Well, we're finally here. The final trimester. The last three months. The beginning of the end. Or is the beginning of the beginning?
Because that's what pregnancy is, really. The beginning of a beginning. Giving birth is by far NOT the end of this. I had this very same thought when I got married--everyone puts so much stock in weddings, and they are such a big deal, that people don't stop to think about what happens after the wedding. And trust me, people--that's the part you should be thinking about.
These days, it is more and more easy to think about what happens after the big delivery day. Sure, I spend a lot of time thinking about that (despite my promise to myself that I wouldn't until the childbirth education class), but with an active little boy constantly reminding me of his growing presence (no pun intended), my mind wanders past the whole hospital stay, and what life will be like once we bring him home.
We will be tired. Tired beyond our wildest dreams. I am trying to prepare for this, telling myself every morning when I have to drag myself out of bed after a night of tossing and turning that it is only going to get worse. Or better--because I'll be dragging myself out of bed to take care of what I am sure is going to be the cutest little man ever.
We will be responsible for a person. A person who depends completely on us and is affected by our choices. Our high maintenance cat is nothing compared to what a baby will be like.
It will be hard. Already the choices we are making are centered around our little guy--much more thought goes into scheduling work, trips, even holidays that are far down the road.
It will be fun. I can't wait for all the big moments--the first smiles, steps, vacations, days of school. But even more I can't wait for the little moments--the little rituals we will start as a family that can't be planned, what his favorite color and food will be, what music he likes. Who he will turn out to be.
Here is to the beginning of the beginning.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Don't Ask a Pregnant Lady How She's Feeling if You're Not Ready for the Answer
In our culture, it is polite to see someone, say, in the local grocery store and say, "Hi! How are you?"
To which the person will answer, "Hi yourself! I'm good!" or "Well, hey, I'm hanging in there" or maybe even "Oh, I'm getting by, you know, one day at a time." All of these are acceptable answers. The point is, the person asking is not looking for an in-depth answer. It's just what you say.
I understand this practice and have adhered to it for many years. However, I have recently found it impossible to stick with a short, simple answer when asked how I am. I realize that the asker is probably not looking for all the details I'm sharing, but I just can't help myself. For example:
"Hi," says the innocent passer-by. "Look at that belly! How are you?"
"Hi!" I answer back. "I'm good. My belly, can you believe how big it's gotten? I've gained 15 pounds and it all seemed to happen overnight. Isn't that crazy? I can't believe I still have over three months to go! It seems like such a long time, but at the same time, I know it's no time at all. I still have so much to do--we haven't even started on the nursery, when we moved into our new place all the stuff we didn't have an immediate home for got put in there, now it's wall to wall stuff and I'm too big to heave the boxes around. And we still have to paint, and then actually set up all the baby stuff...but that can wait until after the shower. We FINALLY got our registry straightened out...did I tell you the store deleted the whole thing after husband and I spent hours roaming around the store with that little scanner gun thing? It was so stressful. And then there's the cat--we thought he was over his whole bathtub fascination now that we've moved but then just yesterday I found him in the bathtub, lounging in the leftover water from my shower...apparently no one has told the cat how hard it is to get down on your hands and knees and clean cat hair out of a tub when you're six months pregnant. And I had to clean it out right then because I take baths every night...it helps lift the baby off my spine. He likes sitting on my spine and the sciatic nerve pain is awful. I think I'm stuck with the sciatic nerve pain because the baby is sitting so low...although he has been moving up, I guess he has to now that he's getting bigger, he's just running out of room in there. I can't fathom putting on 15 more pounds, can you imagine? Three more months to go...It seems like such a long time but at the same time, I know it's no time at all. But I've already said that, haven't I? So, tell me, how are you?"
"Uh...I'm fine," the person mumbles, and takes my momentary pause to escape out of whatever exit is closest. Because they know I'm just catching my breath, and if they stick around, I'll keep talking.
