Planning for Peanut: Into the Home Stretch

I now feature a built-in end table.

I'm at 37 weeks, which means I could give birth to a healthy baby any time now! It could be tomorrow or it could be in five weeks. Since I have no idea how often I'll be able to write during that time (or the next couple months, years, etc.), I figure this is a good moment to tie up a few loose thoughts and observations, one last pause at the threshold of a new life.

Little physical things I will no longer take for granted post-pregnancy

Sleeping on my back and belly.

Doing any of the following without a "plan" - clipping my toenails, putting on socks, picking up anything I dropped on the floor, getting in an out of the car.

Not crying every time I laugh or smile. I've sad-cried only once in recent months (after a truly awful experience with a customer at work), but in the last few weeks my eyes have turned to faucets any time I feel the slightest joy. I mean, it's better than being bummed, but it's a little embarrassing.

Unswollen fingers and feet. Regarding the former, I feel pregnancy has given me some small notion of how arthritis must feel, and you know what? It really sucks! Also, I miss my wedding ring. As for the latter, I've come to accept that I have one, sometimes two pairs of shoes that fit these days. That's okay in the short-term. More than anything, I miss the way walking used to feel, when I didn't really think about it.

Speaking of swollen feet, where did those pools of blood come from anyway?

Definitely from my head. The vessels expanded and the blood that once powered my better-than-average brain crashed to my lower extremities. As a result, I have experienced moments of startling stupidity during this pregnancy. But what happened last week was the worst...

I'd just dropped Dan off at work and was heading down Amnicola Highway toward downtown Chattanooga. A quarter mile ahead, a long line of cars with hazard lights flashing come off of Dupont Parkway. They were getting into my lane (on the left). My immediate thought, based on I-don't-know-what, was, "Hmm. They must be from the new Volkswagen plant and going to an auto show." (???) Since that didn't strike me as being altogether urgent, I made no effort to move out of the left lane, but just fell in the middle of the pack. When I stopped at the next traffic light, a driver behind me honked - a barely audible, mere tap of the horn. Was that intended for me? Well, what was I going to do, run a red light just to get out of their cool kids' caravan? These VW dudes sure are clique-ish.

Well, I wasn't going to ruin their party. When the light changed, I moved to the right lane, which was delightfully empty. Amnicola was usually a mess that time of day, but there was just the merest dot of a car visible in the rearview mirror and absolutely no one ahead of me. I'd never driven down this road with such ease! Those suckers in the left lane were all slowed down and I felt like I was flying, even observing the speed limit. Occasionally I'd hear a couple of blippy little honks as I passed the long line of cars. Geez, do these guys think they own the road or what? At some point I noticed that none of the vehicles were VWs or particularly new or particularly alike, which didn't jibe with my auto show theory. Hmm, that's funny. It's almost like a funeral procession, but they don't have the little flags, so it can't be that (have I mentioned that I've been a licensed driver for only two years?). Whatever. Aww, yeah - Andy Gibb's "Shadow Dancing" came on the radio. What a jam! I rolled down the window and cranked the volume as I merrily cruised toward the green light at Wilcox Avenue.

And then, in the left turn lane, I saw the long white hearse. No doubt it was heading toward the National Military Cemetery, for the burial of an extremely popular veteran whose beloved memory I had just dishonored with my asshole joy ride down Amnicola. I wanted to die. I was just so grateful that I didn't get caught at that light. My immediate reaction was paranoid Yankee fear. Oh god, what if one of them comes after me? I will totally fake early labor. Then I recalled the gentle honking and realized that most people around here are too polite to exact revenge in the midst of such a solemn affair. Once the fear passed, I was left only with my immense mortification.

I now understand that my mind and my instincts and my normally acute sensitivity are all tied together and without enough blood powering the brain, I am sometimes an utter jackass. I also understand that my body has reallocated its fuel for the sake of the placenta and I'm cool with that. But forget the swollen feet and the big belly and the nausea and sleepless nights. As far as I'm concerned, brain function is a pregnant woman's greatest sacrifice.

