Monthly Archives: February 2012

What I’ve Been Up To, or The One Time in My Life I Considered Moving to the Suburbs

I wasn’t sure how to share the news, so here’s a little essay to catch you up with what’s been going on. Food has been off limits, but I’ll get back to it someday, I promise! And pictures are coming soon, regular pants officially don’t fit me anymore!

“…and here we have the other baby,” said the ultra-sound technician in a way-too-calm voice.

“No.” I said.

“Yep – twins,” she said, and continued, measuring length and heart beats etc, while pure panic enveloped my brain and I searched the room for some sign that I was dreaming. You know like if the ultra-sound tech suddenly handed me a math test that I hadn’t studied for. That would’ve been awesome.

And so began my “real” pregnancy (as opposed to the pretend one I had been living in for 8 weeks before – thinking I would just have one easy-peasy baby to care for).

My husband and I had decided to “give it a shot” back in December, figuring it would take a few tries anyway. My career was pretty stable; in fact, it would be a great time to take a little time-out from my government position, with impending budget cuts and not much movement going on. He had finally started building on our property, a project that had been years in the making, and now had an end in sight. We’d been married a year and half, and we weren’t getting any younger. I did some rough calculations, and, well, we got to it.

About a week before my period I said, “I’m pregnant” to which he replied, “No way.” I had a beer with my friend Karen and said, “It’s weird, this tastes funny. I think I’m pregnant.” She laughed at me. Finally, a day before I was supposed to get my period, I told my husband I was going to take a pregnancy test. He half ignored me. I took it, and watched as the first line showed up. Slowly, there was the second line. I walked down into the kitchen holding my pee-stick. “It says I’m pregnant.” I said. “Can’t these things be wrong?” he asked. “I think you can get a false negative, but not a false positive. Either the hormone is there, or it isn’t.” I made a doctor’s appointment, and 2 days later everything was confirmed.

A bit shocked it had happened so fast, I spent much of Christmas in a daze, taking inventory on how my life was about to change. I poured over birth stories, settled on a midwife, and started contemplating a home birth. And then the sickness hit. This was nothing I was prepared for. Life as I knew it stopped. I couldn’t eat my regular stock of healthy foods; my stomach flip-flopped at the thought of wild rice, or roasted squash or steamed kale. Just turning on the stove seemed beyond my scope. For the first time since I had first learned about the benefits of a vegan diet, I suddenly had cravings for grilled cheese, kraft dinner, French fries and chips. I had an insatiable sweet tooth which fruit was not satisfying. I was spiralling into self-loathing for the way I was eating, worry of the damage I was doing, and disbelief that I could feel so terrible. At my first mid-wife’s appointment, she recommended that I have an ultra-sound done to date the pregnancy. Since I was considering a home birth, she wanted to be as accurate as possible with the dates. And off I went.

Here’s something you should know: when I was 16, my mother had twins. My little sisters were wild, mischievous children, who ran my mother ragged. We all (there were 5 girls in total, a dog, a few cats, my mom and step-dad) were living in a town house with a tiny backyard. Things were cramped, things were stressed. And by the time my rambunctious twin sisters arrived, my mom was…tired. I remember that time with a certain level of anxiety. I was 16, trying to be independent and “grown up” and helping to care for these little girls was cramping my teenaged style. I remember feeling resentment and obligation towards my little sisters, at the same time loving them and wanting to care for and protect them. My strongest memory of my little sisters was when I was out walking with them one day when they were about 2. Suddenly one took off in the direction of the river and one took off in the direction of the road, both laughing and looking behind to see who I was chasing (I ended up going road first, I figured if the other one went into the water she had a few minutes before she went under, but a car would take her sister out instantly). I used to say I wouldn’t wish twins on anyone.

Fast forward to the discovery going on in the ultra-sound room, and suddenly all those feelings came flooding back. I immediately forgot about my fear of child-birth or my extensive plans for a calm and natural birth. All that I could think about now was I can’t do this, twins are crazy!!!

After my mom and my friends talked me down from the ledge with many offers to help and promises that it would all be okay, my anxiety found a new outlet. We needed to move. We needed a bigger house. We needed to move to the suburbs.

(By the way, shout out to my loving husband at this point, who:  1. was pretty sure his wife would never eat a vegetable again, 2. had only ever heard me swear I would NEVER move to the suburbs and 3. was currently building us a brand new house that I suddenly decided I didn’t want to live in.)

