Ailie Eden

I started this post on the morning of the 16th:

Ugh.

Just: ugh.

I had my 39 week prenatal on Tuesday.  As I suspected: nothing doing.  Cervix completely closed, no dilation.  I mentioned to my doctor that I still sometimes suspect that Newbie's head is creeping up on my right side.  

When my doc examined me, she couldn't even FEEL the head, it was so high.  This was new.  She ordered an ultrasound on the spot to see if baby was in position.  I texted J that we were obviously having a headless child.  

Luckily, Newbs head is down, though where the hell is it in there?  I know I have a long torso; but damn, child - how high could you possibly be?  

Still feeling fine, the ultrasound tech of doom said, "Whoa!  I have the baby at NINE POUNDS AND THIRTEEN OUNCES."  

Two weeks ago, she clocked Newbie at 7-13.  

One would assume baby's head is so high because it is so ENORMOUS there is nowhere else for it to be.  

I left the room.  I was put in the hall so I could reconvene with the doc.  I promptly commenced crying.  

How am I supposed to deliver you, Newbs?

So my doctor and I discussed my options.  My due date was 8/19, and with no signs of labor AT ALL, plus the baby's position, she didn't believe an induction would be successful.  Factor in the projected size of our beloved, and terms like "shoulder dystocia" were tossed about.  I cried some more.

My doc assured me that sonograms were notoriously wrong when attempting to predict the baby's size, but she still thought Newbie was at least 8 1/2 pounds by now.  She assured me my baby was safe and sound, and that if I wanted to wait for labor to begin, I could.  But she didn't want me to wait too long.  I could schedule a c-section for Thursday (8/16) or Monday (8/20).  I'm still a bit flummoxed that a c-section is so easy to schedule.  Welp, this kid might be pretty large.  Slice me open!  

I struggled.  My first baby was 7 lbs, 13 ounces.  He was 10 days early, but still.  What was going on with this new kid?  What was the right thing to do?

After much thought and discussions with J, my mom, my sister-in-law, and Koos, I decided that I would wait until my due date to go into labor, but schedule the c-section for the following week in the meantime.  I scheduled my 40-week prenatal for Monday, 8/20, and the c-section for 8/21.  I reasoned that even if I didn't go into labor, my body would start working its magic by Monday's appointment, and I hoped an induction would then be possible.  (Even though in some respects, induction makes me more nervous than surgery.)

As I was working all of this out on Thursday morning, I noticed some changes had happened overnight.  I felt a telltale heaviness in my belly that hadn't been there the day before.  I told J about it that AM.  We were both pleased that I was making some progress.

The morning wore on, and as I was getting ready to hop in the pool with H and my brother Ry (who got into town the previous Saturday), another labor sign miraculously appeared, of the - forgive me, squeamish readers - mucus variety.

I was ridiculously excited!  I called Koos, who gently reminded me that it could still be a few days to weeks. Undeterred, I was sure that the two signs together meant baby was on the way.

WAS.  SHE.  EVER.

Around noon, I started timing the contractions.  Just for fun, as they weren't yet painful.  At first they were 20 minutes apart, then 10.  They started to get uncomfortable.  I put H down for his afternoon nap, and then escaped to the bathroom to shower and get dolled up.  I knew it was time, and I wanted to ensure I looked good.  That could help, right?

I took one last belly pic.  I texted J that things were getting very "labor-y" over here, but I didn't even call him.  My first labor and delivery lasted 40 hours (seriously, you guys), so I figured I had plenty of time.  Ry and I retreated to the playroom and watched the end of Cinderella Man.  I kept timing contractions, and they were less than 10 minutes apart now.  Still, not quite painful.  I called J, as he hadn't responded to my text.  As it turns out, he hadn't seen it.  He told me he was on his way home.  I told him to be sure to pick up pizzas; I was going to want to eat before we left.

And then, at 3 PM, it turned.  It had happened like that with Hendrik.  With H, I had been having contractions since 10 PM on Saturday night, and at 3 PM on Sunday it got REAL.

I called J.  I needed him to get home quickly, to help me.  By this time, H was awake, and Ry was distracting him in the playroom.  I was laboring in our bedroom, crouching and moving and trying to find a comfortable position to tolerate the painful spasms.  By 4, I called J again.  "Get home," I said through gritted teeth.  "We're leaving as soon as you walk in the door."  The contractions were 5 minutes apart.

An excited J walked in the door soon after.  H and Ry came downstairs, and he swept up our toddler to tell him "Mommy is having a baby today!"  H was unimpressed.  I was moaning in a ball on the couch.

We made it to the hospital around 5, and after the roughest cervical check I have ever encountered, a nurse determined I was ONE centimeter dilated.  ONE.  So they thought I was a fraud, as they do.  Did I mention my doctor was out of town?  Yes, she had a one-day conference, and she had told me she was leaving town on Thursday night.  The doctor on-call told me to walk.  For an hour or two.  And then they would check me again.

You guys? I couldn't IMAGINE being sent home.  I couldn't imagine that I could be in so much pain for a measly one centimeter.  I labored at home with H (after being sent home initially, most decidedly not in active labor, but contracting calmly) until 4 centimeters, and the pain was not this great.

So J tried to get me to walk, as I tried not to murder him.  I begged him to tell them that this baby was huge, it was going to rip through my abdomen and thus I needed a c-section.  He tried to talk me down, but after about an hour I was wild with pain.  He went to get the nurse to check my cervix.

Four centimeters.  Finally, they began to take me seriously, and ordered my epidural.

The anesthesiologist, the aptly-named Dr. Fox (who was a breath of fresh air for both his drug-giving abilities and his resemblance to Dermot Mulroney) arrived soon after, as everyone tried to get the epidural ball rolling.  In the midst of this, my screams of pain and the fast and furious contractions probably enticed them to do another check.

Seven centimeters.  In about two hours.

Oh, friends: the epidural at seven.  It just wasn't my friend.  It took an hour for it to begin to work on the pain.  I tried to breathe, and failed spectacularly.  They had to administer so much that my legs were completely numb, which made me panicky.  Eventually I calmed, and I surmise I enjoyed just under two hours of a working epidural.  I floated in and out of consciousness at first.  Then, J and I had a nice chat and confirmed the spelling of our girl's name.  I spoke to Koos and Gina (I think) and my mom on the phone.  J kept everyone up to date via texts and calls.  (He was almost killed once when he texted during a contraction.)

Before 11, my back started to ache a bit.  I couldn't feel it completely, but I thought I should let them know. I hadn't felt anything like this since the epidural kicked in.  They thought the baby might be "sunny-side up", and so they decided to turn me on my right side to get the baby to move.

I'm not sure what finally killed the epidural for me, but I'm guessing it was that turn.  In a matter of minutes, my back radiated with pain, that soon worked it's way to my abdomen.  I was yelling again.  Dr. Fox came back and tried to help.  Soon, the back labor subsided but the abdomen pain remained.  I was ready to push, and the on-call doc assured me the pushing would help that pain.  It did.

I looked at the clock as we began.  I had pushed for three hours with Hendrik, the most grueling workout of my life.  I tried to mentally prepare for two hours of pushing, still hoping it would go much quicker.

The pushing began, and I did well!  I couldn't feel anything in that region (a huge solid, epidural).  The pain was completely concentrated in my abdomen, and the only relief was the strongest pushes I could muster.

