Let's talk about sex, ba-by.

Today was our preliminary anatomy scan and we found out the sex of the baby!  In all of my dreams about the baby since I was pregnant, the baby has been a boy.

In the first dream, we found out the baby was a boy during the ultrasound.  He smiled at us and, surprisingly, had a full mouth of braces.  

In the second dream, I bought a bunch of girl clothes before the baby was born.  Cut to a year later, Jeff is fussing at me for dressing our son in all of the girl clothes. 

In the third dream,  what we thought was a third leg was actually an abnormally large baby penis.  The doctor marveled at its size.

So, was my subconscious correct?  Did I grow a penis?

 Baby C at 17 weeks, practicing thumb-sucking

Yep! Mr. Baby Boy Chisholm is coming to a hospital near you (well, if you live near New Orleans) in March!

Guess what!

Baby butt!

Jeff and I are excited to announce that we are expecting Baby Chisholm on March 29, 2013!

I found out that I was pregnant on Friday, July 20th. I took the pregnancy test as soon as I woke up and stared at the positive pregnancy test stunned for a minute before bursting into tears of joy. 

A week beforehand Jeff told me that I wasn't allowed to tell him that I was pregnant over the phone or computer.  As luck would have it the morning that I took the test was the only morning that he had to be at work early in ages so he was already gone by the time I saw "Pregnant" on the test.  I was dying to tell someone so I woke my parents up at 7:30 am their time.  We laughed.  We cried.  I got dressed for work.

On the ride to work, Michael Buble's I Just Haven't Met You Yet started to play on my Pandora station.  Again, I burst into tears.  The lines that really got me?  "Baby, your love is going to change me," and "I promise you kid, I'll give so much more than I get.  I just haven't met you yet."  Suddenly, the lyrics took on a totally new meaning. I was singing the song in my head to the baby.  

So how is pregnancy treating me?  Being pregnant is probably the least glamorous thing I've experienced so far in my life.  Name a symptom and I've had it.  I'm only 16 weeks along, but I feel confident in saying that I will never get the "glow" and I will definitely get the water retention.  I feel so blessed to have this little baby growing inside of me though, so I will take whatever comes my way and keep praying for a healthy baby.

Jeff has been AMAZING throughout the pregnancy.  He pets my head when I have a headache, buys me ginger ale when I'm feeling nauseous, makes me dinner and goes to the store whenever I ask.  He made the mistake early on by telling me that I "can do no wrong for the next 9 months."  I'm trying my best not to take advantage of his support. :)

If the pregnancy goes according to plan (knock on wood), the timing is perfect.  I will still be in my second trimester when we move.  From what I've read about the second trimester, that's when you're supposed to feel the best and have the most energy (Please do not tell me if that is an old wives' tale to get women through the first trimester because I'm really banking on the energy and the not-being-sick part!).  We will have about 4 months to get the house in order and get settled in New Orleans before the baby comes. 

Baby Chisholm at 12 weeks

I didn't realize until after I posted this that I never mentioned when I told Jeff about the baby.  Well, I talked to him several times throughout the day and it was killing me not being able to say anything.  I thought of a bunch of different ways to tell him and ultimately decided on something...lame.  Jeff is obsessed with his phone.  He loves it more than most things in the world.  As I heard him walking through the front door, I texted him a picture of the positive pregnancy test. I thought he would see it and get excited.  Well, he didn't notice the text and put his phone down in the bedroom.  When he came into the living room, I was sitting on the sofa looking like a kid whose hand was caught in the cookie jar and he had no idea what was going on.  I went into the bedroom and got his phone to show him the text.  It was very anticlimactic. 

coney island? check.

When Jeff and I decided to move to New Orleans, we made a bucket list of things that we have to do before we leave New York.  At the top of the list was a trip to Coney Island.  We had been putting this trip off for months, so we promised each other that we would actually go today.

I suggested that we reserve a Zipcar so we didn't have to take the 1.5 hour subway ride to the beach.  Jeff nixed the idea, insisting that a trip to Coney Island was only authentic if we took the subway.  After minute 5 on the subway he was eating his words...

I wish I had Pro Tools and a catalog of sound effects so I could create a "Coney Island Subway Ride" mix for you.  In front of me was a little boy playing games on a PSP that was set at maximum volume. At 3 o'clock there was a woman wearing one hundred bangle bracelets who cast her crying, sneezing toddler aside to change her shoes.  At 5 o'clock were four people shouting in a harsh, Chinese language (Well, I assumed that they were shouting because of how loud they were speaking, but when I looked at them - correction, glared at them - they appeared to be having a civil conversation.).  Directly behind me, two Chinese speaking teens who were talking at a rapid fire pace, also shouting like the person next to them was a mile away.  Across the train was a little girl singing in Spanish and a couple debating something in some Eastern European language.  Jeff and I were the only people speaking English on the train, and we weren't actually speaking...more like exchanging exasperated sighs and eye rolls at each other over the kaleidoscope of sounds.

