When are you due?

It's a hard question to answer.  We're expecting an addition into our family.  Soonish.  But not nowish.  If you believe my cycle, you might think the baby is due on October 6th.  If you believe the ultrasound, you might think September 26. And if you believe these contractions, you might think tonight.  Woah, these contractions. 

Maybe tonight.

Currently, I am either 36 weeks or 34 and a half weeks pregnant, or somewhere in between, depending on who you believe: the period tracker on my iPhone or the ultrasound tech. It makes it hard to plan things. And to explain things. People think I am being dodgy when I can't give them a simple answer, as if babies had calendars in the womb, anyway.  

If they did, though, I'm pretty sure they would have boobs on them.  But then again, maybe babies would have Anne Geddes calendars tacked up in the womb.  Or maybe that would freak them out.  "What are those people like out there? They make babies into cabbages?" Maybe if babies had access to Anne Geddes calendars it would prolong pregnancy as babies refused to enter a world in which we make them be sleeping naked grasshoppers and butterflies. 

As has been the case in the later stages of previous pregnancies, I am completely consumed with thoughts of labor.  When will it happen? Will I make it past this important work event, or past the point in which I could safely have a home birth? How will it happen? Where? When? When? When???  

But really. When? 

This time around, we're planning a home birth with a midwife.  One of the reasons I am so consumed with the thought of labor is that if I am too early, I can't deliver at home.  I'll need to go to the hospital.  Considering how much I want a homebirth this time, that is a very big threat.  And yet, the contractions that I've had for weeks continue to get stronger and demand more of my attention.  

I feel guilty for not documenting this pregnancy the way I have done with our older kids.  Here's a summary, before I forget everything, because I forget everything these days, and once you give birth, it often feels like pregnancy happened decades ago.  It's weird that you go from a stage of being completely consumed by pregnancy and thoughts of labor to practically forgetting that you were ever pregnant. (Just me? Maybe that's why I keep getting pregnant... Note to self: re-read this pregnancy journal entry if contemplating getting knocked up again)

First trimester: crippling fatigue and a coffee aversion (aversion makes it sound so Victorian. So polite.  I hated coffee's face.  Coffee smelled like straight up brewed Satan's ass. I couldn't tolerate the thought of pouring a cup of it, let alone deliberately allowing it to gain entry into my body.)  During this time, we were also shopping for a new house, renting out our condo and preparing to move. I horked often and mostly laid on the couch or in bed when not forced to be at work.  This time, I tried everything to prevent, or at a minimum, reduce morning sickness symptoms.  

Google will perkily tell you that you should try B-6 supplements! Eat nutritional yeast!  Drink ginger tea! Drink peppermint tea! Acupressure! Try those motion sickness band thingies for your wrists! Acupuncture! Crackers! Hard candy! Minty gum! Carbonated beverages! Flat Coca Cola! Protein! Put yourself into a coma and emerge somewhere in your second trimester!

It's all bullshit.  Except for the coma thing. That's legit.

The only thing that worked was week sixteen.  If you are suffering from morning sickness, I recommend trying week sixteen.  It definately worked for me.  

We found our new home, met with the home inspector, closed on the home and moved into the home, all while I was in a profound fog of morning sickness.  As of this writing, I still cannot stomach any songs from that Muppets movie where the criminal frog Constantine impersonates Kermit. The kids watched that movie and listened to that soundtrack during the apex of my morning sickness and I get queasy just hearing those songs come on Pandora today.

Second trimester: woohoo! Look at me! I'm not made of lead anymore! Coffee? Yes, please. As if you even had to *ask*.  Silly you.  Who doesn't drink coffee for god's sake? Am I even pregnant?  Go for a run? Great idea!  I am happy! And energetic!  We're having a baby! This is great! You're great! I'm great! Let's hug.

Third trimester: Oh. My. God.  Who filled my veins with lead while I slept last night? My back hurts. My tailbone hurts. I can't run. Contractions.  My vagina is hiccuping.  I think that means the baby is pretty low.  Can I finish your dinner? 

Today: So. Here we are now.  Thirty middle ish something weeks.  I have contractions all the time.  I am short of breath.  Often.  I am moody.  Usually.  I can't bend over to pick anything up, so I live in fear that something important will drop and I'll only be able to stare longingly at it.  The baby tracks across my belly and the kids watch it like a lava lamp.  I ache to sleep on my back again.  I pee every eight minutes. I want a beer.  I want to stand up without grunting.  I want to recline without feeling like I am going to faint. I want to laugh without peeing.  

I also want to meet this new person, this lively little spirit, who we will welcome with arms and hearts wide open into our lives very soon.  

Soonish. But not nowish.  

Also, for real, can I finish your dinner?

JackJack

He goes by many names: Jackers.  JackJack.  Sugar dumpling.  Honeysuckle. Jackety-Jack.  But no matter what we call him, he is loved beyond words.  And here is his story.     

One year ago, today, I woke up feeling funny.  Not stand-up comedy funny or amusing blog entry writing mood funny.  The kind of funny you feel when someone in your belly is planning on coming out soon but not right now-ish, but still kind of soon-ish, just not real time definite-ish.  Not necessarily “I am going to have a baby today-ish” but also not “I am NOT going to have a baby today-ish.”  You know? 

I was very pregnant, but not due for another week.  I had a 10 o’clock in the morning meeting with a consultant that had to happen before I started maternity leave.  For weeks I had been experiencing low to mid-grade contractions.  They hurt.  Despite what baby books and my doctor call Braxton-Hicks (i.e., “false”) contractions, these were the real deal.  And I knew it.  I just didn’t know when they would be over. 

It was Monday morning and as I felt another mid-grade contraction wash over me, I wanted to lie on the couch, but knew I had to be at the office.  I put on work clothes and trudged into the office.  I lamented to my office mate that I had been feeling contractions for weeks and worried that they would never stop.  I would be pregnant forever.  Labor would never really start. I would simply be in this state of discomfort and low to mid-grade contractions for several more weeks.  She assured me that I wouldn’t.  You’re turning a corner, she told me.  You’re really close, she cheerleaded. I breathed through another contraction and hoped she was right.  God, I hoped she was right. 

I sat in the meeting, anxiously looking over my shoulder at the clock on the wall.  The consultant on the other end of the table looked at me in slight irritation and said, “I noticed you keep looking at the clock.  Do you have a phone call you need to be on or something?”

“No,”  I replied.  “I am just timing contractions.”

He was a bit flustered. 

The meeting ended abruptly, at which point I called my doctor.  I told the nurse that I thought I was in labor, but wasn’t sure.  Could I get Dr. Burns to check me out and advise?  The contractions were strong and regular and I would really, really, REALLY like to be examined before I decided on next steps, I told the nurse.  She was more cavalier than I would have liked.  “Well, let’s see… I don’t know.  The doctor doesn’t have an opening until the afternoon…” 

O.K.  New tactic.  I informed her rather edgily, that I would not go home from here and I would not stay at my office.  I was simply trying to decide between the doctor’s office or the hospital.  There would be no going home to the couch at this point.  Understand?  Now, WHERE. SHOULD. I. GO?

She understood.  Come in right now.

I left the office and drove to see my doctor.  Multiple contractions washed over me while waiting for her and I flipped through Parenting magazine with a mix of excitement that it might be the day and worry that she might actually just send me home.  As she came into the examination room she watched me breathe through a contraction and decided it was the real thing.  I was in labor.  I was in labor!  BOO-YA!  She did check my measurements just to have a baseline to provide the hospital and then advised me to go straight to the hospital.  She called the hospital and told them I was on my way.  Weeeeeeee!