This time, I felt like I could actually feel the baby moving through me, making progress.  After a few minutes, the doc got ready to "catch", as they do.  Seeing her in her garb assured me Newbs was almost here.  I was doing it!  I felt incredible.

J was by my side, and really watching the process this time.  "You're doing so great," he kept telling me.  "I can see the baby every time you push!"

And right before those final attempts, he asked, "Last chance: boy or girl?"

"Girl," I told him.

And then she was here.

The most beautiful, GIGANTIC baby you have ever seen.  They put her on my belly, and I prodded her to cry.  She did, and it was once again the most glorious sound you could ever imagine.

J and I cried too, and just repeated, "A girl!  A girl?  I can't believe she is a girl!"

I never knew how much I wanted her until she arrived.  A whooping bundle of perfection at NINE POUNDS, THIRTEEN OUNCES (see: exactly what the sonogram predicted), and 22 inches long!

How did I deliver her?  I have no idea.  My body did its magic, despite my lack of faith.

And she is here and she is ours and she is absolute perfection.  It's amazing how your heart expands.  It's incredible how these babies are worth every minute of that suffering we go through to bring them here.

J and I had named this little girl during our 2006 trip to Colorado, when we learned my great-grandmother's name was Aili (EYE-li).  I told my grandmother how much I loved it.

Just weeks ago, during what was to be the last conversation I would ever have with my Far-Mor, I asked her if she had any idea what the baby was.

"It's hard to say," she told me seriously.  'But, if it is a girl, I would love for her to have my mother's name."

Consider it done, Far-Mor.

Welcome, Ailie.

How Am I Still Pregnant?

You guys?

I'm still pregnant.  REAL, real pregnant.

I didn't make it to 39 weeks with Snooze.  He arrived 10 days before his due date, so naturally I believed Baby #2 would be early; perhaps even earlier than my beloved first born.

And then?  Nothing.

There is pretty much zero happening in the old cervix.  At week 36, Newbie was nearly transverse breech, and I wonder if that has something to do with his/her reticence to come out.  We ended up with an ultrasound the following week, and thankfully baby had turned head down.  At week 38, the head that is growing to NOW EPIC PROPORTIONS was still high.  I have another appointment tomorrow.  Fingers crossed for some dilation, y'all!

People keep asking me how I am doing, and in truth, I feel better than I have in a long time.  To be sure: it's still difficult to maneuver myself out of bed for 87 pee breaks per night, and I'm much puffier than I was with my spring pregnancy.  My wedding rings haven't fit since late May; but last go-round, I had a few rings I could wear.  This time?  Not so much.  It is Texas in August, and because our energy bill is roughly the size of the national deficit, I'm not as uncomfortable as you might think.

I'm happy to have made it through my summer semester without my water breaking during the final, and I am indulging in lots of sweets.  I registered for the Dallas Half-Marathon (December 9th), so as soon as have this baby I'll have to nearly immediately get back on the fitness band wagon.  THE WEIGHT, you guys.  SHE IS VERY, VERY HIGH.  To which I say: meh.  Pass me the Milano cookies.  

This Is You Drill Bit.

On Tuesday the kind folks at J's place of business threw us a baby shower.  I had known for about a week, but kept the secret from J.  Hendrik and I excitedly got ready for our rare trip into Dallas, and J's assistant met us at the door and led us to a conference room where J was leading his staff meeting.  We told Hendrik to knock on the door, but that's not his style.  He busted through the door, catching his father completely off-guard, exclaiming, "Hi Daddy!" as he jumped into J's arms to give him a hug.

Looking across the table, H spotted a familiar face.  "That Mr. Clint," he said, matter-of-factly, before running around the table to greet him with a fist bump.  J and I looked at each other stunned: he had met Clint exactly twice.  The first time was a brief lunch ages ago, and the second time was about two months ago, when J was in a car accident on his way home from work, and Clint drove him home and stayed for dinner.  How does this child remember names better than we do?

J went around the table making introductions, as I began to sweat trying to remember who I'd previously met.  A few minutes later several people had to leave; when Hendrik noticed, he innocently asked, "Where's other Mark?"  Yes, the second of two Marks had left the conference room.  I could not have told you that, but apparently my two year-old's knack for detail is unprecedented.  He misses nothing at this stage in life.  It's incredible.

A snapshot of his morning routine: He wakes in the morning, climbs out of his queen-sized bed, and undresses down to his diaper (he is careful not to take his diaper off, as he knows all that poop would create quite the mess).  Then, he picks out his shirt and shorts, grabs a diaper, and gingerly places the wipes (opened) next to the other things.  Now that everything is prepared to his liking, he heads to the doorway, which is blocked by a baby gate.  "Mommy!  Want Mommy to come change you diaper! Come on, Mommy!  Come upstairs!"

This is how I am roused each morning, as I need more sleep than he does these days.  It is so difficult to move, it usually takes me about 10 minutes to get out of bed.  "Coming, Snooze!" I yell up groggily.  "Mommy just needs a minute to wake up."

Eventually, I lift my swollen limbs and belly out of our cozy bed, throw on some shorts and head up to his room.  He greets me with a warm "Hi Mommy!" as I take down the gate, and then proceeds to tell me some of his plans for the day. Usually something like: "You want milk and a vitamin.  Only one vitamin a day! Want to go downstairs and eat a waffle."  Then I'll brief him with the day's agenda (you know: library story time, grocery shopping, My Gym camp), change his diaper, and stand back as he insists on dressing himself in the clothes he's selected.

Sometimes I can't believe what I am seeing.

He's a boy.  At two and a quarter, he's a little man who knows what he likes (Gotye, Adele, waffles, granola bars, and any activity that involves his buddies).  I'm astounded at just how smart he is; what he retains.  He is a SPONGE, and can recall details that both J and I have long forgotten.  He's always busy busy busy, planning trips (typically to California) and selecting activities ("Want to go build with Mommy!").  He identifies lots of emotions ("Mommy yelled!  Mommy's frustrated!") and is quick with a silly face or some nonsense chanting and giggling to lighten the mood.  He loves to make us laugh.

Yesterday morning, as I took the gate down, he noticed the nail J had put in the door frame to keep the gate in place.  "Need to hammer this!" he said, before running to the playroom and returning with his drill and hammer.  And then he worked on the nail, first with the hammer, then with the drill (which he explained, "This is you drill.  This is you drill bit.").  Where did he come from?

We just adore him; and still sneak upstairs before we go to bed many nights just to catch a glimpse of him sleeping peacefully.  He's so exquisite, sometimes we just giggle and recount the things he's said.  "Can you believe him?" we ask each other, as we have since the day he was born.  He will be 35 someday and will leave our home with his wife and babies and we'll turn to each other and repeat, "I still can't believe we made him."

And soon (well, not too soon since there are no signs of ANYTHING going on in the old cervix), we'll have another one.  A little boy or little girl, who will make our family even more complete.  Only this time around, he or she will have a Hendrik.  Who tells me often "I can't WAIT for baby to come!" and really, really has his heart set on taking baby to the airplane museum almost immediately after delivery.

We can't wait to meet you, Newbie.  To see who you are and marvel at your face and repeat daily, "Can you believe we made this?"

Oh Hey! I'm Pregnant!

