little black journal

After several months of purging and organizing and painting and shopping, this bedroom is ready for a baby!  I’ve had a lot of fun preparing the nursery – there were moments when I questioned what I had gotten into with that wall mural, and how I was going to find the stamina for one last day in the print studio, and whether or not we should have gone ahead and bought that fancy Oeuf crib, but in the end, it all came together into a room that’s perfect for baby.  And me.

Shane and I had a fairly intense design debate about this wall – I wanted to line it with several rows of shelves to put books on display; Shane thought it made more sense to buy a low shelf (that a toddler could actually reach) and keep the wall free from the holes for all those wall brackets.  Shane won.  And kudos, hon – this turned out to be cleaner and much more functional.

I wanted to incorporate a few personal touches to the nursery, while keeping it simple and modern.  I’m hoping we’ll look at this photo wall with the baby and talk about grandmas and grandpas and cousins and friends.  Then we’ll look at the AT&T Park print and talk about Buster Posy and Matt Cain.  😉

The glider was hands-down the best purchase for this room – after test-driving a dozen different chairs, this one from West Elm won out for comfort and style (most stores make it an either/or decision).  I imagine we’ll be logging a lot of hours in this seat…

The deets:

Paint: “Storm” by Valspar

Hudson Crib by babyletto

Parsons Low Bookshelf by West Elm

Wooden Storage Crates by Lucky Clover Trading Co.

Graham Glider by West Elm

Tripod End Table by Urban Outfitters

Malm Dresser by Ikea

SF Giants Print by Bird Ave

This baby is due in six days.  Six.  Such a small number.  And so I’m doing my best to enjoy this last stretch of pregnancy.  Notwithstanding the acid reflux, and the back pain, and the weird sensation of my organs being pushed around by our squirmy kid, I feel good.  Thankful.  Surprisingly energetic.  And just the tiniest bit sad at the thought of no longer bring pregnant.  It’s hard to believe it’s almost over.  So when I found out that Nance’s friend Lea is working on getting her photography biz started, I asked if she’d be willing to do a little shoot with Shane and I, to capture this precious, fleeting time in our lives.  We spent last Saturday at the Olympic Sculpture Park with her, memorializing week 38.  A few favorites:

And just think…bump pics will be baby pics any day now!

I bought a baby book last week with the intent of starting early and writing a thoughtful note to our child before he or she is born. But words keep escaping me – I want to lavish the baby with love and affirmation, with hopes and dreams for his or her life, but I’m just not there yet. Sounds silly, I know, but I’m still having a hard time fully comprehending that this belly bulge is actually our child. I love preparing our home for the baby, I love feeling all the wiggles and kicks, I love seeing Shane eagerly anticipate fatherhood, but that deep sense of maternal love I see on the faces of my friends as they cradle their little ones in their arms is just out of my reach. I’m still in this place where baby Schnell is a fuzzy image on an ultrasound screen. And that’s ok – I don’t doubt the “I love you’s” will fly from my mouth once I lay eyes on him or her. In the meantime, while my vision of our child is still hazy, I’m clarifying my vision of myself as a mother, forming aspirations for the woman I hope to be.  No doubt, the parent gig can be hard, but I’ve also seen first-hand that it’s an opportunity to stretch and grow and be your very best self. So to the future Mama Schnell:

Be flexible. Even if that means being inflexible. Of course, you and Shane want to be those free-flowing, easy-going parents that are always down for anything. Dinner invite on a Friday night? Sure, you’ll be there – the baby will tag along and sleep in the car seat, or stay up late and sit at the table with you. Camping? You’re game. Afternoon BBQ during nap time? Eh, you can skip nap for the sake of hanging with friends. Flexibility at its finest, right? But I suspect the true test of flexibility will come when you find that you need to make sacrifices in order to let the baby get the best rest possible, or to allow yourself some much-needed sleep, or to establish that restrictive but oh-so-necessary routine. Don’t be bitter or resentful over the way your life has changed. Don’t feel sorry for yourself when you miss out on a party because the sitter cancelled or the baby is sick – keep in mind that parenthood is a package deal, often weighted with limits or sacrifices, but also bursting with incredible joy.

Care more about exploration and play than you do about keeping clothes or floors or hands clean. Put the to-do list away and spend an afternoon splashing in mud puddles at the park or finger-painting in the dining room. Remember your dream house? You’re about to move into it, and it will be lovely, crumbs on the floor and all.  And don’t forget to be silly – put aside any self-consciousness.  Sing songs in your horribly off-key voice.  Make up games that have no point.  Shoot, put a bowl on your head, pump up the Elli Goulding, and dance in the living room – revel in the opportunity to be a total weirdo with someone who won’t think you’re weird at all.

