As my pregnancy progresses into the 3rd trimester I am being treated to a whole new world of discomfort, aches, and pains. Sleeping for longer than 45 minutes at a time is a thing of the past, I've been treated to my very first hemmorhoid, and my energy levels are at an all time low. Getting my round, ever-expanding self up and out of bed for my 5 bathroom breaks every night is a monumental task, and the indigestion that burns it's way across my stomach (which is now located somewhere in my throat, it seems) is like nothing I have ever experienced. The 3rd trimester is truly no joke.

On the plus side, my visits to the Chiropractor have done wonders for the sciatica that I was struggling with since weeks 24/25. And my back pain, amazingly, is far less frequent now than it was a month or two ago. I am so thankful to not be dealing with those terrible aches and pains as well as my new ones!

As baby grows, so do his movements and mannerisms, and it has been really neat to get to know him. I still marvel every single time I feel him squiggle and kick. He's started getting the hiccups, which are easily felt by my husband and I. It's the hiccups that have let me know that he's already head-down, as they are felt by us waaaay down low on my belly. It is still so amazing to visualize a human baby curled up inside my own body, a totally separate person, but yet entirely part of & dependent on me as well. What an amazing thing.

30 weeks. 

10 weeks left. Give or take. 

10 weeks left until I get to see this boy of ours for the very first time.

10 weeks until I get to hold him in my arms.

10 weeks left of feeling him squirm, safely inside my belly.

My pregnancy has been incredible. My aches and pains are minimal, and things are only now starting to get uncomfortable. I'm not sleeping well. I can't ever find a comfortable way to sit/lay/stand. I have sciatic nerve pain that radiates down my right leg any time I stand in one place for longer than 15 seconds, and aching mid-back pain that appears and disappers with no rhyme or reason. But it is all still so incredible. 

Every few days my husband and I still look at each other, eyes wide, and exclaim, "We are having a baby!" How amazing and surprising and completely insane. I truly did not think we would ever be here, in this place. I am thankful for it all and do not take a single day of it for granted. 

It's Thanksgiving weekend in Canada. I am cooking a Thanksgiving Feast for two-- with a roast chicken, rather than a turkey because there is no way the two of us can eat a 15+ lb bird. Our last Thanksgiving "just the two of us". Next year we will have a 7 month old baby, throwing food on the floor and driving me up the wall. 

I'm giving thanks today for so many blessings. My fabulous husband, of course, who is currently in our car port, cutting two-by-fours and other sheets of wood with his table saw, as he is chest-deep in Getting-The-House-Ready-For-Baby renovations. My husband who works a full time job, then comes home to work well into the night on our renovations, without a single complaint. My husband who seems to know how to do absolutely everything under the sun and never ceases to astound me with what he is capable of. My husband.

And of course, there is the fact that we are in the financial situation to do these renovations at all. As someone who grew up on the poverty-end of the poor, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't whisper silent prayers of thanks for the position that we are in today. A position where I can buy a cart load of groceries, and not even pay attention at the check out because I know we can afford whatever the total may be. A position where we can withdraw $10,000 to pay for home-renovations without losing a wink of sleep. A position where we HAVE $10,000 in savings to begin with! What a privileged lot we are indeed. I am thankful.

Thankful for my adorable pets, who make me laugh every single day. Perhaps it's my hormones, but I have been going to bed at night lately feeling devastated that another day with them is done. Another day that we will never get back, ushering us helplessly closer to a day when they are no longer with us. Morose!

Thankful for our health. And our jobs. And our amazing friends and family. 

And thankful for this baby. 

It is fitting that am 20 weeks pregnant today. That means I am exactly half-way through this pregnancy. It's the home stretch now! I have been so fortunate to have a pregnancy that has been devoid of any major complications or scares.

As most of you know, I got pregnant rather surprisingly after struggling with infertility for years and year. Despite my previous struggles to GET pregnant, I haven't had any issues remaining pregnant. Things just chugged along without issue ever since. It amazes me that my body knows how to do this-- create, and then grow a life which will eventually be totally separate from mine. That cells divide, and duplicate, and tiny finger nails grow, and eye lids flutter, and kidneys form and settle where they are meant to be, all without a single thought from my own brain. Peeling a potato takes more mental stamina than growing a HUMAN BEING and that completely perplexes and astounds me on the regular. 

I'm thankful to be half-way through this pregnancy and to feel great. I'm thankful to be half-way through this pregnancy and to be able to say that I genuinely love my changing body. I'm proud of all my new curves and contours, and feel more womanly & feminine than I ever have. I feel fortunate and blessed.

