Fin.

Seventeen days later... My sweet kid is on the outside and I don't think I could love anyone more.

I had a great time writing this blog, but now that I am no longer rounder and wider and weirder (well...) - I don't plan to continue on here.

Who knows, maybe I'll pick it up again when the Android and I decide to add to our family, but for now the memory of pregnancy and childbirth is all too fresh. We'll see in four years or so.

Anyway, thanks for reading and laughing with me. For the non-moms out there - I hope I didn't scare you off of motherhood.

For the pregnant gals - I didn't lie. I may have... expanded some ideas, but the main points are the same. Don't blame me.

And for the other moms - I hope I did you proud.

Keep reading about my adventures in motherhood on The Czar and I.

Here goes.

My water broke at 11:40 pm on July 28. It really broke this time - no foolin'. And damn was it gross. Why is it that no one tells you the little details like this? Pregnant women, take note: When your water breaks it doesn't just gush once and stop. NO. It continues on, it goes while you walk, it collects when you lie down, then it gushes more. When you get to the hospital, make friends with the mesh panties (surprisingly comfortable!) and sneak a huge pile of the mondo pads that the hospital provides. You. Will. Need. Them.

I digress.

I called the hospital and told them that my water broke. The nurse told me to get my stuff together, take a shower if I wanted to (Oh, I wanted to.), and to come in within the hour. Because I had Group B Strep they had to get me on antibiotics pretty much ASAP. And so it began.

We got to the hospital and checked in to PETU. Again. A couple of nurses at the desk recognized us from our visit a mere 72 (!!!) hours earlier. I wasn't really contracting much (Though the last three days had been spent contracting like a mofo in spurts) - maybe every 20-30 minutes or so, but since my water really had broken this time, I wasn't going anywhere. At this point it was baby or bust.

I got an IV. My first ever. Very exciting, and also very cumbersome. We hung out in a teeny room and a cheery nurse checked on us periodically. I was dilated to almost 2cm - not great. I knew I was in for a long night. Android and I watched TV, looped around and around the halls of the maternity ward, and willed my cervix into dilating enough to get us into a Labor & Delivery room so we could really get this party started.

Several hours went by, it was 5am and my cervix had dilated to a whopping 2cm. Better than almost 2cm, but not as good as, say, MORE than 2cm. We continued to hang out and try to sleep. At 6ish we were moved to a L&D room down the hall. I have to say, these rooms are just lovely - spacious, nice view, comfy bed - but none of these things convinced my body that a child should come out of me anytime soon.

At 7 our magical nurse Teresa came in to introduce herself. She was sweet and cheery and had had two kids so she seemed to know what she was doing. She complemented my breathing techniques and sincerely hoped our kid would be born during her 12 hour shift. Ha.

At 10am (Five HOURS since my last check) I was still dilated to 2. TWO. Two centimeters does not make a baby opening. They started the pitocin. Teresa started me on a teeny tiny drip, and the contractions began to get more regular, but I was breathing through them like a champ. I was switching positions, I was getting in the bathtub, I was walking while I could... it was going well. We trucked along until about 1pm when they got baaaad.

Like, BAD. I was on the birthing ball (just a fancy name for the exercise balls that you can do ab work and Pilates and stuff on) and Android was behind me rubbing my back and just generally being awesome, but it didn't help. It hurt like a bitch. It kept hurting like a bitch until Teresa took pity on me and checked me again - 4cm. BINGO. I only had to make it to 4cm before they'd break out the epidural.

The anesthesiologist was a magical man who came, saw, and poked me in the back with what I can only assume was a very large needle. And for that I thanked him. Profusely. Sure, my legs were numb as hell, but the pain was GONE. I got to sleep for the first time in 12 hours. It was lovely, until I woke up to a nagging pain in my left hip.

Pain? That shouldn't happen, right? No, no... it shouldn't have, but it did. Big time. This is where things get fuzzy.

I remember them calling the anesthesiologist again. He adjusted the epidural catheter and gave me a bump of something to bring the pain down faster. It was a little after 7pm, and Teresa's shift was over. She introduced Jen as her replacement. Jen was a cute little blonde with glasses and a baby bump (due October 22). Teresa had lovely things to say about Jen, and promised to come by the next day to meet the baby. Suitably comforted, I slept.

Until I woke up to searing pain in my lower back. Again, that should not have happened. But it did, and in swept another anesthesiologist with yet another cocktail of druggy deliciousness. Which worked beautifully until the absolutely body-rending pain in my right side.

Y'all, this nearly finished me off. I vividly remember this stage because I was clutching the side of the bed with both hands, gasping for breath through the sobs, hoping that someone would just put me out of my misery in any way they saw fit.

You think I'm kidding.

Also, the pitocin drip was inches away from my face and I could hear its mechanical click every few seconds as it pumped twelve times the pitocin I started out with into my body. It was taunting me. I remember yelling "Will someone just turn off the fucking Pitocin?" No one was in the room other than Android and I, but it felt good to get that out into the universe. When Jen came back I asked her nicely if she could turn it down and she said "Sure, honey. But I don't think it will do any good." At least she didn't sugarcoat it.

I wanted a c-section more than anything at that point. Seriously. I don't think I ever said it out loud, but I think Jen could read my mind. She came in and said "The anesthesiologist will be here soon. He's in surgery. Until then, I'm going to give you some fentanyl and it will calm you down between contractions. I have spoken to the doctor - you are almost fully dilated. You will be giving birth vaginally."

I didn't argue with her. Jen was kind of a badass.

The anesthesiologist did come. The pain went away again for a while, and pretty soon I was feeling like I should push. And push I did. It was me, Android and Jen and we pushed our way though those contractions like you wouldn't believe. I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head. It was freaking HARD, but it was also the best part of the whole experience because I was doing something.

Now, I was told from the beginning that first time babies can take up to 3 hours to push out, and having an epidural (no matter how shitty it turned out to be) doesn't help matters. So I pushed. And Andrew counted. And Jen continued to be amazing and calm and sweet but vaguely scary.

I pushed. And pushed. I was visited by various doctors (including the teenager from our false alarm! Turns out she's really sweet and good at her job! Hooray!) who told me I was doing well, but I'm sure they say that to all the girls.

It hurt. I'm not gonna lie to ya. The drugs were pretty much a thing of the past. And remember the pain in my left hip the first time the epidural pooped out on me? Yeah, turns out the kid's head was wedged in there and whacked against my hip with every contraction. His head continued to be cocked funny for a while, which made pushing even more difficult and just a titch more painful.

And I pushed. I passed the 2 hour mark and was just about to the end of my tether. I asked Jen how much longer she thought I had and she took a deep breath (because you know they've got to hate questions like that) and said: "Maybe 45 minutes? But don't hold me to that."

Forty-five minutes. That wasn't what I wanted to hear. Naturally, I started crying. Again. She said "Honey, 45 minutes isn't very long! Tell you what: prove me wrong."