Then I'm embarrassed, because I realize I have morphed into a little old southern woman at her hairdresser. But that still doesn't keep me from running my mouth over and over and over. When my mom calls me at lunchtime, I regale her with how my belly button is so close to popping out but hasn't yet. When I visit my sister-in-law, I explain in detail about our birth plan. And my poor husband...when he comes home after a 12 or 14 hour day, and asks me what I did with my day, I tell him. I tell him how the baby was kicking that morning, what music I played for baby while I ate my breakfast (and what I ate), exactly which outfits I tried on before I found one that I liked, the exact route I drove to run my errands and my commentary on the people I encountered while out, where the cat was waiting for me when I came home, how many trips I took up the stairs, precisely what I cleaned and when I took breaks during the cleaning...and on and on. Bless his heart, he sits and listens to the minutiae of my day, every day, even when I repeat myself.
I have noticed this in other pregnant women, and with moms when asked about their children or their pregnancies. Perhaps it's because when you're pregnant, or raising a kid, there is no simple answer to, "how are you?" There is always something changing, or growing, or doing something new and exciting. So small-talkers beware: if you're in a hurry, try and look very busy, give a smile and wave, and say, "hi! You look great! Lets catch up soon!"
Because if you ask how we are doing, we'll tell you. And we have a lot to say.
To which the person will answer, "Hi yourself! I'm good!" or "Well, hey, I'm hanging in there" or maybe even "Oh, I'm getting by, you know, one day at a time." All of these are acceptable answers. The point is, the person asking is not looking for an in-depth answer. It's just what you say.
I understand this practice and have adhered to it for many years. However, I have recently found it impossible to stick with a short, simple answer when asked how I am. I realize that the asker is probably not looking for all the details I'm sharing, but I just can't help myself. For example:
"Hi," says the innocent passer-by. "Look at that belly! How are you?"
"Hi!" I answer back. "I'm good. My belly, can you believe how big it's gotten? I've gained 15 pounds and it all seemed to happen overnight. Isn't that crazy? I can't believe I still have over three months to go! It seems like such a long time, but at the same time, I know it's no time at all. I still have so much to do--we haven't even started on the nursery, when we moved into our new place all the stuff we didn't have an immediate home for got put in there, now it's wall to wall stuff and I'm too big to heave the boxes around. And we still have to paint, and then actually set up all the baby stuff...but that can wait until after the shower. We FINALLY got our registry straightened out...did I tell you the store deleted the whole thing after husband and I spent hours roaming around the store with that little scanner gun thing? It was so stressful. And then there's the cat--we thought he was over his whole bathtub fascination now that we've moved but then just yesterday I found him in the bathtub, lounging in the leftover water from my shower...apparently no one has told the cat how hard it is to get down on your hands and knees and clean cat hair out of a tub when you're six months pregnant. And I had to clean it out right then because I take baths every night...it helps lift the baby off my spine. He likes sitting on my spine and the sciatic nerve pain is awful. I think I'm stuck with the sciatic nerve pain because the baby is sitting so low...although he has been moving up, I guess he has to now that he's getting bigger, he's just running out of room in there. I can't fathom putting on 15 more pounds, can you imagine? Three more months to go...It seems like such a long time but at the same time, I know it's no time at all. But I've already said that, haven't I? So, tell me, how are you?"
"Uh...I'm fine," the person mumbles, and takes my momentary pause to escape out of whatever exit is closest. Because they know I'm just catching my breath, and if they stick around, I'll keep talking.
Then I'm embarrassed, because I realize I have morphed into a little old southern woman at her hairdresser. But that still doesn't keep me from running my mouth over and over and over. When my mom calls me at lunchtime, I regale her with how my belly button is so close to popping out but hasn't yet. When I visit my sister-in-law, I explain in detail about our birth plan. And my poor husband...when he comes home after a 12 or 14 hour day, and asks me what I did with my day, I tell him. I tell him how the baby was kicking that morning, what music I played for baby while I ate my breakfast (and what I ate), exactly which outfits I tried on before I found one that I liked, the exact route I drove to run my errands and my commentary on the people I encountered while out, where the cat was waiting for me when I came home, how many trips I took up the stairs, precisely what I cleaned and when I took breaks during the cleaning...and on and on. Bless his heart, he sits and listens to the minutiae of my day, every day, even when I repeat myself.