There is just so, so much to be Thankful for. 

A couple years ago, when I was coming to terms with the notion that I might never have children, the biggest thing that I struggled to accept with was the idea that I might never experience pregnancy.

For every woman, pregnancy is a time of unfathomable change, challenge, and self sacrifice. This is inevitable. However, not every woman finds these changes, challenges, and sacrifices pleasant.

Some women are grateful for the baby that pregnancy usually results in, but find little to no joy in the pregnancy-experience itself. It is simply an inconvenient, mostly-unpleasant journey that they must endure in order to acquire an infant genetically theirs. Perhaps they are sick for all/most/some of the pregnancy. Perhaps the pregnancy flares up awful illnesses like sciatica, gestational diabetes, high blood pressure, insomnia, depression, and on and on an on. Perhaps she is in physical pain on a daily basis. Perhaps she is in emotional pain. Perhaps she just doesn't like it. A woman's feelings about her pregnancy are entirely her own, and I am not here to judge anyone for their thoughts on their own unique experience. I believe entirely that some pregnancies really are downright miserable and a woman should be able to say "This SUCKS!" and have those feeling heard and validated.

But some women enjoy their pregnancies. Deeply. Richly. Earnestly. And I always had a hunch that I would be one of these women. 

So the idea that I might never get to experience pregnancy made me sad. I did not necessarily mourn the child that I thought I might never have, but I absolutely mourned the loss of the experience of a carrying that child. Perhaps it was naive and idealistic, but I desperately wanted to see my belly grow. I wanted to go to bed at night with the knowledge that there was a life, separate from my own, growth and thriving inside my own body. I wanted to feel a baby move while nestled safely in my uterus. I wanted to breast feed. I absolutely wanted to experience pregnancy.

Then, I got my wish. ​

Two little red lines. That's all it takes to change your life. 

It was father's day. I had just come home from a trip to Disney World, followed immediately by a whirlwind car-buying weekend in Vancouver. My period was a week late, but I didn't think much about it, chalking it up to the stress of travel and car shopping. My period had been a week late before (many times) after all, all for naught.

Despite my certainty that there was no "reason" for my late period, I took a pregnancy test. I have a large ziplock bag full of cheap ones that I bought off eBay another life-time ago. A lifetime in which I was trying to get pregnant, and talking to a small handful of fertility specialists, and being diagnosed with "unexplained infertility". 5 years of of my life-- gone. 

My husband and I gave up trying 2 years ago. I remember the moment clearly. We were driving to catch a ferry on a gorgeous autumn day. My 30th birthday hung a few months off in the distance. I had spent half a decade at that point pursuing the dream of having children, and with each year that passed it seemed more and more impossible. All the doctors we saw, who scratched their heads, and could not explain the reason for our infertility pushed us towards IVF-- an option that seemed too invasive & depleting (financially & emotionally) for us. Anyone who has "tried" to have a baby for longer than 6 months knows how hard it is. It's a road wrought with frustration, disappointment, shame, isolation, self-loathing, jealousy, sadness, and rage. It is all encompassing & it takes its toll. I was done.

As we sat in line to board that ferry, and I contemplated turning 30 and what I wanted for the next decade of my life, I knew one thing for sure:: I did not want to waste the first half of my 30's "trying" to have a baby, in the same way I felt like I wasted the last half of my 20's "trying" to have one. I decided then and there that when I turned 30, I was done. When I turned 30 a few months later, I would give up the ghost. I would accept that children just weren't in our cards, and we would embrace all the many positive aspects of a  life without children (and there truly are many joys to a child-free life). 

I turned 30 on March 5, 2014. In the  months that followed, I made the decision to 'come out' to our family with my infertility struggles, and to confess that likely we would not be having children. As many people with infertility do, I had kept this aspect of my life very private. There is a shame that surrounds infertility that I cannot quite describe. For me it was born out of a desire for people not to "feel sorry" for me. I told only my very nearest friends about my struggle, and allowed everyone else to think that I just didn't want children yet. 

When we told our families that we were infertile, and that no, we wouldn't be pursuing IVF, and that there was a good possibility that we would not be a source of grandchildren/nieces/nephews, we were met with love & support. Family members who had, up until then, been asking us routinely about when we would be having children (because we had not been open with them yet about our struggles) immediately stopped it with the pressure and cajoling, and embraced us as we were-- child-free. We all began the process of moving on and accepting that Tamara & Jerred would likely remain a family of 2.  It was liberating for me in the truest possible sense of the word. I felt whole.

And then Father's Day 2016 happened.

I am from Vancouver, BC.