It's amazing how quickly and interminably slow your second pregnancy goes.  Whilst I feel like I have been pregnant since the beginning of time (we found out the first millisecond we could possibly have conceived), I can't believe I am inching towards 30 weeks.  Since I assume I will go a little early (H was 10 days early, and I always measure a bit large), this could mean 8 - 10 more weeks of baby-carrying.  I'll blink and I'll be in labor once again.  How did we get here?

I've banished any "second-child syndrome" chatter from the house.  (It was getting out of hand, from lots of sources.  I feel for you, second children.  We firstborns apparently steal all of your parents' attention, all of your toys, your ability to think independently, your ability to speak as quickly as us, and probably will end up drop-kicking you a lot during your formative years.  We're pretty treacherous; but I promise you this, Newbie: not on my watch.  We'll figure it out together.)

(Also, your big bro is pretty spectacular.  Just keep an eye on him around your puffs.)

I've been nesting like crazy this week, and I hope that continues through delivery.  I've never been so productive, y'all.  I still haven't hit the third trimester wall, so I've got a lot of energy to make lists, clean out drawers, read Economics, attend playgroup, and read for pleasure.  I've been waking up at 6 AM each morning to jump-start the day (it is always wise to remain a few steps ahead of a two year-old), and it's actually been some wonderful bonus time.  By the time H stirs around 7ish, I've already checked several things off of my ever-expanding To-Do list.  

Hey!  Let's talk about weight gain.  Yeah...  Well, I am just pleased that I didn't put on TWENTY pounds in TWO months like I did the last go-round.  The weight has come on slow and steady, and I'm now up 30 pounds.  I can handle gaining 40 this time.  If we go for a third, perhaps I can actually stay in the normal weight-gain range!  But I've made my peace with it.  This is my body on pregnancy.  I feel good; I exercise; I eat my veggies.  (And all of the Klondike bars, but LAY OFF ME I'M STARVING.)

Where is all the weight going this time around?  My belly is GINORMOUS.  People say incredibly rude and/or presumptuous things to me all the time. ("Two more weeks, right?  "You must be counting the days, huh?" "You got two in there?"  "I can't believe you have that long - you look much further along!") Last night, I'm fairly sure my Econ prof thought my water was about to break in his class.  (It very well might, y'all.  It's a long semester.)

When class ended, a girl I hadn't met smiled at me and said, "Can I just tell you - I think you look beautiful!"  How kind.

And thank you, stranger, for reminding me what's really going on here.

Labor, In Painstaking Detail. Please to Enjoy. Part 1.

You'll have to forgive me this painfully-detailed account, but I don't want to forget a minute of it.


On Saturday, May 15th, J and I planned a DAY. You know: breakfast at our favorite spot; a walk on the Wissahickon Trail; a quiet afternoon spent sunning ourselves and reading in the backyard; and finally a romantic date on Main Street.


"This could be our last weekend," I said happily to my husband over a bacon-and-egg omelette that morning. "But really? I don't think it is. I think we have at least two more weekends."


HA!


On the trail, we ran into another very pregnant mama. "We've got the same idea," she yelled to me. "Walking these babies out!"


I wonder if her walk was as effective.


At home, I spent some cherished hours with my beloved Kindle, reading a book of short stories. My mom called.


"We've got a nice little Saturday planned," I told her. "It could be our last weekend, you know. Not that I think it is... I have no signs of labor. None. I'm going to be pregnant until June. Cheers."


HA! HA.


We eventually showered and dressed, and I felt pleased with my pregnant form. I waddled down to Main Street on my husband's arm, and we ended up at the Italian place. I ordered an NA Coors. We talked. It was lovely.


When we arrived home, we sank into our respective couches and watched the making of Planet Earth. We were engrossed in the filming of the snow leopard chase (never before filmed, y'all), when I started to feel... something.


Crampy.


"I'm feeling crampy," I announced to J. "It's probably nothing."


As the night wore on, however, it got increasingly uncomfortable. But I was totally handling it. Am labor champ! We went to sleep. Occasionally, a cramp would wake me. At 1 AM, I had to pee.


And here is where it gets interesting. Because I peed. I was done peeing. I stood up and flushed. I washed my hands. I walked towards the bathroom door, when suddenly -


A GUSH.


I mean, not a torrential downpour, but a gush of fluid coming from me, tinged pink, on the floor. (Hey male readers!)


I started to tremble.


And much to my delight, I got to TV sitcom-it into the bedroom, and say:


"Babe - I think my water just broke. It's TIME." (Fantastic, right?!)


(HA! HA. Meh.)

38 Weeks: An Epic Retrospection of Absolute Insanity.

Thirty-eight week check-up was smashing! I lost 2.5 pounds! Babies heart rate is remaining in the 120s! (Totally a boy rate, according to Old Wifey. Stop messing with me, child.) Head is low! No internal! Boo Yeah.


I feel pretty good this week, all told. I am busy tying up loose ends at work; still trying to find the right pediatrician; researching breast pumps (news to me: it is unsanitary to share, even if swapping out the attachments); buying industrial-strength foundation for the hospital pics; and ordering a new camcorder charger. (My world almost imploded last night when I couldn't find the damn thing anywhere in our home. SMOKEY!)


Feeling a bit nostalgic, I opened an old Word doc I started when The Ninja was but a fantasy: this, ladies, and gents, is my fertility saga. I called it: Space Baby. And oh, the DRAMA. The absolute crushing disappointment of not getting pregnant on the very first try.


(I was really very annoying about this whole thing. Apologies, husband.)

August 26, 2009 (Home Office)

Where were we?

Ah, yes – most certainly NOT pregnant.

And it was ultimately a relief, as we journeyed to Montevideo and Buenos Aires, and ohhh – the malbec. And mojitos. And Torrontes. So there you go. I was wishing and hoping and simultaneously thinking I was making my baby retarded. I erroneously predicted that my period was due on Saturday, August 15th. When it didn’t come, we were very excited. We took the red-eye home on Saturday night, and I raced to CVS as soon as we arrived back in the Yunk.

Negative.

Boo. To add insult to injury (those tests are expensive, y’all), I checked my day planner and my period wasn’t scheduled to arrive until Monday, August 17th.

I spoke to Koos and gave her a full report. She yelped when I told her I wasn’t with period yet. I told her about the pregnancy test, and she exclaimed that of course I could still be pregnant – she had a negative test with baby #2! I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I started to wonder…

When my period still hadn’t arrived on Tuesday evening, I allowed myself to get excited again. At 8 PM, I dashed to the closest pharmacy in Newton, MA, then eagerly peed on the stick and waited.

Negative.

Of course, the next morning I woke up crampy. I got my period that morning, pushing me out to a 30-day cycle. Since abruptly stopping the pill in April, my cycles have been 30, 29, and 28 days, respectively, so I figured I was settling into a nice, normal 28-day ride.

No such luck. Now I must make sure that J and I baby-mate from days 10 – 17, just to be safe. I have managed to rearrange my work schedule so we will only miss one full day of love (probably ovulation day), but we’ll just have to hope we can get it done another day.

I guess we have officially been trying for one month. I hope that this doesn’t take too long. K, baby? We are eagerly awaiting your conception, so let’s do this!

September 1, 2009

I have been snooping around that damn book again.

I just have a few questions, you know? Like, about cervical mucus. Who can I ask about cervical mucus, I beseech you?

This morning I went to Web MD to calculate when I may be ovulating. As I suspected, the Internet indicates tomorrow. It says my fertile period began on August 28th, and I should ovulate on the 2nd.