Lucky

Contrary to some of the sentiments expressed in this blog series, I don't have a lot of complaints about pregnancy. If anything, being preggo has only proven to me how great my life is. I got knocked up really fast, with no effort beyond old fashioned, unprotected sex. I haven't experienced complications or medical issues of any kind. My husband is kind, considerate, smart and supportive, and has a good job that provides us with health insurance. I've worked part-time most of this pregnancy - just enough so I can bring in a little extra cash and not die of boredom, but not enough to really wear me out. We found a gem of a house rental in a beautiful neighborhood. I enjoy the resources that come with good friends and family, from thoughtful advice to gifts to kind words of encouragement when I feel overwhelmed. We have this super nice, calm doula who is going to assist us through the birth, and every interaction with her gets me more excited for it. And for those and many other reasons, I feel really good. Even though it's getting harder to move around and I ache more easily, I still feel pretty damn good.

I don't know why I get to have this awesome life when so many other people struggle in ways that I haven't, but I sure do appreciate it. I guess I can take some credit for my mental and physical health, but mostly I think I've just been lucky. I just hope the streak lasts long after Peanut's arrival. Of course, she'll gets to enjoy all the aforementioned bennies. And to the extent that our good fortune has contributed to the creation of a warm, love-filled nest, I think she's set up for success. So I continue to trust in the alright-ness of our affairs, as only a lucky bastard would.

Planning for Peanut: Consumer, Know Thyself!

If hell is real, I will spend eternity roaming the aisles of this place.

I was so tired. It was around 11pm at Dan's birthday party and our guests were having too much fun. Most had yet to approach their peak levels of drunkenness; I estimated at least two hours of celebratory verve in their systems. After a long day of work and party-prep, I could have gone to bed at 9:00. I'd have been fine if it were someone else's shindig, but hosting involves too much conversation and not enough eating. "Why do I suggest these exhausting social affairs when I'm seven months pregnant?" I thought to myself. As I stood in the dining room, listening to another mother tell me how I should go about hiring a doula, I actually considered swiping all the food off the table, climbing atop and going to sleep. Instead, I took her chattiness as an opportunity to shove cheese in my face.

"And don't just settle for the first doula you meet. You'll definitely want to interview three or four candidates. And be sure to ask them lots of questions. And if you need help interviewing them, just call me and I can help you come up with a list of questions. It's really important that you find the person who is just right for you."

Between mouthfuls of cheese and pulled pork, I muttered, "Oh, yeah. Uh huh. For sure," but even in my half-conscious state, I knew that would never happen. That isn't how I shop for anything. It would play out just like the obstetrician search - do lots of advance online research (to eliminate anyone who is a definite "no" - doctors with creepy photos, those who are explicitly pro-life, etc.), come up with a short list of "maybes", call the person at the top of the list, schedule an appointment, hope they're cool so I can hire them immediately but give myself the option of backing out if they seem weird. And since I really, really hate shopping, I always have strong hopes that candidate #1 will be great, which may give that person an advantage they don't deserve.

Yeah, that's almost exactly what happened with the doula, except the first person I called wasn't available. So I called the first person she recommended, set up an appointment and met her the following week. We all got along great, so we hired her. And I fully expect that she'll do an excellent job assisting me through my natural birth, just as my OB has been the sort of calm, easy-going but thorough medical professional that I wanted. I guess I've been lucky. So why do I feel guilty for not comparison shopping as that mother had suggested?

I think of myself as a responsible consumer. I try to avoid purchasing products that are toxic to our planet or to the people making or using those goods. And I try to be thrifty. Often, those two endeavors combine in such a way that I ultimately decide, "I don't need that," which is my favorite consumer choice of all. But then there are the things you really must have - a bed, clothes, food - and when you decide to have a baby, the "need" list gets way longer. Even eliminating things that won't be immediately necessary (like baby-proofing gear or a high chair), the stuff we need to be ready for Peanut's arrival include:

An OB

A crib with a mattress

A car seat

Diapers and wipes

Baby clothes

Maternity clothes

Bottles (in case of a nursing emergency)

Then there's the Strong Want/Almost Need list:

Doula

Stroller

Sling

Nursing pillow

Reference books

Bouncy thing to mellow out the baby

I never required any of this stuff before I got pregnant. Researching and registering/purchasing each of these items represents a massive increase in the amount of time I spend shopping. That doesn't even account for the hours I've spent delineating "necessary" from "desirable" and "absurd". I've found this spree a dreadful experience and I admit that my primary goal is to just get it over with.

