Meeting the Other J

Y'all, my husband-to-be is ridiculous. This is important because I, too, am ridiculous but homeboy takes it to another level. Have you ever spent time with a child in a place like Disney World? If not, I'm sure you can picture it.

You are holding his hand as you walk up to the park's gates and he catches a glimpse of those iconic ears and *squeaks* with glee. He then proceeds to forcefully tug on your hand to race through the park, careful not to miss a single ride or character sighting - all the while donning a megawatt smile spanning from Fort Lauderdale to Los Angeles? See below for image.

Well, this is Jonathan at the grocery store. In line at the post office. Doing dishes. Brushing his teeth. Even flossing! I'm.not.kidding. Who is excited to floss?? This guy.

So, now imagine Jonathan at a place meant to inspire, excite, or delight. He is a bit like Tigger when Tigger is being Tigger.

Because I am the author of this blog, readers are privy to my anxiety thoughts but you've perhaps not seen much of Josie's other X chromosome provider save for second-hand stories. Well, today that changes.

Jonathan and I went to the Brooklyn Museum on Saturday to compete in a scavenger hunt against other couples -- even at 21 weeks pregnant, I am conditioned to kill, kill, kill. I told Jonathan to hold me back because the last time we did this I was racing around Manhattan in heeled booties and was exhausted after. You see, I am also like that little boy pictured above but more psychotic goal oriented, focused, and determined.

It turns out the hunt was cancelled so we spent a leisurely hour or so "enjoying" the art. It occurred to me that in all of our adventures, we hadn't visited many museums together. I know this because Jonathan in a museum is HILARIOUS. I am sure I was disrupting the thoughtful, reserved visitors around me with my snorts and squeals but just listen to this maniac!

I made him pose with several paintings so I could remember his observations. He oscillated between first-person narration and general commentary. PS-he will also do this at a winery, is equally absurd, and for hire.

"ME? I have the longest stem? Awwww..."

"She is a sassy Morticia Addams"

"Mary was never able to conceive children of her own 

but she treated those watering cans like they were her own flesh and blood."

He did this for probably 17 more paintings but my phone was dying. I was also dying laughing.

As I am writing this, Jonathan is on the couch next to me on the phone. With my dad. When Jonathan had the "So, how do you feel about this whole me marrying your daughter thing?" conversation with Popsicle, my dad was pretty into it with the stipulation that Jonathan call him once a week. My dad sent us a reminder text this morning that he misses us and Jonathan is a very dutiful son-in-law-to-be so he called right after our Babies and Beers Jersey City Moms afternoon gathering. They spent about 30 minutes recounting the stories my dad used to tell toddler through school aged Jaimie. My dad's creativity knew no bounds when I was a child and his stories helped me make sense of the world. Among them were such hits as:

• The Bandaid Fairy: this was ESSENTIAL after my dad ripped off a bandaid without my permission. We basically had to have a fairy for everything in the Krause house after that.
• The Three Squirrels: I was informed three was to become five with this tree house tale. Jaimie Squirrel probably had mixed feelings about this as she enjoyed being a spoiled solo squirrel.
• The Witches with Green Tongues: a way to incentivize vitamin consumption. I'm not sure it ever worked.
• Little Miss Messy: okay, maybe I wasn't always so neat but something triggered later in life because don't even think about putting a glass down on my coffee table sans coaster.
• Crash and Wheels: post-game analysis for Jaimie the soccer player + any teammate in the car ride home. I probably played college soccer just to see what happened when Crash grew up.

Jonathan was particularly amped about The Bandaid Fairy and is looking forward to introducing her to Josie. 

He is now baking a cake. How did I get so lucky?

Are you there God? It's me, Jaimie.

Getting pregnant in New York (now we live in New Jersey but it's in Jersey City which is totally the 6th borough because Wikipedia says so) means I am surrounded by incredible, fantastic, brilliant people who have chosen to reproduce much later in their lives than what is more commonplace in other regions of the US. It *might* be because New Yorkers (in general) are Peter Pan commitment-phobes but what do I know? I'm new here.

What I'm trying to say is I am an island. Virtually zero of my friends in the northeast have babies and so I'm stuck to wonder why I've become incredibly itchy in the second trimester by myself. After suspecting the dreaded bed bugs and washed everything I own, I decided to join a MeetUp group called Jersey City Moms because I needed people. I needed mothers to reassure me that these things are normal (or tell me that I am a weirdo) - I just needed guidance. *Shout out to my girlfriends in TX, NC, MD, CA, and FL because y'all have been my saviors.*

Last week I had my first JC Moms outing. I met with three other women at this quaint Italian restaurant and within five minutes I was firing questions faster than the professors did during my dissertation defense. At complete strangers. It was amazing. I am certain they think I am insane.