I did fairly well predicting that this month.

*I go on here to list the dates J and I baby-mated. Oh Em Gee, I will spare you. Let me just say, that once I decided to get knocked up, I approached it with all the vigor and precision and meticulousness of an army drill sergeant.

September 14, 2009

In the end, it was Drew Barrymore who tipped me off.

I was in the midst of a surprisingly vivid dream. Drew and I were best friends – naturally – and I was on set of a new film starring that Gilles guy with the penis from the Sex and the City movie. Apparently, Drew was banned from being on set, as she had offended the director more than once. She was in love with Gilles, and kept calling me, asking me to watch him for her. She wanted updates on his behavior. I kept trying to assuage her fears, good friend that I am.

In the dream, I realized I had to pee, and that my stomach was acting weird. I rolled over and fumbled for my glasses. I stumbled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom, where I found the last EPT test in the drawer. What the hell, I thought, as I ripped open the packaging. I’ll take this, it will be negative, and I will just wait for my period to start this week.

I peed on the stick, replaced the cap, and laid the test on the floor in front of me. I watched as the negative line popped up in the window, and I shook my head. I told myself not to be discouraged – this is only month two, you asshole. You’ll get there.

But wait.

Is that?

No.

I started laughing. Really laughing. And saying no. No. No! No way.

A second line. Faint, but not even very faint.

Pregnant.

I finally got off of the toilet and crept back into the bedroom, test in hand.

“Are you awake?” I asked.

J nodded, and I laughed again, and was all, “I have something to show you!”

I thrust the stick in his face.

“This says I’m pregnant!”

J was skeptical. But it’s not as dark as the other line, he said. I pulled out my copy of What to Expect Before You’re Expecting, and read aloud:

Q: I took a pregnancy test and it was positive, but the line was very faint. Could I be pregnant?

A: Get ready to faint: from excitement!

Of course, the next question caused some brief panic:

Q: I took a pregnancy test and it was positive; then I took two more and they were negative. What’s happening?

A: Chemical pregnancy, better luck next time.

“Well, that’s no fun, huh?” I said to my husband, who hugged me but cautioned me not to get too excited.

As. If.

After calculating my due date online, and quickly getting dressed, I headed to Whole Foods and Border’s, and, of course, CVS. I resolved not to pee for at least 5 hours. I made it to 6, and then took a second test.

Pregnant.

And this time, no faint line. I dragged J into the bathroom to show him.

“Well, there’s no mistaking that one is there?”

I left the two tests on the bathroom sink, side-by-side. I can’t stop checking on them. As if they are my baby. Our baby. I creep into the bathroom at least once an hour, and I stare.

This morning, despite peeing twice in the night, I took another test.

Pregnant.

And there the three tests sit, in our bathroom. Lined up in solidarity, shouting:

PREGNANT.

I made my first prenatal appointment today, which won’t be until October 19th! How can we wait that long? I asked the receptionist the same question.

“Then that’s safe? For my baby? I am so new… That’s okay?”

She assured me it was perfectly normal. When we go in, we’ll have a check-up, an ultrasound, and we’ll get to hear the heartbeat.

Heart. Beat.

I sent J an Outlook invitation to this appointment. I don’t think he wants to believe this yet. He’s afraid, probably more for me than himself. “Don’t get too excited yet, babe. Anything could happen.”

“It’s not going to hurt any less if I try to ignore it,” I tell him softly.

I don’t want to jinx it, but I think Ninja is strong.

September 15, 2009

Today – unbelievably – the world did not stop turning, and I had to work. I am in Bethesda, Maryland. Starting tomorrow, I am going to eat properly. Today I had hash browns, bacon, a few bites of scrambled eggs; pizza, and an Asian chicken salad, complete with a side of liguini carbonara. One measly salad does not a healthy diet make, and so tomorrow (and here on out) I will strive for the proper amount of fruits, vegetables, and proteins.

I went to Border’s and returned The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy (because: dumb) and settled on the oft-maligned What to Expect When You’re Expecting. It is straightforward advice and material that I need, and so far it has put me at ease.

Reading the book though, I got immediately panicky; suspect that Ninja had disappeared. As soon as I got back to the hotel, I took a pregnancy test (my FOURTH). POSITIVE. And now the test sits on the bathroom sink, where I can go in and stare at it when I need to be reminded.

I. AM. PREGNANT.

I cannot fathom that I won’t get to see AN ACTUAL DOCTOR until October 19th, more than A MONTH AWAY.

“How will I believe I am still pregnant?!?” I begged of Koos yesterday. “I will have to take a test like once a week!”

I am hoping I can get in earlier; the receptionist mentioned that there may be a cancellation in the meantime.

In other news, I finally ran again today. An easy two-miles, after which I felt great, and not like I killed Ninja. I weighed myself as well: 135.1. I was alarmed to think that I might weigh 160 before this is over. *ha. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Ha.

But really, Ninja, just stay healthy. We lurve you. (And also, I suspect you are a girl.)

Tomorrow: More craziness ensues. Stay tuned!

Water, Water Everywhere... And I'm Retaining it All.

37 week check-up yesterday... no signs that The Ninja will reveal its true identity any time in the foreseeable future. I am coming to terms with an early June baby, listening to a lot of Glee and Jesse Malin to pass the time, and calling it a day.

You know what I am having more trouble coming to terms with? The fact that, if I am pregnant for another 4 weeks?

I will be even fatter. And honestly, I can't take anymore weight gain. I can't control it, and maybe this is a big FAT lesson in humility, but for the love of Lionel... ENOUGH.

I am not going to tell you how much weight I've gained overall. I refused to tell J, even, as my weight is threatening to eclipse his own.

I will tell you that I gained another 6 pounds. THIS week.

So after stepping off of the scale, peeing in a cup (sidebar - that is FUCKING impossible now. Pee = everywhere), I sat in the exam room yesterday, waiting for the doc, and I cried.

Then I got annoyed with myself for wallowing, so I tried meditating... But when I repeated a yoga mantra - I am beautiful, I am bountiful, I am blissful - my internal monologue insisted: OH HELL YES YOU ARE BOUNTIFUL. FATTY.

So I just breathed instead. And examined my swollen feet and ankles.

When the kindest OB in all the lands finally entered, he asked how I was feeling.

"Defeated," I said.

"Why - the weight gain? I wasn't even going to mention it."

(You see? He is the most fantastic man.)

He told me that it happens... I've been healthy my entire life, and this is just my body on pregnancy. He said - though admitted it was anecdotal - that he finds fit women who gain excessive weight during pregnancy will return to their pre-pregnancy form relatively easily.

And he told me not to be so hard on myself.

Sniffle.

And so I'll calm down, until I see a new doc next week, who may or not be as kind.

37 Weeks - Wherefore art thou, HomeValley?

It seems my husband has a point, you guys: I really can't sit still. I can't stop planning things. I was like this before baby; I am like this pregnant with baby. J has already warned me that I am not to plan like a madwoman whilst on my maternity leave. To which I say to myself: good luck.

This past week hasn't left me with a spare moment to update! Last Monday, we had my mother over for dinner. I roasted a chicken as she checked out the nursery, then J and I tried desperately to teach her how to use her new iPod touch. Have you tried downloading music with your parents yet? I highly recommend. My mom loves Prince and The Moody Blues, apparently.

