Pansyiana: March 2004 Archives

Gross, huh? but I have spent the day daydreaming about chowing down on a nice hunk of liver with onions. Pregnancy is weirdness.

As a child I used to relish liver. I was also extremely anemic, so my father used to chop it up and put it in the gravy. I can eat that again.

I look ridiculous. I am like 9 weeks today and can only fit in maternity clothes-which would make me like 5 month looking by the normal standards. I read it is due to poor stomach muscles. Grrr.

11!

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Rosey Posey is 11 today! Where did all the time go? I remember when she was born like it was yesterday.

Yeah, I'm Shallow

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Yes, postpartem I want to be a superskinny superhottie. Yes, this is something I am slightly insecure and 'noid about. I think everyone was one totally shallow reason in their arsenal about why, if they were not Catholic and didn't have a clue, they would use artificial means to space babies. Mine is that everytime I get down to a shape I like, I get pregnant again. And it is getting harder and harder to return back. I remember leaving the hospital in my old jeans with my first two. Now, groan. With Gorbulas I was in baggy stuff for what seemed forever. My midwife said to give the belly 9 weeks to go down. Yuck, 9 weeks of walking around looking pregnant? I think I was going back to normal clothes by week 3 or 4 because I know I let myself leave the house around then and fit into normal clothes. I also joined Weight Watchers four weeks postpartem. I was so determined.

Not that I mind looking pregnant when I am pregnant. As a matter of fact it is one of the times I feel lovliest. Quite frankly it is really neat to be able to walk around with a bulging belly and feel absolutely perfect. But you cannot totally blame me for being so shallow. You can blame me some, but I'm and odd person, I am a perfectionist in many areas, my favourite show is Spongebob, I teach the kids how to do the hustle for a homeschooling class and quiz them on KC and the Sunshine bad-I guess maybe I am not reasonably well-adjusted.

See, but part of it you can't totally blame me for my shallowidity. Go shopping ladies, go ahead. Walk into an Old Navy. Why are all the jeans cut just under that postpartem belly? Yes, of course I wear a longer shirt over it-yikes I don't want nobody looking at my stretch marks-but the cuts are just perfect for taking that little pocket of belly and making it stick out under your clothes. Um, ick. Hey, I'm starting to have a revelation! I think that these styles were not intended for the average woman who has had a baby! They are intended to attract someone of the opposite sex. Usually, attracting someone of the opposite sex results in a postpartem belly. Then your clothing becomes almost asexual. These days though I cannot complain like I did ten years ago when I had Rosey Posey.That all nursing and maternity clothes are totally unattractive, they have gotten much better. But what I cannot fathom is why many clothes geared towards women of childbearing age very often try to lean towards "sexy" except at the times in your life when "hello", it is obvious you had sex. And no, I am not looking to be a sexy Mama, just an average looking young adult Mama.

Now here is part two why you cannot blame me. Madonna. Sarah Jessica Parker. Now we have celebrities having babies, which is probably who I have to thank that maternity clothes are not limited to shapless dresses with Peter Pan collars. But now we are more unforgiving to women who do not bounce right back. I have seen it. I have been to baby showers of my cousin's daughter and heard family gossip about how heavy my cousin looks at 6 weeks postpartem. Now here we are what is supposed to be a joyful family event, but you have to train to keep gossip of loved ones away. Good grief. Aha, see another reason you cannot blame me for being so incredibly shallow: crazy family who had maybe one kid and watches way too much TV and has very unrealistic expectations of what a real postpartem woman looks like. It's not like the average person is having 4+ kids anymore and my mother and I concur that it's that third or fourth kid that really devastates your body.

I had a small stint when Fastolph was a baby that I was heavier than I should be-a size 10. My grandmother would call me up to say "Oh Pansy, I am making a novena for you so you lose all that weight. I am so worried about you because you are starting to look matronly and you are too young to look matronly." When I sent her a copy of this picture from Posco's First Holy Communion all she said was "You gained weight again? You look so heavy there." Hmmm. "nice picture", "good job on the suit", "Posco looks cute" would have sufficed.