So basically it was a relaxing ride that set the tone for a laid back day at the beach. 

After an hour and a half, we finally arrived at the Coney Island stop on the train.  

  
Once we were off of the train, our spirits lifted.  The subway station had colorful, stained glass windows of the different attractions (sorry no pics).  The street was crowded, but not suffocatingly so.  It was hot though.  The sun was beating down with no shade in sight so we bought an umbrella for portable shade and were on our way.  

We decided to walk along the boardwalk for a bit before tackling the amusement park.  There was  lot to take in on the boardwalk. People of every shape, color and size were strolling down it (I swear there were some people so tan that they were purple.).  There was a DJ and a troupe of dancers...well, a troupe of people closing their eyes and swaying from side to side to the music.  There were plenty of places to buy hot dogs with no lines and then Nathan's with a Mardi Gras size line in front of it.  We chose Ruby's Grill - Jeff had a hamburger and I had a corn dog.  We shared a picnic table with two women singing to the top of their lungs to a man with one tooth, two annoying girls my age who were eating raw clams...from the boardwalk...on Coney Island.  It wasn't the best lunch experience, but it left a lasting impression. 

  This guy cut Jeff's hair once and competed on America's Got Talent.

 We bought slushies here...in case you care.

 

After lunch we went to the amusement park.  It is a strange place.  It's rundown.  It's eerie.  And for a place where you encounter groups of people at every turn, it feels abandoned.  Like Oz in Return to Oz.  

There are rows of carnival games that no one is playing (mainly because they are $5 a pop).  A band, complete with topless dancers (they wore tassels on their nipples), performs for an audience of two.  There are rides operating at 20% capacity.  As sad as the amusement park is though, it is also charming.  And beautiful.  And it makes you feel like you've stepped back in time. 

I'm so glad that I remembered to take my camera with me to capture our trip.
 

 One of the abandoned arcades

  The Wonder Wheel was my most popular subject of the day.

 I love it when you call me Big Pop-pa.  

 Imagine running into this guy alone at night...creepy.

 Imagine running into this guy alone at night...he-ey.

 

 Sadly, Zoltar didn't turn us into Tom Hanks.

 A picture from the glory days...

 On the Wonder Wheel.  It was the best part of our day.  Partially because of the breeze and the view, but mainly because we were far away from all of the dirty people.

 We chose a non-swinging cart.

 I wish that I had known about the pay toilets before I used the public toilets on the beach.  The public toilets were the worst I'd ever been in...until I used the Coney Island subway terminal toilet.  I'm still shuddering at that experience.

Earlier in the day, Jeff was saying that it would be a shame if we fell in love with Coney Island. What if today was the day that we realized what we'd been missing for 8 years?  I said that if it's fabulous then it's better that we realize it now when we still have 2 months to go back.  

As we were leaving Coney Island, Jeff said with complete confidence that he will never return.  I told him that he can't be sure of that, and he asked me to give him an example of a situation that would cause him to return.  "Well," I said, "what if your brother, Greg, decides to become a competitive eater and competes in the 4th of July Coney Island Hot Dog Eating contest?"  Jeff agreed that this scenario is both likely to happen and would definitely bring him back to Coney Island.

The subway ride back to the city was much better than the one at the start of our journey.  The car was cool, almost empty, and - aside for the chronic farter two rows down from us - the ride was generally pleasant. 

Jeff even got to catch up on his reading.  He's still delighting in the breakup of Pewartson (pronounced Poo-artson)...

Home, sweet home!

 We spent almost 3 hours at Coney Island.  All in all, it wasn't the best day, but it wasn't the worst.  And we got some cool pictures and memories out of it...

the next chapter

Eight years ago today, I moved to New York.  I was 23 years old.  I had $2,000 in the bank, no job lined up, and no clue what I was going to do with my life.  The move could have been disastrous, but it wasn't.  It was life-changing.  In these eight years, I found my husband, my career, and some of the best friends I've ever known.  It only seems appropriate to officially announce on my anniversary that I will be moving back to New Orleans at the end of the year. 

The exact date of our move will depend on my job.  The lease on our apartment is up at the end of October, but I am planning large events in Connecticut and Washington D.C. in early November.  If I stay for those events, we will move home after Thanksgiving.  If I don't, we will move home after Halloween.  Either way, we look forward to planning the move and the start of our new life!   Next Wednesday, Jeff and I will fly down to New Orleans for a quick house-buying trip.  Please keep your fingers crossed that we find something we love.  Jeff's boss was gracious enough to allow him to work remotely, so he will also visit his company's Metairie office while we are in town to introduce himself and get the lay of the land.