Tuesday night we had a pediatrician lecture as part of our prenatal class schedule. Would you assume that I am the lass who asked the question about vaccination links to autism, sending the seasoned doctor on a ten minute diatribe? If so, then you know me too well. Let's grab a cup of coffee together soon. I'll get my planner.

Wednesday evening I journeyed to the Lehigh Valley to see my extraordinarily talented cousin Anthony in this musical. He's fabulous, by the way.

Thursday I had Koos and her delightful boys over for lunch. This just in: kids are a lot of work. Especially at lunch time. I should make a note of that in my day planner or something. But they are truly adorable children, and I finally had some toys (eh - books) for them to play with, and we read a lot about the fish of the ocean. I could get used to reading books all day about aquatic life.

After lunch, whilst juggling work, I headed to the hair salon to prepare for my baby-birthing close-ups. I met my mother-in-law there (I love that we share a stylist); and she gifted me with an animal trap.

Thursday night? The HomeValleys went huntin'.

Oh yeah - the vermin? Definitely a raccoon. (Spoiler alert: we still haven't caught it yet. Tis a brazen, illusive little fucker.)

Friday we exercised at the track (read: I walked really slowly and chugged gatorade). My memory is foggy, but I think we actually stayed in! Our actual home! And possibly we tried to watch Fringe but passed out around 9 PM. Is it any wonder?

Saturday we did brunch and a cloth diaper run. Holy Lord, I love these diaps. Now no naysayer can bring down my cloth diaper high! We also went to Lowe's and bought flowers, and I gardened! Which was super-fun, until I got sleepy and needed to rest and drink iced tea as J did what it is you do with mulch.

Sunday morning I woke early, dressed in my workout gear, and headed to the Art Museum - by way of Grace's - for the MS Walk. Mr. Patterson's Misfits were a force to be reckoned with: when all was said and done, we raised over 12,000 bucks! Yours truly was responsible for quite a small portion of that, but there's always next year. It was a fabulous day in support of a fabulous woman.

And yesterday? Mama worked about 14 hours, though don't feel too bad for me. I spent my night in a luxury suite at the Phils game, rubbing elbows with Jim Eisenreich and gorging on Chickie's and Pete's crab fries.

Oh! And last night? While at the game, trying to select a tee-shirt size for a co-worker? I described her as thin but "busty."

"Well, what size are you normally?" the sales clerk asked me. "You're pretty chesty as well."

Seriously, you guys? There has never been a time in my life where ANYONE could deign to call me CHESTY.

Thanks, Ninj.

Are you guys as tired reading this as I am jotting it all down for posterity?

I know, I know. Tomorrow we'll get back to our regularly scheduled pregnancy tales of neuroses. Like, how I am obsessed with the firmness of my crib mattress? How I yelled at J on Sunday night (before breaking down into heaving sobs) that I am NINE MONTHS pregnant! And for the next 3 weeks, anything I say GOES, buddy! You just listen to me! That is your job!

And: the nursery. Which, J and I can't seem to pass without sneaking into and sitting down in the heavenly glider. I don't think either of us can quite believe that there will be a baby here in a few short weeks. So we sit and we rock and we stare. And sometimes we read books to Ninj, and J talks in this extremely high-pitched voice because one day I told him I read that babies respond better to high voices.

Oh, Ninj. You are going to just love your extremely geeky parents.

35 Weeks, Yes, But Almost 36 Weeks... Almost.

So, we've officially reached the state of pregnancy that goes something like this:


I'm done. Thanks for the memories, kid. Now, let's get this show on the road.


Unfortunately? I still have 4 more weeks.


Which makes me very, very tired.


I am achy. And tired. And sleep - though it comes easy - is restless. It's difficult to switch positions. There is much grunting involved. There is strategic pillow placement. And Lord, there are multiple trips to the bathroom.


And then there is Ninja, who is awake. All the time. Mah precious kept me up from 3 AM to 4 AM doing some crazy aerobic exercises. Yes, it is still totally heart-warming when his/her feet and tiny bum are stretching out of my abdomen. But seriously, baby? Aren't you sleepy yet?


(Which reminds me, I read somewhere that third trimester babies may already be crying within the womb. Doesn't that just break your heart?)

I finally uploaded the photos from the shower, but they are all the way downstairs on J's computer. And I am all the way up here on the third floor. And I walk these steps many, many times per day. And I am so tired.

Will cease whining and upload photos soon.

Tales of Woe and Car Seat Installations

"You are really emotional. You need to get a hold of yourself."

Aw. I am really going to miss my husband.

That said, he's totally right.

Am in a very weepy place right now. We had our baby shower on Sunday (photos and recap to follow!) and we received so many wonderful gifts for Ninj. As soon as we got home, I reviewed everything and made a list for thank you cards. At one point, I pulled out a book that Koos had given the baby.

It's called Whoever You Are, and okay, seriously? Here are the first few pages:

Little one, whoever you are,
Wherever you are,
There are little ones just like you all over the world.
Their skin may be different than yours, and their homes may be different than yours...
But inside, their hearts are just like yours.

Annnnddd... blubbering! "This is exactly what I want to teach our babies!" I sobbed to J, as I tossed him the book. "But I can't read the rest right now. I can't get through it."

In my continued heightened emotional state, I fretted about the shower. "I shouldn't have asked everyone to buy organic, natural items," I told my husband. "I feel like a brat." (Although, it was somewhat worth it to have my mother announce to the ladies present: "As most of you know, Melissa is 'green.'")

Yesterday, we had an interview with a pediatrician. I'm not sure how that went. Most of her answers were vague. (Taking a cue from Modern Family, I asked what her thoughts were on "Ferberizing" babies. I am not sure I can tell you what she said.) We didn't fall in love with her, but then, she could be a brilliant doctor. How do you know? I asked her how many vaccinations a child would receive over the years, and she couldn't tell us. But she did have a website we could visit. So... there's that. There are four other doctors in this practice. Do I now make appointments with the rest of them, or just hope that one of them is more our style?

Yes, I am probably overthinking this.

On the way home from the doc's, J and I decided to stop by the fire station to have the guys there take a look at our car seat.

How many firemen does it take to install an infant Graco Snugride? Three, apparently. And it takes awhile. These three gentlemen were very kind to help us, but at one point, seat installed completely improperly, they told us that we should probably by a new one. (Our car seat is a few years old. We got it from my aunt and uncle, who's baby is two now.)

I think my engineer husband actually figured it out... Which, he could have totally done anyway. But at least it is now fire safety approved.

So there's that.

When we finally arrived home, I bugged J to go online and figure out if this particular seat had ever been recalled.

"Do you want to just buy a new one?" he asked me, ever so slightly exasperated.

"What, J? I am not supposed to be concerned that our infant car seat works properly? You just want me to forget about it?"

"You're right," he said.

"You know, I just need to be alone right now," I huffed. I retreated upstairs with my O magazine.

So, yeah. Just a tad touchy over here. I am confident we'll weather this influx of hormones. Good luck, J.

In other news: pregnant Brazilian waxes? TRAUMA.

Wit's End

On my birthday (back in February), J's parents and Pop-Pop came over for dinner. We ordered burritos (have I mentioned that every time they come over on a weeknight, we're ordering take-out? Dead-beat daughter-in-law, I know.)