Let stuff go, and don’t hold grudges. There will be moments, or even entire days, when the kiddo is cranky and unreasonable and inconsolable. It will be tempting to check out until the brattiness has passed. Try, try, try to stay engaged. Be persistent in your affection. The passive-aggressive silent treatment you use to coax remorse or an apology out of Shane won’t work on a toddler. So when you’re in the middle of the grocery store, dragging a wailing kid with noodle legs through the produce section, grab an extra carton of Ben and Jerry’s on your way out, mow through half of it when you get home, and then spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling with the little one (hopefully the tantrum wore him or her out). I realize this sounds kind of impossible, but it’s worth your best effort.

Here I sit, in our quiet, clean house, realizing (but probably not really realizing) yet again that I’m about to relinquish so much of the control I daily take for granted. Most of life right now is about what I’m feeling, how I want to spend my day, what I think is important. Who will I be when life is less about me and more about someone else? Will I be the tired, frazzled woman standing in the checkout line in her pajamas, clinging to three cartons of mocha almond fudge ice cream? Or will I be the mom that’s making goofy faces and babbling like a fool, because the sound of her baby’s laughter is so irresistible?  I suspect it will depend on the day – I’m in for a wild ride.  Bring it, baby!

I have missed being in the print studio since my class ended in the spring, but the impending arrival of baby Schnell was just the kick in the pants I needed to get back in there and make some art.  I spent several hours in the studio on Saturday and walked out with a couple of things for the nursery walls and a few additions to the baby’s wardrobe.

This screenprint was taken from a photo of Rue St Martin in Paris (shot from the balcony of the Pompidou), with a couple of hot air balloons thrown in for, you know, whimsy’s sake.

Good-looking gender-neutral baby clothing is hard to come by, so I left all the duck-covered onesies at the store and made my own.  This giraffe is my fave.

I have a couple of prints that are still in progress – assuming all goes according to plan, I’ll head back to the studio at the end of the month to finish them up (so hang tight, kiddo!).

37 weeks today!  I am officially full-term.  And I’ve got the beach ball belly to prove it.

Shane and I have been snapping photos throughout the pregnancy, and today was a fun look back over the past eight months.  I can remember remarking how big I was getting at week 14, when my pre-pregnant jeans became too tight to wear.  And then telling Shane at week 20 that I was really popping out.  By week 28 I couldn’t imagine how I could possibly get any bigger (silly, silly me).

And…ka-bam!

There’s a part of me that longs for the days when I can lay on my stomach again and expand my wardrobe options beyond elastic-waist pants and side-ruched tank tops.  But there’s also a part of me that will miss this big ol’ belly.  It makes a great built-in tray for bowls of ice cream and glasses of sparkling water.  It has released me from my uncomfortable instinct to suck in my stomach when I’m standing in front of a crowd or posing for a photo (trying to appear thin is obviously futile at this point).  And so many strangers have been incredibly kind, encouraging me to keep on as I huff my way around the park, telling me I look great and inquiring about the gender of the baby as they bag my groceries.  A man at the bakery told me yesterday that my pregnant silhouette was absolutely beautiful, which I’m realizing now sounds a bit inappropriate, but in the moment, it made me feel like a million bucks.  Sure, there was that teenage girl who turned to her friends when I walked past her at Jefferson Park last week and said (rather loudly), “damn, that lady was huuuuge!”, but I’m willing to let that comment slide.  After all, she’s right.  I am big.  I’m round.  And I walk a little funny.  Because hot dang, I’m having a baby in roughly three weeks!

Looks like I made it as far as Tuesday before pooping out…Ooof.  I’m tired tonight.  Feeling especially large.  Sick of waking up three or four times a night to the sensation that my bladder is in a vice.  I caught myself waddling in the reflection of a store window today; it’s as if my sore hips are preemptively protesting the fact that they’ll soon have to pass an 8-pound baby between them.  I tried to correct my gait, to straighten my back and move with more grace, but this took too much effort and so I went back to my belly-out pregnant shuffle, weight clumsily shifting from side to side.  I dramatically flopped down on the couch when I got home this evening, propped up my swollen feet, and wondered to myself how on earth I’ll make it through the next few weeks.  How quickly my pregnant glow has waned…  This isn’t how I wanted the final stretch to play out.