I am so lucky to have a wonderful husband who is willing to leave his life in New York and start a new life with me in New Orleans.  He has visited New Orleans often during the course of our relationship, but I'm excited to see him become a true New Orleanian.  I'm excited for myself as well.   I left New Orleans right after college, so I've never experienced day to day life in New Orleans as an adult. I am sure it will have its challenges, but I will happily embrace them because the rewards will outnumber them at every turn.  

I will leave reminiscing about my years in New York for another post (one about which the thought of writing causes my eyes to instantly fill with tears) and save this post for celebrating my homecoming.  I look forward to crawfish boils.  To being at my niece's and nephews' birthday parties.  To spending time with my closest friends and family.  To seeing my husband develop stronger relationships with some of my favorite people in the world. To raising my own, little Y'ats.  To Mardi Gras.  To Jazz Fest.  To being in that number and seeing the Saints play EVERY game, not just the nationally televised ones.

The past eight years in New York have been amazing.  I can't wait to see what the next eight years in New Orleans will hold for The Chisholms!
 



 

archive: love is in the air

A memory from June 7, 2007:

After work, as I was walking to the subway, I saw an older man sitting on the side of a hotel smoking a cigar. 

I quickly realized that it was no one other than Mr. Fyvush Finkel. 

I smiled. 

He smiled. 

Love ignited. 

archive: someone else's head

A memory from May 6, 2007:

This morning, when I was straightening my hair, I found a very long, silver strand. Confused, I ripped it out of my head, foolishly surprised when I realized it was actually attached. I don't know how I missed this hair all of this time. It was the same length as the rest of the hairs on my old head and it was in the top layer. Why didn't anyone else notice it? 

I'm still confused about this hair. I don't think it's fair. My mom doesn't have any greys. My dad just started getting them and he is almost fifty. I got their slow metabolism and corny sense of humor genes, but missed out on the grey hair resistant head gene? That's whack. 

To make myself feel better, I'm going to pretend like it wasn't a grey hair. I'm going to pretend like it was a gift from a unicorn. Yes, it was a silvery strand of magic...from a unicorn.

archive: i'm gonna get knifed on the subway

A memory from February 21, 2007:

Exhibit A - The Crazies Gravitate Towards Me:

Tonight I had to wait on the subway platform for about 20 minutes before the train came.  Standing next to me was a girl  who was the same height as me, had the same coloring as me, and was about the same age as me.  She was, in fact, a lot like me.  Well, you know, except for the fact that she was CRAZY.   

First, she just stood next to me spouting nonsense.  I was trying to figure out whether she was high or had Tourette's.  After a couple of minutes of hearing her yell, "Taco, taco gotta get a lock-o," I decided to walk away from her.  She followed me.  I moved again.  She followed me.  Then she started singing a repetitive song about limbo in a Jamaican accent.  It was at that point that I decided, maybe if I'm on the phone she will pick someone else to serenade.  I started calling friends, but no one answered (I guess I'm not as popular as I thought I was.).  She finally looked at me and asked me why I didn't like her song.  I told her it was nice, but she said that she could tell that I didn't like it.  I told her that I just wasn't into Calypso music.  She started threatening me under her breath.  The train finally came.

Exhibit B - I'm an Instigator:

My friends Gretchen and Richard came to visit a couple of weeks ago.  We went into the Downtown 49th Street stop, but needed to go Uptown so we had to stand at the Uptown stop and wait to use our cards again.  There was a man who jimmied open the handicap gate and was charging tourists two dollars to get through.  I told them that he was breaking the law and to use the Metro Card machine.  He told me to shut the f up. Then he started going off on me.  He called me a bitch.  He told me that people like me who open their mouths get hurt.  He told me that he was going to put his boys on me.  I stood there with my mouth shut.  I really wanted to fight back, but my friends looked pretty scared. 

I think I could have taken him.

Exhibit C - I'm the Self-Appointed Subway Monitor:

In my quest to make subway riding a better experience for the masses, I have encountered many foes.  However, not being liked by everyone is a small price to pay for the good of all mankind.  When I tell people to move into the car to let others in, I'm the voice of the people.  When I tell them to move their bags off of the seats, I'm the voice of the people.  When I tell them not to let their hands slide down the pole until they're touching mine, well, I'm not exactly the voice of the people, but it makes me feel better. 

Anyway, sometimes teaching people lessons in subway etiquette calls for a little violence on my part.  If I ask someone to move into the subway to make room for others and they don't, I find a way to stomp on their feet or whack them with my purse - all types of violence that can be construed as accidental.  The other morning I made a mistake.  I asked someone to move into the car and he didn't. I wasn't at an angle to "accidentally" stomp or whack him, so when he passed me on the way out of the train I blatantly pushed him in the back.  Normally, I whack/stomp and run, but this time the perpetrator got out at the same stop as me and I was stuck behind him for several minutes while we moved like cattle up the stairs.  He kept looking back at me like I was crazy.  And maybe I am.  Maybe that's the reason for Exhibit A.  And I'm okay with that.