I have noticed this in other pregnant women, and with moms when asked about their children or their pregnancies. Perhaps it's because when you're pregnant, or raising a kid, there is no simple answer to, "how are you?" There is always something changing, or growing, or doing something new and exciting. So small-talkers beware: if you're in a hurry, try and look very busy, give a smile and wave, and say, "hi! You look great! Lets catch up soon!"
Because if you ask how we are doing, we'll tell you. And we have a lot to say.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The. Hospital. Tour (cue dramatic music)
Our hospital tour was actually far from dramatic. It answered a lot of our questions, even ones I had not thought to ask. It was, however, overwhelming in that exciting way that most of this process has been.
Our hospital has a very nice women's center that is attached to the main hospital. We learned where to park to check in, got details on admission policies and were walked through the entire process from beginning to end. It was a lot of information, and I know that both my husband and I had to keep ourselves from whipping out a pen and paper and writing down everything the tour guide said. We managed to refrain ourselves (we didn't want to be that couple)...but I did come home and make notes on everything I could remember.
We got an in-depth look at the "before and during" room--the room where we'll be once we check in and where the baby will be delivered. It wasn't like most hospital rooms I'd ever been in--it was more like a hotel room that can be quickly transformed into a place appropriate to have a baby. It even had a DVD player, so you can bet I'll have "Friends" on in the background.
I liked the policies the hospital has on family time immediately following the birth, as well as the fact that we can keep baby boy with us practically 24/7. If the baby needs attention outside of the birthing room after delivery, my husband can accompany him wherever he goes. This makes me happy.
Once our little guy has arrived and all of our ducks are in a row, we'll be moved to the "after" room--as a family, a touch I liked. The "after" rooms are on different floors with kitchens for the new daddies to hang out in and nurseries for the babies to hang out in. New mommies are pretty much relegated to the rooms, but that's okay.
The "after" wing was a very quiet and peaceful place...the best part of the tour was getting to peek in on the babies in the nursery. Unfortunately, the tour guide continued talking while we were standing in front of the glass windows of the nursery...I don't know about the other moms-to-be on the tour, but I found it extremely difficult to focus on what she was saying while gazing at the teeny tiny newborns. And why she chose that moment to start talking about financial obligations, I'll never know. My husband kept poking me, saying, "are you listening? Did you get that?" and I finally had to turn away from the babies to listen to what she was saying. The lesson I learned from that is to have all the money stuff taken care of waaaay in advance, because if I couldn't focus on it then, there's no way I'm going to be able to when I have my own teeny-tiny newborn to play with.
So the hospital tour was not as scary as I expected it to be. It did not make me want to curl up into a ball and roll away--but it did make everything seem very real. We saw a pair of new parents exiting the building, the mom in a wheelchair holding tight to a car seat containing an itty-bitty baby bundled up so tightly in blankets all you could see was it's face--and it occured to me that in three months, that will be us. There are really no words to describe the overwhelming feelings that brought on.
Oh, and the best part? The 24 hour McDonald's, located right there inside the hospital. Baby's first Happy Meal, anyone?
Our hospital has a very nice women's center that is attached to the main hospital. We learned where to park to check in, got details on admission policies and were walked through the entire process from beginning to end. It was a lot of information, and I know that both my husband and I had to keep ourselves from whipping out a pen and paper and writing down everything the tour guide said. We managed to refrain ourselves (we didn't want to be that couple)...but I did come home and make notes on everything I could remember.
We got an in-depth look at the "before and during" room--the room where we'll be once we check in and where the baby will be delivered. It wasn't like most hospital rooms I'd ever been in--it was more like a hotel room that can be quickly transformed into a place appropriate to have a baby. It even had a DVD player, so you can bet I'll have "Friends" on in the background.