I paused on my way out of the building and bolstered myself against the building as I breathed through another contraction.  Calling Chris, I asked him to meet me at the hospital.  “Are you sure?”  He had to pack up Jay and Ella and get them to Grandma before meeting me at the hospital.  This was not a breezy task.  He needed certainty that it was really time before setting these events into motion.  An edge came over my voice as I said, yes.  I was sure.  I was really freaking sure. 

Of course, I did have to stop at Target.  I had not bought Jay and Ella’s big brother/ big sister presents yet, and clearly, this meant that I could not have a baby until these presents were bought.  And wrapped. 

Curses.

Pulling into Target I breathed through another contraction.  Walking into the toy section, I breathed through another.  Selecting their gifts, I breathed through another.  Walking to the cash registers, I breathed through another.  Fumbling through my purse for my wallet, I breathed through another.  O.k.  I got it.  It was time to go to the hospital.  Still, I could not shake the fear that once at the hospital they would send me home, rolling their eyes at that pregnant lady who thought she was in labor but was really just over-reacting. 

Slowly, I drove our manual green station wagon to the hospital.  On the way, I sat through most of a green light as I breathed through another contraction.  FYI, when in labor, never drive yourself to the hospital in a stick shift.  Operating the clutch mid-contraction kind of sucks. 

Parking in the hospital parking garage, I got out of the car and headed into Labor and Delivery.  I braced against the elevator door as I breathed through another contraction.  Arriving on the third floor in between contractions, I strode into triage but was told I didn’t need to be seen there.  Having spoken to my doctor beforehand, the staff was confident I needed a private room.  And how.

Chris arrived within minutes.  Becca arrived shortly afterwards to act as Doula.  We joked.  We breathed.  We swayed.  We tried a few different labor positions.  I moaned and rocked and swayed and breathed.  I can’t say if this lasted a half hour or three hours. But while the contractions were getting stronger, they weren't getting any closer together.  We made the decision to break my water to see if we could help the process along.  

That did it.  Wow.  That did it.  

Suddenly, the contractions became intense and quick, with mere minutes to recover in between.  I breathed and moaned through each one, wondering if I should ask for pain relief.  By the time I was ready to ask for some help with the pain I suddenly had the undeniable compulsion to climb into bed.  I climbed into bed.  A watery memory now, I know the nurses said something about waiting to push until the doctor had checked me and declared it ok to push.  Rubbish.  It was time.  Jack and I knew that. 

Filled with that instinctual and time immemorial urge, I pushed.  Another contraction, another push.  A mere four minutes later (four minutes!) Jack, beautiful Jack, was born.  Upon seeing him for the first time, I wept while my heart exploded with joy.  I have been skipping on clouds ever since.  His easy smile and joyful spirit make everyone in the room light up.  Scrumptious beyond description, I get lost in his eyes when we nurse. We totally lucked out.  

Dear JackJack, 

Having evaluated you for a full year now, your trial period is over.  I think we’ll keep you. 

We are ecstatic that you are part of our family and that you have delicious neck rolls and ticklish thighs to keep us entertained. Most of all, we are ecstatic that you were born in our lifetime and we get to share our lives with you.  Each day brings us your wonderful grin along with some new trick or surprise. Maybe it's the discovery that you like peek-a-boo or can now initiate a rousing game of “Chase Jack around the coffee table” or finding out that a silly toy that crunchy granola moms buys for their kids because they are BPA- free and chemical free and totally bland and boring actually frightens you or that hey, you like avocado, or that you love to hug.  Every day is like a birthday to us with you in our lives, Jack.  

Thanks for a whole year filled with joy and love, and here’s to many, many more celebrations of your life.     

Love always,

Mama

Dear third child who is so completely awesome yet you would never know it by reading my blog,

You are awesome. Today isn’t your birthday. We’re not marking a milestone (unless you count, oh, I don’t know, your BIRTH, which was only lightly chronicled here). I realize that compared to your siblings, you have scant pictures and stories about you on this blog. But you? Wonderful, smiley, chronically happy, you? You don’t seem to mind. I keep meaning to post your birth story (Cliff Notes version: Contractionscontractionscontractions, meeting at the office at 10 am contractionscontractionscontractions, um, I think I have to gOOOO contractionscontractionscontractions now. Hi Doctor? I think I am in labor. Am I in LAAAAA… contractionscontractioncontractions… bor? Oh. I am? Go straight to the hospital? Right-O. Contractionscontractionscontractions, trip to Target, stand in checkout liiiINNNNEEEEE contractioncontractioncontractions, get to hospital, take the elevAATOOORRRR, lean heavily on elevator door door contractionscontractionscontractions Best friend/doula/hair-holder-while-in-labor, Becca, come quiIICCCCKK! contractionscontractionsconTRAC…tions… oh! Here he is! Jack is here! Beautiful, perfect, wonderful, squirmy lovely tiny Jack! Welcome to our world!)

I’ve been holding you nearly every moment ever since. Well, except when Daddy is holding you.
Or Jay is. Or Ella is. Or Grandma or Grandpa. Hey. My turn.

I keep meaning to post pictures of your irrepressible smile.

I keep meaning to write about how much your siblings adore you.

I keep meaning to write about how much everyone loves you.

I keep meaning to write about how you are cooing, and then wait! You’re sitting up all by yourself. And then scooting around on your belly and then pulling yourself up to a stand… and by the time I sit down to write about how much you have grown and all the cool stuff you can do, you are on to some other developmental milestone and then Bam! We’re off childproofing the condo or fishing pennies out of your mouth (as an aside, Ella informed me the other day that when she grows up, she wants to be a butterfly. And a ballerina… and a hunter. Considering that Daddy had to pull a penny out of your mouth yesterday, we are wondering if you plan on being an ATM when you grow up. We could use the cash. Just a thought. No pressure.)

I keep meaning to write about you. Marvelous, sweet, deliciously happy you.

But I think I have to hold you instead.

It’s show time

We’re at the hospital. We’ll update more soon. Trying to find something funny or witty to write. Nothing comes to mind. So far so good, baby Jack’s heartbeat is strong and we are pacing the hospital halls. Hopefully news to post soon.

Gravity and Other Things Pregnant Women Hate

The bible has it wrong.

When God punished Eve for eating the forbidden fruit, the sentence handed down was not an eternity of painful labor. It was gravity.

At nearly eight and three quarters months pregnant, I hate gravity. Gravity pulls stuff to the ground. To places I can not reach. Once something falls to ground, I can only look longingly at it, mentally will it to magically come back to me, or try to forget it.

Unless that thing is chocolate. Then I can reach it. But that’s the exception that proves the rule, or whatever that phrase is.

I have decided that back when Eve was frolicking in the garden, things floated freely. It’s why she didn’t need a bra. But once she ate the forbidden fruit, God was all, “Hey Woman. Now you shall suffer. Your ankles will swell to the size of baseballs. Your belly will look like a road map. And you will have to bend over to pick stuff up despite the hard, round growth that does not budge in the center of your body. Sucks to be you.”

Whenever I have something in my hands and then it has to be somewhere other than my hands, a mild panic rises in my chest. What if I fumble it when I am trying to put my cell phone on the kitchen table and it falls to the GROUND? How will I get it back? What if no one is around to hand it to me? If a spoon falls in the dining room and no one is there to get it back, does it really make a sound? Answer yes: it makes the sound of an eight and three quarter month pregnant women grunting and panting on her slow descent to her hands and knees and even more awkward and slower rise back up again.