I was born in Saskatchewan, Canada's central parries, but my family moved to the Vancouver area when I was 4 years old. I started Kindergarten in Coquitlam (one of the small cities that make up the GVRD, or Greater Vancouver Regional District). My childhood and teen years were spent in various cities within the 'GVRD', and when I was 22 I moved to central Vancouver. 

In my mid-20's I was fortunate to spend 2.5 amazing years living in San Francisco, but Vancouver was always the beacon to which I returned. It was very much 'home'. I spent time living in Vancouver's downtown 'West End' where I shared a 1.5 bedroom apartment with 3 other girls. We lived in the heart of Vancouver's vibrant gay neighbourhood, 'Davie Village' with literally hundreds of restaurants, bars, nightclubs, cafes, and pubs just around the corner. There was always some sort of drama, always some sort of party, and always some sort of fun to be found.

As I approached my later 20's, I gave up chaotic, party-central Davie Street for the sleepy, tree-lined neighbourhood of 'Mount Pleasant'.  Just 4km away from each other,, these neighbours felt like a world apart. In Mount Pleasant, sandwiched between Main Street and Cambie Street, I walked my dogs under the cherry blossoms in the spring, as they rained down their delicate, pink petals, and children rode their tricycles on the sidewalks. 

That is the beautiful thing about Vancouver. Whatever you want, whoever you are, whatever your lifestyle, Vancouver has something for you. Mountains, sea, sky, every type of cuisine you could ever dream of, the best first date of your life, a place to worship your own particular God, shops, shops, shops, new, old, in-between... Vancouver does it, and does it well. I loved Vancouver and was proud to call myself a Vancouverite. 

But here is the trouble. When you grow up in a city as well equipped, international, vibrant, and diverse as Vancouver you are led to believe that nowhere else could possibly make you as happy. Living in Vancouver is much like being in a bad relationship. You know that the situation is bad, and that you are suffering for it, but you start believing that nowhere else will have the same job opportunities, nowhere else will have people you could ever make friends with, nowhere else will understand you, nowhere else will love you like Vancouver loves you. I have met so many people who agree entirely that they have no real future in Vancouver, but also admit that they "would never move". The fear of life outside of their Vancouver-Bubble (as unhealthy as it may be) is crippling. 

I admit that I suffered from this same crippling fear. The only reason I took the plunge was because the man I was engaged to at the time (and subsequently married) was from outside of Vancouver and knew for certain that there was indeed life outside of the GVRD. He pushed me to be brave, and look outside of the safety of my dysfunctional little nest and at least consider my options. We left Vancouver in July 2013, and moved 700km East to British Columbia's 'West Kootenay' region. We were one of the 1,571 millennials, who left Vancouver in 2013. And that number of young folks who are leaving the city only goes up year after year.

It wasn't all smooth sailing. My first year here was hard. Transitioning from a city girl, to a 'small town' girl was harder than anything I could have imagined. The loneliness and isolation I felt brought my to my knees. I've lived many places in my life, but never anywhere so small. To say it was a 'culture shock' would be an understatement. But slowly, slowly, slowly I made one friend. Then I made two. Then 4. And before I knew it, I had a social circle and a sense of belonging, and that desire to pack everything up and return to Vancouver waned. 

In our first year away, I returned to Vancouver about 8 times. In our second year, about 5. In our third year, it's looking like it will be 3 times. Next year (our forth) perhaps even less. Initially I went back for work, and shopping, and social engagements, and just to connect with a city of which I still very much identified as being part of. But as time passes, I feel less desire to return. As time passes, I feel like less of a Vancouverite. As time passes, I feel like Vancouver is no longer my home. 

I am here to say that there IS life outside of Vancouver, or any large city that you may find yourself spinning your wheels day in & day out simply to make ends-meet.  If you have been considering leaving your city due to housing cost restrictions, don't let the nay-sayers scare you-- There is happiness to be found elsewhere. You just need bravery, and a bit of patience.

One of the strangest things about being a woman with hair as short as mine is that you feel an immediate alliance to other women with hair as short as yours. A sisterhood of the pixie cut, if you will. When you see others in public you have to resist the temptation to approach them and tell them how awesome their hair is, or ask where they have it cut. And even funnier is that even during those periods where you have decided to grow your pixie cut out, and you no longer have short hair, you still *feel* like you have short hair. You feel like you now need to approach these same women and inform them that despite appearances, you are indeed one of them, and that this hair on your head is really just a passing phase...  But at your core, you are & always will be a woman with a pixie cut.