I liked the policies the hospital has on family time immediately following the birth, as well as the fact that we can keep baby boy with us practically 24/7. If the baby needs attention outside of the birthing room after delivery, my husband can accompany him wherever he goes. This makes me happy.
Once our little guy has arrived and all of our ducks are in a row, we'll be moved to the "after" room--as a family, a touch I liked. The "after" rooms are on different floors with kitchens for the new daddies to hang out in and nurseries for the babies to hang out in. New mommies are pretty much relegated to the rooms, but that's okay.
The "after" wing was a very quiet and peaceful place...the best part of the tour was getting to peek in on the babies in the nursery. Unfortunately, the tour guide continued talking while we were standing in front of the glass windows of the nursery...I don't know about the other moms-to-be on the tour, but I found it extremely difficult to focus on what she was saying while gazing at the teeny tiny newborns. And why she chose that moment to start talking about financial obligations, I'll never know. My husband kept poking me, saying, "are you listening? Did you get that?" and I finally had to turn away from the babies to listen to what she was saying. The lesson I learned from that is to have all the money stuff taken care of waaaay in advance, because if I couldn't focus on it then, there's no way I'm going to be able to when I have my own teeny-tiny newborn to play with.
So the hospital tour was not as scary as I expected it to be. It did not make me want to curl up into a ball and roll away--but it did make everything seem very real. We saw a pair of new parents exiting the building, the mom in a wheelchair holding tight to a car seat containing an itty-bitty baby bundled up so tightly in blankets all you could see was it's face--and it occured to me that in three months, that will be us. There are really no words to describe the overwhelming feelings that brought on.
Oh, and the best part? The 24 hour McDonald's, located right there inside the hospital. Baby's first Happy Meal, anyone?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
I came, I saw...
Today, this is how I feel.
It's not a bad feeling...in fact, it's a perfect feeling for a rainy day, when a pregnant girl can curl up with a good book and a bowl of soup and doze off on the couch with her cat.
Too bad it's sunny and 70 outside, and I have a list of things to do that is a mile long. However, these days when my energy is low, I am lucky enough to be able to put my list aside and focus entirely on resting and focus on growing our little boy.
Life is good for me.
Even though I am having a quiet day, baby boy is active and energetic. Although he "slept in" this morning, he's been bouncing around for the majority of the day, especially enjoying the apple I ate earlier. He likes apples-- he's always particularly active after I include one in my lunch. He also "likes" carrots (and of course, maple syrup. But I try not to eat too much of that anymore). At 26 weeks, his kicks are stronger than ever, and his dad gets to feel them regularly now. According to my sources (AKA What to Expect When You're Expecting) he's probably around 2 pounds now and is eggplant sized (9+ inches!). His eyes are open and he has the ability to blink and bat his eyelashes (which I hope he gets from my husband).
As he grows, so do I--12 pounds altogether. New and interesting pregnancy symptoms include numbness and tingling in my hands when the little guy sits on my spine in juuust the right place, along with the return of some sciatic nerve pain. The excellent news is that baby boy's favorite sound in the whole world is my husband's voice, and he gravitates towards whatever direction it is coming from. This comes in handy, especially when baby is sitting on my bladder, because all my husband has to do is talk to him from the opposite side of my belly and there he goes --we can even feel him moving in that direction. It's so cool.
Tomorrow is our tour of the hospital, where we'll get to see where our little guy will make his debut into the world. I am excited and nervous about this. But for now, I'm going to find a sunny spot on the couch, curl up, and continue my conquering.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
You're Having a Baby. It's Time to Grow Up.
I expected a lot of changes when I became pregnant...and I know there will be no shortage of changes once he arrived. But something that has surprised me recently is how this baby is making me, well, grow up.
