Being Pregnant is Awkward

I remember when I was little and I realized that in order to have children, you had to give birth to babies. (There were other steps in that process what were equally disturbing, but I won't go into that) I was really afraid of that. Whenever I would go visit my mom at the hospital after one of her many deliveries, I would see that she seemed happy and everything, but kind of glossy-eyed and dead tired.

Newborns, too, were scary. They are so little and wrinkly and pink and they make unnatural sounds and whenever someone handed me one, I would always assume I was undergoing some kind of safety test and I was failing.

It's only getting weirder.

The thing about pregnancy that I am learning is that it is a bond that ties women together. That sounds great, except for the fact that women typically bond through sharing. Sharing stories. About having babies. Every story I hear makes me feel that much more like wearing some kind of baby-concealing power belt and pretending I’m not one of them. Because technically, I’m not yet. I’m just a girl growing a baby.

The other thing is that people feel like somehow my stomach is no longer part of the socially unacceptable places on my body to touch. I will admit here that most forms of physical contact from most people are not something I welcome, so I might perhaps be a bit more sensitive to these kind of maternal bonding moments than your average mother of…any, but still.

So far, I deal with these situations like this:

Person: *leans forward to touch my stomach* “Oh, how far along are you?”
Me: *steps back and rubs my own stomach* “heh heh heh….25 weeks.”

I think in my mind, maybe the person will see that there is no need to touch my stomach, since I’m already doing it. The creepy laugh is just something that happens when I rub my own stomach.

The third awkward thing, which is related to the first awkward thing, is the fact that women who are in their final stages of pregnancy have this tendency to, at times, share more information than I want or am capable of understanding about their current physical state.

I understand that these women are miserable, uncomfortable, excited to have a baby and whatnot. But I don’t know what it means when they start telling me random statistics about their body, like how many centimeters they “are” and other indications that labor is imminent.

Confused and afraid, inevitably, I head to WebMD where I start at my current week and click through weeks for about an hour until I get to the labor and delivery part, just to ease the shock a little.

The fourth awkward thing is my body. Have you ever read the “Frog and Toad” books? They were some of my mom’s favorites. All growing up, I thought that my little sister, Mikelle was like Frog, always positive and supportive, and I was like Toad, begrudgingly doing the right thing, learning the hard way. Well, finally, I can say that there is one way in which I am more like Frog.

Physically.

Frog is the creature on the front seat, with the skinny legs and the round middle. I look at my disappearing waistline balancing on two thin little legs, and I can just hear Frog’s voice (as read by my mom) saying “You’re right, Toad! You do look funny in your bathing suit!” I'm sure I would too, if the timing of my pregnancy hadn't precluded that option.

If you actually read this whole post, I feel like you should be rewarded, so here is pretty much the only picture I have taken of my pregnant self thus far. I know it's lame to take a picture of yourself in a bathroom with a cell phone, but hey. The bump is there.

And, to be fair, my pregnancy has been great. I don't throw up (anymore), I don't get cravings to eat dirt, and I have yet to delve into the wonderful world of maternity clothes. Oh, and I get to feel Ebi/Ivy swimming around all day long. I think that probably makes up for the awkwardnesses of pregnancy.

ULTRA!sound and some big news.

I bet you thought the big news was that we are having a baby girl. Well, you are wrong. The big news is that Luke got a job with army intelligence and we are moving to San Antonio, Texas sometime next year. We found out on Wednesday, and celebrated by getting our very own Costco cards!

Life is really great right now. We knew that we would finally be able to call our baby "he" or "she" after Thursday, but we didn't know that we would also be able to call ourselves adults. I am currently celebrating my adult status by ordering prints of our wedding pictures from Costco. (It's probably important for girl-Ebi to know that her parents are married, even if she is the very definition of a honeymoon baby. It's legit.)