25 minutes later he was out. I take challenges seriously.

So, I pushed. I knew something was happening, but this stage is a whole lot of "two steps forward, one step back". I knew I was getting somewhere when it felt like my hips were being split open by his skull. Unfortunately, this is also when I decided I couldn't possibly go on. The various doctors and nurses had assembled pretty quickly as I was pushing like a madwoman.

I expected the quintessential movie line "I can see the baby's head! One more big push!". I've seen too many movies. No one warned me that he would come out as fast as he did. One second he was in there, and the next he just... wasn't. Then the next second he was on my belly.

And he was amazing. And not nearly as gross as I thought he'd be. He just just kind of shiny - not all cottage cheesy like we saw in the childbirth videos. My jaw dropped. I could not believe that something so beautiful and so FREAKING HUGE came out of my nethers.

The Android cut the cord, and the baby was whisked across the room to the warming lamp for cleaning and suctioning (he passed some meconium- probably when he was being smooshed into my hip). I still had some work to do - the pesky placenta had to be delivered. I had been told it could take up to a half hour for that to happen, but I think I had it out in three pushes. A squishy mass of tissue is a piece of cake (have I ruined cake for you?) next to a giant-headed baby.

The Android was beside himself as he bopped between me and the boy, reporting things like "Ten fingers! Ten toes!" and "He's TALL! 22 inches!"

I was blissed out on not being in pain anymore. I think they gave me a local anesthetic in my lady bits as they stitched up the tear my kid made as he came out. The teenage resident did the stitching and an attending watched. I think it went badly, because the attending eventually took over for the resident and redid her work, muttering "...something...something...hamburger."

I swear.

But whatever.


It's nine days later. I'm feeling pretty awesome. The kid is amazing and thriving and all around perfect.




But I guarantee you he won't have a sibling for another four or five years.

He's here.

Whoa.

I have one long and complicated birth story to share, but I'm not so good with the coherent sentences right now, so it'll have to wait.

For now - the basics:
Ivan Dean was born at 1:16 am on July 30. He weighed 8 pounds, 8 ounces. He's 22 inches long and has looong fingers and toes.

We like him a whole lot.

I'm doing really well (though I'm about due for another dose of ibuprofen...), Android is the proudest Papa ever, and Ivan is a sweet little baby nugget who sometimes shrieks like a raptor.


More later.

This has GOT to end sometime.

It was a hell of a weekend. It began with a "pop" at 10pm on Friday night. I swear I thought my water broke, and I was SURE I hadn't peed on myself, and I was contracting (though they weren't painful. I would find out later what pain REALLY is).

So, anyway, I was under the assumption that my water broke. There was no massive gush of fluid, but I thought that was pretty normal - they tell you that sometimes the baby's head acts as a cork and the amniotic sac can form kind of a slow leak of fluid. This is what it felt like. I called the hospital, the triage nurse said we could hang out at home for a couple of hours, but since I tested positive for Group B Strep I did need to come in, even though my contractions weren't regular.

We rolled up to the hospital at 1am, and they checked us in to PETU (Perinatal Treatment and Evaluation Unit). This, as we learned, is where they separate the REAL laboring women from the big, fat, fakers. Ie: yours truly.

Android and I were led to a quiet little room down the hall from the nurses station, I put on a gown and got into bed, and a nurse came in to strap a fetal monitor and a contraction monitor onto my belly. (These things suck because you cannot freaking MOVE while they are on. You can a little, but you always run the risk of dislodging the fetal monitor and having a nurse come in and readjust it with a vaguely annoyed look on her face.)

They had to verify whether my water had broken or not, which involved a cotton swab for 60 seconds in a place where cotton swabs normally don't go. She dipped it into a solution, waited 10 minutes and came back saying it wasn't amniotic fluid, but it wasn't urine either - and they weren't convinced that I hadn't broken my bag of waters.

This is when the 12 year old resident made her appearance.

Note: I am not the kind of person who judges doctors by their age. I'm really not. But I have reached the age where my doctor really could be younger than me and that terrifies me just the teeniest bit.

She examined me, and the gush of fluid (hey, if you've been reading this blog since the beginning you've read worse things, I think.) that came out made them really believe that my water had broken. They took a sample to send to the lab - apparently amniotic fluid forms a fern pattern on a slide when put under a microscope. Neat, huh?

Alas, no fern for me. At this point I was something of a medical mystery. The best explanation was given by my nurse (we started out a little rocky, but I ended up quite liking her) - it's probably just crazy birth canal lubricating discharge. Not many women get it, but she happened to with her second kid.

Because they were still so confused, I got another exam - this time with speculums! Woo! The best part about that exam is the nurse was missing a critical cotton swab (because they are all different.) and had to leave the room in order to get the right one, all the while I'm sitting on the bed with my knees as far apart as they would go, a speculum up my hooha and a prepubescent resident waiting patiently for the return of the nurse. Talk about awkward.

Then they made me pee in a cup.

The teenager came in a bit later to tell me that there still was no amniotic fluid to be found and that's a good thing because I was still 1 centimeter dilated and labor would have been long and hard if my water had broken at this point. The logical part of my brain knew she was right. The part of me that was wearing a gown that showed my ass if I moved too quickly wanted to wrap her stethoscope round her neck and pull it reeeeeeaaaal tight.

When she left the room I cried. A lot. The horrible quiet trying-not-to-make-too-much-noise/mess-in-case-someone-comes-into-the-room-cry. I couldn't help it. I had been such a trooper though the damn exams and the chilly room and the fetal monitor and the contractions that I couldn't quite believe we were going to be sent home sans baby.

At about 4:30 my doctor (like, my actual doctor - she was on call that night) came by to check on me, which I thought was awfully nice. She explained (more gently than the toddler did) that my lack of amniotic fluid at this point dropped my chances of a unnecessary c-section by a lot. She was the only one who comforted Android and I by saying that false alarms like this are totally normal and par for the course.

At 5am we were released. We gathered our things, walked out of PETU (the nurses waved goodbye and wished us a swift return) and into the deserted corridors of the hospital.

We were sad and exhausted. We went home and crawled into bed and shut off our cell phones and slept (and my contractions had either stopped or I was too tired to acknowledge them).

Saturday was my due date. It was also my sister's birthday. Android and I hung out at home for most of the day in the hope that something, anything, would happen. It didn't. We joined my sister, brother-in-law, and Mom for a picnic out in a very beautiful park in the western 'burbs. We ate, drank (I had a glass of champagne and loved every sip of it) and were generally merry.

By the time we got home I had started contracting again - about every 11 minutes, and let me tell you - those suckers are painful! They're like menstrual cramps on crack. Unfortunately, the regularity died down and the Android and I made an attempt at sleep. He was more successful than I, but bless his heart, he usually woke up just enough during my contractions (about every half hour at this point) to rub my back until I had settled down again.