Why are we so unforgiving to women who chose motherhood? I mean in a real world, you would think the slightly more curvaceous figure would be an added sign of femininity, not ugliness. Why has androgyny become more of a symbol of sexuality? I don't know, I am confused now. Everytime I think about the hypocracies of modern society, my head hurts and I need to eat something.

Pray for Me-I Feel Like Crap

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I wish I could cut off my nose to cease smelling things. Poor people around me. I went crazy on Thursday cleaning everything because I smell rotten cabbage. I threw out all the green leafy veggies in my pantry/root cellar, including cabbage, which were not rotten just in case. Then I called the propane people to come and see if there was a leak, there was none. But I smell propane. I smell it when ever I turn on the light or the oven. No one else smells it, but I do. Why can't I smell pleasant things?

I am also oh so tired. I would not be complaining so much if I could just go to bed-forever. But I have responsibilities and stuff.

My midwife told she wants me to drink 3-4 quarts of water a day, plus several cups of mothering tea (red raspberry leaf, red clover, oatstraw, nettles, alfalfa), eat small meals every 2.5-3 hours that contain a protein and fruit or vegetable, take naps and walk 1 mile 4x's a week. My midwife takes very good care of me, and I do not take her advice with a grain of salt. But I am failing miserably. I don't wanna drink that much water or eat that many veggies. They all make me ill. I am doing the best I can though.

In the meantime I ran the idea by Hubby that tonight is Free Kid's night at Ponderosa, (after I find the nerve and energy to cook, whatever I make totally grosses me out) and he reminded me we are in for 7-15 inches starting at 11 (about ten minutes).

Now that I got that griping off my chest, I am not unhappy, but quite happy about the new Mossling. I just have never figured out a way to deal with "morning" sickness practically, and it gets harder with each child, because I have more responsibilities. I wish I could even remember what it was like when I was pregnant with Rosey Posey and at this stage. Come to think of it, I do actually. I was 20 and I was too young and stupid to ever appreciate what a "nap" was. I used to go out to Reggae clubs in the Village on weekends, work and go to school during the day. If I was hungry at 10 o'clock at night, I would go to Denny's. That girl was such a different person. She had a lot more energy and terrible eating habits.

Feel The Love in This Family

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My husband called by mother-ilaw to tell her we are expecting, and she yelled at him "One of you two needs to get fixed!" and hung up on him.
Update:My father told us yesterday he is "absolutely thrilled!"

I Don't Wanna Tell

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HMS Blog addresses families' unhappy reactions to a new addition to a large-ish family.

I would like to kick off this coversation with a reminder that Gaudium et Spes #50 that tells us that parents have the obligation--in the sight of God--to prayerfully decide what is God's plan for the size of their family. While parents are obliged to take into account the interests of the Church, the other children in the family, and other factors, no one else may interfere in that decision. And no one can ordain themselves to do what the Church herself does not ordain herself to do, specifically, to tell parents when and when not to have another child. We rejoice in every life given to us, and we pray that each of us would be open to God's unique plan for our lives. Period.

My brother who read my blog weighs in that what I need is a more creative way to tell people-like they do on TV.

The only problem is that you didn't tell people in a creative way. They didn't have blogs on "Full House." When Rebecca was pregnant, she told Jesse in a game of Pictionary. So, when you play Pictionary like every family does on Friday nights, you need to tell everyone that you're doing a movie title, and when Jesse guesses, he's gonna say "cheese half-ink a baby." The whole audience will laugh, especially when he shows up to the hospital dressed as Fred Flintstone and needs his apendix removed. Or if you have a bigoted father-in-law named Archie, he could show up to the hospital in black face, but I don't think too many people would appreciate that. Or if your name is Elyse Keaton, you could be stuck in a television station during a snow storm while your husband, Steven, is stuck with the plumber.
Anyways, the moral of the story is that if you want a laugh track, Josh needs to change his name to Jesse Katsopolous, or better yet, Uncle Jesse. I guess you can forget the other stuff, because it obviously isn't as important as the Friday-night games of Pictionary that Michelle loves so much.
This and the episodes of "Family Matters" where Steve Urkel turns into his cool alter-ego, "Stefan," just prove my point that sitcoms teach us a lot about the real world. I'm starting to forget what I was talking about originally, so I'll stop.
Just forget Oreos and eat "Cool J" cookies. ;-)

It has actually been something of a trial trying to figure out when to use "scene" instead of "seen" or "hear" instead of "here". I really thought I was losing my mind. Many people in real life will totally think I have. The Upstate NY Moss's are expecting a new Mossling I am thinking in November sometime.

