if even one piece is missing from my stockpile in the fridge. The list of food in the house that my husband is not allowed to touch extends far beyond pineapple at this point though. It’s pretty insane for me to expect him to ask my permission every time he has a snack, but what can I say….it’d be nice. I thought he had learned his lesson after the Carmel Greek Yogurt incident, in which he got reamed out so badly for indulging in a few of “mine” that he drove 30 minutes out of his way to buy me 3 cases of it the next day. But, I guess he forgot that lesson learned, because I just sat down with a nice cup of tea to accompany the one oatmeal raisin cookie I had waiting for me in the cabinet…and it was gone. Unacceptable.
Another fun change concerning food is the fact that my belly has become a food catching device. I can’t figure out if I have always dribbled water out of my mouth when I drink and lost pieces of my meal while I eat, and just never noticed because there was nothing to stop its fall before. Or, have I just become a more slovenly eater since I’ve been knocked up? I’m not sure, but I seem to always have water drips and food stains down my front these days. Lovely. I guess it’s preparing me for motherhood though, when I’ll always have some form of spit-up, food, snots or pee on my clothes at any given time.
All that aside, I am euphoric these days with every reminder of the sweet reward that will come at the end of this crazy journey. I constantly have dreams about giving birth and holding my baby girl, and it’s exciting every time. Holding her in my dreams somewhat satisfies my impatience. Ahhhh……15 more weeks!
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placenta art

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Before I got pregnant, I had no idea there was a list of things you could do with your placenta. In fact, I wasn’t even entirely clear what a placenta was. I quickly learned all about placentas, but was not prepared to be questioned about it in the that way I have. When I switched midwives about a month ago, the new practice asked me what I wanted to do with my placenta once it was delivered. And then at Christmas, there was a long discussion over dessert about my placental intentions. I have mad love for the miracle organ my body has manufactured, but how far does that love go? Does it mean storing it in my freezer, making art prints out of it (see above), planting it under a fruit tree in the backyard? I really don’t know. All these questions got me thinking so I started researching it and couldn’t believe some of the things I found—preserved placenta necklaces, placenta teddy bears (the idea is too grotesque for me to handle so I couldn’t bear to post a picture—if you’re curious, click here), encapsulation (which involves ingesting pills made out of your placenta to help your body re-acclimate after childbirth), and sautéing it up with rosemary and garlic (hold on, nauseous now…). As squeamish as this topic makes me, I obviously found it intriguing enough to research:)  

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