I managed to get a fair amount of sleep in and woke up relatively refreshed on Sunday morning.

Android and I had a stupidly hopeful Sunday. We went to Target for cat food and toilet paper. We got some breakfast at our local joint. We walked around for an hour hoping that my contractions would steady up again. We had a couple of friends over for pizza and The Simpsons. We continued timing my contractions, but they were sporadic at best. We went to bed.

And here I am. At 4:19 on Monday morning. Still contracting (I'm averaging every 7-8 minutes for the last hour or so... yay!) and pretty tired, but not enough to try to sleep.



The Android had today picked in the warehouse baby pool - I hope he's right. We'll win eight bucks.

Progress! Finally!

Had an utterly lovely doctor's appointment today! I'm dilated to 1cm, I'm good and effaced (thinned out), and the kid's head is engaged. All good things. Then again, my standards have been lowered considerably over the last couple of weeks - 1cm is sorta paltry considering I've got 90% of the way left to go, but whatever.

My bp was a teeny bit high, and my feet were swollen (I know, REALLY? In JULY? At nearly 40 weeks pregnant? INCONCEIVABLE!) - so doc made me pee in a cup. There were trace amounts of protein so she wants me on the alert for headaches, vision changes, and more extremity swelling. I'm going to take it easy tomorrow and see what happens.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

I'm trying to keep my head up. Yes, technically I am not overdue yet. I can count. I can read a calendar. Doesn't change the fact that I am hideously uncomfortable 100% of the time.

You heard me. One. Hundred. Percent.


Surely I exaggerate? Nope. But I won't bore you with the details.


I am not afraid of labor and delivery. Bring that shit ON. I just want my kid. Here. Now.

I'm a big liar.

So, here's my belly at 39 weeks plus a couple days.

Admire the lack of stretch marks. Seems to be the only thing I've got going for me.

No more belly pics.

Tried to take a new belly pic just now.

My sheer mass almost made me burst into tears. Screw this. I'm avoiding mirrors until I'm at least six months postpartum.

Okay. Fun time is over.

I feel like complete and utter shit. I slept so bad last night, and woke up about a thousand times to pee. My body is shutting down, I think. My bones ache when I have to heave myself out of bed, and my feet protest the zillion-pound body they are being forced to transport.

Also, I have a perpetual stomach ache. Everything I eat causes it to be upset. Bob is fine, still kicking away like a champ - I'm not worried about him... I'm worried about ME. Somehow I gotta get him OUT, and how am I supposed to do that when I feel like ten different kinds of horseshit?

How the hell do women nest at the end of their pregnancy? I can barely bend over, much less scrub the damn floor. I did a whole mess of laundry yesterday (which could be the reason I'm so tired today...) and I feel like I got nothing done. Luckily, I just don't give a damn.

Three more days at the deli and I will be free. FREE!





I better have this baby soon - I may be losing my mind.

At least SOMEONE got a little firecracker.

My friend MamaGrouch had her baby girl early on Friday morning! Hooray! That baby was fashionably late by about four days, but she's just gorgeous and all is right with the world.



I had a pretty major uptick in Braxton-Hicks contractions (Android just calls them Bricks - it makes me laugh every time.) last night. Let me tell you - they're not exactly as painless as we are led to believe. I had major back pain, major crampiness (like a million years ago when I last got my period), and my belly was super hard.

Throw in the atrocious heat and the sound of fireworks ALL NIGHT and it adds up to not a great night's rest.

However, it does mean the end may be in sight, so I'm going with it. I imagine my nurse practitioner will check my cervix when I go in on Wednesday... here's hoping there was some progress on that front.



On another note - does the fact that the word "cervix" still weirds me out make me twelve years old? Probably. Whatever.

Time marches on.

As of tomorrow, Bob will be considered full-term. His little lungs are probably fully developed by now, and if he happened to be born, you know... NOW, he would be a-okay.

Hear that, buddy? C'mon out!




Seriously, though - since I found out he had flipped I've been sending labor vibes to my midsection. I've been massaging my belly in a downward motion, and I've been trying to think up ways to annoy the shit out of him so he gives up the ghost and comes out already.

All this and I still have three weeks til my "due date". I will be a bundle of fun for the next month or so, no? Apparently my mom thinks I'm irritable. NO SHIT. I'm utterly miserable, and having her tell me that labor is "not that bad" really doesn't help much.

BUT, I have come up with an all-purpose answer for people who believe they are being helpful/informative:
"Every pregnancy is different."

I shall say that with a smile on my face, even if I want to claw someone's eyes out.

Every pregnancy is different.

Bob is a team player.

He flipped! My little butthead is no longer a butthead!

He's in a lovely head-down position and looks like he wants to come out and play SOON (right, buddy? Play along, will ya?).

All in all a good appointment today - my blood pressure was great, his heartbeat is strong - and the doctor said he's cute (we got a little peek at him on a portable ultrasound thingy). I think he may have the Android's nose, and for that I am eternally grateful. My nose took 20 years to grow into.

I do have Group B Strep, but if they get the antibiotics into me as soon as I get to the hospital, everything should be just fine. And if I already have an IV, then putting narcotics into it should be no problem at all! Woo!

Sometime THIS MONTH (unless Bob is NOT a team player) I will give birth to a baby. And the fools at the hospital will actually let me take him home and like, raise him.

I'm not sure if I can take the pressure... but I'm sure as hell ready to try!

I'm tired.

I'm tired of being pregnant.

I'm tired of being HUGE.

I'm tired of other people's opinions, whether they meant well or not.

I'm tired of WAITING.

I'm tired of my back hurting.



Other than that, life is good. The weather has been nice, and I've been able to sleep relatively well. I really am ready to meet Bob, but he's making it difficult.

He hasn't turned yet, and if he doesn't turn soon he will be a breech baby. If he does indeed decide he's perfectly happy right smack where he is, we have two options - the doc can perform and External Cephalic Version on my poor, unsuspecting belly and try to get the kid to MOVE ALREADY! Or, we can schedule a c-section and get the uncooperative bugger out. They won't do vaginal breech births at my hospital, and for that I am grateful. It seems like an unnecessary risk for the baby and a whole lot more difficult delivery for the mom.

I have officially stopped talking about it. I get entirely too many unsolicited opinions, and I'm DONE.

I have a doc appointment tomorrow and we'll see what's up and progress from there. One way or another, I'm having a BABY sometime in the next month! DUDE!

For the record -

The more people suggest baby names to me, the more insecure I get that they will hate the name we ultimately choose.

Choosing your child's name is a personal and important thing. No one else gets a say.

Thirty Four weeks, three days.

Life continues to be good. Bob is a squirmy little guy, and as uncomfortable as his gymnastics can be, I like to know he's seemingly healthy and active.