But gravity is not the only thing pregnant women hate. Oh no. We hate outgrowing our maternity clothes and realizing that we have a few more weeks to go in them still, so we refuse to buy more because we only have a few more weeks to go in them, damn it, and so help me GOD I will not buy another pair of maternity pants. We hate how far everything is from the car. Why did people put mailboxes, houses, and stores so far from my car?

We hate skinny jeans. Enough said. We hate how we pant like Labrodor Retrievers whenever we have to go up a flight of stairs or read a story to our older kids. We hate how time slows down when you hit the final couple of weeks of pregnancy and suddenly two weeks looms ahead of you like two months. We hate July, and we hate August even more. We hate how our butts sweat (that could just be me).

But there are some things that I love. I love how when I go to the gym, strangers smile and give me encouraging nods. I love how our baby kicks when I eat fruit salad. I love how a big belly makes everything else look so much slimmer in contrast. I love thinking about this new, tiny human who will come home with us soon, hopefully, someday really soon.

Like tonight. How about tonight?

Still Ready.

Still no baby. Despite a couple (a few?) hours of contractions last night, we are still here, still without a newborn, still hoping that tonight will be the night.

Gah!

Ready

O.k., I am ready. I thought I wasn’t, and maybe I’m in denial about life with three kids, but I am ready now. Like, NOW. I know I still have nearly three weeks to go. I know I could go past my due date, like so many pregnant women do. I know. I KNOW.

But I am ready.

I packed my hospital bag. I found a glider with matching ottoman. I have held the “what to do when I am out of the office” staff meeting (no boys, no naked days, no drinking until at least 10 am). I have written, re-written, re-written again my maternity leave instructions. I have cleaned, organized, polished, dusted, pared down, and scrubbed everything I can get my hands on. Twice. Two nights ago I cleaned out my closet. Then I faced all the clothes and hangers in the same direction and switched out all the hangers that were not white. Then I sorted the remaining hangers by type and color. Then I tied the sorted hangers in color coded bundles. Then I paced back and forth, wondering what I could possibly do with this one yellow hanger that couldn’t be bundled with the rest of the hangers, because I had a midnight blue bundle and a sky blue bundle and a slate gray bundle and a forest green bundle, but no yellow bundle. It threw my world into mayhem, this one yellow hanger. In addition to sweaty butts, this is the other thing pregnancy does to you: it makes you (meaning me, but you, vicariously) neurotic.

The kids beds! They aren’t made! Who cares if they are still sleeping in them?! Smooth the quilts! Fluff the pillows! Tuck in that corner!

Coffee grounds! On the counter! That outlet- it has dust on the top ledge! Vacuum! Trim your nails! Clean those phone buttons! Straighten that stack of papers! Alphabetize those books by author then by subject and then by copyright date! Shine those copper bottom pots! Speak in exclamation points!

If I weren’t feeling so crampy and contraction-y lately, I think my sense of urgency would be lower. But as each day passes, my body, blissfully unaware of dates on a calendar, says, we’re getting close. I have no idea how close. Maybe close means another four weeks. Maybe it means tonight. But contractions and cramps tell me that something, sometime, will happen.

In fact, I am even crankier than usual when I wake up these days, to realize that I did not go into labor. Not even once. No baby. No mad dash to the hospital. No water breaking, no calls to the doctor, no waking up in the middle of the night because it was “time.” I drink my coffee and try not to feel surly. But really, I am ready. O.k, Universe? I am ready.

Three weeks.

But really, probably not. I have decided that June 16 or 17th will actually be the day, as in, you know, THE DAY.

If not before. (Which of course, I realize, destines me to a fate of two weeks overdue-ness. In July. Because the universe scoffs at cocky self-assured bloggers. I wonder what other blogs the universe reads?)

I still go back and forth between being ready and being SO not ready.
Not ready:

• I have no glider with matching ottoman to feed my fantasies of rocking a precious newborn to sleep


• I have no hospital hall walking slippers


• I have not packed the hospital bag


• Holy shit. Three kids? Like one, two and THREE? Not ready. So not ready.

Ready:

• We have committed to selling the condo. Or at least trying to sell it. In fact, our realtor called this morning and someone wants to see the place the day after tomorrow! Which means we have to scrub the chocolate stains off the walls and probably stash plastic garbage bags of random stuff in our cars, to make it look super roomy and awesome. Because, really this condo rocks so much, we find that we don’t actually need things like a coffee maker or a toaster or toothbrushes. Buy it and you too will never need a broom or winter boots or cookbooks. Amazing!


• Contractions. A lot of them. Intermittent, yes. But painful, real contractions that let me know that we are not far off.


• I wet my pants yesterday.

The scene:
Me pushing Ella in a cart through the local garden shop, picking out lettuce seeds and cucumber plants. A woman who works there approaches.

“Excuse me… are you just really hot?... (glancing at my backside and looking somewhat uncomfortable, but well intentioned) Or… did your water break?”

Me, reflexively feeling up my rear end. With some shock and some relief, I verified that no, I was not leaking amniotic fluid.

I was literally sweating my ass off.

Look, I am pregnant. Everything sweats. My hands. My feet. My pits. And yes, my butt. It’s lovely. And it is SO not something they warn you about in pregnancy books.


• The eclipsing of all other thoughts by thoughts of labor. And a nearly primal need to make it as natural, calm, quiet and dark in the delivery room as possible.


• An eagerness to meet this new little person we have created that will make the world a better place and our family an even bigger, louder and more joyful one than before.

Four weeks.

In four weeks (or less) we will bring a completely new human being home from the hospital. Holy hell. And by that I mean Yay! And also, OMFG. I oscillate between excitement and cold fear.

In some ways, I am completely prepared. Cloth diapers located? Check. Washed? Check. Folded and neatly put away? Check, check. Newborn and infant boys clothing brought up from storage room? Check. Sorted, washed, folded and put away? Check, check, check, check. Infant car seat inspected and ready for action? Check. Sleeping space figured out? Eh. Maternity leave notes written and staff prepped for my absence? Uh… Mentally prepared for assuming responsibility for another human being’s upbringing and quality foundation of life? Oh god, oh god, oh god.

And now begins the slippery slide down. The slippery slide is filled with hyperventalaty (yes, I did just make that word up, actually, what of it?) gasps of breath, irritation about our condo being too small and worries about selling it (or worse, not selling it) and waking up at four am to wonder about who will take care of X,Y, or Z while I am out of the office. We have no bassinet, no crib, no play pen set up, because setting one up would eat up approximately all of the space in our bedroom and in order to sell it we need to make the room look huge! And airy! And spacious! The crib is actually the least of my concerns at the moment. More likely than not, we will co-sleep as we did with Jay and Ella for the first year or so and a crib would just get in the way.

Of more concern is my mental state.

When we were expecting Jay, we did what many expectant parents do. We took a childbirth class. We read pregnancy books. We shopped for strollers and baby carriers and cloth diaper wraps. We planned the nursery. Friends and family threw us baby showers. We had conversations about The Baby and Life with The Baby and all the cool, fun, awesome stuff we would do with The Baby.

Through all of this stuff, it never occurred to me what registering for baby bathtubs and reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting and going to baby showers were actually doing. They were helping me, us, to mentally prepare for this colossal transition. We thought a lot about what life would be like with a baby because this was a life changing event. We knew that everything would be different when we met our new little guy for the first time. And it was. When we were expecting Ella, because she was a girl, I was able to mentally prepare by shopping for cute girly clothes and thinking about what life would be like with a daughter and by reorganizing Jay’s room to turn it into “The Kids Room.” I read books about VBACs and thought a lot about labor, since I had Jay with a c-section.

