Since the dissertation is mostly stagnant right now, I’ll explain why the events in my first post qualify as “momentous.”
ONE: I ran the Chicago Marathon in October 2006. Enough said. It was brutal—unseasonably cold (read: below freezing). Thinking that I would be running in pleasant fall weather, I wore running shorts and a T-shirt. No one has ever complimented me on being over-prepared. But, beyond that, it was a fabulous experience.
TWO: A pregnancy test read positive in November 2006. Nate was sitting at the computer while I was watching the test turn from blank to a little plus sign in the bathroom. He found out that he was going to be a father when I said, “Ummm, Nate.” Classy.
Morning sickness is real. And it’s often not limited to the morning. Let this be a warning to you if you should ever decide to get pregnant: Don’t ride in a car with an Italian sub from Jimmy John’s. You will hold your load until you get home and unleash. Trust me.
THREE: The final seven months of my pregnancy were fabulous. I often forgot I was pregnant during the second trimester, save for my expanding waistline and ass.
FOUR: OK, so the last seven months were MOSTLY fabulous. There were some not-so-fabulous points, mostly related to the incredibly horrible house we moved into in June. In May 2007 we learned that our landlord was selling the duplex where we were living. Bummer. We really enjoyed that place. In a fit of urgency, we saw a cute little house in a cute little neighborhood. When we toured the house a cute little man must have lived there because his style was nothing short of fabulous. It also camouflaged the slanted floors.
When the cute little man moved out, the cute little house stopped being cute and started being NASTY. Nate named it the Wacky Shack and we both broke out in a fit of tears on the day we moved in (hey, I have an excuse: hormones). We tried to see the silver lining about the house. We really did. We lived in a great neighborhood. We could walk everywhere, which was increasingly important because I could barely fit behind the wheel of the car. But we hated it. We really did.
FIVE: Moving on… Benny was five days, lonnnngggg days, late. When I passed my due date, I thought I would be pregnant forever—or at least two more weeks. But, I started feeling contractions at 3 a.m. on July 25, 2007. I didn’t want to get Nate’s hopes up, so I didn’t wake him up until 4:30 a.m. to help me time contractions. PAPA, THIS WAS FOR REAL! We drove to the birthing center at 9 a.m. I was seven centimeters dilated (for those of you who have not birthed, babies come at 10 centimeters). Benjamin Jasper Brown arrived at 1:30 p.m. He was the most beautiful baby on earth. I loved him instantly.
SIX: Until… my hormones got the best of me and postpartum depression set in. I won’t even go into this story now. It deserves its own post. Needless to say, six months after the fact, I still can’t believe that this happened to me. This needs more explaining. I’ll try to do that in a future post.
SEVEN: The move to
And finally, EIGHT: Last month I month completed my comprehensive exams, wrote my dissertation proposal, and flew to