I have a little less than six weeks til my due date, and I am READY. For the last few weeks I've been dealing with what I believe is a pinched nerve problem. Suddenly and completely without warning, my entire right side will go all hot and tingly and numb-ish, and it feels like I'm breathing in hot air,but only on the right side of my mouth - the whole things lasts about two minutes, then goes away as quickly as it came on. Really unpleasant.

I believe the kid is sitting on something he shouldn't, and my suspicions are unfortunately being confirmed almost daily (and several times daily) as he gets bigger. So, the logical conclusion is that this will happen way more often over the next six weeks. Awesome.

I'm going to talk to my doc again (the first time I mentioned it, she kind of looked at me like I was crazy) and see what can be done about this, if anything.

Anyway, I'm ready for Bob's arrival.







Maybe I'll take a belly pic today. We'll see.

Uffda.

I told you my belly was taking over the world.

My three lovely friends (Jenn, Barb and Corina) threw me a shower yesterday. It was my first shower ever, and I have to say - cake and presents and sniffing chocolate bars in diapers? My idea of a good time.

I'll post pictures and more details later. Until then, THANK YOU, GIRLS!

32 weeks.

How the time flies.

Had a doctor appointment yesterday and learned something very interesting. Apparently, if one has fat arms, one should not have the nurse use the regular blood pressure cuff because that causes one's blood pressure to skyrocket.

Had I known this a month ago I would have been able to avoid my 24 hour pee adventure. But whatever. Bygones.

So, yeah - BP is perfectly fine, weigh gain seems to be okay as well... 24 lbs in 7 months ain't too bad. Bob was showing off for the doc and kicked up a storm, and his heartbeat was strong.

We start Childbirth Education classes this coming Monday, and because I am a total nerd, I'm excited. Perhaps I will change my mind once we start getting videos to watch.

I have GOT to post a belly picture sometime today. It is beginning to take over the world.

Here's the thing:

This baby is going to be the biggest adventure of my life so far. I am ridiculously excited about it. I'm happy, in fact. SO, it would be great if asshole people would stop pointing out that my baby will cry and poop and probably not sleep through the night for a couple of months (or, according to one dipshit non-father, my baby won't sleep through the night for 18 months or so.) Do you think I'm an idiot? That I've been in a bubble? Explain it to me. Does it make you feel good to see my face drop?

Blaming my hormones on my attitude toward you is unacceptable. If you are being an asshole, I will call you on it. Me calling you on it is not a byproduct of my hormones. I am not some crazy irrational girl because I want to be treated like a human being.

I'm going to be a mother and I cannot wait. If you can't be happy and supportive, shut the fuck up. I am TIRED of laughing off the hormone jokes, and the pointing out that I waddle when I walk. YOU try carrying a few extra (um... 20.) pounds across your pelvis and see how YOU walk.

I'm also tired of people being astonished that I am still working. Pregnancy is not terminal. I have two months to go and odds are I'll be working for the majority of that.

Know what's really funny? All the comments that piss me off the most are from men who have no children. In fact, they come from men without a wife or girlfriend. And at this rate, no woman will put up with them.



I am lucky that my pregnancy has gone off without a hitch so far. I am blessed that I wasn't put on bed rest for the last two months of my pregnancy like someone I know. That doesn't mean it's not hard as hell and getting harder. I am roughly the size of a VW bus and I'm constantly amazed that I don't keel forward when I walk.


Please be kind to the pregnant women in your life. Their brains are working overtime on sixty billion things that may have never even floated across the transom of your mind ("Hey! You kicked! Good. You're still alive." "Is this bathwater too hot? Am I boiling you?" "What is that and why is it digging into my spleen?") Be kind to them because no matter how cute you think they look, more than likely they feel the size of form of public transportation. Don't share horrible childbirth stories unless they ask, and even then... maybe cushion the blow a little bit.

I'm not saying you should coddle a pregnant woman - we can sniff out condescension a mile away (must be the hormones.) - all I'm saying is... be kind.







I'm going to go take a bath and hope against hope I don't boil my kid like a Maine lobster.

You mean he's not shaped like a basketball?

Bob has a new trick. It includes wedging himself up in the upper right hand corner of my torso and jabbing me with his sharp little knee. At least I think it's a knee.

I'm only just realizing that my kid is indeed not shaped like a basketball. He's pointy and jabby and freaking squirmy as all hell.

I like him, though - and I can't wait to meet him. But we're going to have to discuss this shoving-body-parts-into-Mom's-internal-organs thing.


Another new development: I can no longer bend at the waist. This make sitting awkward, much less picking something up off the ground.

Not being able to bend at the waist is the unfortunate side effect of no longer having a waist. I've always been a biggish girl, but I always had some defined narrowing between the boobs and the junk in the trunk. This no longer exists. I feel more like a tank than ever. My lovely turquoise polo shirt makes me look like the Adriatic Sea.

I think I'll wear black for the rest of the pregnancy.

It was worth it.

The epic peeing in a jug was worth it - "No evidence of preeclampsia"

Hooray!


Now, that's not to say I won't ever get it, but I don't have it now. So Bob can stay in there safe and sound for a while longer without killing me.

30 Weeks!

Holy crap!

So. 10 weeks left.

I'm doing well. The weather has been amazing lately, so my mood is elevated. I don't have to be bundled up for warmth anymore, which makes me 100% more comfortable than I was through most of the spring. I already have an extra layer of padding, adding on to it with sweaters and hoodies and coats just made me feel lumpier.

My balance is suffering. Now, those of you who have seen me walk in real life know that I've never been terribly successful at it. Go ahead and add to that another 20 lbs, 15 of which seem to be right in front, resting on my pelvis.

I don't just walk into things, I slam into them. I am more tank-like than ever.

The men I work with as looking at me with growing concern. I get asked fairly often "So... when are you done working?". I figure I'll keep going until I can no longer fit behind the counter at the deli. This day is fast approaching, but it ain't here yet. Anyway, it's just the men who aren't fathers who seem to think I will drop to the floor at any moment and give birth in the Spanish wine section.

I'll post a 30 week belly pic today or tomorrow. Probably tomorrow as all I will have to do all day is pee in a jug.

Jug o' Pee

Had a doctor appointment today. There's good news and bad news.

The good news is my freak weight gain two weeks ago was a fluke. I'm down 5 lbs from that last weight and the general consensus is indeed a combo of water weight and the lack of calibration in the clinic scales. Bob's heartbeat is strong and lovely. In fact, it sounds like the heart of a man who wants to meet the world exactly on time, if not a few days early.

The bad news is my blood pressure is high. Again. Not quite as high as it was at my last appointment, but the doctor is showing concern about warning signs for preeclampsia. Yeek.

Soooo... I get to give them a 24 hour urine sample! Yes! I get to collect my urine for a full 24 hours and put it in a giant orange jug!

Does anyone realize exactly HOW OFTEN I pee every day?




Other than that, the appointment was just peachy. No one surprised me with a cervical exam, so that's an immediate win over the last time.