But now that we already have an inventory of cloth diaper wraps and booster seats and onsies and have read all the books we have had time to read and don’t need a childbirthing class and can’t find the time to have a conversation about our day, none-the-less about The Baby, I find myself casting about for what I should be doing to mentally prepare. There is no nursery to prepare because our condo is only two bedrooms and there is no mysterious labor to study up on because I had a great VBAC experience with Ella. I haven’t spent the hours daydreaming about what life will be like when our new little guy comes along because I already kind of know and also know that I can not really ever know, because it is all so different, with every kid, and on any given day.

So, this is a post about how I am ready and so very not ready at the same time. Which, I guess, maybe means that I am ready.

Note to the Universe: That last statement was not intended to indicate any actual degree of readiness, particularly in the next two to three weeks. We still have to do things like find and buy a glider with a matching ottoman and replace my slippers for pacing the halls at the hospital and steam clean the carpets before we can bring a baby home. And also, I am so not ready. Seriously.

You look great!

Repeat after me, “You look great!”

This is what you should say to any pregnant woman. Every pregnant woman. Every woman you think might be pregnant. But especially, and particularly, every pregnant who you were about to say something different to.

Let me explain. Every woman is different. We are short. Tall. Thin. Plump. Athletic. Whatever. In addition to already looking different from the woman who is standing in line at the grocery store flipping through Town and Country magazine, I also look entirely different from the woman sitting next to me in the OB office who has the exact same due date. We all look different when we have an entirely different human being growing inside of our bodies.

So.

So, here is what you do not say to a pregnant woman: “You can’t be eight months pregnant. You’re not big enough!”

I know it seems harmless. Complimentary, even. But, truly. Knock it off.

Here’s why. I am on the tallish side. I also maybe have squishy insides that allow for a baby to hide, creating a baby bump that is on the small side. I assure you, it makes me no less pregnant. So after a slew of well intentioned folks exclaimed, “there’s no WAY you’re six/seven/eight months pregnant! You’re too small” I did the only thing I could do.

I freaked the fuck out.

I am doing too much yoga! Not eating enough! Not resting enough! Too stressed at work! My baby will be tiny! It will be all my fault! I am inflicting all kinds of developmental delays on him! He must be undernourished! And it is All! My! Fault!

I began meticulously taking kick counts. I paid attention to my energy level (too low? That would obviously mean I was sucking necessary nutrients from this poor kid’s brain. Too high? Obviously I was over-caffeinated/ over-sugared/ over-somethinged and it would result in an awful childhood disorder that I couldn’t pronounce). I watched my weight gain. I held my t-shirt close to my belly to scrutinize my profile. I flipped up my t-shirt for a better view. I looked this way and that way. I fretted.

I talked to my doctor. I told her that I was concerned about my growth. Because people have been telling me that I am too small. And you know, they must know best, right?. True, they were probably trying to be complimentary, but they managed to freak me out. Because here’s another thing about pregnant women: It takes precious little to freak us out.

An entire industry exists because we are so easy to freak out. Pregnancy is nine months of freak out peppered with food aversions and cravings for pickled beets. They make at-home fetal heart rate monitors, lead blankets to protect fetuses from electromagnetic waves from our laptops, special diets, exercise regimens, and books about the dangers of everything you can imagine from bisphenol-A to goat cheese. We freak out. Aside from growing a human inside of our bodies, we freak out. It’s what we do.

My doctor measured me. She frowned. Well, maybe you’re measuring a leeeeeeettle small, she told me. Let’s get you on the office ultrasound and have a look. We lubed up my belly and she cranked on the machine. She measured. She studied. She measured again. She studied again. Measured, studied, measured, studied.

Finally, she pronounced the baby to be about a week behind his gestational age. This did little to allay my fears. He was small and it was all my fault, clearly.

But then she told me that this ultrasound could be off by plus or minus three weeks. She decided to have me go into the hospital for another, more accurate, ultrasound. Just to be sure. Not that anything was wrong, she assured me. Babies grow at their own rate and this was just a crude ultrasound and she was no ultrasound technician.

I spent two weeks freaking out while waiting for my ultrasound appointment and while trying not to freak out. The reality is, I didn’t even know how worried I was. I went to work. I read to the kids. I cleaned the kitchen. I practiced yoga and kept up a normal exercise routine. I read the newspaper. And over all of that, day in and day out, a deep dark cloud of worry hovered above my head. I was not even aware how much of my life was overshadowed with this worry. The worry that our baby was too small, that he wasn’t thriving and that it was something that I was doing terribly wrong.

The day of the ultrasound came. The ultrasound tech measured and studied. She measured again. She studied again. Measured, studied, measured, studied. She was very quiet. I watched the screen anxiously, looking for a definitive answer. I tried to make sense of the smoosh that was on the screen. There was so much baby I couldn’t tell what was what.

Finally, the measurement results were tallied. The baby’s gestational age: 35 weeks, 1 day. The baby’s average ultrasound age: 35 weeks, 3 days. He was in the 66th percentile for size.

Boo-ya.

I cried from the relief.

We were tracking and trucking right along. He isn’t on the smallish side. He is on the perfect side. I couldn’t believe how relieved I was. I hadn’t known how much worry I had been carrying around. How much guilt. How much self- berating I had done.

So.

So, listen. Mothers worry. From the moment we see two lines on a pee stick to the day we die, we worry. But we especially worry when we can not see our small people and examine their owies and talk to them or their doctor.

Comments about a woman’s belly are a wildcard, but are generally ill advised. We will worry that we are too small. We will worry that we are too big. We will worry. We just will.

Now repeat after me, “You look great!”

Because, really, she does.

Bullet points

In the interest of time and my attention span, here are some bullet points that I have prepared for today's post.

• We went to Florida last week. It was great. Warm and sunny. I didn’t have to scrape ice off the windshield a single time. We did not have to spend fifteen minutes getting coats and hats and mittens and scarves and boots on before we went outside to check the mail. We went to the beach, where the water flows freely, absent of any hard chunks of ice. We wore sandals. I got a sunburn. It was lovely.



• Jay turned five on Wednesday. It was so good we celebrated it twice. Once with my parents, once several days later with Chris’ family in Wisconsin. We had the obligatory train cake and presents. I later sobbed to myself that he is already five years old and made a mental note that I needed to put together one of those video montages with music and photos of the last five years. I ate a bucket of chocolate instead.



• I am twenty-six weeks pregnant. Holy hell. I better do something. Like get a crib, or a package of onsies or boil water or watch a movie that features pregnant ladies or SOMETHING to get my head in the game.



• I am trying not to freak out about not having any space to put the baby or his crib or his package of onsies because our condo is too small and we can’t sell it because the market sucks and now he’ll have to sleep standing up in the hall closet and he won’t even be able to stand for at LEAST nine months so how are we going to prop his fat little cheeks up in the interim and, and, and, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…



• Winter is a horrible, slobberific houseguest, who has officially overstayed its welcome. Get out of here, winter. And take your nasty black snow with you.



• Did I mention that I am trying not to freak out about the whole delivering a baby in twelve-ish weeks and having no place to put the baby afterwards because our condo is too small?



• Did I mention that I am really starting to freak the fuck out about it?



• Oooh, is that chocolate over there?

And it’s a…

And it’s a…

Tomorrow’s the Big Day

Or at least a big day. Not THE big day. That will come twenty or so-ish weeks later. But tomorrow is a big day in pregnancy land. Tomorrow is the day we find out whether to bring pink onsies to the hospital or blue.

As if.