Anyways, ultrasound. It was incredible. Luckily, I was prepared to not find out the gender until the end, so I was happy taking in each little part of the baby and asking hundreds of questions about everything. And it was good that I was in no hurry to gander at Ebi's sexy bits, because she was in no hurry to show them off. It took three tries to finally get a clear picture, and even then, it wasn't the clearest.

My favorite part of the ultrasound actually wasn't the gender determination or the profile, though that was pretty transcendental. I loved seeing her little arms and legs moving around. I just want to point out here that I recognize that other peoples' babies are just not as cool as your own. I recognize that. I further acknowledge that this picture does not look like a human. But allow me to explain why I love it so dearly. This is a picture of MY baby and she is crossing her tiny little arms in front of her tiny little face, and, as someone who has said "I do what I want!" more times in her life than I can count, I love imagining my baby being a little snarky, too.

And here is her little body. The weird thing about ultrasounds that I somehow didn't notice during my disinterested perusal of probably a hundred pictures like this of other peoples' babies is the fact that you can kind of see the skin and the bones at the same time. This got a little bit creepy sometimes, like when the ultrasound tech lady tried to tell us that we were looking at a picture of our baby's face when we were clearly looking at a picture of a baby skull. This one is a little less of the creepy factor and more of the cool. I loved seeing the spine and the ribs, but you can also see the faint outline of a nose and lips. I'll see that nose and those lips all the time when she is born, but I hopefully won't have many chances to see her bones.

So, there you have it. Luke and I went and bought a bunch of little onesies and nightgowns at Target, and then I brought them over to show Natalie. I'm so happy that I get to share the joy of a baby with my sisters for a while, and especially with Natalie. She graciously gave me all her "If I ever have a girl" clothes saved from yard sales over the years, and we tried our best to make some headbands. She is gifted in this regard, I am not. We'll consult some blogs and try again.

As for Luke and I, we are thrilled as can be. I didn't sleep at all the night before last, anticipating the ultrasound, and then I didn't sleep last night, thinking about our tiny little girl who lives inside me. I've never been happier to lose sleep.

On Being Pregnant.

I have been pregnant for about 20 weeks now. Actually, to be precise, 18 weeks. But you don't want to know how weird and nonsensical the counting and measuring system is for pregnancy. I don't even care. All I really know is that my weekly bab-e-mail told me that I'm halfway through.

So, this Thursday, I will get to have my first ultrasound and find out all sorts of things about Ebi. When I found out I was pregnant, (in the bathroom at work. yeah. I know.) I was more than a little freaked out. I came home and just sort of sat on the couch until Luke got home. I had texted him very confusing things all day - "I'm going to take a pregnancy test?" "oh...I'll tell you later, how is work?" "um...I didn't end up taking if after all!" Poor guy. Anyways, he came home and I burst into tears.

Between blubbering, I managed perfectly articulate my fear of being a pregnant newlywed, of being fat and emotional (totally unjustified, right?) and changing so much without him ever really knowing the cool, normal-sized, non-gestating Marlee. We were both in such uncharted territory that we just sort of sat there on a scratchy couch for a few minutes without talking, then Luke said, "Let's go see what's in the dollar theater."

So, in the weeks and months that followed, we sort of followed that system. I would bemoan my state, usually after throwing up for the third or fourth time in a day, and Luke would have a good idea, like rubbing my feet or taking me for a drive. The plus side was that I didn't have much of a chance to gain weight.

But now I'm in a happy place. Ebi (our little semi-affectionate name for the baby, meaning "shrimp" in Japanese) is now as long as a banana. I feel like an organic fishbowl, and every now and then, a little swish or a bump, and that's just wonderful to me. I haven't thrown up in weeks. WEEKS. (I feel like I'm at Bulimics Anonymous, typing that.)

I understand why people wait for a while to have children, but for us, the pregnancy has brought us closer in such a unique way. I love the way that Luke will talk to Ebi as he puts lotion on my newly-expanding and insanely itchy stomach. I love how he will put vitamin gummi bears on the side of my plate. I love how he lets me move a flashlight around on my stomach into the wee hours so I can feel the baby move. I especially love how he thinks of the WORST names. (Smeagol Bangerter?!) It just feels so right to be sharing this moment, and my identity has remained perfectly intact.