Welcome, Ellyse Claire!

Yesterday my friend Jade gave birth to a beautiful, perfect baby girl named Ellyse Claire.

This little lady was fashionably late (by about four days), and very nearly drove her mommy bonkers, but I have a feeling that all is forgiven.

Congratulations to the new family!

Twenty Eight Weeks, and change.

I think I just look a little pointier in the belly than I did a month ago. Weird, because I feel like a damn tank.


Life is good. The weather is nice, I feel a-OK, and I don't have gestational diabetes! Hooray! The check-up from hell turned out okay!

A little less than 12 weeks left til my due date. I... don't know what to do with this information. The nursery is a shitmess, I don't have a car seat or a stroller or ANYTHING.

These things will be resolved soon, but still. I'm a basket case.

"You're not fat! You're Pregnant!"

Turns out you can indeed be both.

My appointment this morning kinda blew. It started with a big cup o' liquid sugar. They check the glucose in your blood (for signs of gestational diabetes) by making you drink a fairly large paper cup of fruit punch with an extra pound or two of sugar mixed in - then drawing your blood an hour later.

Checked my weight - 10 pounds higher than last month. The medical assistant and the Nurse Practitioner both kind of chalked it up to a combination of water weight and the fact that none of the scales in the office weight the same... but still.

And my blood pressure was high. I'm not a doctor, but I feel like maybe the HUGE amount of sugar I ingested a half hour before they checked my blood pressure may have had something to do with it. Or not. Again, they didn't seem too concerned.

And I had to pee in a cup. That wasn't too traumatic, but I really hate having to aim.

AND they sprang (sprung?) a cervical check on me! I didn't know I was going to be pantsless for this visit, but that's how it worked out. Poor Android. His second pelvic exam. He handled it well - scootched his chair out of the line of vision. In case you were wondering, my cervix is long, thick and tight. All good things.




So, even though Mom is falling apart royally, Bob is doing just peachy. His heartbeat is strong and sounds great and he moves a whole damn lot. So, yay.

Mmmm...

26 weeks and 2 days. I just didn't feel like doing a belly picture this weekend. I feel bloated and lumpy and the added joy of my swelling feet is just exacerbating my parade float-like body issues.

So, maybe during the week sometime. Maybe.

I'm mostly okay these days, but I'm experiencing more and more "typical" pregnancy things, and when I mention or god forbid complain a little I hear things like "Well, you're pregnant." or "Already? You still have SO much longer to go!".

By the way, 14 weeks no longer seems all that long to me. And really, it's only like, 11 weeks until I'm full term. That's really not that much time.

Son of a bitch.

A friend of mine shared her own love of baby socks with me. I think she may be the devil, but I love her anyway.

I'm obsessed with socks.

But seriously, can you blame me?


My kid will have entirely too many socks.

24 weeks.

16 more to go. Sixteen. That's freakin' forever.

I'll take a picture of the Webbelly tomorrow. I have a feeling there will be even more of a difference this week. It finally feels like a pregnant belly - not like I'm faking it after a big meal.

UPDATE - The Webbelly at twenty-four weeks. I kinda look like a Weeble.

You do the math.

I had an appointment with my doctor yesterday - things continue to be uneventful. I couldn't be happier. Bob is measuring right on, his heartbeat is normal, the kid is doing just ducky. I am also doing well. My blood pressure is good, I haven't gained an atrocious amount of weight (though I have some eating habits that leave much to be desired... cookies just taste so good!).

Oh, I have to go in for a glucose test at my next visit. Apparently they make you drink a supersweet beverage of some kind (I've heard it tastes like fruit punch, orange Crush, and the Devil's piss - it depends on who you talk to.). Then they take your blood and check the sugar levels. I would like to avoid gestational diabetes, please. Yet another reason to lay off the Girl Scout cookies.

My doc is cool and seems genuinely happy to be helping me get this kid grown and out in (preferably) one piece.


Oh, and reason #9,384 why pregnancy math pisses me off:

Mom: So you're how far along now?
Me: Well, it'll be 24 weeks on Saturday. So, six months.
Mom: Wow! There will be a baby in three months!
Me: Nope. Four.
(silence)
Me: Four months. Pregnancy is 40 weeks. 10 months. They lie. I will be 10 months pregnant at the end of July.
Mom: Really? Huh.


She acts like she hasn't done this twice before. Granted, the last time she did it was 27 years ago so she might be rusty.

Dear Bob,

• Describe your feelings for your baby and what it's like to know he's growing inside you.
I'm sorry, kid, but it's really flippin' weird. You make me have to pee all the time, and you kick my insides, and my ass is getting big because of little ol' you. I love you, but I can't say that growing you is the world's most magical experience.

• Imagine a perfect day with your baby and what you'll do together.
On your 11th birthday your dad and I will take you to a Twins game, we'll eat some sunflower seeds, get an autographed baseball from whatever star player the Twins have in 2019, and then we'll go home. As we are relaxing on the deck, an owl flies up, drops a letter on your lap and we realize you've been admitted to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I celebrate because not only are you a wizard, but I also don't have to clean your smelly prepubescent boy clothes for nine months out of the year! Hooray!

(God, I'm a nerd.)

• Write down your hopes, dreams, and wishes for your baby.
Yale undergrad, Johns Hopkins medical school, discovers both the cure for cancer and a perfect remedy for cellulite.

• Think about what being a mother means to you and your definition of what makes a good mother.
Truthfully? I just hope I don't pass my passive-aggressive nature on to my kids. I think that would be the worst thing I could do to them. And guilt, while useful in some situations, shouldn't be used on your kids. However, bribery is a must.



Love,
Mom

Shut up, BabyCenter.

This Week's Activity:

Write a letter to your baby. You and your child will treasure this gift for years to come. Go with your heart and follow your inspiration. If you need help getting started:

• Describe your feelings for your baby and what it's like to know he's growing inside you.

• Imagine a perfect day with your baby and what you'll do together.

• Write down your hopes, dreams, and wishes for your baby.

• Think about what being a mother means to you and your definition of what makes a good mother.




I just don't think I'll ever be as goopy and saccharine as the world expects me to be.

He's just going to have to be okay with that.

The Birthin' Mix

I'm working on an iPod mix for when I go into the hospital. I thought it would be harder than it turned out to be - I already have 8 hours of music and I'm only through D in the iTunes library. Could have something to do with the seven Beatles albums I put on the list...

On one hand, I want to have a ton of music available just in case I'm one of the lucky women who is in labor for damn near forever. On the other hand, I don't want to create a self-fulfilling prophecy by making sure I have 20+ hours of musical enjoyment.

It's a toughie.

Twenty Two Weeks.

Um... I guess two weeks makes a difference, huh? Not only are my boobs taking over the world, but my ass is becoming something out of Sir Mixalot's dreams (I act like it wasn't already...) - and my belly is thisclose to being able to balance a cereal bowl on top of it.