But it never really ends, especially since we recently decided that I'm going to stay at home for the first six months. Mostly, I'm thrilled about this decision. I'd been trying to figure out a way to go back to my part-time job after one month. Instead, Dan had the brilliant thought that I could just not work until he's done teaching at the end of April, he can switch to being at-home parent and I can (hopefully) find work beginning in May. Initially, my biggest concern was that we will likely accrue debt when I'm not working. Having been a very irresponsible consumer in the past, I look at debt the way a recovering person looks at alcohol - I just don't let myself go there. But when I consider it as a long-term investment (especially because I can keep Peanut out of daycare for the first ten months and nurse her without breast-pumping for the first six), I realize that it's totally worthwhile. The other advantage to having a parent with the baby at all times is that cloth diapering becomes a more convenient option, and no matter how high-end you go, cloth diapers will always be more economical than disposable. So given this change in circumstances, switching to cloth seems like an easy choice. Right?

Wrong. Of all the baby items we've researched, cloth diapers come with the greatest number of choices. Ah, choices - the bricks and mortar of capitalism's pretty prison. Isn't great to have so many options? If you love shopping, then the answer is a resounding YES! But if you're like me, sorting through the possibilities is pure drudgery. Fortunately, I have several friends who've gone the cloth route, so I contacted three sets of parents who've used them in the past year (just like cell phones and computers, the models change and upgrade frequently). They were able to give me some good starting tips, which made the task less overwhelming. I accidentally revealed my search on Facebook, leading to lots more advice. I think the most common tip was, "Try a few different models and see what works for you," which is a really smart idea. And yet, I know I'm definitely not going to do that.

And again, I feel guilty. If I were truly a responsible consumer and a good mother, shouldn't I make the effort to comparison shop? Isn't it important that I find the type of diaper that is just right for little Peanut? Ridiculous as it sounds, this was really wearing on me until it occurred to me a few days ago - even trying two or three options with the expectation that you'll find "just right" is like going on dates with two or three different people and expecting one of them to be your soul mate. Even if "just right" exists, who's to say you'll stumble upon it when there are so many choices available? So, I'm going to stick with my trial and error approach. If one type of cloth diaper (or bottle, or sling, or whatever) doesn't work out, then I'll try a different one. But knowing myself and how much I hate to shop, I imagine I'll often compromise and adapt. Poor people do that all the time, and some of them make awesome parents.

I'm really excited to have resolved this issue, if only in my brain. As I get ready for life with a newborn, one of my goals is to make those first couple weeks of sleep-deprived zombie mode as pleasant as possible. I want to give Peanut and us a great head start on our new life together, which is why I'm so focused on natural birth. I also have my sister M on call when I go into labor (I've never been so grateful for a mere six hour drive from Greensboro, NC to here!) and some local friends lined up for dog-walking and food-bringing. The last thing I want to be doing when all of my efforts will be focused on feeding and caring for my baby is comparing consumer goods. If taking a shower, cleaning the house or socializing can wait, so can the shopping.

Useful Stuff My Mom Taught Me

Don't eat cereal that changes the color of your milk. It can't be good for you.

You'll never have enough shelf space, so don't buy any book you could get at the library. Why spend the money? Are you really going to read that book again? Sure, you could give it to someone else to read, but the library does that for you. (A good reference book, on the other hand, is totally worth buying.)

Old, unwearable socks make great dusting rags.

When I was five or six years old, I asked my mom, "What's a Democrat and what's a Republican?" After a brief explanation of what a political party is, she said, "Republicans usually care more about things like money and Democrats usually care more about taking care of other people." I thought about it for a moment and said, "Well, I think it's more important to take care of other people." She smiled and said, "Oh, that's what I think, too!"

If you get bored sitting in a waiting room and you don't have anything to read, look at signs around you and anagram the words into other words.

When making deviled eggs, don't get stressed out if you tear one of the hard boiled egg whites and can't use it. You'll just end up with extra yolk filling and that's the best part of it anyway.

Forbidding your child from watching TV shows like "The Dukes of Hazzard" and "Three's Company" will make those programs seem really attractive, and he or she may sneak over to a friend's house to watch. But when that child grows up, they will eventually realize that you banned those shows because they were stupid.

When traveling, pack light. If you're flying, stick to just a carry-on bag. Who cares if you wear the same things over and over? Either you're visiting friends (who shouldn't mind) or you're seeing people you'll never see again.

Avoid buying clothing that says "Dry Clean Only".

It isn't fair to dislike a group of people because of the way they look, what they believe, or how they live, as long as they aren't hurting anyone.

