Momming Around

“He Don’t Eat No Meat?”

Posted on by Beth Hull

[I can’t take credit for the Salad is Murder thing – it was a postcard I purchased years ago in San Rafael. Unfortunately I can’t dig it up anywhere, so had to recreate it. Apologies to the original artist. Hers is WAY better.]

[Insert movie still from My Big Fat Greek Wedding here. Copyright paranoia, c’est moi.]

We eat meat. Not a whole bunch. Maybe two meals involve meat each week. We get a lot of protein from tofu, cheese, beans, and eggs. As a result, Z has never really had to think about where meat comes from, and we never really told her. “Hey kid, by the way, that’s Chicken Little you’re gobbling up right now.” Or, “Remember the cows in ‘Click Clack Moo’? Yum! That’ll teach ’em to go on strike!” Or, “Yup, that Olivia is a darling, and she makes FINE bacon!”

Not really the conversation we’ve been eager to have.

So the other day, we’re at the table, and I’m eating my DELICIOUS HAM AND CHEESE CROISSANT OH MY GOSH MUST GO BACK FOR MORE and somehow, it comes up. Meat. That it comes from animals.

And Z just giggling, and saying, “That isn’t right, that isn’t right!” and she means that we’re joking, we must be, because who would eat those cute little animals?

Well, we do, I guess. I’ve toyed with the idea of going vegetarian, or maybe restricting my meat consumption to fish. But nothing’s pushed me all the way in that direction…yet. Maybe Z will be the one to do it. (Fish as food doesn’t seem to bother Z at all – she has a Finding Nemo toy that did not make it into her stuffed friends drawer but went, instead, to her pretend food bin).

Because who wants to eat Olivia?! (Well, if Olivia’s in my ham and cheese croissant, the answer is: I do.)

Parenting and Productivity

Posted on by Beth Hull

Before I had Z, I considered myself fairly productive. I finished the first draft of a novel, which seemed like a pretty big deal at the time. It took me about two years.

After Z, I finished another novel draft in one year. My third one took about six months or so.

Today, just finished the first draft of my fourth novel, and it took less then three months. (It’s really really short, and really really horrible, but that’s what revision is for.)

So what I’m wondering is, am I more productive with the writing because I know how fleeting free time is, so I don’t waste it? Or is it that I’m “growing up” finally, and getting a little more self-disciplined? Or am I  a more effective writer, because of all the practice? Or all of those, or none?

And before you think I’m writing more because I’ve let housework fall by the wayside, no, I can assure you, I’ve always let housework fall by the wayside. (And I always will.) (Yes, that’s a promise.)

Does anyone else have experience with this – whether for you, or someone you know? More productive with kids, as unbelievable as it sounds?

Yoga

Posted on by Beth Hull

I don’t know if it will fix my Whoofle-chewed pelvis, but I felt fantastic while in the studio yesterday, and I feel fantastic (although a tad sore) today. Strong. No, I didn’t walk through the yoga studio doors and transform into a graceful, light-on-my-feet butterfly. Still cumbersome & awkward, yes. But more in control of, or maybe at peace with, my body.

One other pregnant woman in the class – I thought she was at least a month behind me, but no, I learned afterward she’s further along by a month. Just, you know, smaller and cuter. I took a moment to envy her definitely-not-whaline figure, then decided to give myself a break and let it go. Remember, at peace with the body. I’m getting too old and pregnant for body issues. Let’s hold on to the fantastic.

The JOYS of Pregnancy

Posted on by Beth Hull

I’m tired of whining. Even when (I think) I’m being funny, I’m still complaining.

Well not today! Today I am going to share with you the WONDROUS WONDERS OF WONDER that are being pregnant. And I will conveniently leave out any complaining.

Joyous Wonder #1: Maternity Jeans

I’m a sweats/yoga pants girl at heart. I call my yoga pants part of my “uniform” for my “job” of writing during the first part of the day and taking care of Z during the second, rather louder, part of the day (and night). Sometimes I put my pajamas back on immediately after taking my shower. Yes, I confess all these things with absolutely NO SHAME. However, maternity jeans are the one thing other than sweats that I could wear around the house. I just told a friend that I may wear my maternity jeans in perpetuity even after the baby is born. For those of you who don’t know, maternity jeans look something like this:

I thought a half-naked blue, one-eyed alien woman would be preferable to a half-naked human woman. Let's see what kind of weird search hits I get on my blog this week.

Joyous Wonder #2: The Pregnancy Card

This is really just the special privileges a pregnant woman can get from her husband. Homes will go out at 9 p.m. to get food for me, or he’ll make special meals at my request (still waiting on those enchiladas, though…no wait, I had those. Well, I want them again. Must put in a request). Different husbands/partners may give the pregnant woman in their life different privileges with the pregnancy card. My privileges mostly amount to food and not lifting heavy things. I might get out of doing the dishes soon because my stomach’s getting too big for me to reach the faucet.

Joyous Wonder #3: Quickening

No jokes here. I freaking love feeling the baby move. And because I know this will be my last baby, I’m trying to memorize the feeling. Maverick’s more of a kicker/puncher than Z was. I mean, Z moved a bunch, but her moves were mostly stretches, like an alien foot arching across my stomach. Maverick’s, like, dancing in there or something. Anyway, it’s crazy cool, and I’ll miss it.

Joyous Wonder #4: No Dieting Allowed

I know things are different for women diagnosed with gestational diabetes. Thankfully, that’s not me (knock on wood. KNOCK ON WOOD!! I mean it. Everyone. RIGHT NOW). So if I want to have a teeny tiny salad for dinner, followed by a gigantic slice of chocolate cake for dessert, well. It’s not like I’m tracking Weight Watchers points or actually paying any attention to weight gain whatsoever. Until I start seeing my cheeks puff out (and I check, I admit, almost daily), I’m going to eat what I like. What’s amazing is it’s mostly salads that I want, not cake. (But yeah, if the cake’s there, I’ll eat that, too.)

So there you have it, The Joyous Wonders of Pregnancy. See, there are good things to it! And like I said with the fetal movement, I know it won’t last forever, and this is my last chance to enjoy it, so enjoy it I shall.

But I still feel like a Whoofle chewed up my pelvis and gave it back to me all mangled and crooked. Just sayin’.

The Cold – A Tragedy in Three Acts

Posted on by Beth Hull

Act I

The Ever-Suffering Mother isn’t suffering quite so much. She has a lifetime supply of peanut M&Ms in the cupboard, a loving husband (who buys her M&Ms) and a darling daughter, and lots of writing time during the day. But by the endof Act I, she develops a sore throat. This can’t be good.

Act II

Like any valiant heroine, she attempts to help herself through lots of naps, liquids (milkshakes count, right?), and more naps. (Medication is, given her pregnancy, pretty much out of the question. Further helping us define the meaning of “suffering.”)

Despite her valiant efforts, the sore throat has grown into a Sore Throat of Doom.

By the end of Act II the sore throat has gone away (hooray!) only to be replaced by copious amounts of snot. Act II is plagued with phegmatic and lethargic dialogue, lots of adenoidal voice-overs, mouth-breathing, and we’ll throw the World’s Shortest Rejection Time on a Short Story in there as a subplot (5 hours 11 minutes).

Act III

In Act III, the Ever-Suffering Mother overcomes the rejection, but not the snot, and the Cold replays itself for other beloved members of her family, compounding its effects through sleeplessness, irritability, and general malaise.

The End.