Mmmmm... cereal.



I bitch, but I'm still amazed that there's something IN THERE. I've become obsessed with feeling him move, and I think the kid picks up on that because he just won't.... then I get good and panicked and he'll kick me in the gut. Shithead.

There's really nothing new going on. The first trimester is for worrying and being nauseated, the third trimester is for being huge and uncomfortable and ready to get this thing OUT (even though we know what that entails...) I think the second trimester is just a lot of sitting and waiting. It's a good thing I have projects.

Speaking of - I was super productive yesterday. I pieced together a quilt top for my new nephew (Due May 27! Yay!). It's a pretty bitchin' quilt, I must say. I think today will be spent ataching the batting and backing and quilting that mutha. If I feel extra ambitious I might bind it. If there's an America's Next Top Model marathon all this might just happen.

Advice from my French Press:

"Children and Hot Liquids Should Be Kept Apart"



Armed with this knowledge I see Mother of the Year in my future.

Ugh.

I'm really fucking melancholy and depressed.

I blame the hormones. It's like having PMS but a thousand times worse.

I'd love to spend most of my free time in the bathtub with a book and not speak to anyone, but apparently hot baths can essentially boil the baby (EW!). Plus, my skin gets really dry.

Android is watching Twin Peaks at the moment... I try to watch it, and when I do I totally get sucked in, but I'm not feeling the David Lynch-tasticness of the Peaks tonight.

I'm reading a book that I know I've read before, but I absolutely cannot remember it. I remeber being bored by it the first time, and now I kinda love it - I'm totally addicted. It's pretty fluffy, but fun. It's called The Other Side of the Story by Marian Keyes. I LOVE The Last Chance Saloon (love. Like, read twelve times love.) and I'm really adoring this one. She writes really lovely women characters who are just as neurotic and flawed as I am.


Mmm... I'm going to read my book in bed. Maybe I will perk up. And if I don't, at least I get to got to sleep soon.

21 weeks down.

The Webboy is thumping around in there quite regularly now. It no longer feels like butterflies, and therefore doesn't make me want to puke. Hooray!

21 weeks down.

I have a doc appointment on April 1 - I plan to ask her about pain relief during labor and delivery. I'm not entirely sure I want an epidural, but I don't know that a systematic drug like Demerol or whatever will take the edge off quite enough for this pansy-ass girl.

I'm not ashamed that I want drugs. I'm scared as hell and I'm not afraid to let people know that. And I swear on all that is good and kind, if one more person tells me that childbirth is a beautiful thing, I will scream.

It is NOT beautiful. It is horrible and sweaty and bloody and painful and THAT'S OKAY. I know that in the end I'll have this long-awaited and very much loved child. But I don't see anything wrong in asking to be high as a damn kite while I wait.

So, yeah. Gonna talk to the doc - see what she thinks, talk to her about writing up a birth plan since odds are she won't be the one catching the little tyke.


What else? I'm getting bigger by the second, it seems. I kinda like my belly. I can't wait til I can try to balance a cereal bowl on top of it.

The nursery is at a bit of a standstill. That room has been a giant closet for the last six months or so, and it's kind of hard not to just chuck my clothes in the crib like it's a giant hamper. Maybe when there's a person in there I won't do that anymore, but there are no guarantees.



Ooh! There was some frightening talk by Android and my sister about trying to buy a house late this summer. I went along with it for unknown reasons, but it seems Android has realized it's a craptastic idea. I understand it's a buyers market, but I HAVE A LOT OF SHIT GOING ON RIGHT NOW. Knowing that we'll be in our apartment for another year calms me. Sure we have hookers on the corner, and crazy loud neighbors, and drafty windows, but we also have a lot of crap that has accumulated and I just have no interest in moving it again.


More than anything I would like a rum drink of some kind. Something with lime or pineapple or mango... maybe with a little paper umbrella in it. Truth be told, what I really want is to go out to a bar with some friends and get hammered. Maybe not to the point of puking - but a good buzz and a late night trip to White Castle for fries sounds brilliant.


Sigh. This kid better be awesome.

Dude. Not cool.

This afternoon one of my customers noticed I was gimping a little bit (my left hip has been kinda wonky off and on lately). She assumed I was doing the pregnant waddle and launched into a conversation about pregnancy (apparently she's 32 weeks). She asked how far along I am and I told her five months. She looked down at my belly, looked at me and said "Really? You're BIG for five months!".

Oh, for fuck's sake.

I swear if she wasn't pregnant I would have vaulted over the counter and strangled her. Isn't there some kind of pregnant woman bylaw that says you are not supposed to comment on another woman's baby belly?

If not, there should be. That's just wrong.

I fully admit that I had a belly to begin with, but come on! So, yeah. I spent the rest of the day sucking in my gut.

You know you're pregnant when...

...you throw a granola bar, an apple and half a sleeve of Thin Mints in your purse because you might get hungry during the hour and a half drive to Rochester.

To my credit, the granola bar is still in my purse. The Thin Mints didn't have a chance.



Another fun development: I can no longer sleep on my belly. I am not supposed to sleep on my back. This leaves two options: my left side and my right side. Apparently I'm too stupid to figure out how to sleep without sleeping on my arms, so I woke up twice last night with numb hands. Awesome.





I went to a friend's baby shower this weekend, and I'll admit it got me jonesing for one of my own. My very brave friend (going on 33 weeks along and still cool as a cucumber) glowed in her cute boots and new haircut and made me wanna be like her.

I'm so NOT glowing in this picture. I look a bit lumpy, but my new glasses are still cute. Whew.

Halfway there.

Twenty weeks. Twenty weeks? I've known about this kid for 15 weeks and it still baffles me. Now I only have twenty weeks to get ready for a little person who won't be able to FUNCTION without me!




On a belly pic note, the computer is now in the dining room (that we never used). On the right is the beautiful kegerator. I tried to dress it up with many many magnets, but it still looks like a big white cube. It makes the Android deliriously happy, so I go along with it.

Boobs, glorious boobs.

My boobles are growing exponentially now. It baffles me that I have five more months to go. My tits will eventually take over the world, mark my words.


Or maybe not. I'm awfully tired.

The Webbean showed the goods.

I had some adventures in Ultrasound-ing this morning. They (cruel bastards) request that you drink 16oz of water 45 minutes before your Ultrasound. The catch? You can't pee. That is a MEAN trick to play on a pregnant woman who has to piss like a damn racehorse every 15 minutes.

It backfired, though. I got into the exam room, and the first thing the tech sees on the screen is my enormous bladder. "How much did you drink?" I assured her that I only had maybe 20oz (though I forgot to mention the bowl of cereal I had for breakfast. She made me go empty my bladder "Until I was comfortable".

I came back and she said "Did you let anything out at all?" Apparently my bladder was still full.