Yes, childbirth is painful, but it's what your body wants to do. When you're ready, you're ready. And during pregnancy, when the baby reaches up under your ribs, it doesn't hurt. It's just sort of... awkward.

If you smile a lot and you're a really good talker, you can brighten the grumpiest customer service worker's day, even the surly, underpaid grocery store cashier. I'm more of a "make the interaction brief and polite", path-of-least-resistance kind of gal, but engaging in friendly banter with everyone is my mom's default. And I have to believe her success rate - measured by the number of people who reciprocate with a sunny response - is in the ninetieth percentile. I'm just glad there are a few people like her in this world, to help make up for all the jerks and the self-absorbed cell-phone talkers and the introverts (like me).

Planning for Peanut: New Adventures in Pleasure Seeking

There's nothing quite like pregnancy to alter one's experience of pleasure. It isn't just about contending with the lack of booze or the dietary restrictions. It's also the fatigue, which (according to everyone I know who ever had a baby) is nothing compared to those long, sleepless days and nights of constant nursing and dirty diapers. Friends be warned - I'm not such fun company as I once was and it's only going to get worse before it gets better.

But I still long to be good company for myself. I've been surprised to discover a few new avenues for good time havin' ~

Non-alcoholic Beer

I know. It's sad. You know what's sadder? Fetal alcohol syndrome. Okay, I kid! Even if there were no such thing as N.A. beer, I wouldn't be pounding the real thing. But you see, I love the taste of the real thing and I miss it. Honestly, most of this stuff tastes like crap beer that I would never buy, but wouldn't turn down if it were the only option offered to me - think Rolling Rock (not Natty Light, which I would definitely turn down). So far, I've yet to encounter one that tasted even half as good as, say, Bass Ale (in my opinion, an excellent "macro-brew") but it's better than nothing. O'Douls tastes like shit and really isn't worth the bother. I tried one called Clausthaler that was okay, and I appreciated the German name and obscure label for contributing to the overall placebo effect. Ultimately, I think St. Pauli N.A. tastes best and now that I know they sell it at the grocery store where I work, I can get a 20% discount on it. Bonus!

That placebo effect is an interesting thing. At the end of a long work day, I do find a bottle of fake beer soothing. The flavor and the ritual have as much to do with that sense of unwinding as the actual alcohol content. And as I get deeper into the third trimester, I find myself "imbibing" more frequently. Somewhere in Chattanooga, a green glass recycling bin is overflowing with all those bottles I've emptied this summer.

Driving
Goes great with non-alcoholic beer! I learned how to drive just two years ago and at the time I wasn't particularly excited about it. It just felt necessary. I was 32 - twice as old as most people are when they get their first license - and I knew I'd eventually have a kid and would need to drive that kid places. As I've become more driving-dependent, I've come to find the experience less dreadful, though I would still prefer busing to work if I could.

But at some point during the first trimester, I began to find driving somewhat enjoyable. Perhaps it was the solitude or maybe it was the sense of controlling something bigger than me, which feels good when you can't control what's happening inside of you. Now that little Peanut is bigger and quite active, driving while listening to music is lots of fun. My favorite is driving to the gym. I bounce between the oldies and classic rock radio stations, sing loudly with whatever I hear and see how she rates my rendition with her kick-o-meter. So far, Queen is a big winner. She seems to like "We Will Rock You" best - that always gets a few solid kicks. By the time I get to the gym, I'm pretty pumped for a workout. Exercise almost always makes me feel better, so the drive home is even more fun. I'll grab a couple Tums from the stash in the center console and chug some water. Maybe I'll stop by Whole Foods to pick up some groceries and offend the yuppies with my sweaty clothes and foul smell. Then I hop back in the car and take a different route home, as I sing to a different set of radio jams. If I'm lucky, one of those three stations will play "Bennie and the Jets" and Peanut will kick a bit more. I now look forward to this ritual.

Cable TV
We'll be getting cable around the end of September, just in time for post-season baseball and Peanut's big arrival. I have this "thing" about not paying for cable - I'll certainly take it if it's free, but I resent paying so much money for something that's junk food to my soul. We got cable the last six months we lived in Michigan so we could watch Tigers baseball (reasoning that it would be less expensive to our budget and our souls than going to the bar to watch games), but once we moved to Chattanooga, there simply wasn't any need for it.