I started searching the real estate web sites, dragging him out to open houses, saying things like, “Do you think the basement is finished? We’ll need a finished basement. I’m not sure if that back yard looks big enough. How far away are the schools?”

Yesterday, I woke up feeling…better. I’m approaching the 14th week, and I guess it is true; the nausea does slowly start to go away. I made a healthy dinner, and I was chipper and awake in the evening. While watching TV last night, it dawned on me that I’ve been acting crazy. I don’t WANT to move to the suburbs. I’m basing this need on two babies I haven’t even met yet, who can’t even walk around a basement or a back yard. I realized that the anxiety I have about twins is the anxiety my mother had felt, raising her 5 kids in a small townhouse. But that isn’t MY situation. In fact, I still don’t know what my situation is, or what these babies will need.

Up until 3 weeks ago, I felt completely in control of my life. Seeing those two little bodies swimming around in my uterus changed EVERYTHING. I am not in control. Out went my home birth, out went my dreams of breast feeding, cloth diapering and baby wearing (of course, I’ll attempt all that, but I’m not going to set myself up for heart-ache if it doesn’t work out). But changing my identity – exchanging urban for suburban – is not the answer right now. For someone who practices yoga, meditates, and swears by a relaxed and carefree lifestyle, I realize I may have some letting go to do!

Here’s the part where I find the silver lining: I always knew that having children would help me to continue to grow and to discover who I am. I just didn’t realize it would happen this fast. These two little beans are already testing me, teaching me that I need to find my inner strength, not freak out, and not try to muscle my control back by making completely unnecessary decisions.

It might take me the next six months to completely wrap my brain around the fact that I’m going from no one’s mom to a mother of two. But I’m getting there. And the best part? I know where I can find a couple of babysitters who own me one.

P.S. NO offense to anyone who currently lives in the suburbs, I’m just happily residing in the city right now. I have dreams of country living one day, but the point is, change does not need to happen completely overnight! First I’ll focus on my babies and what they need, then we’ll figure out where to live!


No Food Allowed! Week 9….

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Last night was the first night in a month that I didn’t feel like I was stranded on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. This little person inside of me is already calling allll the shots, and I am slowly (knock on wood) starting to feel better.

So how does an aspiring vegan eat when nothing looks/smells/tastes appealing?

Not very well.

I admit to cheese products (never have the Nachos at The Prescott, such a disappointment). I admit to small bags of all-dressed chips. I admit to 4 donut holes and a cream cheese sandwich from Tim Hortons. I admit to a dinner which consisted entirely of steamed broccoli. Finally, I admit to an ongoing addiction to jelly beans (although I made sure they had carnauba wax instead of gelatine).

It has not been pretty. I am finally able to return to my smoothie in the morning, although I still have not been able to make it green. Pregnancy food aversions are such strange things. I haven’t tried putting kale into a smoothie, I just know that there’s no way that would get past my lips.

Ladies, they do not prepare us for the horror of the first few months of pregnancy. I have been sick. I have been tired. I cannot eat normally. I don’t have any energy. And the whole world looks strange and scary. There is so much talk about post-partum depression, but you never hear about pre-partum depression.

Before I got pregnant I was so confident that I would be the healthiest, most perfect picture of pregnancy. I had no idea that I would get completely bowled over by it.

All that to say, I am starting to feel more like myself again. I even have plans to go to the gym after work. (I said I have plans…that’s not a promise…).

All that said, I have no recipes, I am unable to discuss food.  But I can tell you that I met my wonderful midwife last week. That was an amazing moment, because it made everything feel more real. She made me feel so confident and safe; she talked a lot about how midwives and doctors and hospitals are all part of the same team, they are not exclusive of each other. And we talked about home birth, something I’ve always contemplated, but am not decided on. She told me that where you give birth often depends on the culture you’re in. So in Holland, people would think there was something wrong with your pregnancy if you gave birth in a hospital, but in Brazil, I would already be signed up for a C-section!

So that’s where I’m at. I wanted to give you an update because I am still alive…I was just really hurting for awhile. I’m coming up on 10 weeks, so I’ll try and get a picture in by the weekend (trust me, there’s not much to see!).

Enjoy some food for me! (And maybe a glass of wine!)