We’ve had a lot of grief over my phone, since we’ve been married. When we went to Rogers in the first few weeks since having moved back from AB, Alex suggested we check my plan and see if we could make some improvements. Boy, could we ever. It turned out that when I first signed up, I was duped into what sounded like a do-able $45 plan which gave me unlimited text, voice mail, call display, etc. Sounded like a dream. What I didn’t catch was that when all was said and done, I was paying over $80 every month, and that was coming off my credit card. Of course, in a new province all alone, I was making long distance calls to Cora in Victoria, my mom and dad and other assorted friends in Edmonton, and could potentially pay over $200 a month. I never really noticed. I just paid my credit card whenever I had money, and never checked where all that money was going. Oi.

We tried to pare down again and again. I needed to go down to the bare minimum, but I resisted. I tried the MY5, but every plan I tried ended up costing way more than we could afford. Eventually I gave up voice mail, call display, text messages, and I only have 200 weekday minutes, and my free evenings start at 9pm. For more months than I care to think about, my husband gave me shit for spending too much on my cell phone. Money we just didn’t have. We need to work together to get out of debt, he said. We’re a team now.

Of course he’s right. So for the last 6 months or so, every bill I get is under $35. It varies when I call my mom and tell her to call me right back, I receive a text message, etc. (By the way, when did Rogers start charging for incoming text messages? What kind of crap is that??) But today we found out that last month was over $80. What the hell, we both wondered?

I guess I’m getting nailed for the many calls I’ve been making to try to sort out my daughter’s birth certificate. The douche bag doctor who delivered her didn’t know what day it was and submitted the paperwork wrong, so I’ve been running around to ServiceBC and my doctor and that doctor and Vital Statistics trying to get a birth certificate with the right date on it. Also, when my evenings start at 9 and it’s 10 where my mom lives and she calls me several times a month, I start getting charged for incoming because it’s over my 200 weekday minutes. Not to mention calls from my darling Kalea and Dev Sully… it seems I just can’t win. Oh, and it’s SO FRUSTRATING to get a call from someone, not be able to pick it up in time for whatever reason, and have no idea who it was because it always just says “unknown caller.”

So, I hate my phone. It cuts out in the middle of phone calls because we live out of town, I can never tell who called, Alex’s phone is always dying and he’s hardly ever home during the day, so really the only way to reach me without racking up retarded cell phone bills or always worrying about if Alex’s phone is going to die mid-conversation, is to call the big house phone, which always means leaving a message because I’m never over there.

I think I need to fire up Skype, and then in July when I can cancel my contract, get a house phone.

But being the last stop on the baby train is hard and unexpected. I thought we would share the responsibility of being the last resort in comforting the baby when she seems inconsolable to everyone else, but it turns out it’s all me. 

It seems that I’ve reached another situation in which I’ve had to assume a role I wasn’t expecting. 

I’ve done a lot of reading about babies and the beginnings of parenthood, and I guess I’ve set unrealistic expectations on myself and my husband. Of course “unrealistic” here is synonymous with words like “unconventional.” I’ve read about dads who come home from work and take the baby so mom can have a break. Dads who get up in the middle of the night when the baby needs to be fed so mom can get some rest. I was talking to my mother-in-law about my surprise at not having a husband like that and she laughed. “Do those dads have jobs?” she asked. Hmm, I thought.

I guess it is unfair of me to ask my husband to mind a crying baby when he’s just finished a 9 hour day of  physically demanding construction work. My days are not difficult. My only complaint about life with a 3 month old is that she hardly lets me put her down at all, so I rarely have time to do things like yoga to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight.

I shouldn’t complain.

I went to a new moms group the other day and things were thrown into perspective for me. Most of the moms were complaining about sleep deprivation and being happy about 4 hours of sleep etc. while I looked around sheepishly thinking, “my baby slept almost 11 hours last night…” I wonder if I should tell them at all when I introduce myself next week. They’ll probably all hate me. 

The thing is, my daughter doesn’t mind that I’m still 40lbs heavier than I’d like to be, and I can still rev my husband’s engine. Pre-pregnancy weight can wait. Also, pretty soon she’ll be pushing me away, trading cuddles for exploration. I should enjoy my time with my daughter in my arms. I’m just making myself unhappy by being frustrated. Who cares that being the last stop on the baby train is physically and emotionally draining? It also means that I know her better than anyone and our bond just grows stronger every day. It feels GOOD when I’m the only one who can console her. By always having to worry that she’s got everything she needs, I know that she’s 100% taken care of. No one worries more than I do.