I think I've always been fairly mature. I never really rebelled when I was young, and I had a four month stint in college when I "sowed my wild oats"--although my friends used to tease me that I was only sowing one oat, because even my wildest adventures were tame compared to what they did. I was happy to settle down at 21, marry at 24, and get pregnant at 26. Calm, married life suits me just fine.
My husband has been mature his entire life, probably since the day he was born. He is totally a grown up. I can't imagine little toddler husband throwing a temper tantrum because he couldn't have a piece of candy. What I can imagine is him negotiating for the candy, and winning--either because the adult he was bargaining with was overcome with his toddler negotiating skills, or because he used words the adult did not understand.
Now, by mature, I do not mean "boring". We do fun things, and we have our little quirks--husband likes his video games, my favorite thing to do when I'm bored is look at the pictures of hotels on the Disney website. I read the Harry Potter books, he liked the GI Joe movie that came out last year. And I don't mean that either of us will be giving up those things now that the baby is coming--I have just noticed that some of the choices I make are not the same ones I would have made if it were going to be just the two of us for the next foreseeable future.
The smallest example is that I am backing my car into parking spaces. I hate backing up my car. I hit things. The car ends up crooked and I get made fun of. So if the car needed to be backed in, I would hand my husband the car keys and he would do it, easily and with far less curse words than me (he was probably the best at backing up his power wheels on the playground, too). But then I thought, what is it going to say to my kid if mommy can't back up her own vehicle? So I have started practicing now, because I don't want to expose my son to the 20 minute ordeal that usually occurs when I try to back up. I have done it several times without hitting a single thing. Of course, I haven't tried it with anyone watching or riding with me, because we all know that complicates things. The fact that I can back up my own car says I am growing up a little.
Then there's the spring cleaning attack I am about to launch on our apartment. I am the first to admit that I am a pack rat. I keep EVERYTHING. Ticket stubs, programs, photographs, old letters, school papers, magazines...you name it, I have it. With each move I have made with my husband, I have skimmed a little off the top. But now, even though we are in a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment, I look around at all the stuff and realize there is simply not going to be room for the baby. And if there's not room for him, then there's certainly not going to be room for all the stuff that comes with a baby. So it's time to purge, and not just the little mini purges I have done in the past. It's time for a major, throw it away/sell it/donate it purge to happen. The fact that I can say this without breaking into hives says that I am growing up quite a bit.
And lastly, a week ago I was perusing the previously mentioned Disney website and saw that my favorite band OF ALL TIME EVER would be performing at a Disney theme park in the fall. Disney is my most favorite place in the world, and I have been following this particular band for fourteen years. My cousin and I once saw them perform one night in one city, then drove all night to a city several states away to see them perform again the next night. I've never missed a show that was performed in my town (or most of the neighboring states). Some would call me a groupie...I prefer loyal. The thought of this band being in this place was enough to overwhelm me to the point that I had to get up and get a drink of water.
But did I seriously think of planning a trip to the happiest place on earth? No. Why? Because I'll have a barely three month old at the time. And alas, even for the baby of their biggest fan, it will be too early for a first rock concert. If there was no baby in my future? I would have already had a ticket booked. The fact that, while slightly disappointed, I was not terribly concerned with missing this concert says that I am incredibly grown up, probably the most grown up I will ever become. Because even though I may hit things with my car, have to get rid of a lot of stuff, and miss what is my version of the ultimate concert experience, it is more than worth it every time I feel that baby boy kick--so I can only imagine what it will be like when he gets here.
I think I've always been fairly mature. I never really rebelled when I was young, and I had a four month stint in college when I "sowed my wild oats"--although my friends used to tease me that I was only sowing one oat, because even my wildest adventures were tame compared to what they did. I was happy to settle down at 21, marry at 24, and get pregnant at 26. Calm, married life suits me just fine.
My husband has been mature his entire life, probably since the day he was born. He is totally a grown up. I can't imagine little toddler husband throwing a temper tantrum because he couldn't have a piece of candy. What I can imagine is him negotiating for the candy, and winning--either because the adult he was bargaining with was overcome with his toddler negotiating skills, or because he used words the adult did not understand.