That night we talked pretty openly about parenting. I love these conversations with J's mom and dad. I adore how thoughtful they are about parenting and parent-child relationships. Sure, everyone makes mistakes; but they have certain convictions that I agree with today. It certainly helps that they are delightfully liberal, loving people; when we have conversations like this, I get the distinct feeling that though they had their babies 30+ years ago, the chasm that separate the generations is not so vast.

I wish I could say the same for my side of the family. Sometimes? When I talk to my mom? I feel like we were raised on different planets, and that no matter how delicately I phrase things, we'll never cross that divide.

I have always been fiercely independent. I suppose that's putting it mildly. The bottom line is: I trust myself. I trust that I know what is right for me, and what is wrong for me. With my advancing years, I've also learned to forgive myself. Sometimes I make bad decisions. I choose to learn from those mistakes. I never blame anyone else for them (well, sometimes these days I'll blame J when I forget something that he never reminded me to do, but that's totally justified. PREGNANCY BRAIN, y'all. Do not fuck with it.)

J and I make a lot of choices that, I think, confound people. Like, we get on our sustainability high horse, and we talk about our decision to eat organically. To buy organic items for our Ninja. To use low VOC paints in the Ninja nursery. To use - wait for it - cloth diapers.

There is not one, single solitary person that I have spoken with that understands our decision to use cloth diapers. Most people wrinkle their noses and tell us we are nuts. That we'll change our minds.

And other than my mild exasperation at this thinking, I suppose what confounds people the most about us? Is that most of the time, we just don't care what other people think. We make decisions that work best for our family. And we make them together. We talk through them. And when our decisions feel good, we feel good; and then we hold hands while we walk down the street and giggle at our good fortune in this life. Seriously, we are pretty happy people. Why you tryin' to bring us down?

I just wonder... on the cusp of parenthood... if you had one wish for your children - what would that be?

I ask myself that question everyday, and I always come back to this. I want the Ninja to be sublimely happy in life.

If that means that the Ninja needs to move to Equador to build orphanages, and J and I only see him/her once a year? That's what it means, y'all. That doesn't mean that we don't secretly want the Ninja to live next door to us for the rest of our lives, but we want our baby to do what makes him/her happy (you know, as long as that is not selling meth from a trailer park, or serial killing).

So since I am no meth-dealing, serial killer living in a trailer park, and am sublimely happy most of the time, I wonder... why isn't the one who raised me happy for me? Why isn't she somewhere sighing with contentment that she raised a daughter who is confident and clear-headed (except for the pregnancy brain)?

I wonder.

33 Weeks - And This Birth You Cannot Change.

J has accusingly called QITNM a "pregnancy blog." GAH! He's right, but hey, that's the happs. I blog my life. And my life revolves around this 4 - 5 pound squishy kid in my uterus right now. So deal with it, J.

That said, here is a non-baby related story I call: Overheard in Our Bedroom:

HV: Do you think that raccoon is back?

J: Nah, I think it's just squirrels at the neighbors. Nothing we can do.

HV: Well, if it is the raccoon, wouldn't it be weird if it somehow clawed through the screen, jumped on our bed and ate our faces? Wouldn't that be WEIRD?

(Days pass. HV notices that the windows are conspicuously shut.)

HV: Can we please open the windows? Am sweltering. (whined in dramatic pregnant fashion, thank you)

J gets up to open the window furthest from our heads. Also concocts elaborate "trap" with a picture frame to alert us of attempts by raccoon to attack.

HV: What are you doing, babe?

J: I'm not letting that raccoon in here.

Fin.

Now, back to my pregnancy!

I completed my birth plan today. I know many people roll their eyes at birth plans, but I like having an organized, bulleted-list of my preferred methods of birthin' babies jotted down for all to see.

Duh, we're flexible. We know that things happen, and that we can't control the situation. But these are our preferences. The main priority is keeping everyone alive and healthy. And if we accomplish that, I won't be disappointed that I had to be given some Pitocin or that I didn't get to nurse immediately following delivery. (But so help you God, nurse, if you come near the Ninja with that pacifier before he/she has latched. Beware the wrath of HV if mah precious is nipple-confused!)

Other than that, I can't wait to share photos of the completed nursery. It's everything we never knew we wanted, and we are absolutely delighted by it. It's a mish-mash of old and new: lots of the miscellaneous art we scored abroad that magically works in the room. And it makes us happy. Most of the time, we stand in the doorway looking in and we smile and sigh. It's a comfortable space, warm and inviting.

The Ninja is going to love it.

More Pregnancy Indignities

"So I think we both need to prepare for the fact that I will likely be bald after this pregnancy."

"Huh?"

"Most women start shedding like crazy, and let's face it: I have no hair to spare. I'm effed."

"Babe, I will love you - "

"HA! You won't love me when I'm bald."

"No, but we'll figure out something for you."

Fin.

31 Weeks - Old Wifey Tales

Let me direct your attention to the latest QITNM widget: The Baby Pool! I stole this from my friend Sarah's page. Click on the widget on the top right of this page to make a guess! Only 59 days (roughly) until The Ninja will reveal its true identity. I'm thinking about a prize for the person who guesses most accurately. Coincidentally, I like the people who are predicting smaller babies and earlier dates better than the rest of you.

If you need help guessing, here are some Ninja stats of the old-wifey variety:

• I am carrying low, all in the front. (Old Wifey says: boy!) (Though as I look at the photo above, I am thinking I may be carrying more in the middle. Ninja! You confound me!)


• The heart rate started out quite high, but at recent visits Ninj's BPM hover around 120. (Old Wifey says: boy!)


• My ass is growing larger. (Old Wifey has nothing. I just wanted to vent.)


• J is getting thinner. (Old Wifey says: boy!)


• I don't see that my face has changed much (neither does J), though I was told the other day that it looked slightly different. (Old Wifey says: girl!)


• My skin is clearing up, but was a mess for a good three months. (Old Wifey says: girl!)


• I crave sweets, all the time. (This is really no different than pre-pregnancy, but Old Wifey says: girl!)


• The all-day queasiness was a killer in the first trimester. (Old Wifey says: girl!)


• The Mayans look at the mother's age at conception and year of conception. If both are even or odd, girl. If one is even and one is odd, boy. (The Mayans say: girl!)


• The Chinese gender predictor says: girl!


• I just took a gender predictor test online, and it was very helpful: 47% boy, 53% girl. Thanks, gender predictor.

That's 7 for girl, 3 for boy. Get at it!

29 Weeks - As Free As a Birth Now.

29 weeks (that's 27 weeks gestational age), and Ninja is already keeping me up at night.

Do you just want to play, baby? Is that it? I don't know when you find time to sleep, friend. But I can tell you are a ton of fun already.

The other night, I seriously got out of bed around midnight to FEED the baby. All of the kicking was making me nervous - had I failed the Ninja? When was the last time I ate something nutritious? So I hoisted myself onto my feet and waddled down to the kitchen for a glass of water and an apple. Ninj: you are welcome. Mama loves you.

I had another prenatal this past Friday, and things are looking up. Ninj's estimated chubtastic glory is three pounds, five ounces. The doc I spoke to at Maternal Fetal Medicine was very enthusiastic. Baby is great! You are no more likely to have a nine pound baby than you are a six pound baby at this point! You are thin; maybe that's why you are measuring big! Hey, you have the perfect amount of amniotic fluid! You are perfect perfection!

The midwife I saw later that morning at my regular OB office?

Not so kind.

Mama Kath accompanied me that morning, and as she settled into a chair in the exam room I hopped on the scale with my usual trepidation.