In all actuality, we’ll bring whatever onsies I can grab in the middle of the night once my water has broken and the time for putting together a cute wardrobe has long since vanished. I’ll frantically waddle into the kid’s room and root around in the dark for something to bring with us that doesn’t have any stains on it, while Chris paces the hallway and calls the doctor, because I am an ACE at planning.

I’ll have the best of intentions of packing a hospital bag beforehand. I will. In about two months, I’ll start to put together a list. An awesome, comprehensive list complete, with things like:

-hair dryer
-bean bag heating pad thingy
-diapers
-Um…?

Then I will get distracted by something shiny and walk away from the list. The kids will find the list and color on it. It will get pushed under the couch and left to languish for months along with a handful of cheerios and a dog biscuit. Two nights before I go into labor, I will suddenly and frantically recall my list. I will recall that it was a superb list. Unequal to anything I could put together again. I will start searching the condo for it. I will make angry faces at Chris and toss things to the left and right as I look for this really, really, great list. I will get distracted by the mess I have just created. I will make angry faces at Chris because Look! A huge mess! I will clean the mess and make more angry faces at Chris, because he is the symbol of all things terribly wrong with my hormones, and also, Rar.

Then I will forget about my list again. I will eat baked Cheetos and chocolate chunk ice cream, and scrub the floorboards nineteen more times.

But that day is not for another twenty or so-ish weeks, so eh, no list needed right now. Besides, if I forget my onsies, Disney will be right there waiting for me:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/07/business/media/07disney.html?_r=1

Ugh. I guess better go make that list.

Groundhog Day

Today Jay popped up from his underground den and checked for his shadow. Okay, actually, he tunneled his way from our couch to the end of the deck through four feet of snow and scared the crap out of our neighbors who were walking by and saw him standing between the railing and a snow drift taller than him. Chris stuck his head out of the sliding glass door and waved nonchalantly at the neighbors, probably catching them just in time to avert a call to the local child protection service...

Jay tried to convince me to let him have a camp out tonight in his snow tunnel. When I demurred, he told me that AS SOON as he wakes up in the morning, he is going back out there. He has plans for adding a few extra rooms, complete with snow furniture and snow blankets.

Snow is a resource we have plenty of at the moment. I think the official count from yesterday's blizzard was 14 inches (I also think I just made that up, but there are entire websites devoted to that kind of information and only one website devoted to crap I make up, so this is where it's at people). Snow drifts were much, much higher. Chris went snowshoeing this afternoon and walked on snow that was five feet off the ground. I stayed inside and feverishly cleaned and scrubbed everything I could get my hands on, because oh my god, this condo is filthy and don't you know there is a baby coming, a baby that will need a clean place to sleep and nurse and crawl and we can not POSSIBLY bring a baby into this world if that teapot continues to have hard water deposits on it, DO YOU HEAR ME? Can you SEE the cobwebs on the floorboard of the bathroom? No? Get down on your hands and knees and cock your head to the side. There! Do you see them now? How can we LIVE like this?? Really.

Really. Between the spring cleaning itch and nesting fever, it is best to avoid contact with me for the next twenty or so weeks, unless you'd like to help Chris rip out our carpet and replace it with hardwood flooring. Nesting is only getting started, baby. Luckily, spring cleaning will end a little sooner. Jay did not see his shadow this afternoon.

(Probably because I compulsively scrubbed it off of the snow).

Reasons why I haven’t written a blog post in nine days:

• I have been busy peeing. No, really. Forget what those lying prenatal books tell you about how “in the second trimester, the frequency of urination will subside, as the uterus moves higher into the blah, blah, blah.” I pee all the time. It’s what I do. It’s my new hobby. It’s my defining characteristic. So shove it, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”. You lie.



• I have also been busy drinking coffee, now that coffee and I are madly in love with each other again. We’ve decided never, ever to fight again. I love coffee and it loves me. Me and coffee, coffee and me, together forever. I know that it totally treated me like crap for a while, but it said it was sorry and would never do it again, and I believe it because it loves me, and someday soon, we are going to run away together and have coffee babies and, and, and… What’s that you say? Coffee is a diuretic? A diuretwho? Hold on to that thought. I have to pee. I'll be right back.



• But really, my smart phone is to blame. I can access all of my friend’s blogs, read the news, check the weather, and lurk on Facebook without ever logging onto a computer with an actual keyboard. This is all well and fine, except that I need an actual keyboard to write blog posts. But now that I can check everyone’s blog while in line at the grocery store, pumping gas, and peeing (oh come on, like you wouldn’t), I don’t feel a real need to boot up one of those archaic machines called a “laptop.” I mean, I have to wait like three or four MINUTES to access the internet once I hit the power button on one of those things. What the hell, man?

Also, friends with blogs. I have been meaning to tell you that you are not updating your blogs nearly often enough. Now that I can check your blog while in line at the grocery store, pumping gas and peeing (oh come ON, you know you would, too) I have decided that your meager three or four updates a week are not enough. Get on the ball, people. I am waiting to be entertained.

And now, I have to pee.

Coffee! I Can Drink Coffee!

I guess the first thing I should report here is that I think I felt the baby kick yesterday. The first, little, tiny, kickety-kick, that makes you wonder… is that today’s lunch or a muscle spasm or is there a little creature inside of me who is finally big enough to karate chop my intestines?

But let’s be honest. The real thing that is noteworthy is that finally, after fifteen weeks of pregnancy, I have the stomach and nose for my beloved cup of coffee. Yes, small people kicking me in the gut are cute and all. But coffee will never grow up and shout “I hate you!” when it is fourteen and wearing black lipstick. Coffee likes to curl up with me every morning and ease me into my day. It likes to pep me up in the afternoon. It is a welcome guest when we get together with friends. And it totally hated my bitchy self when the worst of the pregnancy symptoms raged. And you know what? I hated it, too.

But we’ve made up.

Slowly, slowly, we’ve patched things up. First I could not even tolerate the smell of brewing coffee. Eventually that passed. After a couple weeks of not growing queasy at the stink of it, I poured a half cup and then set it back down, disgusted. Several weeks later, I tried it again. This time, I could lift the cup to my mouth, but couldn’t stomach the thought of actually swallowing it. Weeks went by. Dumb, but perseverant, I gave it another try. I took a meager sip and regretted it dearly. Horkville, USA. Population: me.

Finally yesterday, I woke up and wanted a cup of coffee. I actually wanted a cup of coffee. I didn’t just WANT to want it, like I have for fifteen weeks. I finally wanted it. What an awesome feeling. I am not up to drinking more than a cup a day yet, and may not for the rest of the pregnancy (and yes, yes, I know experts say to limit your coffee drinking during pregnancy and blah, blah, blah, but are any of those experts pregnant woman? Just the fuck wondering).

Yay, coffee!

Oh, yeah. And the baby kicking. Yay for small people karate chopping my guts!

So THAT’s why I hate coffee so much

Today was my first trimmester screen and as the ultrasound tech pulled up the first image on the screen, suddenly the pregnancy became so totally, completely real to me. Sure, I’ve hated coffee for months. Sure, I’ve been so tired it felt like my body was pumping lead through its veins. Sure, I’ve felt queasy at the merest hint of most of my favorite foods and have had to undo the button of my jeans the last few days, but until today it seemed… I don’t know. Easy not to think about it in terms of a small person growing inside of my body. The blob I saw on the ultrasound five weeks ago was just that. A tiny, indiscernible blob. Is that its leg? An arm? The head? Oh, that’s my right ovary. It’s cute though, right?

This sonogram was indisputable proof that there is a living, growing, healthy, active little person inside of my belly with an actual forehead and fingers and elbows. All I could say was, “Wow.”