Now, by mature, I do not mean "boring". We do fun things, and we have our little quirks--husband likes his video games, my favorite thing to do when I'm bored is look at the pictures of hotels on the Disney website. I read the Harry Potter books, he liked the GI Joe movie that came out last year. And I don't mean that either of us will be giving up those things now that the baby is coming--I have just noticed that some of the choices I make are not the same ones I would have made if it were going to be just the two of us for the next foreseeable future.
The smallest example is that I am backing my car into parking spaces. I hate backing up my car. I hit things. The car ends up crooked and I get made fun of. So if the car needed to be backed in, I would hand my husband the car keys and he would do it, easily and with far less curse words than me (he was probably the best at backing up his power wheels on the playground, too). But then I thought, what is it going to say to my kid if mommy can't back up her own vehicle? So I have started practicing now, because I don't want to expose my son to the 20 minute ordeal that usually occurs when I try to back up. I have done it several times without hitting a single thing. Of course, I haven't tried it with anyone watching or riding with me, because we all know that complicates things. The fact that I can back up my own car says I am growing up a little.
Then there's the spring cleaning attack I am about to launch on our apartment. I am the first to admit that I am a pack rat. I keep EVERYTHING. Ticket stubs, programs, photographs, old letters, school papers, magazines...you name it, I have it. With each move I have made with my husband, I have skimmed a little off the top. But now, even though we are in a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment, I look around at all the stuff and realize there is simply not going to be room for the baby. And if there's not room for him, then there's certainly not going to be room for all the stuff that comes with a baby. So it's time to purge, and not just the little mini purges I have done in the past. It's time for a major, throw it away/sell it/donate it purge to happen. The fact that I can say this without breaking into hives says that I am growing up quite a bit.
And lastly, a week ago I was perusing the previously mentioned Disney website and saw that my favorite band OF ALL TIME EVER would be performing at a Disney theme park in the fall. Disney is my most favorite place in the world, and I have been following this particular band for fourteen years. My cousin and I once saw them perform one night in one city, then drove all night to a city several states away to see them perform again the next night. I've never missed a show that was performed in my town (or most of the neighboring states). Some would call me a groupie...I prefer loyal. The thought of this band being in this place was enough to overwhelm me to the point that I had to get up and get a drink of water.
But did I seriously think of planning a trip to the happiest place on earth? No. Why? Because I'll have a barely three month old at the time. And alas, even for the baby of their biggest fan, it will be too early for a first rock concert. If there was no baby in my future? I would have already had a ticket booked. The fact that, while slightly disappointed, I was not terribly concerned with missing this concert says that I am incredibly grown up, probably the most grown up I will ever become. Because even though I may hit things with my car, have to get rid of a lot of stuff, and miss what is my version of the ultimate concert experience, it is more than worth it every time I feel that baby boy kick--so I can only imagine what it will be like when he gets here.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Cats and Babies, volume 3
Today I was sitting on the floor, with the cat in my lap, scratching the spot under his chin that he likes so much. Without any warning, baby boy gave a mighty kick, hard enough that I could see my belly jump, and the cat went flying across the living room and under the coffee table.
After a few moments, he crept back and eyed my stomach with a curious look. When nothing happened, he circled me a few times, and gave my back a few taps with his paw as if to say, "I know you're in there, whatever you are. And I was sitting in the front, so you must have snuck in the back."
I told the cat that the new baby was just saying hello, praised him for not completely freaking out and attacking my stomach, and gave him a tuna treat. I then sat on the floor, where he allowed me to pet him from a safe distance from my belly. He kept shooting it glances, and eventually he left--a quick search of the apartment found him sitting directly in front of his food bowl, guarding it, where he has been ever since.