The thing is, I don’t know when or if I’ll get to do this again.  I certainly hope we’ll have a second (or maybe even third?!) shot at pregnancy, but only God knows if that’s in the cards for us.  And even if another little Schnell does someday find a home in my uterus, I’ll never feel this particular baby’s kicks again.  It will never be new like this again, I’ll never have this quiet, child-free space to focus on the life growing inside me.  My mom has told me to rest, to let the unimportant stuff take a back seat for now; I’ve responded to this advice with an uh-huh while carrying another load of laundry down the stairs.  But perhaps mother knows best.  So I slowed it down tonight, asked Shane to take care of dinner, cancelled my plans to hit the gym for a swim.  Instead I’m being still, reveling in the alien-like ripples of my belly as the baby wiggles and squirms and lets me know that all is well in-utero.  I’m taking a few minutes to rock in the glider of our nearly-complete nursery and dream about what it will be like to see our child in that empty crib.  And when I feel a foot kicking at my ribs, I’m ever so gently pushing back, telling our little one to hang tight for awhile longer, because mama really, truly loves having you in there.

It’s been a grand couple of days – heaping loads of sunshine, quality time with friends and family, a Sunday full of rest.  Glorious.

Mitch and Kathryn rolled into town with the girls on Friday afternoon.  We spent the evening on the back porch, the guys toasting to the weekend with beer and fresh oysters, the girls with bowls of ice cream.

 

We kicked off Saturday with a bakery run, and then made our way to Jefferson Park for a playground fix.  Morgan’s face absolutely lights up when she sees a swingset – she could spend all day in one of these things.  And apparently Uncle Shane loves his swing-time as well…

   

At 11 am, the water fountains came alive and the girls squealed with laughter as they raced through the spray.  Talk about unbridled summer joy.

   

We spent Saturday afternoon with friends and family at Lincoln Park, celebrating baby Schnell’s upcoming arrival.  It was all we’d hoped our baby shower would be – lots of laughter, blessings for our little one, and dinner hot off the grill, set against the backdrop of a gorgeous Seattle summer day.

(photos by Jason and La Verne)

We were spoiled with an abundance of gifts, from snot-suckers to beautiful blankets, but our favorite present by far was this personalized piece of artwork, brainstormed by Nance.  The leaves on this tree are made up of the thumbprints of the people at the shower – it will hang in baby Schnell’s room as a reminder that he or she has a huge family of people that already love him or her, people that have walked alongside us in our journey to become parents and will continue to walk with us as we cross over from waiting to raising.  I asked Shane on the car ride home last night how we managed to get so lucky, to be surrounded by people that are so full of generosity, of genuine kindness, of a willingness to cry hard with us when we need a shoulder and to laugh even harder with us when we need to let loose.  And to think that our baby will enter the world with all of these incredible people at his or her side – there may have been a happy tear or two falling behind those sunglasses of mine.

We made it home in time for baths, books, and a quick snuggle on the back porch before bed-time.  Ahhh, Morgan – kill me with your sweetness, why don’t you?

We said good-bye to Mitch and his family this morning, after one last run to the neighborhood playground for a go at the swings and slides.  As usual, I’m already missing those Jarrell girls like crazy.  It was fun to have them in our house for a couple of days, to see them first thing in the morning, to nap with Morgan in the afternoon, to get out and enjoy our neighborhood parks in a whole new way.

The flip side to all that fun was that it left me totally tuckered out, so I Sabbathed well today: naps, baseball, reading, Thai take-out for dinner.  I found myself wondering what life will be like when we have kiddos in our house that don’t leave on Sunday mornings.  But then I rolled over on the couch and went back to sleep.  We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

We are 5 weeks into our 8-week childbirth class, slowly preparing ourselves for our baby’s entry into the world. Our instructor is incredible, as she paints the very real picture that labor and delivery can be hard, hard work, but then empowers us with loads of affirmation and advice. Turns out that the scene played on movie after movie where the woman rushes into the delivery room, pushes for a minute, screams and slaps her husband with the threat that he will never touch her again, then pushes just one more time before a fresh, chubby-cheeked baby appears isn’t super-realistic. We’re watching movies of a whole new variety since we’ve started this class – videos of actual births where pregnant women don’t have perfect hair and makeup, where labor lasts more than 10 minutes, where newborns are wrinkled and covered in goo. It’s intense, but exciting – that will be us in September. I’m going to go into labor, I’m going endure a myriad of contractions, I’m going to push like hell, and then we’re going to have a baby. It’s gettin’ real. The eager anticipation was fun and full of joy. Until it got too real.