Sometimes I want nothing more than to be the girl I was before my daughter changed my life. I certainly wish I had my old ass, tummy and thighs (I’ll keep the boobs, thank you). But I can wait. Eve is more important.

When we got to the hospital, they got me into a gown and ran a couple tests to see if my water had indeed broken. I moved up to my room and we chatted with the nurse while the contractions got more intense and we talked about laboring options. She hooked me up to a machine that measured the contractions and her little heartbeat, and ran the tub. 

I labored for 13 hours before they finally gave me an epidural. I had been hoping for a natural childbirth, but after so much pain for so long and I was only 3cm dialated, the nurses strongly recommended it and I was sobbing at that point so I readily accepted. It was the best thing ever. 

I got a nice long nap in, and after a few hours I woke up, still feeling no pain, and the doctor came in to check my cervix. “Oh, the head’s right there,” he said. “It’s time to push.” I looked at Alex with tears in my eyes, grinning. “We’re going to have a baby! Like right now!” He smiled at me reassuringly. I still didn’t feel anything so the nurse had to look at the machine and tell me when to push. 

It was so encouraging knowing her head was so close already, and in about 5 or 6 contractions with 4 or 5 pushes each, my daughter was slipping right out, and there she was on my chest, wiggling and squirming around. WILD. 

We’re home from the hospital now, and Eve is meeting her family and getting tons of love. My mom gets here wednesday and my dad will be here on sunday so they can have their chance to love up their new little granddaughter. 

She’s beautiful, she’s perfect. 

Eve Anita Jantzen 
Born Saturday, October 24, 2009 at 4:10pm. 
Weighed in at 6 lbs, 13 oz and 19 inches long.

My next appointment is Tuesday the 27th. If Baby hasn’t come by then, we’re going to make a plan to induce. But since the Doctor did her thing, I’m horribly crampy. Nothing regular or increasingly intense, so no need to rush off to the hospital yet, but things are starting to happen. 

Alex is so cute. He’s in such great spirits lately, and even suggested that we put the bassinet on his side of the bed for the first little while. I smiled. “Really? You’re going to get up with me every time Baby needs night-time num nums?” He figures he will at first, so we’ll see. 

I’m going to write a letter to my Hannah in a bit, after I clean some floors. I’ll walk to the mailbox and see if I can’t kick-start some contractions. It’s kind of crazy to think that in 2 weeks (probably less), we’ll have a baby. A small, wiggly human being for whom we are completely responsible. Me? A mom?

My husband and I were up at 9. I sat at the kitchen table reading “The Vegetarian Mother and Baby cookbook” and eating some toast while he set up his hockey pool online. We heard his dad’s truck outside and I began looking in my cookbook for today’s project while my husband brushed his teeth. 

“Oh shit,” I said. “I need an egg.” 

“Why don’t you walk down to the neighbor’s and get some?” he asked. 

“You know,” I said, “that is an excellent idea.”

So as Alex left to go to work on his grandparents’ deck with his dad, I grabbed some change and set out into the sunshine. As I was walking up the  driveway, Tia called to me from the porch, asking if she could come along. As she ran back inside to ask her mom if she could come down the road with me to buy some eggs from the neighbor, I stuck my nose into the big house and invited Sam to come with us.

The three of us set out to the neighbor’s house. He has a bunch of chickens and sells free-range eggs to people in the area. We walked arm-in-arm. 

We started talking about the Feast, and how Amy is talking about bringing her boyfriend. We giggled about that a little bit, and I expressed interest in her being with someone who didn’t grow up in the church, so I could have someone to talk to about what it’s like, coming from outside the church and marrying into this family. I’m excited to meet him.

Sam talked about how lame it is having no one her age to spend time with at the Feast. She’s almost 16, at that awkward in-between age where there are no girls to hang out with and if she so much as looks at a boy her brothers rip on her ferociously. 

“You can hang out with me,” I said. “Chances are I won’t want to be out partying very much.” We won’t have a ton of money anyway. 

“Whatever,” Sam scoffed. “Except everyone is going to want to go out with you ’cause you’re pregnant and awesome.” Aww.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think Alex and I are going to be left out of a lot of the young adult activities.”

“Why?” Sam and Tia both wanted to know.

I told them about the “party” mind-set, about how my husband and I go to bed between 7:30 and 8 every day, and I don’t have the energy to stay up any later because I get up 4-5 times a night to go to the bathroom. Cathy however, is finally out of her parents’ house, she can do whatever she wants, and the Feast is going to be major party time. 

The neighbor didn’t have any eggs.