Ultrasound techs are freaking amazing. She's bopping around my abdomen saying "That black spot? That's the stomach? And there are the kidneys..." The kidneys to the untrained eye are a a very slightly darker shade of grey on a grey canvas, but she was seeing them clear as day. I was just happy when I identified the spine.

Then she made me go pee AGAIN, and this time it all came out. This turned out to be a good thing, because it made the baby stretch out and relax a little. Apparently Mommy's bladder was cramping his style.

So, the kid has four chambers in his heart, and a kind of big head.




And yeah, I said "his". There was a winkie. I have a teeny penis growing inside me right now.





A boy. A BOY? I don't know what to do with a boy! I'm terrified of boys! They're little aliens who like bugs and slimy things and they SMELL!



I think I have to take some time to adjust.


Don't get me wrong, I'm excited that the baby is healthy and growing well and all that... but... a BOY?

Enough bitching.

I've been a whiny brat for the last couple of days, and for that I apologize. I blame the barometric pressure.


There are lots of good things about being pregnant, and I should concentrate of how damn lucky I am.


* My rack looks GREAT.
* Maternity pants (with the elastic belly band) are wicked comfortable.
* My hair has grown at least three inches since I got pregnant.
* Prenatal vitamins are magical for the nails.
* Most people love the thought of babies.
* Men get kind of goofy and awkward and cute, and women get all googly-eyed.
* Shopping is an absolute necessity.
* I have come up with utterly brilliant food combinations in my altered state of mind (Bacon goes with EVERYTHING.)




I forgot to mention that we had an appointment with the Nurse Practitioner on Monday morning. There was an utterly terrifying moment when she had to search a bit to find the heartbeat - but all is well.

She didn't say anything about my weight, so I guess I haven't chubbed out too much. My blood pressure is normal.





Three days til the ultrasound! Imelda? Bruno?

Only time will tell.

Eureka!

I've finally figured out what has been chapping my ass about this whole pregnancy thing.

It's an unbelievably personal experience, and yet it's right out there for the world to see and examine and comment on. So far it's been mainly tame, but as I start to show, the more people feel the need to give advice, or call me "Mama", or constantly ask how I'm feeling.


I know that last one is out of concern and whatnot, but what are the odds that I'm going to tell them the truth?:
"Well, constipation is still a problem, and my nipples hurt like a mofo, and the baby's kicks are stronger now and make me want to vomit. I get migraines almost daily, and Tylenol doesn't help one bit. Oh, and I'm tired all the time. All the time. Thanks for asking!"

What I actually say (one thousand times a day)
"Oh, I'm doing well - just truckin' along!"



I'm so happy about this baby. I'm thrilled to bits that in four days we'll know whether we'll have a daughter or a son in July. I just think I make a terrible pregnant woman.




More Things You Shouldn't Say to a Pregnant Woman:

"Wow! You really look... pregnant!"

"Get lots of sleep now while you still can!"

"You aren't planning to go back to work... are you?"

"You're finding out the sex? Why? Let it be a surprise!"
(Alternately: "You aren't finding out the sex? Why? Are you stupid or something?")

"Just wait."

Belly @ 18 weeks

For the record, I have no face in my belly pics because I take them with my iMac camera. Getting anything more than what you see requires the moving of furniture, and more importantly, me running and clicking the mouse to take the picture, then getting back into position in three seconds. Yeah, no.

Seventeen weeks down...

Twenty-three more to go.


Give or take.


All of this is alternately going superwickedfast and unbelievably painfully slow.



Right now all I want is for the weeks to fly by, for it to be summer. Then I can have this baby and no one can be mad at it.

Albertville Outlet Mall...

is the devil.

Me and two of my knocked up friends made the trek up to Albertville to shop for teeny clothes (for the babies) and giant tent clothes (for us).

We were very successful - too much so, maybe.

It was brilliant fun, and I have a whole mess of cute-as-hell things to dress the Webbean in.

The name game

At some point, we have to name this thing. The Android and I have chosen not make such a big decision until after we get to know our kid - at least for a couple of hours.

We have names in mind, but what if (God forbid) our daughter doesn't look like a Gertrude? What if our son doesn't have the ears to pull off Milfred? You can understand the dilemma.

Another option is to go back to the system we used for naming our two cats. When we got Lucy we were living in a house with three other people - Zosia, Rockstar and Robot. We all sat in the living room and watched her play, and cuddled her and threw out possible names. She was almost "Charlotte" until "Lucy" won out - all five of us were going through a Sex and the City phase. A few months later we got Finn and we did the same thing. He was nearly Magellan. Finn was just cooler, though.

So, yeah. I may invite those three lovely people (who I'm still good friends with, in spite of living with them for two years in increasingly cramped quarters) into my hospital room where we will pass the baby around, cuddle her, watch him sleep, and come up with the most perfect name ever.





On a similar note - we have decided that if the kid is a boy he will have the Android's last name, and if it is a girl she will have mine.






I can't wait to tell the in-laws.

Ew ew fucking EW!

People EAT the placenta!

Oh, yes. They fucking eat it. Or they take it home in a little jar and they bury it by a tree or some such nonsense.



And the umbilical stump. It was terrifying enough when I found out that the stump has to STAY on your baby until it falls off (thank you, Sex and the City.), but people actually KEEP it! They tape it into the baby book! They like, carry it around with them! I read somewhere that some woman was holding on to her daughters because she knew that her daughter would want to see it one day...



Here's the thing. Placentas and umbilical stumps? They are nature's medical waste. There is no good and non-gross reason to keep that shit, so GET RID OF IT.


The more I learn about this childbearing thing the more I want to hire someone to go ahead and take over for me for the next five months.






I think that when this is all over I'll print out all of these blog entries and put THEM in the baby book. Way better than an umbilical stump, no?

But... they're my BOOBS!

I just spent some time on the La Leche League website. I'm trying to psyche myself up (or psyche myself out of? It remains to be seen...) for breastfeeding the Webbean.

I just don't know. I mean, it makes perfect sense to breastfeed for as long as there are actual benefits for the baby - nutrients and whatnot. I just can't understand these women who whine about their two year old child weaning himself, and talking to her LLL cronies about how to LURE him back to the breast! What the fuck? Give the kid some chicken nuggets and call it a day!



I read a bunch of the stories and they just seem so... self-satisfied. Good for you. Your boobs leak a magical substance that will make your child a superhero. Whatever.


I still say if you're old enough to ask for it, maybe you shouldn't get it anymore.

Belly Pics.

Here are pictures of my midsection at weeks 12 and 16. I guess I'm showing a little, huh?

Cool.

Can you DO that?

Yes I fucking can.


Maybe I can't smoke (and believe me, I've been CRAVING a smoke.), or drink, or shoot heroin, but I CAN drink coffee, dye my hair, and eat the occasional tuna sandwich.

Bite me.