• Tell me what surprised you most about labor.
• How hard is breastfeeding? Follow up question: There is nipple cream??
• When it is reasonable to travel an hour and half to Harlem to teach my graduate school class after giving birth?
• How has your relationship changed with your partner?
• When did your child sleep through the night?
• Why can't your belly deflate like a basketball after a baby is no longer there?
• WHAT DO YOU MEAN PEOPLE EAT THEIR OWN PLACENTA?

Guys, it was ridiculous. It felt like sixth grade health class and I knew as much about all of this stuff going in as I did in sixth grade so it kind of worked out. I am super grateful to these ladies for totally spilling it to me (also a complete stranger). I think I even made a friend coming out of the day!

I'm now aware of this mommy bond that exists when you lose all dignity with your feet up in stirrups for 12+ hours and you become more of a vessel than a lady and things come out of you that seem to serve no purpose other than mortification. PS-I YouTubed a live birth last night. DO NOT DO THAT. Ever.

Also, in other news, Josie KICKED and won't stop! It is half scary, half amazing, and 100% anxiety relieving. I guess "ask and you shall receive" works. In that case... 

Josie, please be born healthy and with a trust fund.

Josie's on a vacation far away

I have to admit it. I've never wanted to be kicked so badly in my life. I've never hoped and wished someone would kick me...until now.

It's no secret - I am a bit of a worrier. However, when Jaimie gets pregnant, there's a lot of "What ifs" that fire at an alarming rate throughout the day.

• There are already so many cute babies. What if Josie is a mutant?
• What if Josie declares she is vegan at birth? What will she eat?
• What if my belly (and the rest of me) is growing but Josie...isn't?

The last one is a real "What if". I *think* I can feel her moving. At least, that's what I'm sensing as their weird pains travel in my belly, as if a cactus got in a miniature submarine and decided to explore my insides. In case you are wondering, I did Google cactus in a submarine to post a graphic but alas. Still, around this time mothers report feeling their babies' feet all up in their grills.

Here's my hope: she isn't kicking because Josie's on a vacation far away. If you don't know this musical reference, listen below. Also, revisit the 80's because this was THE JAM.

I picture her, milk drunk, relaxing and sunning. Just a little less developed as a 20 week-old fetus.

Josie, if it's not too much trouble (between your beach yoga and zip lining) would you mind just sticking out that darling little leg of yours and aim your adorable little foot for my belly and KICK?

PS-if you don't know how to kick, I would like to remind you your mother was awarded a full college scholarship for soccer and this is slightly embarrassing.

Things my mother says

Look, world. If you interact with me these days, anything you say or do is fair game. Especially when related to my uterus. With that said, I give you: Things my mother says.

I actually only have one thing to share but it's so epic it counts as seven things.

I am going to a wedding this weekend (not my own, don't get excited - I'm saving that for when I can just order a silky white table cloth and call it a gown) and I needed something to wear. We've already been over "the nothing fits and hasn't for two months" bit...

Before I share the thing my mother said, I would like to address maternity clothes at large.

Maternity Clothes: You are pretty lame. I don't really want to dress like a JC Penny's catalog from 1998. Why are you insisting on this?

<rant over>

Where was I? Right. Dress shopping.

I found something I liked but it was two parts too casual and one part wrong season. Fail. I still tried to get away with it so I took a dressing room selfie to see if it looked as inappropriate as I suspected. I then realized my mother hadn't seen me in person yet and I am FIVE MONTHS PREGNANT. That's a lot. And, if you haven't noticed, I'm a lot. There's a whole lotta Jaimie to go around these days. So, I sent her the photo...

In case you can't see the text, I shall recount it for you.

Jaimie: I am huge. Be prepared.

Mom: You better be built like the Holland Tunnel to cork that baby out!

Folks, there's nothing like a mother's love to lift you up when facing the impossible. 

I only hope I will entertain Josie half as much as my mother entertains me.

Also, in a somewhat related note - I marvel often about how huge I am (pregnant) but will be certain to pass on nothing but healthy body vibes to Josie. This inspirational and informative article is a good guide.

Kids, don't try this at home

First comes babies, then comes diamonds. That's how the song goes, right? As I've been telling my college students: "Kids, don't try this at home."

Although Jonathan officially proposed marriage on February 22nd, I agreed to spend my life with him in October when we decided to raise a family together. You see, we've both been previously married and were far more interested in the kind of commitment that brings binkies, bottles, and bears. Also, if Goldie and Kurt can do it (and Angelina and Brad almost did it), so can we! Right?