As we were walking back, Sam clutched my arm tighter and said, “I love you. You’re totally my big sister.”

My chin quivered. 

I made a joke about how it was just because of all the yummy treats I’ve been bringing them – muffins, cookies, apple crumble, oat delights – but then Sam said, “Well yeah, but also because I remember what it was like when you left.” 

Okay, heart-strings. Tia, Sam and I all sniffled a little bit. None of us like to think about the day I packed up and moved back to AB. Are we closer for the space I put between us? 

I had my year of crazy. I had my party time, my time away from my parents. My husband and Curt work hard every day. Because I’m pregnant, we’re happy to go to bed at 8, while Cathy wants to stay up and socialize, take advantage of her newly-acquired freedom. 

My point here is that as you get older, your priorities shift. You realize what’s important and what really isn’t. I know that probably sounds pompous coming from me; my husband and I are still so young. But even though we are only early-twenty-somethings, it’s more important for me to spend time with my husband turning in early and watching an episode or two of Smallville than staying up until all hours of the night drinking and socializing. You know? And I think it’s good for us to be on the same page as newlyweds (are we still newlyweds if it’s been half a year?), for us to both be learning what’s important, and for us to be spending this time together even just watching a stupid TV show. 

I feel closer to him and more in love than ever.

We’ve talked about the possibility of our daughter keeping a journal. “Of course I would never read it,” I said, thinking of my own mother and the trust I have that she never read any of my journals. “What if there was reason to?” my husband asked me. Well, I guess we’d have to see what reason there was. If I suspected she was doing something hazardous to her health, I might peek just to make sure her life wasn’t in danger. But unless it was a pretty serious concern, I wouldn’t. I want my kids to trust me to respect their privacy.

As for my journal, I have given my husband reason to read it. There have been times in the course of our relationship when I have given him reason not to trust me, and so now he reads my journal on a regular basis. Normally, I would feel like it was a gross invasion of privacy. I did, at first. But with allowing him to read my journal and both of us having all each others’ passwords to things like Facebook and e-mail, it makes it very difficult for either of us to keep secrets. And isn’t that a good thing? For a girl who gets into trouble very easily, I am kind of thankful for being made to stay honest. He may make an honest woman out of me, yet.

I’ve been thinking about the people we’re living with, here on the Compound, and I’m realizing that I can only ever get so close to them. There is a certain distance between all of them, subjects that are just not mentioned, that I never experienced growing up. Before Amy moved away, she and I spent a lot of time doing crafts together. I had more good talks with her than I have with anyone else so far, but I still had to be careful. I mentioned my blog casually, and she begged me for the address. It was so tempting to completely open up and share this past year with her. Share my secrets with someone. But I thought about all the things here on this blog, (things that I have now disposed of) and I realized that the opinion she would have of me after reading that was not one I wanted to facilitate.

When little Hannah gave me her journal to read, I was touched. She just turned 14, and I’ve known her her whole life. My mom and her dad went to university together. Until our moms fell out relatively recently, we did Thanksgiving and Christmas together every year. Their family was our family.

This little girl is so special to me. And when she gave me her journal, I couldn’t feel more privileged. She let me into her heart, a little bit. In return, I wanted to give her my blog address. Cora (thankfully) talked me out of it. Sometimes, I forget that Hannah is only 14, and while I can usually talk to her as I would any other friend of mine, I still care about her opinion of me, too. That’s why I also gave up the idea of giving her all of my journals, one for each birthday from now until she’s caught up. After going back and reading them, I realized that none of them were appropriate.

And now she’s gone and found my Deviantart page, and favorited a piece that I would probably have been happy if she’d never read. 

My mother-in-law says, “Nothing is ever private.” And it’s true, especially in a house like this, and if you really care what people think. I’m in denial.

Part of it is that we don’t have as much money as either of us is used to, and with Baby on the way we have to watch our pennies. Nowadays, my husband can’t just go out and buy a case of beer whenever he wants, just as I can’t go to karaoke once a week and have a couple of beers.

I’m getting tired of carrying this belly around. Standing up, sitting down, getting in and out of the car, early bedtimes, and frequent trips to the bathroom are all things that seem to be working against the lifestyle I used to lead. And as much as it is my choice, it’s weird trying to wrap my head around just plain not wanting to be social when staying at home often makes me feel old and boring.

Last weekend, everyone was wrapped up in the wedding hustle and bustle. Except for me. I sat in my room sewing breast pads and watching LOST and I could hear everyone rushing by our window on their way to the church or the rental place or to pick someone up from somewhere. On the one hand, I felt lame for not spending more time with Cathy’s family while they were here. On the other hand, just listening to how busy everyone was exhausted me and I was glad for the safety of my bedroom. 