AND LO: I gained a modest two pounds. SOUND THE TRUMPETS!

Enter Midwife Killjoy.

"I gained two pounds!" I exclaim triumphantly.

"Yes. Are you exercising?"

"Yup. I do prenatal yoga and I try to walk at least 20 minutes per day, 6 days per week."

"No - 45 minutes to an hour, three to five times per week."

"Er, ok. I can do that."

"Yes, because you only have a few more pounds to gain."

"Really? I know you like to keep it between 25 - 35, but I know many women who have gained upward of 50 pounds..."

"No! That is not healthy for you, or your baby. Keep exercising."

"Oh, and I see you had your 24-hour heart monitor," she continues. (I didn't get into this here, but my SVT seems to be rearing it's ugly, uncomfortable, benign head again.)

"Yes, and I didn't notice any abnormal activity when I had it on either." I say confidently.

"Hmm. Well, there were some abnormal PACs. Have you been speaking with your cardiologist?"

"Well, no. They really can't help me; they only tell me it is benign and they could do an ablasion if I wanted to - "

"Call your cardiologist. Just to check in." (Of course this is a perfectly reasonable suggestion, but every time I speak to a cardiologist they tell me the same damn thing.)

KillJoy measures my belly (29 WEEKS!) and checks for swelling.

"Are you drinking any caffeine?"

"No - I drink decaf coffee and tea - "

"No. No decaf coffee. No decaf tea. No herbal teas."

*HomeValley's head explodes.*

"BUT why?"

"They're diuretics," she assures me. "If you get dehydrated, your heart could act up."

Oh, and then Mom helpfully chimes in, "Tell her what you gave up, Melis! She gave up sugar. She noticed her heart would act up when she ate a LOT of sugar."

(Know your audience, Kath.)

"Oh, well, you shouldn't be eating sugar anyway."

"But.. but Easter? I was going to feast on Easter." WHO WILL EAT THE CADBURY CREME EGGS FOR THE LOVE OF LIONEL?!?!

"No."

She leaves, and I look at my mom. Perhaps my lip is trembling.

"You just do what you can, Melis."

What I can do is cut out MOST of the decaf, but not all. JC, I am only human. I have had 2 decaf coffees since I got the news, which is a marked improvement.

But seriously? You would have to be a saint to avoid the Cadbury, right?

Now, should we talk about the momentous birth of Baby Girl Halpert on The Office?

Perhaps it is the pregnant in me talking, but was anyone else HORRIFIED when Pam breastfed the WRONG child?

I was simply aghast. Seriously, I am not letting my kid out of my sight when we are in that hospital. I mean, what if Pam had hepatitis? Geez.

I also caught a show on Discovery last night about "freebirthing." Apparently, there is a new movement in which not only do women give birth at home, they do it with zero medical intervention. Some even forego any prenatal care. (One seriously misguided 22 year-old kid went to the local pharmacy to check her blood pressure. She also thought she may have placenta previa - holy jesus you don't want to be dealing with that at home - but insisted that she and her husband were the most qualified to oversee the birth process, as they had the most "vested interest.")

The whole program made me slightly queasy, though I continued watching because I had to see the births.

One woman - a pretty lass from Wales - gave birth in a tub as her husband taped (the Discovery camera crews refused to be there to avoid liability). Her labor looked completely painless. She was absolutely silent for the two-hour process (we're told in VO), and then oops, here is your baby floating in this pool of fluids. Scoop it up! To be sure, it looked extremely peaceful.

The other two women were not so zen. Despite being relatively calm in the days leading up to the births, they both ended up writhing and screaming in great pain. "I AM SO SCARED!" cried a woman from London. "DON"T TOUCH IT!" cried Placenta Previa, as her baby's head protruded... Well, you get the picture. (Set your DVRs now, dudes! You can probably still catch this.)

So, er, yeah. I am not going to try freebirthing. I do think that I will continue to focus on my upcoming labor as a beautiful, life-changing experience, rather than a ghastly, painful, perineum- tearing one.

(In other news, the term "freebirth" makes me sing "Free Bird" in my head, which makes me giggle.)

(In other, other news, I have developed a new habit: every song I hear, I must evaluate its potential to be used in a Ninja video/photo montage. Because there is no greater reason to have a child then to feature he/she in a video montage on your blog. Am I right?)

I love you all. You stay classy out there.

My Aunt gave me these maternity pants, and I guess this is how you wear them? Whatever, they're sexy. I think I will sport them later tonight, if J and I get romantic.

HomeValley's Happy Marriage, and Other Things

I find myself frequently wishing for more hours in the day.

There is just so. Much. To. Do. And Ninja's birthday is looming. LOOMING! If the impact of this child's startling kicks are any indication, he/she is already five pounds. If this baby makes it to 40 weeks (oh my God, or BEYOND), it will be 6'8" at the time of delivery.

Mercy.

I started The Happiness Project this weekend. Have you heard of it? The author, Gretchen Rubin, spent a year trying to make herself happier, with a new focus each month. It's interesting, and often enlightening. On Sunday afternoon I spent some time reading paragraphs about marriage aloud to J.

"Oh, we should be hugging for at least 6 seconds, babe. That 'is the minimum time necessary to promote the flow of oxytocin and seratonin, mood-boosting chemicals that promote bonding.'"

"Who are you talking to?" my husband asks. J lurves hugging. We would hug all day, everyday, if it were up to him. At least now I have a goal: hug husband for at least six seconds for optimum success.

"Well, marriage expert John Gottman calls these behaviors the 'Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse:' stonewalling, defensiveness, criticism, and contempt. Hmm. What is stonewalling?"

"Don't know - shutting people out?"

"Do we do that?"

Silence.

Ha!

"Well, we are never guilty of contempt," I mutter gratefully.

"Oh no!" I continue. "Apparently marital satisfaction drops substantially after the first child arrives. Ninja!" I look down at my bulbous belly. "Why are you going to ruin EVERYTHING?"

The truth is, I am utterly fascinated by the idea of self-improvement. And so I embark AGAIN on making sure I take each and every resolution seriously this year. J gives me credit; he says I am improving in most facets of domestic life.

But I am an overachiever. So come on, y'all. You know I am going to write more lists. I live for lists. I pull out my yellow legal pad.

1. List all of my "nagging" tasks (those shitty, thankless jobs that I avoid like the plague). Now DO them. (Yes, my first point on my list is to make another list. I'm awesome.)
2. Begin reading that blogging book I bought months ago.
3. 14 nights sans TV at bedtime. In hotels as well! This is an experiment. (Two nights down!)
4. One-minute rule (courtesy of author Rubin): if it will take under a minute, put it away.
5. Ten minutes of tidying each night (courtesy of Rubin) before bed. (I mean, if I learned nothing else from Danny Tanner? A clean home is a happy home.)
6. Unless I am in the middle of a project and have BANNED all interruptions, I cannot screen two consecutive calls.
7. 14 days of 1 hour of television per day (Two days down!)
8. Recommit to exercise through remainder of pregnancy (have you seen your cellulite OHMYGOD). At least 20 minutes of walking per day, 6 days per week. (One day down!)
9. 14 days of journaling, every day. (Two days down!)

I must say, I have felt awfully tired these last few days, but perhaps that is just the third trimester. I am also a little blue about being in Pittsburgh through Thursday, when I really want my own bed, my own cozy home and husband.