So, as I was saying, this Thursday we'll find out if Ebi is a girl or a boy shrimp, and we'll probably stop calling it Ebi. This is the part where I would post a picture of my baby bump, but I really just don't have one. I don't know where I am hiding a banana-sized person, but I'm a little embarrassed about the fact that I look a little chubby at most, but nothing baby-indicating. So, whatever.
Here is a picture of me pretending to be pregnant last year for my role as Mary in our family's annual rendition of the nativity. So that's all I have for you. My real bump is lame, so I think you should appreciate this just as much.

Lime-Sized News

Dear Blog,

Today a doctor put a little plastic remote control looking apparatus on my stomach and I heard a little "thump-thump-thump."

Here's the deal: babies. I've been around them all my life. My mom would announce every couple of years that I would be receiving a new little brother or sister and then it would happen. I read a book when I was 9 or 10 about the "miracle of life" and it all seemed pretty straightforward. I did my best not to think about the gory details.

But here I am. I'm married, which is already a pretty foreign concept, and now Luke and I are going to have a baby. When I heard that tiny sound, I was in awe. My jaw dropped and I looked at Luke. Before now, it was just a "+" on a pregnancy test. But it has toes now! It needs me in a more literal sense than any living thing has needed me before.

Sometime during my college years, I was going through a painful break-up and I felt lonelier than I ever have before. I just wanted to call the guy and make up and fill that void. But I knew in my heart of hearts that he wasn't the person I was supposed to marry - he wasn't the father of my children. So I started writing letters. The idea was to regain an eternal perspective and not let loneliness dictate my actions and lead me to make mistake.

"Dear Future Children," the letters would all start out, "This is your mom. I want you to know how much I love you. I can be lonely for you. I can wait."

So the moment is upon me. I'm terrified, but I've been ready all my life. Luke is the man that I was waiting for. This is the life that I've been working for. And I've never been happier.

PS: My due date is March 25th and I'm about 12 weeks along. Since some of your aren't interested in my musings and want to nitty gritty. There you go. Jerks. :)

I Don't Even Know Where to Begin

"The first step in writing letters is to get over the guilt of notwriting. You don't "owe" anybody a letter. Letters are a gift. The burning shame you feel when you see unanswered mail makes it harder to pick up a pen and makes for a cheerless letter when you finally do. I feel bad about not writing, but I've been so busy, etc. Skip this. Few letters are obligatory, and they are Thanks for the wonderful gift and I am terribly sorry to hear about George's death and Yes, you're welcome to stay with us next month, and not many more than that. Write those promptly if you want to keep your friends. Don't worry about the others, except love letters, of course. When your true love writes, Dear Light of My Life, Joy of My Heart, O Lovely Pulsating Core of My Sensate Life, some response is called for." - Garrison Keillor

I love that, am applying it to blogs, and I'm not apologizing for my belatedness :)

When last I wrote, I was a single lady. Now, I've been married for a month. It's been the best month of my life. Being married to Luke makes me feel like I figured out the big secret - that marriage is awesome, and it doesn't necessarily mean I'm grown up.

Luke and get to watch "Fringe" into the wee hours of the night and go to yard sales on the weekends and sleep in on Sundays. We get to spend time with our families without feeling the pang of singleness.

But Luke, specifically, is the best husband that a girl can have. He is selfless, hilarious, doting, and responsible. He makes me feel like I'm the perfect wife, even though we've eaten chicken exclusively for the past four weeks (there was a sale.)

The wedding was perfect. Like everyone says, it goes by in a flash. Some kind of flowery time machine that you get in wearing a huge, fluffy white dress. But unlike what everyone says, you do notice who comes to your reception. I loved seeing everyone. I missed people who couldn't make it. It didn't ruin my day, but the happiest days should be shared with everyone. Here are some of the lovely desserts that I obviously didn't get a bite of:

And here is my beautiful bouquet, created by the incredibly talented Erika Eddington.