I also saw the two newlyweds heading down to their place with 3 or 4 kids in tow, all carrying a piece or two of GH3 equipment. It’s nice that theirs is a place where the kids feel comfortable hanging out. It occurred to me that ours really isn’t.

When I lived with my roommates in Nanaimo and Victoria last year, ours was always the place to hang out. We had a large group of friends and they would just walk in and help themselves to a beer and a slice of pizza and join us for a round of Rock Band. It was a delightful change from my mother’s house, which was always beautiful but never the kind of place where my friends felt comfortable coming to just hang out.

Now, here I am, a grown-up with my own home, and my house has become my mother’s. I think I’m totally okay with that.

It’s kind of about the baby, too. If our place was the hangout place for all the kids, when Baby comes they would feel more entitled to come in and see it than they will as it is. And I KNOW I am going to want to drill into their brains right from the get-go: I bring Baby to you. I can see myself losing patience very quickly with people beating down my door trying to see the baby.

Whenever I’m feeling weird about being so anti-social, my husband reminds me, “You’re at a completely different stage in your life than they are.” I guess I am forgiven for wanting to keep to myself. I do have an introverted side, after all. And all this change has been exhausting. Speaking of which, I could use a nap.

Today is a rainy, gloomy day. My husband is home again, and it is nice to just hang out with him inside when it is so gross outside. He burps really loud from where he sits browsing TSN.ca, and baby kicks me in the ribs. I smile. My little family.

My mom once shared with me a theory that she has: Super moms = lazy kids, and lazy moms = super kids. There are moms who do everything, so their kids never *really* learn how to take care of themselves. There are also lazy moms who force their kids to grow up a little faster and learn the hard way. 

My grandma was a bit of a drinker, and spent a lot of time doing her nails and drinking rum while my mom taught herself to cook. My mother went to India by herself when she was 18, moved to Calgary and put herself through Art school. My mom was a super mom, and I never learned how to cook. 

The Magpie wonders if I’m sacrificing too much of myself in this new life I’ve chosen. But I have to look carefully at the things I’ve had to change or give up for the sake of my relationship and this new role.

1. I’ve had to learn how to cook. 
Well, I’m still learning, and it’s probably going to be a while before I feel any kind of confident in the kitchen. But it’s a good skill to have, and cooking for someone else is the kind of kick in the pants I needed to get off my ass and learn a new skill. Is it stressful? Absolutely. Frustrating? Frequently. But I’m definitely learning.

2. I’ve had to cut all contact with past lovers.
It wasn’t even especially my husband dictating who I can and cannot speak to, it was more about whether or not it makes sense to keep these people in my life, when they pose a threat to my relationship with my husband (which should be the most important relationship in my life, should it not?), and wouldn’t it make me feel much better about our relationship if he did the same and didn’t talk to any of his past lovers? Let me tell you something, it sure does. Some of my past lovers were my best friends, and that’s been really hard, to let go of that aspect of my relationships with them. But it all comes with the territory of doing what’s best for this new family that I’ve chosen.

3. I’ve had to move away from my family and in with his.
What were we going to do, move into my tiny room in my mother’s house? There was a space for us here, low rent, built-in babysitters, and a hand here and there when we’ve needed it from my in-laws (new bed, anyone?). I wonder sometimes when we’ll leave the Compound, because I know my husband isn’t eager to leave, but if getting off the Compound means higher rent and not always being able to afford diapers or food, I’m okay staying here until our financial situation changes enough for us to buy a little house or something. Not that being away from my family hasn’t been hard, especially being pregnant and being away from my mom. But she’s selling her house, downsizing so that she’ll have some extra money with which to travel. She reckons she can come visit 5-6 times a year. Of course, my first choice would be to have her on the island, but you can’t have everything.

4. I’ve lost some of the best friends I’ve ever had.  
Well, it’s a shame that I no longer have these people in my life, but they obviously weren’t as true blue as I thought since they up and bailed on me at the most important time in my life. Not to mention the things they stand for, that I once stood for, are not the kinds of values that I want to influence my kid. That’s all I’m going to say about that.  

5. I pretty much always have to censor myself.
This is probably the hardest one, and I’m still wrestling with it. I have to accept that I am now surrounded by people who did not grow up in the liberal household I did, and are not used to discussing sex and other scandalous topics as freely as I am. And if nothing else, I do have to respect the way Pops and Angela are raising their kids, and try to refrain from certain topics  of conversation for the sake of their children’s innocence, even if the way they do things isn’t necessarily the way I would.