But I try to remember that I will not always travel, and when I don't? I'll ache for it.

So what say you, audience? I am the only one compulsively making lists and compiling pages and pages of tasks to get done all inf the name of self-actualization? Or am I - gasp - "nesting?"

27 Weeks, Sans Photos, But Including Smug Judgment of Others Parenting Skills. Enjoy.

27 Weeks? For realz?

I am tweaking, my friends, into a whole new era. One less of the Warren G variety, and more of the third trimester kind.

One more week until we are 2/3 there! Hi, Ninj? You weigh a lot, fatty. And also: I adore you.

So let's talk growth scan for a minute. Ah, hell, we're all friends here. I gained another 10 pounds at my last check up, which occurred at 24 weeks and 5 days. I... I don't know. I am not swollen. My legs are a bit thicker, I suppose, but really, most of the weight is in mah belly. The doctors are deeply suspect of me, and yes, I do have a hearty appetite. But I exercise, and I practice yoga, and I try to eat mostly healthy foods (today's Massachusetts Sonic Run not withstanding.) (Oh, I am in Mass this week. I honestly didn't travel to New England just for a Sonic burger. But would any of you be surprised if I did?)

Back to my belly. My swollen, bulbous, belly. It's terribly sexy. (Stay away stretch marks. Stay away.)

ENORMOUS babies run in my family. I was 9 pounds, 10 ounces. My bro was 9 pounds, 2 ounces. My dad and uncles? One of those guys was ELEVEN pounds at birth, the tiniest on the smaller side of ten pounds. It is the superior Viking genes, you know. We're huge babies, and then we usually chill out. We grow tall, but not obese, praise God.

I had thought that Ninj might defy this legacy; but lo, at my last prenatal, the belly was measuring 27 weeks. So now I'll have another ultrasound (squee!) in a few weeks, to determine how big the baby looks. It's not an exact science; they can be off by a pound in either direction, or just plan WAY OFF. A girl in my yoga class knows a girl who was told she was having an eleven-pounder. Her baby was 8 pounds. She was angry. The end.

I am not sure that any of this really means much? I'll still try to labor as naturally as possible (I make no promises, however, with Ninj the super-fetus). I am focusing on my yoga practice, and imagining that my body (sorry pelvis!) is capable of this feat of strength.

And if it's not? Then I suppose I have a c-section. The whole point is to have a healthy baby, and it looks like Ninj is SUPER healthy. That's why s/he has a theme song that I sing to him/her daily:

Ninjy! Ninjy! The Amazing SUPER FETUS!

Then s/he punches me to quiet down, s/he is practicing her krav maga, jesuschristmom!

Man, I love my kid.

But you know what I don't love? Parents who bring their ten-year old child to see Shutter Island on opening night. I don't love when they sit directly behind me and J. I don't like when the kid hears more eff words than you can shake a stick at - this from the lady that curses with great relish and abandon. I... I don't want to spoil the film for you, but I was completely uncomfortable knowing there was a small child seated near me seeing that mess. There is blood. And murder. It takes place in an ASYLUM FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE. Oh! And here are some shots of dead kids at Dachau, for good measure. There was just so much violence. And rats! So many rats that I couldn't look at the screen for a full two minutes, because I didn't want to have nightmares.

"My god," I said to J as the credits rolled. "I was traumatized by "Thriller" as a child!"

"I was traumatized by Gremlins," he said.

Good luck sleeping this year, sweet boy.

Egads!

Back from the beach. I only cried a little, I swear.






I have been looking at "thin" pictures this morning, something you should never do when you are nearly seven months pregnant and the size of a planet. I mean, who was the slim girl above?

DUDES. We are obviously, REALLY stretching the bounds of perfectly nice fabric.

Moving on. (Oh, but not before I vow to be that thin chick again! Victory will be mine!)

Turks and Caicos was sublime. It truly was one long, luxurious rest. We laid around all day. We swam a bit. (Until I got taken out by a benign-looking wave, crashed on to my back, tankini flipped inside out. Yep, we thought we'd killed Ninja. After that, we mostly laid.)

More pics to follow. For now, it's back to the grind. Oh, I am totally giving up all processed sugar for Lent. I know, I technically am not a practicing Catholic. But something needs to be done, y'all. Let's try it in the name of JC.

23 Weeks - And the Ninja Finally Kicks the Dad

Picture time!

So there was a time in my life (er, pregnancy) where I only wanted to be showing. I whined about it; I fretted about it. Man, look at this tiny hint of a bump:


I remember abs!

And then J and I didn't take any photos for nine weeks, apparently. Because all of a sudden, we have a large baby swimming around in there:

And still it grows and mutates!

So no, I suppose I no longer worry about showing. Now, I worry about gaining too much weight. The life of a pregnant woman is fraught with worry and anxiety. Ah, the wondrous miracle of life.

No stretch marks yet, but we're still early. I have 17 more weeks to grow this kid. Save yourselves from the giant super-fetus!

I spent most of yesterday on the couch, fairly incapacitated with a head cold. As I lay on my side (and now that I can only lay on my side, all I want to do is lay on my back. Glorious back-laying!), I felt Ninja's kicks and wiggles. I feel Ninja movements fairly regularly now, which is so comforting: my tiny constant companion. Each time I feel a swift punch, I yell for J.

"Can you feel that?!?" I typically ask happily.

"No," J always replies, morosely.

"You must just have a very calming influence on the baby," I assure him daily.

It goes on like this, day after day, until finally, last night, the Ninj went and punched his dad. Hard.

"I felt it!"

It was a moment.

J was also able to feel more kicks at 4 AM, as I woke for the thousandth time and practiced my 3-point turns (lord, I miss the days when I could simply roll over in bed).

And so J finally gets to connect with Ninj, and it makes it that much more exciting. It also makes the discomfort (the side-sleeping, the peeing, the PIMPLES) bearable.

17 weeks.

* Edited to add: There used to be line-spacing in this piece, but Blogger is angered when you attempt to incorporate photos. Boo.

22 Weeks, and Coakley Wins! Oh, Wait.

Good morning, world! Melissa P. HomeValley Ft. Lauderdale here, coming to you live from Peabody, MA. Apparently there was some election here yesterday, and now all of the conservatives are gloating and sticking it to us liberals. Take that Obama! Though I haven't fact-checked this yet, last night a coworker told me that Massachusetts is 12% registered Republicans... So, yeah. Take that, "Obamacare." You would think that the idea of affordable healthcare for all would not be such a visceral, polarizing issue, but this is America. You'd be wrong.

Shit, I've gone all political again. Please do follow, Republicans! I still love you. Wanna talk about Sicko?

Of course I am pressed for time, and I am the owner of a Dell laptop that cannot be disconnected from a power cable, lest the battery dies IMMEDIATELY. I am also likely coming down with a bit of a cold, but I shan't speak of it again as I refuse to let it in... healthy thoughts. What am I rambling about this AM? Don't you wanna hear about my awesome healthy baby?

I finally bit the damn bullet and got the genetic bloodwork done two weeks ago. Last Friday I got the call that everything was normal. NORMAL! I danced in the kitchen. Healthy! What more can we ask for? (please don't be 10 pounds please don't be 10 pounds please don't be 10 pounds)

I pray that I am able to write a proper update later, but I'll be heading up to Manchester, NH to hop a flight to LaGuardia (home sweet Queens, y'all).

You all look so pretty today, by the way.