I changed my mind after a conversation with my friend J about life with a newborn. I asked her, "What do you wish you'd had during those early days with an infant?" She said she wished she'd stocked up on food she could eat with one hand. "Oh, and I wish I'd had a smart phone." Of course! That was the smartest endorsement for a smart phone that I'd ever heard. I know I'll have to get one eventually because it will become a social expectation, but I figured I had a few more years before I'd consider it. Suddenly, it started to sound like a really good idea.

But in recent days I've had to reconsider. I find myself too often sucking on the teat of the internet in search of good times, only to feel depressed and empty in the end. I don't know about you, but I'm no good at being online. I enjoy blogging, of course, and Facebook, but there's only so much I can get out of those activities. I'm just not that curious or creative when it comes to surfing. So then I look at Facebook again or I check my email again, and then I just find myself compulsively visiting the same few sites and getting nothing out of it. It's weird how addictive the internet can be, even when you don't enjoy it much. Do I really need to make that experience portable?

So I'm going to revert to the old evil, mindless activity and get myself some cable TV! I figure the novelty should last for several weeks. I'm envisioning life with a newborn as an experience akin to an intense Michigan winter, when the elements short-circuit your brain and it's best to just give up on the notion of going out much. J told me that she watched a lot of daytime TV. Perhaps I will rekindle my bizarre affection for Wendy Williams, though more likely I will record tons of M*A*S*H reruns on the DVR and further develop my Alan Alda obsession. If we're really lucky, there will be an on-demand karaoke station and we can see how Peanut feels about mom singing Queen, post-womb.

Best Place Ever

Have you ever been really good at something that didn't make you happy? My former therapist insisted this was a sure path to misery. It was nine years ago when we got on that topic, right after my boss offered to change my part-time accounts payable gig at a non-profit community theater to a full-time accounting position. I would have to give up the more enjoyable other half of my job as a three-night-a-week house manager, but it seemed like the smart thing to do. "Tara, if you take that job, I'll kill you!" said the shrink. I don't think he really meant that, but the message got through my silly 25 year old's notion that I needed an occupation that sounded grown-up. I refused the position (though my boss was not pleased), continued doing the fun, other half of my job which later turned into a full-time position I actually wanted. I'm glad I held out. Being the head house manager was the most satisfying job I've ever had.*

That idea of holding out for what suits me has been on my mind since we moved into our new home two and a half weeks ago. I love it so much! Our last apartment was certifiably hip, a broad, loft-like space that occupied one half of a refurbished auto garage. It had poured cement floors, a functional garage door at the front, stainless steel kitchen counters, and a sliding wall to make two big rooms out of a single giant one. As Dan said before we signed the lease, "If we live here, this is the coolest we'll ever be." And every visitor agreed. Even after I announced my pregnancy, some insisted that we could adjust the space to be more baby-friendly and if I'd loved that apartment as much as I thought I should, I would have. But now that I'm here, I understand why I was so eager to leave. That place was great, but it just wasn't me. This new place is most definitely me.

I had a good feeling from the moment we walked up to this expansive front porch. And all the trees! Check out that stone wall edging the sidewalk across the street. This sort of prettiness makes me want to take the dog on more frequent walks.

The front hallway is flanked by the living room and dining room on the left and the bedrooms to the right. I love the curtained front door with the window above. In the upper right corner of the photo, you can see that I found a perfect spot for my "My Man Godfrey" mini poster.

This is what you see when you enter the house. Hardwood floors and natural light abound (again, that's me all the way). Being on the side of a ridge facing a mountain, with trees all over the place, I expected St. Elmo to be rather shady and dark. It is compared to the nearly treeless valley where we used to live, but we have about twenty times as many windows as we had in our old cinder block compound. All told, I prefer this deal - more indoor light and a lower outdoor temperature.

Our pretty living room. What amazes me is that we have enough stuff to fill this space, even though we moved from two rooms to six. I keep looking around, thinking, "Where did we get all this extra stuff?"

A special space for the dining room table? Having both the room and the table is a new experience for Dan and me. This is also the first time that we've shared a whole house together.

This is where we sleep. I guess the fireplace is functional, but I'm happy just to use the mantel. We may switch over to Bernadette's room (not pictured - there isn't much to see yet), if we decide that this is a better space for her.

This house would be the best place ever if it only contained this best kitchen ever. An island, are you kidding me? Not to mention the dishwasher and garbage disposal. Now that we have all those amenities plus a garage door opener, Dan and I like to joke that we are officially middle-class. Anyway, I've been doing a lot more cooking, which is good, because we can't afford to eat out so much with a baby on the way.