Things are different, there’s no doubt about that. Since I got pregnant and married my baby’s daddy, my world has pretty much been turned upside down. And yeah, I’ve had to make quite a few changes in order to find my place in this life. But I think, as far as compromise goes, these roles that I am now faced with require compromise and sacrifice from anyone. I don’t know any married person who didn’t have to compromise something, even if it was something as small as whether or not the toilet seat being left up is acceptable.

And about being a mom, even though I’m not one yet, I know enough moms to know that the role of “mom” is the most selfless one out there. If that doesn’t spell sacrifice, I don’t know what does. But I’m also pretty sure that being a mom and raising this kid with my husband is going to be the wildest adventure of my life. And I can’t wait.   

The wedding was beautiful. The whole family were running around like crazy people this weekend trying to get everything ready, and more than one of them had little mini melt-downs. But we pulled it off! And now Curt is married to Cathy, the girl who makes him smile more than anyone. They bicker a LOT but you can tell they’re crazy about each other. Needless to say I cried like a little sissy girl when she walked down the aisle.

It’s kind of a relief , like when  Josh and Heather were finally married in may. Because of course every couple in this family and this church are assumed virgins until their wedding night, and as the first ones to get married I’ve kind of been waiting for some more people to be inappropriate with. It was only at her bachelorette party that Cathy and I really had a heart-to-heart about sexy times.

But even when I’m sharing my experience, I have to be careful. There is a huge spectrum of things that it is just not appropriate to talk about – so of course when I am giving Cathy little tips for her first time, I don’t mention that my husband wasn’t the first man I ever slept with. Or that I was 17 – five years away from my wedding night. 

I probably talk too much about the things that I can no longer share freely with the people around me, but it’s probably been the biggest thing I have to get used to here. Forgive me, won’t you?

Cathy’s little sis Liz was here a couple days before the rest of her family, and the first time I met her we had 8 people or so crowded into our bedroom doorway while we chatted. She handed me a bag of candy from Austria and smiled shyly. There were a couple moments in the conversation where I was unsure what her opinion of me was, as I tried desperately to keep things clean and make a good impression. Eventually I gave up and said something like, “Life would be so boring without a little innuendo!” She agreed wholeheartedly and I think I made a new friend.

Cathy’s big sis, Steph, is here with her 20-month-old daughter. Aveline is pretty much one of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen. Little squealing giggles, ribbons in her blond hair, clapping as she sings a song.

My husband and I sat at a table with Steph and Aveline and ate some wedding cake. Alex looks over at the little person grabbing fistfuls of cake and shoving them into her tiny mouth, and says, “We’re going to have one of those.” I laughed because every time baby blows my mind (pretty much every day) and I look at my husband and say, “we’re going to have a kid!” it ain’t no thang for him. To see the incredulous look on his face while he gazed at this tiny girl was pretty cool. 

The wedding was beautiful, and the joining of two families was magical to watch. My husband wrapped his arms around me and we swayed to the music together, watching everyone dancing and breathing in the love that filled the air.

“I love weddings,” I said wistfully.

“Well, you’re in the right family,” my husband chuckled.

I turned around to face him. “You know what, I AM in the right family,” I said. And I kissed him.

Ring, ring. It’s the doctor. 

Hmm, okay. So, apparently I have a urinary tract infection. 

Now, I’ve had them before. I know what they feel like and I can usually recognize them a day or two before it usually starts hurting. I’ve beat them before by noticing the smallest inkling and then drinking a ton of water. When I heard that pregnant women are usually susceptible to them, I was pretty much just waiting for them to tell me I had one. 

But I figured I would notice before they told me, right? 

Apparently not. 

And it’s only now that I was told I have one that I’ve started to notice symptoms. Power of suggestion, eh?

As if I wasn’t having enough discomfort with this pregnancy. Granted, it’s been pretty easy so far, with doctor’s appointments easy breezy in and out, and I don’t have  a whole lot to complain about. But it is uncomfortable enough to make me wish every day that it was over, that my kid could be in my arms and no longer in me. That I could sleep through the night, that I wasn’t so violently hungry ALWAYS, that I didn’t crave sugar like a mad fool, that I didn’t have so many bowel problems, that my back didn’t hurt all the time, that I could breathe properly, that I didn’t get tired so quickly, that I felt more productive and prepared for labor and delivery. You know?

And now this is just another thing to add to the list of things that make me feel uncomfortable and antsy. Perfect.