I haven't told anyone in real life. I am afraid to tell my family, (although one of my brothers might pass by the blog) because I am afraid of the comments. Actually my immediate family will be OK, but the extended family-it will be worse than telling them someone died. I was thinking of simply not telling. My grandmother is literally going to say "oh no, you can't afford this,"

I also have had mixed feelings about the whole thing. I do not feel I like I ever really got into the swing of things after having Gorbulas. My house is never as clean as I like, I am tired, I have been nursing for like five years straight and thought by this summer I would be able to wear a normal one piece dress. I was secretly hoping Gorbulas was my last toddler. No parenting book has given me greater depth into understanding these odd little people who always spill things and make lots of noise, but melt your heart with their mispronunciations and giggles. But God has a sense of humour and come 21 months time, there will be another toddler around.

The flip side there is nothing quite as spiritual as carrying a little baby around inside of you. I do not know if men can relate to this at all, but this one of the most special times in a woman's life. I have been wracking my brain for the past couple of days as to why being pregnant seems to have such a specialness all it's own different from any other stage of motherhood. I cannot come up with many answers except it is the shortest and most fleeting. I have to think on this a little more. This actually the first time I have even admitted this because it seems people pay more attention to the expecting part of parenting than they do children (after you get past the fact that it should have been a perfectly planned situation).

In the meantime, I have little blogging time. I am making pierogies to put in the freezer. As "morning" sickness seems to deepen a bit each day, I want to stock the freezer up with meals that take no effort to cook. We usually end up eating frozen food or out too often at this stage because I cannot stand the site or smell of food, and am so exhausted by the end of the day. I hate doing that because of the expense and lack of good nutritious food for the family. So I am trying to prepare as many healthy meals in advance, maybe an extra meal each day.

I'm Going To Have a Heart Attack

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A State Trooper just left here. Why? Because my four year old, Fastolph was angry at his brother for "ignoring" him and called 911 on him. I made Fastolph come outside and explain why he called 911 and the Police Officer told him "you can only call the police if there is a real emergency there, Buddy."

I think everyone must have that one child, while incredibly cute and charming at times, brings new definition to the term "Handful".

Stuff

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OK, everything I type turns to mush lately. It's like I never took an English or spelling class. I cannot wait until the kids are grown and I have no more munchkins in my bed so I can resume life as a fully functional adult. Anyway, this is why I have been blogging less and less because I have been writing even more like a neanderthal than usual. Please bear with me.

I did it again. I made this recipe of Aloo Gobi last night and added too much hot pepper. I made it with rice and roti, and it smelled so good. I was very excited anticipating our modest feast. We all sat down and took a bite. I literally "mmmm"ed out loud and the rest of my family said "wow, that's spicy," Oh well, I have the leftovers for myself for lunch. Maybe I have no nerve endings in my tongue.

Spring fever has hit here. We are seeing patches of grass here and there, more and more each day. I am having a hard time keeping the kids concentrated on their studies. I am happy, yet come spring there is much work to be done. The barns are a mess.

I am also very sad at the anti-Catholicism that is rearing its ugly head surrounding Mel's movie. I think I have had it with Hollywood If you take the subject matter of The Passion out, the cinematogrophy and the direction in the movie are excellent, and they cannot give him credit for that. I am disgusted everytime I open a newspaper. This is why I stopped getting newspapers.


Di Fattura Caslinga: Pansy's Etsy Shop
The Sleepy Mommy Shoppe: Stuff we Like
(Disclaimer: We aren't being compensated to like this stuff.
Any loose change in referral fees goes to the Feed Pansy's Ravenous Teens Fund.)


Pansy and Peony: The Two Sleepy Mommies



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