Here's a tip from me to you: Unless you are a doctor (and by that I mean an obstetrician that has been hired by the pregnant woman in question), do not tell a pregnant woman what she can and cannot do. DO. NOT.




In actual baby news - nothing much. The Webbean is still dancing up a storm between the hours of 5pm and 11pm every day. It's kind of nice, but it also makes me a little pukey. I can only imagine what will happen when this thing is punching me in the lungs for weeks on end.

I'm getting bigger, too. I already had a belly, so it's hard to tell, but I can't suck my gut in quite as far as I used to.

We're steadily collecting baby things - they all reside in the crib for now. It's a really useful storage unit. Also, piling things in the crib means that the cats can't sleep in there. For a few days they were SURE that we had bought a pretty new bed just for them.

We have another NP (nurse practitioner) appointment in two weeks. I get to be weighed again (Bitchin'. Especially after a week of cruise food.), but I don't know what else they are going to do to me.

Oh, and our "big ultrasound" is March 3. I shall put up a poll and the three people who actually read this blog can vote on whether I'm having a boy or a girl.

Good job, baby!

Heard the heartbeat again at our appointment this morning. It was less of a whooshwhooshwhooshwhoosh (like it was at our first appointment) and more of a thumpathumpathumpathumpa. It was cool.

The doctor seems very nice - she prescribed me some drugs just in case I get seasick while I'm in the CARIBBEAN! Ha! All you suckers will be stuck in the cold, evil North and I will be snorkeling and basking in the tropical sun.


But I digress.


All in all, the baby is doing damn near perfect. So, yay.

Why?

Since announcing my pregnancy, the #1 question from people has been "So, have you had any morning sickness?".

They want to know if I've been puking. I have not. I did once, but I had a bitch of a cold and the post-nasal drip caused my stomach to revolt. That's about it.

I just don't understand why people are so interested in my bodily functions. The next time someone asks I kind of want to say "You know, I didn't have much morning sickness, but let me tell you about the constipation. That REALLY blows."






On another note, there is a lot of pressure on this little fetus to create world peace (or family peace, as it were) and basically make everyone shiny and happy. It's hard for me to adjust to the fact that I will have to have people in my life for the baby's sake - even if I want to tell them to shove off. I have thus started calling the baby The Messiah. It's utterly sacrilegious, but I find it cute.

Updates tomorrow?

Not much happening on the baby front. I'm getting more of a belly - I think it's mainly bloating and the six pounds I've packed on in my midsection... but it's a belly nonetheless. Unfortunately, I just look fatter rather than charmingly maternal. And there is no "glow" to speak of. My theory is that the "glow" that pregnant women are said to have is really just sweat. It's too damn cold out right now for any sweat to happen whatsoever, therefore, no "glow".

I just generally feel like shit, though...

Android and I meet the doctor tomorrow. It is unlikely that she will actually be delivering my child, but I don't really care. All I want this July is a doctor who knows what they are doing. If my kid and I come out of this happy and healthy, it's all good.

We're really just playing the waiting game now. I'm counting the weeks (5 and a half) before the ultrasound so I can stop calling the kid "it". I'm ready for the nursery to be done NOW - but we haven't lifted a finger to do anything about it yet.

I'll update tomorrow if I have any new and exciting baby stuff to share, otherwise, I won;t update again until at least Feb 1 - I'm going on a CRUISE! And I'm leaving the Android at home.

Weird.

So, I think I can feel the kid moving. I was SURE it was too early, but then I did some reading and apparently 12 weeks is not out of the question to feel the baby jammin' out in there.


It could be gas, I suppose, but god knows I know what THAT feels like.

So that's cool. And weird. Especially since I'll be feeling that a LOT for the next six months. And the kicks will only get harder. And harder.

And so it begins...

Parents and siblings all know now. I'm exhausted.

It's not a secret anymore, and I'm just bracing myself for six months of unsolicited advice.




Super.




I need a nap.

The first few weeks.

November 29, 2007


So… I’m pregnant. We haven’t announced it yet because I am superstitious and freaked out and all that stuff.

Pregnancy is weird, man. Apparently I’m five weeks along, but pregnancy math is all fucked up. They (“They” meaning medical professionals and all the baby websites out there) count the two weeks before you even CONCEIVE to be part of your pregnancy. The hell? Whatever. Five weeks.

Thirty-five more to go.

Let’s start with the super fun early-pregnancy symptoms. My boobs hurt. I’m tired all the time. I get weird cramps in my belly. I have to pee ALL THE TIME. I’m alternately famished or I can’t smell food without wanting to vomit. This last part is particularly sticky as I work in a deli.

There has been no vomiting yet. I know you were worried.

I had to give up coffee. Mostly. I still have a smallish cup in the morning.

I had to give up alcohol. The other day I was rummaging around for something and had to move a bottle of Maker’s Mark to look behind it. I actually whimpered.

I had to give up sushi. Except the thought of raw fish has always made me sort of yucky in the stomach, so no real loss there…

Also, no more crack for me. And no heroin.

Part of me wants to tell EVERYONE. Part of me wants to tell no one until I’m like, five months along – just to fuck with them. Or maybe I’ll just do that to the in-laws.

So, we wait. And we order books (there are five on the way as we speak).


January 6, 2008

Haven’t updated in a while, but as there is no real blog yet, it’s all good.

Still pregnant. Heard the heartbeat on New Year’s Eve – that was the coolest thing EVER. I’m 11 weeks now – I only have to wait a little while longer to go public. A few people know – our closest friends. No family yet. A bit terrified, actually.

The magical magical nurse practitioner prescribed some sleeping pills to help with my nausea. Who knew? So now I sleep well AND I don’t want to puke all the time! Woot! This is especially awesome because the cravings have begun. Oh yes. Apple pie. French onion soup. Potato chips. I blame the baby.

I’ve been obsessed with the nursery lately. At the moment, though, the second bedroom is really just a walk-in closet. Or junk drawer. Or both. The cats get lost in that room. So, I need to sort it our, THEN I can obsess about the nursery. I want it to be the coolest, most awesome nursery ever. No pressure.

The weeks are alternately flying by and crawling along. I’m super excited to start showing because… well, I’m excited to be a pregnant chick and not just a fat chick. I know. I suck, but SERIOUSLY. Ooh, but the good news is, since I lost 40 pounds in the last year I already have a whole lot of “maternity clothes”!

So… Once we tell the family, this thing will be live. So, a week? Three months? Only time will tell.


January 8, 2008

According to MyMonthlyCycles.com (where I tracked my period religiously for several years) I am 52 days late. Heh.

I started rehearsal last night, and the rehearsal room is full of superbright fluorescent lights and MIRRORS. I felt like a tank compared to the teeny actress girls. I have a feeling this will only get worse. Oh God.

On a similar note, I am currently obsessed with Frosted Flakes. They are delicious. And nutritious… only because of the milk, really – but the baby needs calcium, damnit!