Official score: baby: 1, cat: 0.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
I Don't Know Nothin 'bout Birthin no Babies
Yesterday we had a glucose test, which was not nearly as bad as I expected it to be. The point of a glucose test is to check for gestational diabetes--they give you a super sugary drink, then you wait and hour and have blood drawn to check blood sugar levels. I had heard horrible things about the drink--that it was thick, syrupy, and impossible to get down. In reality, it tasted like power-aide with a significant kick. It left me slightly jittery and made the baby do acrobatics, but went down easily.
While we were at the doctor's office, we received a big folder of information and a box full of useful baby things (samples, coupons, etc). The folder, which looked innocent enough covered in pictures of beautiful, smiling babies, contained very scary paperwork. Like the hospital pre-registration paperwork and the birth plan. The folder was the harbinger of the reality I've sort of been ignoring since November--this baby is going to have to come out. And fairly soon.
I've always been completely terrified of the birthing process. It just doesn't seem...normal. And yes, I realize that it is the most natural thing on the planet. Logically, I understand that a gazillion women have babies every day, and have been forever. And I understand that I live in a time where there are wonderful painkilling drugs and doctors and hospitals. My college educated brain understands this. However, there is a smaller, louder part of my brain that cannot wrap itself around the idea that in just a little over three months, I have to get a person (albeit a small one) out of me.
The birth plan asked a series of thought-provoking questions about our preferences for the birth of our little boy. I'll spare you the gory details (and some of them are truly gory--ick!!) except to say that I checked the box labeled, "I wish to have drugs administered at my request", pushing my pen down extra hard to make sure there was no confusion. My husband observed me doing this and commented, "yes, you don't have a very high tolerance for pain." This made me feel good--at least he thinks I have some tolerance.
While my husband and I had discussed most of the things on the list previously and knew what we wanted, it was a different story to actually fill out the form and hand it in. We also signed up for a childbirth education class, which happens in about a month. Until that point, I am not going to give the labor process another thought. I am going to spend one more glorious month believing that this whole labor thing is an elaborate hoax put on by all women in the world, and that the stork from Dumbo is going to deliver my perfect little boy (looking like one of the babies on the folder, no doubt) into my arms. I will be realistic next month. For now, I will focus on my favorite part of the folder: the list of stuff to pack in your hospital bag. I like bags, and I like stuff. I will then focus on the gigantic Panera Bread roast beef sandwich I am going to eat after the baby has arrived (how I miss deli meat!) and let my mind glaze over what happens between the bag-packing and sandwich-eating.
So until the childbirth class--Miss Scarlett, I don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies.
While we were at the doctor's office, we received a big folder of information and a box full of useful baby things (samples, coupons, etc). The folder, which looked innocent enough covered in pictures of beautiful, smiling babies, contained very scary paperwork. Like the hospital pre-registration paperwork and the birth plan. The folder was the harbinger of the reality I've sort of been ignoring since November--this baby is going to have to come out. And fairly soon.
I've always been completely terrified of the birthing process. It just doesn't seem...normal. And yes, I realize that it is the most natural thing on the planet. Logically, I understand that a gazillion women have babies every day, and have been forever. And I understand that I live in a time where there are wonderful painkilling drugs and doctors and hospitals. My college educated brain understands this. However, there is a smaller, louder part of my brain that cannot wrap itself around the idea that in just a little over three months, I have to get a person (albeit a small one) out of me.
The birth plan asked a series of thought-provoking questions about our preferences for the birth of our little boy. I'll spare you the gory details (and some of them are truly gory--ick!!) except to say that I checked the box labeled, "I wish to have drugs administered at my request", pushing my pen down extra hard to make sure there was no confusion. My husband observed me doing this and commented, "yes, you don't have a very high tolerance for pain." This made me feel good--at least he thinks I have some tolerance.