We watched our third lesson’s video at home last week. I settled into the couch next to Shane, computer on my lap and hand on my belly, ready for that feeling of yearning and empowerment I had felt when I’d put myself in the shoes of the other video-taped mamas. But this particular montage of several different women coping with early labor, with advanced labor, and with pushing and delivery threw me for a major loop. It elicited neither joy nor excitement. I felt the pin-pricks of oncoming tears as the final scene faded and I closed my eyes in hopes of composing myself. Shane reached for me, curious and concerned, and asked what was on my mind. I took a deep breath, but quickly gave up on any attempts at holding myself together. “I’m scared!” I blubbered, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. He asked me to elaborate on what in particular I found so frightening, and my inarticulate response was, “All of it.” There was a woman in the video who coped with each contraction by rhythmically chanting “I. Can. Do. It. I. Can. Do. It.”. The cadence of her voice rang in my head, but the words in my mantra were less optimistic: “I’m. Not. Read-y. I’m. Not. Read-y.” A host of unfamiliar anxieties bubbled to the surface and bowled me over. I’m nervous about being physically exposed in front of a room of people. I’m afraid of the pain. I’m anxious about the mess, the blood and fluids and Lord-knows-what-else that will come out of my body. I know, I know – all of this stuff will lead us to the point where we meet our beautiful baby, and that moment of holding him or her in my arms for the very first time will rock my world, but in a way, that’s the scariest part of all. Because vulnerability of the body is one thing; but vulnerability of the heart? That’s even messier. I will be opening myself in brand new ways to this little person, feeling unfathomable love, but on some days also feeling mind-bending tiredness, or frustration, or worry, because I have to/need to/want to do everything in my power to make sure that our child feels cared for and safe and treasured. And as Nance reminded me today, I can’t run away when the going gets tough. This is an all-in, heart-on-my-sleeve, life-long deal.

Shane dried my tears that night and we both chuckled when I wondered aloud what in the world we had gotten ourselves into. Because deep (sometimes very deep) down, despite these Kelly-esque freak-outs, we know we’re ready, and we know how desperately we want to meet our child. This baby was not conceived out of short-sighted, fickle desire; he or she is the miraculous answer to years of prayerful longing.  Yes, I’m glad that I have a couple more months to prepare my mind/body/home, but damn, I really can’t wait to take this rocker for a late-night test drive.

Pregnancy has been full of little perks I didn’t think I’d embrace with such fervor: the comfy elastic-waisted jeans, the strange-but-amazing little kicks and pokes in my belly, the out-with-the-old, in-with-the-new game of nesting – I’m liking this pre-mama thing. But the very best part of it all? Watching Shane eagerly anticipate the arrival of the baby has filled me with such incredible joy and gratitude. From the very moment I saw that faint pink line that meant pregnant back in December, he’s been super-dad, scouring the Internet for the best OB, then registering us for birth classes and infant safety lessons and a hospital tour, spending hours reading online reviews to determine the right stroller for little Schnell. He checks his BabyBump app daily and fills me in on how the baby is developing, what kinds of changes are on the horizon, when I can expect my ankles to swell and my belly button to pop out. He’s a little stricter than I’d like when it comes to me taking (little) bites of poached egg and I can’t stand that disapproving look he gives me when I sneak a (tiny) sip of his wine, but I try not to begrudge his desire that I follow the rules. I know those raised eyebrows are rooted in love and concern. Daily I’m seeing him care for me in new and thoughtful ways, as his way of caring for the baby inside of me. I love the fact that he still remembers to slow down at that stomach-dropping portion of downhill road near Jason and Nancy’s, after my first-trimester moan that I could no longer handle his speedy driving. I cherish the nights he curls up to me on the couch to gently put his hands on my belly while we watch baseball. On those days when I feel especially big and uncomfortable in this rapidly expanding body of mine, he kisses me and reminds me that I’m beautiful, that this extra weight is part of a wonderful miracle.

There’s a scene in Juno (a Schnell fave) where Jennifer Garner’s character talks about how a woman begins to feel like a mother during pregnancy, but a man doesn’t identify with fatherhood until the actual birth of the baby. Not so, Jen, not so. This dear man already has dad written all over his proud, grinning face.

We have slowly but surely been making room for baby in our house – we had an entire room of stuff to toss or donate or squirrel away in other closets.  And Operation Organize is nearly complete, which means our extra upstairs bedroom is empty and ready for Operation Nursery.  I’ve had lots of fun dreaming about what this room could be, imagining myself rocking a baby to sleep in a comfy glider or pulling a book off a shelf to read our toddler a bedtime story.  We’re keeping it modern and simple, relatively quiet with a few pops of color through art and books.  Tomorrow we finish painting and do one final round of glider-shopping.  Then it’s time to hang shelves and buy a crib and make art for the walls.  This very well might be my favorite home improvement project yet…

the 411:

Paint: “Storm” by Valspar

Graham Glider by West Elm

Tripod End Table by Urban Outfitters

Ada Table Lamp by CB2

Hudson Crib by babyletto

Malm Dresser by Ikea

Animal Prints by Avalisa

Books, books, books!

Paris Screen Print by Famille Summerbelle