It often goes something like this, 

• "You hair is cool. Have you ever thought about growing it out though?"
• "I've never had sex with a woman with short hair! That would be neat!"
• "I'm not normally attracted to women with short hair, but everything else about you makes up for it."
• "I don't date women with short hair because during sex I need something to hold onto, if you know what I mean."

That is why, I believe, it takes a certain je ne sais quoi to cut & keep your hair very short. That is why other women stop me in the street to tell me how "brave" I am to have short hair, and  why I feel the need to stop other pixie-cutted women in the streets to applaud them, too. What we are doing is an act of bravery, in it's own small, every day way. In keeping our hair this short we are making a very public declaration to the non-approving society around us that we don't give a shit. We are declaring that we are fabulous, and sexy, and feminine not despite our hair-cuts, but because of our hair cuts. That long hair doesn't make a woman any more than knuckle hair makes a man. It's our subtle, every day display of modern day feminism, I think.. and it that regard, it IS a bit badass. 

Part 3 of my 3 part Nicaragua Travel series brings us, finally, to the historic, colonial city of Granada. ​

To be honest with you, I was sort of dreading Granada. I had envisioned a large, bustling, '3rd world' city, where street merchants would follow us the street, poverty-stricken children would grab at our t-shirts, and the traffic noise, starving stray animals, and garbage would be everywhere. I am pleased to say that I was wrong on absolutely every account. Granada surprised me deeply with it's charm, it's walkability, and it's laid back vibe.

My husband and I splurged and stayed at the absolutely stunning 'Hotel Real La Merced'. I booked our stay there about 3 months in advance, and we nabbed one of their smaller rooms for about $80 a night. This proved to be a total steal for a hotel of this calibre, staff as friendly and well informed, included hot breakfast, and accessibility to everything the city centre holds. 

One of my favourite things to do in Granada was just walk around and explore. The buildings are so vibrant, and there seems to be a visual delight around every corner. We spent countless aimless hours walking, people watching, and eating. In doing so, we discovered a few little Nicaragua secrets:

• The food in Granada is surprisingly good. There is a HUGE variety of international options, and the quality of ingredients is really quite remarkable. That said, it's expensive. We paid the equivalent of $80 USD for two wood fired oven pizzas and two sodas at El Pizzaiol. Cheap meals can certainly be found, but if you go into any of the well decorated, recently renovated, tourist-oriented joints, you going to pay a premium. Lunch/Dinner will likely cost you just as much (or more) than what you would pay at home for a similar meal.
• The Mercado Municipal (Aka, the Street Market where all the locals do their shopping) was... authentic. If you're looking for gritty, intense, urban Granada-- hold your purse tightly, & go there. 
• Street vendors/Tour operators/Anyone who approaches you trying to sell you shit will leave you alone if you simply say 'No thanks'. I am pleasantly surprised at how considerate and decent the vendors in this city were. I never once felt harassed, or unduly pressured. 
• Exercise extreme caution when out at night. Avoid sparsely populated, unlit streets. Do not walk alone. Do not walk when you are obviously inebriated. The bad guys come out at night.
• There are dudes on the corners outside banks with STACKS of cash who offer to exchange bills for you. Initially I thought these guys were some sort of a scam, but they're totally legit. You will find that many shops are unable to break 'large' bills-- visit these guys to have larger bills broken into more spendable, small notes. They can even exchange USD into Cordoba for a very reasonable exchange rate. 

​Interestingly, the ChocoMuseo is located in/attached to a really wonderful hotel & spa. Mansion de Chocolate in and of itself is worth a visit (or 5).  For one, the hotel is recently renovated, but loaded with colonial charm. It's a BEAUTIFUL, sprawling building that will make you forget that you're literally in the heart of old town Granada. The spa offers all sorts of treatments from massage, mani & pedis, and even chocolate body treatments. Guests of the hotel enjoy 50% off most spa bookings, so you could literally get a massage every single day. But, perhaps best of all, this place has one of the most beautiful pools in all of Granada. Arrive early to nab a lawn chair, and spend the day dipping in and out of the water, enjoying a drink from their fully stoked pool-side bar, and generally chilling out. The hotel even allows for 'day use' of the pool by non-guests. I believe it's $10-$20 a person, per day. ​​

Over all, Granda surprised me. It surprised me by how comfortable it was. It surprised me by how expensive it was. It surprised me by it's juxtapositions of very rich, and very, very poor. In many ways, I very much enjoyed Granada. But at the same time, if I am being perfectly honest with you, I also have absolutely no desire to go back. I feel instead like I have seen enough of it (I feel like I have seen enough of Nicaragua as a whole, actually.) Perhaps Central America just isn't my cup of tea? 