Wow.

I know I’ve been through this twice before, but every time, it’s always the same. Wow.

Really? We did that? We made that? We created this little person who is, right this very minute, mawing on his or her arm and hiccupping? Turning around and flipping upside down and pushing on the sides of my belly to stretch their legs? Wow.

It's just... Wow.

Jay and Ella are looking forward to their new sibling. Jay is hoping for, and is convinced it is, another sister. Ella is only convinced that if she looks hard enough into my belly button that she’ll see the baby.

It was too early to tell the gender and I am ambivalent about finding out the gender this time. On one hand, what does it matter? We’ll be delighted no matter what. And plus, surprises! Yay! On the other hand, the more we can tell Jay and Ella about their new little brother or sister, the better. Despite their seeming lack of interest at my last prenatal appointment when we listened to the heartbeat, they really are very interested in finding out everything they can about the baby. When is it coming? Does it poop inside of you? How does it breathe? When is it coming out? Will it hurt when it comes out? Will we get to hold it? When? When? When is it coming??? Will you nurse it? Can we pick out a toy for the new baby? Can it sleep in our room? Can we rub your tired, sore, aching feet while you relax from a hard day at work, Mama? (I may have just imagined that last question.)

This week has been hard. Losing Tabasco was incredibly hard. It was fun to feel a smile take over my face and my heart lighten when I saw the images of our newest little one. Welcome! We can’t wait to meet you! And please end the coffee aversion soon.

Pregnancy- Week by Week (mostly)

At some point I realized that I had been writing about my second pregnancy on almost a weekly basis to a very good friend of mine. Once I pulled together all of the emails I sent Becca out of my sent mail box, and added in a few of my own entries from various journals and scrawlings from the backs of envelopes, etc., I decided it was high time to formalize this bad boy into a "pregnancy journal". I am missing a few weeks, and have probably forgotten too much already about this pregnancy, but for not being intentional about it, I say overall, not bad. We're due on August 15.

Week 5
Still shaking. Holy cow. So um, yeah. The pee stick had a straight line. Straight line on pee sick = P-R-E-G-N-A-N-T.

The way I told Chris was on Saturday night, while Chris was giving Jay a bath, I laid out Jay's pajamas, which conveniently consisted of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that I made that read "Big Brother (soon)". Chris went into the bedroom to get Jay dressed and then there was silence. I held my breath.

Then, "Babe...?" "Yes?" I asked innocently. "Did you um... did you pick this particular outfit for a reason?" "Yes" I replied, nonchalantly. "Why?" He asked searchingly. "Because Jay is going to be a big brother". Chris, not wanting to get too far ahead of himself asked one more question, "do you know HOW soon?". It was too much. I started laughing. "Eight months or so". He busted out into a BIG grin. He was really, really excited. Which was good, because up until then I had been practically sick with worry. We went for a long walk and he helped me calm way down. He is genuinely thrilled. I am still adjusting, but I would be way worse if I didn't have his amazing support.

Week 6
I've got my first prenatal appointment on January 8th at 1 PM, and if the appointment goes like it did last time, this is when I'll get my first ultrasound. Woah!

I am DREADING telling my boss. I am choosing who I tell carefully, so that I start with only people who will be excited and encouraging. I know I am going to get an earful from people about already having one, being in school, working full time, blah, blah, blah. Especially from my "the world is already overpopulated" boss. He can be a real gem.

Week 7
Morning sickness and fatigue are hitting me like a train. Had to switch my toothpaste to one that has a less intense flavor. Light headedness every time I stand up. We broke the news to our families over Christmas, and everyone is mostly happy (except for Kathy, who isn't so much into kids and said something like, but wouldn't you like to get another puppy instead?) Haven't tried to tell anyone at work yet, although I did tell the other moms across the hall at our "Mom Squad" lunch a couple of weeks ago, which was great, because they were excited.

Week 8
Tuesday is our first prenatal visit. Hoping all goes well. Judging from the fatigue and morning sickness, everything is fine.

Week 9
It's a peanut! Saw pictures of the little one, saw the heart beat, I could make out the arms, legs, gigantic head and round belly, and we could see the umbilical cord. Measuring right on target, with the ultrasound one day behind LMP, providing us with a due date of Aug 15. Everything seems to be going well. Next appointment is on Feb 6.

I am excited about the pregnancy and Chris is, too, but then I am sitting at work, feeling overloaded and wondering how were even going to do this whole second baby thing, and then I realize that oh yeah, it is a good thing, and I did want this.

Week 10
I am having such a rough day. Hormones, most likely, but I am so angry. Just angry. Why? I don't even know. I just want to curl up into a ball and be alone and I don't want to be at the office, and I don't want to go home (how could I subject Chris and Jay to this?) and I don't even know what'll make me feel better. And my back aches, even though I don't even have a bump yet, and I am feeling crampy and I just want to cry. For no apparent reason. I am focused on the negative right now, which is not where my focus should be. I should go work out. But I am so tired. Argh!!! I think all I really want right now is cake and ice cream. And maybe some peanut M&Ms.

This whole pregnancy thing is still under wraps, because I am too chicken to tell my boss. Waiting for... I don't know. The perfect day. Hopefully that comes before my bump. I'll be ten weeks tomorrow, so I know I still have time, though it is getting short. Shouldn't wait too much longer.

I found out recently that we have short term disability and that I can collect benefits while on leave. Love being the HR person here. I am going to ask for (holding my breath here) three months off and then a transition back into the office by working for about a month at a half time or three quarter rate. Three months would be all of my vacation, sick and some saved up holidays, (if I am a good girl and don't use this time before I go on maternity leave), plus seven or eight weeks of unpaid leave. No idea if I'll get it, but it's worth asking for. Don't care what the personnel policy says. It sucks. The unpaid leave will suck too, but short term disability will mean that we will have some income. Mostly I am concerned with getting a big fat "NO". But, I'll have to be brave. I mean, even three months isn't that long.

Somehow, just writing it all out, I feel less angry. Still a little unstable, but not as aggressive. I am never aggressive. What the hell? I don't remember such surges of emotions when I was pregnant with Jay.

Week 14
Baby bump is growing, though I am not really showing yet. Friday will be 14 weeks. We do have a twenty week ultrasound scheduled at Meriter- March 28th. I am suddenly oscillating between wanting to know the sex and wanting to save the surprise. If this time is anything like last time, I'll probably lose all of my strength at the last minute and demand to know.

Week 17
I've got my prenatal appointment this afternoon. I think I'll have the quad screen done. I missed the opportunity to conduct the same test via ultrasound because it had to be done close to week twelve and I dropped the ball on that one.

Week 18
I am starting to feel those pings that you are never sure if they are what you think they are but you feel all warm and fuzzy thinking they are little feet moving about and maybe, just maybe, they are. Cool.

Week 20
It’s a girl! We had our twenty week ultra sound today, and though I didn’t want to find out the gender, the ultra sound technician goofed and now we know we will be welcoming Ella Rachel into the world. The tech knew I didn’t want to know the gender, as I told her right off the bat. As she was scanning I noticed a distinct lack of something between the little one’s legs, and was pretty sure that this meant we were having a little girl. My suspicions were bolstered when she pulled up a screen on the monitor at the end of the session that showed the baby’s measurements and vital information that had been gathered throughout the scan. And there in the field labeled “gender”, it was clear. Female.