The back office, which our landlord laughingly refers to as "the third bedroom". Fortunately, we don't need a third bedroom. I intend to do a lot of writing here, though right now I'm set up at the living room coffee table, where I can sit on the floor and practice my tailor sitting (shout out to all you Bradley method birthers).

The view from our back deck, which sits above the basement-level garage. Once the landlord showed us this, I knew I'd be super bummed if we didn't get to live here. You can just barely trace the edges of Lookout Mountain beyond the trees; it will be more visible in the winter. One of the things I love about living on the ridgeside is that I can get an upstairs feeling at the back of a ranch style home. Architecturally speaking, I get to have it all.

As long as we're living in Chattanooga, we don't see ourselves leaving this place. More than ever, I'm convinced that renting is the wisest way for us to go. Even if we could afford a house of this size and in this location (doubtful) we could never afford to outfit it as nicely as our landlord has. And wherever we do go later, this is going to be one tough act to follow. But that's the adventure of renting. It's fun trying out different spaces and making it work for you. I'm glad we lived in the old Southside pad for a year. It really was a blast. But other than having a lot of crossbeams from which we could hang plants, I don't miss it. I much prefer this sense of being at home.

*I had to give it up later when my boss made me take a promotion that certainly paid better and was satisfying in other ways, but ultimately wasn't a good fit. It was quite stressful - I started smoking again and lost thirty pounds in the first six months - and perhaps it was too "grown up" for me. I always felt like I was play-acting in the professional adult world, where it isn't so much about how hard you work as it is about how you present yourself. I gave it a couple years before I decided to take a huge pay cut in favor of my personal life.

Planning for Peanut: Advice to the Advisers

Like so many great jokes, courtesy of "30 Rock"

I don't handle unsolicited advice well, which can make this business of being pregnant very difficult. It seems nearly every parent I know wants to share their top tips with me. I've learned to accept that all this wisdom comes from a place of well-meaning concern and that some of it is actually very helpful. But it's a lot to sort through. The volume of advice I received during a recent trip home to Michigan culminated into a roaring wall of sound, but not in a fun "Be My Baby" kind of way. Instead of a catchy, Phil Spector-produced groove, it was the voice of every parent I know (not just the ones in Michigan, but everyone I've talked to in the past several months), and all the absolutely essential do's and dont's they've shared without my asking. So dizzying was the din inside my head that I hardly said a word to Dan during our ten hour drive back to Chattanooga. It's taken days to process and sift through all that information - some of which I will strongly consider, some of which I will ignore - and frankly, I'm glad to be back in a place where I don't know so many people.

In response to that experience, I've developed my own set of tips for giving unsolicited advice to new parents. If you've raised a kid and you really care about your first-time expectant friends (which I honestly believe you do), there's something you feel they need to know and you want your message to stick, I suggest you do the following ~

Pick one piece of advice. Be specific. Why just one? Because, as I mentioned above, your new parent pals are getting loads of free advice from everyone they know. This is a simple marketing technique. It's sort of like Facebook updates - if I have an FB friend who posts twenty items every day, I tend to ignore most of what they're saying. But that phantom FB friend who only occasionally shares an intelligent, funny or interesting item usually gets my attention.

Let's talk specificity. Lots of dad friends have told us, "You're life is over." Though this warning is morbid, I don't think it's completely unhelpful. But it isn't very specific. I think dudes tend to say this because the change from childless, adult male to new father is quite abrupt. It literally happens overnight. But we pregnant ladies know our old lives are over when we can't get drunk, our breasts balloon, our ankles swell, and we feel a small person swimming around our insides. So instead, I ask you, why is life over? Because you can no longer be your top priority? Because you won't pee or poop in privacy for several years to come? What do you miss most about your pre-kid, lost life? If you want your friend to understand how tough the transition can be, you'll communicate it better by being precise.

Bonus! - if your carefully selected two cents is thoughtful and appropriate, you may find your buddies seeking your input at their own volition. My favorite free suggestion I received in Michigan came from our friend P, who is the father of a six-month-old boy (as well as two teenagers). As he was about to leave our brewpub gathering, he approached me and said, "I have one piece of advice for you."

He paused and I said, "Okay."