If you are thinking, "I wish I could see more wedding pictures," rest assured, you are probably a girl and are probably going to see more pictures soon. I haven't gotten the CD from my photographer yet, and since most of you are my Facebook friends, I didn't want to repost all the other pictures here. So that's that.
After the wedding, Luke and I made our way to the Oregon Coast for our amazing honeymoon. We made a Google map beforehand, and actually stuck to it pretty well. The plan was to drive to Redding, CA, then over to the coast, stay somewhere, drive to Newport, sleep, Tillamook then Portland, sleep, Seattle then Bellevue, sleep, and then Spokane for our open house the following Friday. Is it okay if I just do a montage of pictures now? You can scroll through them really quick if you want to.








Did we stay on a steamboat that was also a bed and breakfast? Yeah. We did.
In Portland, we saw Shilah and Craig Will. They are the best, and weren't awkward about being part of our honeymoon. Craig looks like he was awkward, but I swear he wasn't.

On our last night, we ate at The Crab Pot in Seattle. Piles of crab and two hammers = bliss.

Again, I don't really have words for our Spokane open house. It was beautiful. We just breezed into town and were treated like royalty, with a newly painted house, tulle and lights everywhere, and wonderful ward friends and old friends and chocolate strawberries and everything good. Here are some pictures, again.





The cake was done by the ever-charming Abbie Mecham, and the evening was brought to me by my 10 siblings, their spouses, and other loving friends and family. I was and am truly humbled by everything that everyone did.

I will try to be posting more often now, but I can't make any guarantees. But thank you for reading, and thanks for the support. I couldn't be happier.

Mikelle

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away.

-Dinah Craik

Change has never been terribly easy for me. I tend to panic and dig my finger into whatever I had before, even if it was only just okay. In this case, I think I'm doing admirably at adjusting to the concept of marriage and then living with a guy and then babies and then not Utah. The night I got engaged, I went over to Mikelle's house. She is my little sister and best friend. Having her here at BYU has been a dream come true, something that we planned and schemed about for about four years before it actually happened.

When I told Mikelle that I was engaged, she cried. Not entirely a happy cry, and I understood. Up until now, she'd always just been a step or two behind me, and I'm always turning around to cheer her on - "Come on, just a little farther, and then we can be in high school together!" "Next year, we can take classes together at BYU!" I've always wanted her with me, to laugh with me about the weird guys we meet, to tell me to stop gossiping, to just understand me. In college, you are recreated. Seeing people from home can bring so much comfort as you reminisce about your hometown and school days. Seeing someone you can't remember life without? That grounds you and reconnects you to your true self.

So now I'm getting married and to say that I will miss Mikelle is just insufficient. I don't know what life holds for the near or distant future. I invited her on our honeymoon, but she's being all weird about it. Her loss, I say. I guess now I'll have to reach back and yell "Come on, Mikelle. Just find the right guy and we can start this chapter of our life together." My life is complete when she's in it.

Kelly Clarkson on the Y, Remember, Kell?

One Of Those Awful Wedding Posts

Probably the only thing I have been doing consistently during the last three weeks, besides missing Luke, is planning. Before I left Provo, our wonderful friends, Lisa and Tyler Lewis, created a beautiful design for our wedding invitation. I printed tons of those, and then my mom printed tons of pictures and now we have a complete product.

Isn't that just great? I think we're pretty classy.

Yesterday, I went over to the house of my dearly beloved sewing teacher from years ago and watched her make a veil for me. The idea was that she would help me make it, but I forgot that she is the nicest lady in the world.

She added those beautiful flowers and pearls and shiny things, and even wearing it in my unwashed hair with jean on, I felt surprisingly princess-esque.