After this final screen, she asked if we had any questions. Nope. Then I said, well, I guess it’s Ella Rachel! The tech said nothing, but a few minutes later, the doctor came in and tried to do damage control and explained that all of “gender” fields on that screen say “female” because the patient- me- is female. Chris and I weren’t buying it, though I desperately wanted to believe it because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. There are so few surprises the second time around… I had really hoped to have the excitement of not knowing build. But alas, I guess I would have found out eventually, anyway, so maybe it doesn’t matter whether it was week twenty or week forty. So, welcome, Ella Rachel. We can’t wait to meet you!

Weeks 21 – 29
A summary: school, work, Jay, school, tests, projects… what pregnancy? So busy, can’t even schedule a hair cut. Will I ever sleep again? Still barely showing, so it is easy to forget sometimes that in addition to all of the things I have going on right now, I am also building a whole new human. Not feeling bad from the pregnancy and loving the honeymoon trimester, which came right in time for the crunch period of spring semester. I’d like to say I planned it like that, but alas, it less to do with planning and more to do with biology and hormones and “I’d like to have a baby RIGHT NOW, thanks”. Planning, schmanning. It was simply lucky that the easiest trimester synched up with my school schedule. Have been taking care of myself, but have put many thoughts of the pregnancy and little Ms. Ella on the back burner while I chug away on my Master’s degree and balance a full time job and a family. Can’t wait until I am done with school and no longer have to juggle so much. Summer is a nice consolation prize, though.

Week 30
Week 30 is really kicking my ass. I don’t know why I am so angry. It is so generalized, so random, I don’t get it. On my run today, I felt like I had a black cloud over my head. I was a scowling, finger wagging, hostile piece of work. Runs will almost always clear my head and leave me feeling peaceful and relaxed. Even after a six mile run, the only thought I had about a random stranger was, “fuck you”. Very eloquent. Always appropriate. I can’t account for it. I can’t explain it. I just want to be alone.

Week 33
I am thirty-two and a half weeks pregnant. I feel unwieldy. My belly juts out everywhere. It aches, it pulls, it feels heavy.

I am reading “Birthing From Within” and chapter one instructs you to come up with a question- your question- the one that only you can answer, the one that you need to know before you give birth. I have wondered about that. Am I worried about my C-section scar opening up and then having to undergo another C-section? Am I worried about the labor pain? Am I worried whether Chris will make a good birthing coach? All of these to some degree, yes. But what I really wonder about is whether I am ready to do this all over again. Am I ready for the crying? The sleepless nights? The SIDs worries? The responsibility of a second tiny little human being who is dependant on me for everything? Am I ready to be so completely needed that I can’t even sneak away for a shower or clip my fingernails? Also, can I love her as much as I love Jay? Can I possibly love two that much? And even if I can, will have enough time and energy to give both of them what they need? Will I be angry with Jay for not giving me enough time with Ella? Will I be resentful of Ella because she is moving in on Jay’s turf? Will she feel alien to me? Will I love her and accept her right away? Will I be happy about having a second child? Will I be happy about having a daughter?

I thought I was ready. Getting pregnant was deliberate. We knew wanted more than one child, and we knew we wanted to have them when we were still young enough to do things with them. But now that I am in the home stretch, now I am suddenly not so sure. Maybe I am not ready. Maybe I will never be. Maybe one is enough. Jay is certainly hard work. It scares me to think about what we are in for. If she is just like her older brother, I may not sleep again for YEARS. This depresses me. Jay is two now and I still don’t get much time to myself. I fall dead asleep by the time I can get him to sleep- which is usually ten/ ten-thirty. That leaves precious little time for cleaning, reading, time alone with Chris, etc., let alone any time for myself. How is it going to work with two?

So, what if the answer to my question is, “No, I am not ready”? There is no going back now. There is no “I’ve changed my mind” option. No delete button. How do I get ready? What do I do to prepare myself for what’s up ahead? Is that possible?

Week 34
I am closing in on week 34, and I am sloooooooowing down. I am so tired. I get out of bed in the morning and after a shower I am ready to crawl right back into bed. Yesterday I was home on bed rest after having contractions for about two hours the night before. It freaked me out big time. At this point I would place bets on this baby coming early. I just hope not TOO early.

Week 35
At the end of this week, Ms. Ella’s lungs will be done developing. If she were born this week, she would be premature… but not unhealthy. C’mon Ella. Mama wants to sleep on her back again sometime soon.

Week 36
So, I have been very good so far during this pregnancy in terms of not being (too) preoccupied with the pregnancy. This last week though, it has been all labor and baby. It's all I can think about. All I can talk about. All I seem to care about. Poor Chris. He has been so patient, even reading the books out loud to me and listening while I read them to him (we finished Birthing From Within on the car ride to Lake Superior last weekend. We've since moved on to Ina May Gaskin’s book). He genuinely seems interested and not annoyed... yet. At some point it has got to get to him, though, I am sure. I can't imagine that anyone else is as riveted with talk of labor and birthing as I am right now.

The not knowingness of it all drives me crazy. Last time, I had a date. My c-section date was scheduled earlier than my due date, and so I wasn't thinking about it too much. I knew exactly when I would have a baby. Of course I went into labor even earlier, and that was great! I never wondered about when it would happen or what it would be like. Labor caught me by surprise and I didn't have much time to think about it. But now, I just don't know. Will it happen tonight? In three weeks? In six weeks? Will my water break first? Will I be at work? What will this labor feel like? How long will it last? Do these cramps I feel signal that labor is imminent or will this go on for weeks still? So many questions!

Each night I go to bed, I wonder if I will wake up in the middle of the night in labor. Each day I wake up and wonder if today will be the day. Then I surf the web looking for answers, as if Google has some window into my future. And I look through more birthing books and read up on exactly how long the baby is this week and decide that my pregnancy is too different from what the books describe to be very helpful.

I find it strange that I am more caught up in the labor aspect than the whole "bringing home a child" aspect of the upcoming adventure. What's up with that? Maybe because I have dealt with babies before? I sorta know what to expect? Is this selfish of me to only really wonder and be caught up in the idea of birthing rather than the idea of a baby? Do other women feel equal anticipation/nervousness/impatience about both or one more so than the other?

Of course I am eager to have our little Ella home as soon as possible. I am also crazy eager to stop working and be done being pregnant. I know I will look back fondly on being pregnant, as I did after Jay was born. But right now, this very moment, I am done, I am ready. Let's get this thing going!

Week 37
Ugh. I am so ready. This has to be the hardest week. Still two days until term, but ready enough to feel like I could go any minute. And man, oh, man, do I ever want to go. Tonight would be wonderful. I am actually writing up my leave notes right now, in the hopes that it will jump start labor. We had the carpets steam cleaned yesterday. It was so worth the money. I started nesting hard core Monday night, scrubbing finger prints off of doors, dusting, organizing, re-organizing. Then I stared at the floor and thought I'd lose my mind because there were so many stains and spots and oh my god, how can we bring a baby home to THIS? I had initially intended to rent a cleaner and do it myself, but I knew I wouldn't be up for it, and Chris' shoulder and elbows have been hurting him a lot lately, and plus, neither of us wanted to take on that much work, frankly. You know what? It was the best 100 bucks I've spent (ahem, charged) in a long time. I think we'll be doing this once a year. Wine spots? Gone! Smooshed raspberry? Gone? Dog pee? Gone! Gone! Gone!