The thing is, as travellers, we don't have to fall in  love with every place we go. Some places, cultures, languages, and histories appeal to us. Some do not. It matters less that we love each place, and more that we simply go with an open mind, and an eagerness to learn. Admittedly, Nicaragua was not exactly my cup of tea. I don't know if I would ever want to go back, but I am still so thankful for the experience. It was different than any place I had ever been, and I will certainly never forget it.

5 years ago I went through something that I never thought I would experience: Divorce.

My ex-husband and I had what I would describe as a marriage that was quite comfortable and rich in friendship, but was devoid of any real passion. Despite our problems, and the vital things that our marriage lacked, I was completely blind-sided when he told me on Friday afternoon during an argument that felt no different, and no more severe than any of the other arguments that we'd had before in our married life, "I want a divorce."

When he said it the entire world seemed to stop spinning, like a car crash. Everything slowed down, and suddenly the only two things in the room were he & I, talking and moving in slow motion. He was sitting on our leather section sofa, head in his hands. I was standing at the kitchen counter in our open-concept living/kitchen, knees buckling. He said it like he really meant it. Like it had been on the tip of his tongue for months. I'll never forget that moment: the feeling of the bottom falling out of my entire life. 

In that initial moment things slowed down, but in the moments, days, weeks, and months that followed things went dreadfully fast. Faster than I thought possible. I remember feeling dismayed at how easily the tapestry of our married life that we'd woven together, could all be unraveled. A few years together to build, 4 words to destroy. I remember feeling dismayed when he said he didn't want to pursue counselling because he "didn't want to be married to me anymore!". I remember feeling dismayed when I found out about the other woman.  Feeling dismayed when I found out that a few of our mutual friends knew about her, & about his dissatisfaction in our marriage long before I did. 
​

​
Not wanting our friends and family to find out on Facebook when I inevitably changed my status from "married" to nothing at all, I decided to reach out directly to those nearest and dearest to me. I wrote Facebook messages, emails, and made phone calls. My written messages didn't go into specifics but said that we would be splitting up, and it was very sad & difficult, but we would survive.

What followed was a general response that shocked, and deeply, profoundly wounded me. The response was:: Nothing. Radio silence. Nothing at all. Of the 20-or-so messages and emails that I wrote, I received maybe 5-7 responses. The vast majority of people opted instead to say nothing.

I have spent 5 years trying to figure out  why someone would NOT respond when they received a message like that from someone near to them, and I still can't fully understand. I don't think I ever will. Maybe they were all just horrible people, and never truly my friends at all..? Or maybe they all just didn't know what to say. Maybe they racked their brains for an appropriate response to news like that, came up with words that all felt insufficient, ingenuine, or trite, and so they ignored the message altogether. They chose instead to say nothing, and go on with their lives.

You must do a lot of painful things when you go through the divorce process-- finding out that you never really knew your spouse at all, breaking the news to your loved ones,  the divvying of assets,  packing/moving house,  self-doubt, trust issues, being fucking broke all of a sudden, not knowing if you'll ever find love again, the the anger, the betrayal... Divorce is all around an extremely shitty, inconvenient experience, and I don't recommend it.  But I'll tell you the worst part about divorce... It's something I never anticipated:

The isolation. 

You go from having you entire life planned out. You think things are going to move in a certain trajectory. You have a 5 year plan, a 10 year plan, even a rough 25 year plan. You have inlaws that love you, and a social circle, and some financial reliability. . . . and then you have NOTHING.  It's bad enough that the person you loved most in the world (your spouse) is no longer emotionally accessible to you, but there is all this other collateral damage as well. Collateral damage that you never would have expected. Friends who avoid you because your divorce is just such a bummer, in-laws who (naturally) will remain faithful to their adult child rather than to you, people who judge you. You become a bit of a leper. Your network shrinks in size by HUGE amounts.

I found losing my spouse to be hard. But losing my entire network was crushing.

It was then that I decided that whenever my friends & acquaintances were to go through something painful in their lives, I would say something. Particularly if I found it difficult to think of what to say-- those were the times when something needed to be said the most. No matter how hard, how squidgy, or how useless my words felt, I would say something. Because what I learned is that it's not what people say, it's simply that people say anything to you at all. 

When the people in your life are going through something difficult, like illness, death, divorce, financial worries, etc... they do not expect you to offer them the most profound, poetic, words of encouragement that they have ever read. They don't expect you to take their pain away. They just want to know that they aren't walking through life alone. They want to be acknowledged & validated, and told that you care. It's really that simple. So, say something. Say anything.