That picture is so tiny because I took it on my cell phone, turned around backwards in the mirror. It was was reminiscent of my Myspace days, when angles were everything.

While in Georgia, Andy and I worked on wedding decor nearly every day. I will probably post picture of the crepe paper flowers and branches and birds when I actually put it together, but it will look something like this. In the meantime, here are the letters we made for the favor table:

I had never used a Cricut before, and it was a singular experience. I imagine the birds on either side of the letters, maybe holding up some kind ribbon, I really don't know. I think I just keep imagining those birds on Cinderella that are always in pairs and carrying things around.

Andy made this amazing little plaque/board/sign thing for me to display at the wedding, and then take home and put in the house that I will share with a man (that concept is still pretty weird for me).

I feel like I cannot long delay the day when decor that is not of my choosing will adorn the walls of my house, gifts from those who don't know me well or products of Relief Society activities.

mmmm....thanks. also, you really can find anything on Google.

But until then, I can look at my cute little board and know that it is exactly what I want. I have so many great people helping me out with all those oddly fun girly stuff. Life's pretty great.

Home

Let me tell you how wonderful it is being in Washington. I feel like it adds days to my life. It is probably going to be the last time I visit home as Marlee Nelson, and I know that marriage and babies changes relationships with siblings. Mostly for the better, but after spending a few days here, I feel grateful for this short time I get to have with my brothers and sister as just Marlee.

The oldest sibling at home is Seth. He is brilliant, athletic, outgoing, hilarious - altogether much more ready for adulthood than I was (am). When I flew in on Saturday afternoon, he had just driven his brothers home from a camping trip. He is taking one of the cutest girls in our ward to Prom. In a ward where parents tell their sons to go on cheap dates so as to "not spend money on someone else's wife," Seth is planning a wonderful evening, and is genuinely excited to make this lucky girl feel special. I love his laugh, and how he sees humor in everything. He's such a good friend.

Next comes Brian. He has totally surprised me this trip. He is so helpful and generous, not at all the whining, teasing brother I feel like I had just a few months ago. On Sunday, determined to make a beautiful centerpiece for the dinner table, we searched for budding branches and then clippers to remove them. He's quieter now, reminding me more of Eric, and is often deep in thought. He's also super tall, reminding me of some non-Nelson tall person. He's so cute and interesting. I can't wait to get to know this new Brian better.

Oh, Marielle. The youngest girl, surrounded by brothers. She is so unique. I don't think she's ever picked up a Barbie in her whole life, but she can name all the feral cats that roam our 20 acres. As soon as I walked in the door, she whipped out a guitar and showed me how she had learned to play one of my favorite songs. She keeps a low profile, but she's stubborn as all get out. When I tried to put make-up on her, she said very matter-of-factly "I think I'm pretty enough the way I am." I love her.

The youngest and smallest is Peter. This brown-eyed, brown-haired boy adds such a spark of life to our family. He loves telling us about his life - his teacher, his thoughts, his convoluted dreams, his friends. On Sunday afternoon, he begged and begged me to go out to the hammock with him and I finally consented. He said, "Okay, now we're going to tell each other the scariest stories we can think of. I'll go first." He continued like this for an hour, asking questions, and then answering them immediately. The best one was "What was your favorite miracle that Christ performed?" He is great.

Billie Holiday and Other Idols

I took a history of jazz class once. I can't remember anything that I learned except that most every musician does exorbitant amounts of drugs and that jazz music soothes the soul. I was always drawn to Lady Day aka Billie Holiday aka Eleanora Fagan. Her voice lacks the melodic quality of Ella Fitzgerald and the raw power of Etta James, but there is something haunting and beautiful. She was arrested for drug possession as she lay dying. Tragic

She came to mind today because I went to the Georgia Museum of Art today and saw this painting:
I liked it, but it was the high point of the museum. The security guards were super old and scary. I feel like I added some class to the job. I wanted to stick up my nose and say "you don't have any real authority. I know all about it. And you call that sweater vest a uniform?" And then do my best impersonation of Caroline Bingley and make them feel vastly inferior.