"Don't buy anything." He opened the laptop bag hanging at his side. "What is a diaper bag? It's a bag." He then revealed a small pack of diapers and a rolled-up, baby-sized yoga mat. "When the kid needs to be changed, we roll this out on the floor and change him there. It's simple as that. Don't buy anything." A brief but spirited discussion on the rip-off price of changing tables (and other infant "must-haves") followed.

Why did I love this advice so much? It isn't just that it suited my anti-consumerist spirit. It was the way P delivered it. He limited himself to one particular tidbit and saved it for the end of our visit, so there was no way it could snowball into a long lecture. By doing so, he implicitly recognized that I could take it or leave it. I really appreciated him showing me that respect and I'm apt to go to him for more advice, from one cheapskate to another.

Consider how your audience may be different from you. Are you the sort of person who likes to thoroughly research a new subject by reading lots of books? Did you and your partner believe that a midwife-assisted home birth was absolutely essential? Do you tend to plan around worst-case scenarios as a way of being prepared for difficult situations and events?

If you answered "yes" to any of these questions, that's cool. But you should know that you and I are very different people, and that's cool, too. I've found that a great deal of childbirth and parenting advice is based on the advice-giver's personal circumstances or character. For instance, someone who ate only organic and natural foods during pregnancy might be wealthier than me. A parent who recommends twenty books on childbirth is probably more interested in text research and reading than I am. I'm not saying that I can't learn something from their counsel, but I may not be as ardent in my approach.

So if you're inclined to phrase your free advice in terms like, "You have to blah, blah, blah, " or, "Every parent must do this and that," be prepared to be ignored. Rather, you may want to preface your statements like my friend J did when I asked her for book suggestions - "You should know that I'm really big on natural birth." It happened that I was interested in going that route, too, so it was a good thing I asked her. But I didn't feel like she'd snub me if I were eager to have an epidural. Her statement implied, "Though I have strong feelings about the subject, I know my beliefs aren't for everyone." I found that tone comforting. That was months ago, and I've sought her advice on many topics (from baby showers to prenatal classes) since then.

Limit yourself to one suggested book or video. This is in addition to your one piece of advice; think of it as that personal item you can bring along with your carry-on bag. Again, your friends are likely building a lengthy syllabus based on the advice of every parent they know. If your top pick is a repeat of another adviser's choice, even better. Your expectant buddy is more likely to read it.

Don't judge. My friend C's birth coach told her this when they first met, and I love it because it's the perfect summary of the best thing I've gotten out of pregnancy (besides the baby, of course). I haven't even given birth yet and I already find that I'm way more open-minded and sympathetic to parents and other pregnant women.

I've never felt so fucking vulnerable in my life and I know that feeling will just become more intense after Little Peanut arrives. I'm constantly wondering if I'm doing the right thing, if I'm on schedule for being prepared, if I put the right items on the registry, if I have my financial ducks in a row. The last thing I want to see right now is my friend's fallen expression, followed by a statement like, "You know, if you aren't working full-time you don't have FMLA coverage." Yeah, I know.

We all have our steadfast beliefs and we all judge, but I implore you to not give unsolicited advice based on that position of judgement. That "Oh my god, what are you thinking!" face is just too much for a sensitive new parent like me to handle. I suggest checking yourself internally before you say a word. This is what I say to myself all the time - "It's different for everyone." I felt like such a loser when I had to leave my job for a month during the first trimester because I felt like shit and my work was making me feel worse. Since I started feeling better in April, I've really been enjoying pregnancy, but I know that isn't every woman's experience. And yes, it's very easy for me to jump to judgmental conclusions - "If she took better care of herself, maybe she wouldn't feel sick all the time." That's a shitty assessment, based on little or no information. And then I wonder, how would I feel if someone were to judge me for laying around the house for four weeks because I felt nauseous and sleepy all the time? I'd feel really hurt, and that's humbling.

If you're confident in some aspect of your parenting, I wholeheartedly applaud you. In the midst of so much uncertainty, we all need to feel proud of ourselves sometimes. I just ask you to remember that what's easy for you may be very difficult for me, and vice versa. Or maybe my approach is different from yours, though no better or worse. I'm just going to trust that we're all doing our best. If I couldn't, we probably wouldn't be friends in the first place.

Affordable Trees

I miss Ypsilanti, MI for many reasons, but especially now that we're looking for a new apartment in Chattanooga. Ypsi is this wonderful, underrated little secret of a town. Much of it is fairly ghetto - no matter where you live, you're probably within walking distance of a crackhouse - but I love its sleepy shopping districts, historic homes and expansive parks along the Huron River. My old Ypsi neighborhood is very pretty and a pretty hip destination for poor artist types and young families, which is to say that the living is rather cheap.