Well, I think we got swept away in the romance of getting married (much to our surprise) and it became clear our parents would have a heart attack like to see us make it legal, so we decided to acquiesce.

Jonathan revealed later he had lots of different plans for the proposal but we are so damned busy that there was only one day in the months of January through March that would work.

The plan was to take bump photos on this gorgeous boardwalk near our new apartment with the Manhattan skyline in the background. Interestingly, I ran across this very boardwalk whilst marathon training and fantasized taking pictures ending in a proposal because it is so lovely...who knew I was dreaming up my own proposal?

...except, it happened to be a very icky, wintry day: lots of sleet, lots of pre-existing nasty snow on the ground. This is how we found ourselves at the MoMA.

This is a re-enactment.

I should note: I worked nine hours the Saturday before and tried very hard to cancel this day. I was grumpy and tired. I perhaps took my usual pregnancy grump to an all-time high. In my defense, see the above photo. Would you want to leave the house??

I am sure Jonathan was repeating to himself: "You are proposing to the nice Jaimie. This monster will not be here forever. Remember nice Jaimie. She is real."

Much to my chagrin, Jonathan and I hopped in a cab heading towards a surprise destination. Because I was especially pissy, I was dressed in a way that suggested I was a six year old who raided her mother's closet and was wrongfully allowed to make outfit choices. I am wearing the dress you see in the photos + tights + knee-high brown boots + a scarf + a winter coat + mittens + earmuffs + a fairly frumpy (but warm) woven cardigan. Meanwhile, Jonathan looks like a normal adult male dressed for an afternoon of proposin'. I should have smelled it on him.

We arrived at the destination and Ashley and her lovely boyfriend met us there. This part is planned and I expected to see them. We started taking photos with lots of exhibits for a long time. Pissy Jaimie turned hungry which means she turned into the Hulk.

Alas, there were peacekeepers among us who settled me down and convinced me to take a few more photos. Below are a sample of pics from the day, culminating with the proposal. After we were nearly done with the photoshoot, we reviewed the pictures and looked for the light/setting we liked the best. It turns out it wasn't art but actually this gorgeous window overlooking a much clearer snowy garden.

Before I knew it, Jonathan was on his knee and a large group of cheering people assembled. It was very sweet and softened even the greenest giant. I realize I did a good job of hiding my green skin and bulging muscles (but not my bulging belly) here.

And so, away we go.

Pretend my nails are manicured and my skin is moisturized.

And this is why I chose him.

I emailed Jonathan, who is currently in CA on business, to weigh in on a fairly minor decision: which set of shelving should we purchase for our closet? This is his reply:

He effortlessly drops classic literary references in a ridiculous email.

Also, spoiler alert. Now you know the name of our sea monkey. :-)

1 and Counting

Jonathan and I made the most horrifying discovery this past weekend. We were lazing about the morning in our hotel room, flipping through channels and looking for something on which we might burn a few brain cells. Well, we found it.

I haven't paid much attention to the family that keeps on growing. You know the one. 17, 18, and now 19 and counting...and this is not tallying second generation spawn so their family is probably bordering on 35 and counting. They seem to have impossible reproductive systems. They are basically gremlins who fell into the Atlantic.

The tragedy is not that this family exists. The tragedy is they took our idea.

I would like you to refer to the name of this blog. You see, we are both Js and thought it would be the perfect blend of adorable and geeky to name our daughter a J name. I don't think I am officially allowed to disclose the name yet (Jonathan is the name police) however let's just say not only did the gremlins take our idea, but one of their 70 children has OUR NAME.

Look at all of these Js. Guess which one of these mutants stole our name.

It's not like the Duggars can dissuade us of our brilliant and creative plan, but it's just disconcerting to know that we are following in the footsteps of these folks. And, if I'm being honest, watching this show for 15 minutes made me wildly uncomfortable. The children staged a staged variety show/dinner theater for their parents, and the parents addressed each other in a way that made my skin crawl. The production was so contrived that you could basically see the producers mouthing the words to the biblical songs off to the side of their makeshift stage the way a ballet teacher twirls along with their pint-sized ballerinas during their first recital...except then the ballet instructor leaps on stage and shoves her pupils aside to perform her very own Swan Lake. After furiously turning in circles completely unaware of her surroundings and dancing like her tutu is on fire, she looks up and realizes what she's done. That's how I felt when I watched the Duggars in action. Ashamed. Sad. Embarrassed.

So, here we are. 1 and counting. We only have 18 more to go.