"Surely, you caaan't be serious."

May the Fourth (Be With You)

I wrote this whole witty post about Star Wars and stuff, but it got deleted (I'm pretty new at this) so I'm just going to sum it up.

1. This is awesome mostly because of the love handles.

2. Luke Bangerter is a huge Star Wars nerd and I love it.

3. I went to the Zoo Atlanta (weird Georgians and their trendy word arrangin') and took this video for Mikelle.

4. My sister-in-law and I have been working on some cool wedding decor, which will be the (bantha) fodder of future blog posts.

I'll be heading to Spokane, Washington this weekend. It's going to be great.

Ode to the MOA

When I was 18, and preparing to attend BYU in the Fall of 2007, I applied to work at the Brigham Young University Museum of Art. Fresh out of high school, I was more concerned with abusing my newly found freedom than paying for college, but somehow I landed a job as a security guard (a shallow hiring pool, I'm told.)

Pre-MOA Marlee: Before the pepper spray.

The first thing I did upon receiving my uniform was take some emo pictures to match my new hair.

Not even the toilet in the background can detract from the hotness.

Needless to say, I didn't take the job very seriously. Once the "new uniform" feeling wore off, I mostly just did the bare minimum at work, nose buried in a clipboard. What changed? Firstly, I met this girl:

Jessica Day, as was. She was funny, smart, mildly inappropriate, and also under the employ of the Museum. Unlike me, she valued art and added value to her job. I slowly started to look forward to work, as we became better friends. She would later help me shift my style from emo to hipster, without which I might still be wearing belts donned with bullets and more eyeliner than the average lid can sustain. We should all be grateful for that.

The real epiphany happened when I went home for the summer. Applying at every place in Deer Park, Washington, and meeting rejection, McDonald's was my only option. It was hot, greasy, trashy, exhausting, and just sad.

The uniforms were no longer a crisp white, adorned with badges and glory, but closely resembled the oil vats into which millions of McChickens journeyed daily, under my supervision. I listened to my coworkers talk about the parties they went to, the conquests they engaged in, resulting in a child or two a-piece, resulting in tattoos to commemorate said children. The highlight of my whole summer was the guy who came through the drive-thru blasting classical music and telling me how "awfully cute I was." I smiled for the better part of an hour.

O, how I missed the MOA! I came crawling back that fall, reverently put my

uniform on, and proceeded to guard the art with a new sense of purpose. Okay, that's not true, but I made an important new friend.

Samuel James Dunn, Esq., referred heretofore as Sam Dunn. He would

become one of my best friends at BYU. We both majored in English, laughed at the same things (which, admittedly, is not saying much, since he's a pretty cheap laugh) and had a strikingly similar outlook on life. He would listen to my long rants - usually dating woes - and once popped a gross blister on my foot. I would encourage him to do as little security guarding as possible, and debate the value of modernism. As far as work was concerned, he was an excellent security guard, and it made me at least think about taking my job seriously. We fought boredom valiantly.

My change of attitude improved my relationship with my boss.

Randy O'Hara, who scared me to death for the first year, became the second father that I never knew I wanted. Our list of commonalities was short. Our definition of LDS was as different at our delineation of what Conservative meant, but eventually, that didn't matter. He loved his student employees, and we loved him. He was generous, hilarious, pragmatic, and fair. He told me at least a hundred times that he only hired me as a tax benefit because of my "special needs," but on my last day at work, he got teary-eyed as he told me that I make his heart smile. I love that guy.

One of the hardest things about graduating was leaving the MOA. Obviously, it was time, and my work pants showed the wear of the thousands of hours I spent walking through the galleries, but when I return to Provo, I think I will have to fight the urge to return and reminisce, or at least don and backpack, wield a camera, and give the current guards some excitement. It houses some fantastic art, and employed some incredible people. Thanks.