Like Ypsi, Chattanooga is a dilapidated blue collar town experiencing a rebirth, but unlike Ypsi all the hip, pretty parts of town are really, really expensive. That's just the way it is. If you want to live near downtown (which we do) and safety is a concern (more so since we're having a baby) there are three "cool" areas to consider ~

The North Shore The first bastion of Chattanooga's great gentrification. Covering several lush, hilly square miles, this is where you find the fancy pants school district and a riverside row of chic retail businesses and overpriced restaurants. Frankly, I'm not impressed. It's so much like Ypsi's upscale city next door, Ann Arbor - the neighborhoods are undeniably gorgeous (and home to the most expensive real estate and rentals in town) but the business district is little more than a shiny money trap. There isn't much to do there except blow your cash on a bunch of stuff you don't need, like designer dog biscuits and boutique clothing. Oh, and the people. On Sunday we dined at Taco Mamacita, a truly good purveyor of gourmet, completely unauthentic $3.50 tacos. Our meal was wonderful, but the atmosphere felt all wrong. As I glanced around the room, I said to Dan, "This crowd reminds me of D.C. Everyone is white in the worst way." Specifically, it felt like everyone in that restaurant had once belonged to a frat or sorority. Now that isn't necessarily a bad thing in itself. It's the homogeneity that frightens me. I'm an outsider and I have no desire to be "in". That's my general impression of the North Shore's business center. And other than the superior school district, which won't be relevant to us for several more years, this seems to be the neighborhood's most touted feature. I don't get it.

The Southside Our current locale and the next big phase in Chatty gentrification, this neighborhood is genuinely cool. We have a few art galleries and a sizable collection of excellent artisan foodie establishments - Niedlov's for bread and pastries, Link 41 for sausage, Velo for coffee, The Terminal for beer (though their burgers and entrees are way better than their brews). Our people are a mix of families, yuppies, older folks and hipsters. It's racially diverse for now and I hope that lasts but I'm not sure it will. The change from low income neighborhood to up-and-coming artists' hub has happened so fast. All of those businesses have come to the Southside in just the past few years. I'm wondering how long it will be before we can't afford the rent here. As it is, the only available spaces are way bigger and pricier than what we want. And the fact remains that for all its cool exposed brick interiors, this former manufacturing center is dotted with large, treeless lots and often reeks of the chicken rendering plant down the road. The Southside was just right for our childless selves, but the prospect of a much tighter budget means that proximity to galleries, artisan foods and brewpubs just isn't that big a draw anymore. I'll take clean, fresh air instead.

St. Elmo I hope we end up living here. Situated at the foot of Lookout Mountain and just above the Georgia state line, St. Elmo used to be its own little town before it became part of Chattanooga in 1929. They have their own downtown with a cafe, a few restaurants, a couple grocery stores and a public library branch. And it's just lovely, with it's craftsman style houses, thick, old trees and mountain view. With an infant on the way, I want a solid home with a big, shady porch, 'cause I don't plan on going out often. And that's good, because there isn't much happening in St. Elmo and it's a haul to downtown Chattanooga. The bummer part of the deal is that we still need to go to work, and getting in and out of this hillside burg can be a real pain in the ass. But when all pluses and minuses are told, I think that one sacrifice is worth making.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I find myself wanting to live in the 'burbs* and that feels pretty weird to me. Having a kid forces a complete reevaluation of what you want in a living situation. We still have our weirdo ways - choosing to rent instead of buying, wanting to live within a ten minute drive of cool businesses and happenings, valuing diversity at least as much as we value a good school district (and who knows how that will change when our kid is actually school-aged). But the fact that I'm desperately hoping we score a certain St. Elmo rental that will require lots of driving to and fro is strange, considering that walkability used to be my number one renter's concern. And this place ain't cheap, either. It's a fairly big two bedroom, which means big utility expenses. Still, I prefer this expensive choice to the more convenient but less-bang-for-your-buck North Shore, or even our current neighborhood. As I find myself settling into a lengthy nesting stage, affordable trees have gained greater priority.

*Again, St. Elmo is technically in the city of Chattanooga. But for it's sheer distance from the city center, it may as well be the suburb it was before it was annexed.