While the carpets were being cleaned by not us (Wheee!), we went out in search of cushions for that new rocker. We went to six- count 'em SIX different places to find cushions, all to no avail. Target, Pier One Imports, Bed Bath and Beyond, Ashley Furniture, Menards, and yes, even Cracker Barrel, because they sell rocking chairs. Interestingly, Cracker Barrel was the ONLY place that even carried cushions at all. Unfortch they only had one color- Kelly green. No dice. I am slightly frantic at the moment, because I NEED CUSHIONS FOR THIS ROCKING CHAIR. Now. Oh, we even went to JoAnne Fabrics, thinking maybe we were up to buying all the material to make our own. Then we assessed how much work that would entail and quickly whisked Jay out of the store like it was cool. Hello, I have a baby to push out soon, maybe even tonight. I do not have time to sew my own freaking cushions. Why do these stores not share my sense of urgency? Bah!

Now we just have to get a set of drawers and the kid's closet organized. (Note to Ella: Don't be fooled. Mama would love to meet you tonight, even if the closet wasn't completely done).

And I wonder, how is life outside of my womb? Is there, like, news happening?

Week 38
Dear God,

If you let me go into labor today, I will never ever do anything bad again in my life, like eating Jay’s cookies and telling him I don’t know what happened to them or turning on the water in the shower and letting it run to “warm up” while I brush my teeth. I promise.

Love,
Me

Week 38 ends tomorrow, and I am so ready to be done being pregnant. Every day there is increased crampiness and heaviness in my belly and some days I feel so much pressure in my pelvis it feels like the baby is going to fall out. I thought (hoped) last night might be THE NIGHT, because I had cramps (contractions?) that were building up and then subsiding for about three or four hours at about six/seven/eight minutes apart. Then I had one and didn’t have another one for a while and just like that they were gone.

I am ready to be done being pregnant. I don’t quite know about the ready to be mom to a second little one. The thought sorta scares the heck out of me suddenly. Will I have enough time? Enough patience? Will I love them the same? Will I remember how to take care of a newborn? Will I be too cavalier about the whole thing? (Oh, SURE she can have ice cream, she is twelve days old now, you know.) Then I have these moments of eager anticipation, of holding a peaceful newborn in my arms and watching Jay grow up with a little sister. I think about how much fun it will be to have a little girl to put in dresses and wonder whether she will be like me and hate dresses, or if she will love to have her hair braided and fussed over. I think about how FAST the last two years have flown and how Jay is still a newborn to me sometimes. And realize that whether I relish it or am too busy to notice, Ella’s time as an infant will fly just as fast as Jay’s has.

And I know that sometime down the road I will look back fondly on this pregnancy and think of how wonderful it was, blah, blah, blah. Right now, though, living through it, it is not so much fun. My belly is in the way of everything, I am tired of lugging around the extra weight and feeling unwieldy and ungraceful and not being able to tie my shoes. And frankly, sometimes, I would just love to have a beer. Which is strange because even when I am not pregnant, I only like to drink about half a bottle of beer a month or so. But still. It’d be nice to have the ability to throw one back. Or go for a long run without feeling any contractions or worrying about finding a place to pee or getting overheated. Or having any toes hooked in my ribs.

So far, though, I have been really, really lucky. No health issues, no stretch marks, swelling, spider veins or freaky skin tags. I have been able to continue running, even increasing my mileage some weeks to above my usual 25 miles a week, though I am admittedly much slower. One of the best things about being 38 weeks pregnant is the ability to go out for a run with absolutely no pace or distance expectations. These days I can allow myself to just get out and have fun, and I give myself permission to stop whenever I want to and not worry about the pace I am keeping. It makes the whole run even more enjoyable knowing that I don’t have to put in a certain amount of miles a week or run a route faster than I did last time. In fact, I can expect to run the route slower each time, and that’s o.k.

While running has been regular, my moods have been anything but. I find there are times when I get really, really angry, for no reason, at no one in particular. Or times when I am just generally grumpy, but not necessary angry. And of course, Chris is always on the receiving end, though I try to keep my moods reigned in. Sometimes he genuinely does tick me off, but sometimes, he hasn’t done anything at all but exist in my presence. And that is enough.

Week 39
The final sprint to the finish line. I feel like I have turned a corner and now I can see that this pregnancy will indeed end at some point. My due date is just next week, and though I would much rather go into labor now, at least I feel like there is a tangible end in sight. My OB says she doesn’t like to have patients go past about forty-one and a half weeks, which means that even if I am overdue, I only have three more weeks at the most. This seems do-able. In the last few days I have become strangely at peace with letting nature take its course. I have occasional moments of eager anticipation and anxiousness to begin labor, but those are decreasing, and I am more filled with the feeling that Ella will greet the world on her own schedule and I am strangely o.k. with that. Maybe it is because three weeks at the maximum is do-able, whereas four or more weeks feels like an eternity. Maybe hormones are at work. Maybe I am finally realizing that not going early puts me more on target for missing this year’s conference in California for work, which I do not want to have to attend since I’ll have a newborn at home. And the longer I stay at work, the better financially we’ll be, because I will have to take out less in student loans to recover the loss of only working part time for the rest of the semester.

I had to laugh a little this weekend when at Devil’s Lake, as I was easing into the cool floaty-ness of the water, I noticed two teenage girls nearby. One was staring at me and then I heard her whisper to her companion, “That is soooooooo unattractive”. Granted most nine month pregnant women don’t dare don a bikini, but I am completely comfortable in one. I am comfortable with my body, pregnant or not, and I am not exactly scaring small children. Sure my belly juts out, but what exactly makes a pregnant belly unattractive? Is it our puritanical mores? Our sense that once knocked up, women should go into hiding? Pretend that no one else can see the watermelon under our shirts? Even on hot summer days when everybody else is enjoying a refreshing swim? Aren’t I even MORE entitled to these indulgences as provider of life to the species? Plus, I have gained a normal amount of weight and miraculously have not been marred by a single stretch mark or even the line nigra running down my belly. So sad that we think pregnant women should hide their form and betray the natural beauty that comes with pregnancy. What amused me is that someday, this girl will probably become pregnant herself. And then she will either: remember this moment and feel some shame, or she will suffer and force herself into uncomfortable clothes and hide her figure in mu-mus so that she can be “attractive” to others. Either way, I am sure her thinking will come back to haunt her. And in the mean time, I will continue to walk around in a bikini as it suits me.

I had some contractions early this morning that I thought for sure were the real deal. They woke me up at 2:30 a.m. and I stayed in a groggy half asleep state for a while, feeling them and wondering whether this was IT. Eventually I came around fully and as I did they started to subside. Once I started to pay attention to the clock they were gone completely. By then however, I was wide awake, my mind racing. Did I ever get that email sent off to so-and-so about the grant proposal? What is the least disruptive way to get Jay in the car? Should we change his diaper first or would that wake him up too much? How bad should the pain be before I call the doctor? What if the contractions start coming at two minutes apart right now? Does that ever happen? Would Chris know how to deliver a baby? Is Jay’s diaper bag packed? When should I call Becca? My new slippers haven’t arrived in the mail yet- will they be here in the morning in time for me to bring them to the hospital? Can I deliver this baby without my new sheepskin slippers to pace the hospital halls in?

After an eternity of this, but not another contraction, I got out of bed and paced a bit, stretched, had a banana, shushed Jay back to sleep, and finally, surfed the web. I read pregnancy message boards and checked my email and flitted about here and there online. Soon it was 5:30 and the sky was getting light. I crawled back into bed and snuggled against Chris who was probably planning on waking up soon himself. As I got comfortable, Jay woke up again and started crying. I went into his room. Half way out of bed and rubbing his eyes, and he asked, “Mama lay down neck to Jay?” I climbed in next to him and he put both arms around my neck and pulled me close. I breathed in his scent and rubbed his perfect chubby toddler legs. He was back asleep in seconds and so was I.

Maybe number two won’t be all that scary, afterall.