While my husband and I had discussed most of the things on the list previously and knew what we wanted, it was a different story to actually fill out the form and hand it in. We also signed up for a childbirth education class, which happens in about a month. Until that point, I am not going to give the labor process another thought. I am going to spend one more glorious month believing that this whole labor thing is an elaborate hoax put on by all women in the world, and that the stork from Dumbo is going to deliver my perfect little boy (looking like one of the babies on the folder, no doubt) into my arms. I will be realistic next month. For now, I will focus on my favorite part of the folder: the list of stuff to pack in your hospital bag. I like bags, and I like stuff. I will then focus on the gigantic Panera Bread roast beef sandwich I am going to eat after the baby has arrived (how I miss deli meat!) and let my mind glaze over what happens between the bag-packing and sandwich-eating.
So until the childbirth class--Miss Scarlett, I don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Pregnancy Makes you Unreliable...and Other Reasons you Should Forgive the Pregnant Woman in your Life
I no longer make definitive commitments.
Of course, I have commitments. That's unavoidable. However, with the exception of a few things like doctors appointments, my commitments go something like this:
I have found it is nearly impossible to get out of the house and get somewhere on time. Commitments in the morning? Forget about it. Unless my husband is home to physically make sure I'm functioning, I don't schedule anything before noon. Mornings are a crap shoot for this mama-to-be: some days I wake up with energy and ready to go, other mornings I wake up....and go back to bed. Some days it's fatigue. Other days it takes me an hour to decide on something to eat that will not make me sick. Seems the "wonderful" days of the second trimester--the days of energy I heard about but never really came to fruition--are coming to an end. Luckily I have very understanding family and friends who understand that when I say, "see you at 1:00!" I really mean 2:00, 2:30.
Does the pregnant lady in your life seem a little ditzy? Or (in my case) a little more ditzy than usual? That's because we lose all ability to multitask somewhere in the late second trimester. It's like I tell my husband: "I can make dinner, and be pregnant. I can walk down the stairs, and be pregnant. I can watch TV, and be pregnant." The actual act of being pregnant takes up nearly all of my brain power. If I attempt to do a third thing, it gets messy and results in situations like dirty dishes in the microwave or a chicken salad sandwich in the freezer.
And if the baby is kicking? All bets are off. I am completely distracted from whatever I am doing when I feel our little guy move. I'm a little obsessed with it. Trying to have a serious conversation with me when baby boy is bopping around is pointless. I know I get a dreamy look on my face and usually I giggle. So no, pregnant ladies aren't crazy. It's just a very distracting process when you're growing another person.
Lastly, forgive the pregnant ladies when they totally freak out. There is no rhyme or reason to hormonal surges. Although we're more sensitive and it won't take much provocation to make us cry hysterically or scream our heads off, the important thing to remember is--there doesn't have to be a reason. And it doesn't help that I can identify that I am feeling hormonal, except to warn my husband: "Honey, I'm feeling aggressive/insecure/anxious/weepy/overly excited and I don't know why". Some days, hours before he comes home from work, I'll send him a text message: "Early Warning System: Wife weepiness has been sighted in your area and is likely to get worse by mid-afternoon and evening". Some days I wake up and just want to control everything. Unfortunately, there isn't much in my life to exercise control over, so I usually end up micro-managing the cat, which never goes well for me. Kitty is immune to hormonal surges.
So take a page from my husband's book and be patient with your pregnant lady. Let her be late, let her be a little ditzy, let her be controlling. Because in few months, baby will make three, and then he'll be in charge--whether the kitty likes it or not.
Of course, I have commitments. That's unavoidable. However, with the exception of a few things like doctors appointments, my commitments go something like this:
- "Sure, I'd love to have lunch with you! How about....noon-ish?"
- "Yeah, lets spend the day shopping. How about I meet you between 10:00 and 11:30?"
- "Breakfast? Better make it brunch. Or maybe an early lunch?"
I have found it is nearly impossible to get out of the house and get somewhere on time. Commitments in the morning? Forget about it. Unless my husband is home to physically make sure I'm functioning, I don't schedule anything before noon. Mornings are a crap shoot for this mama-to-be: some days I wake up with energy and ready to go, other mornings I wake up....and go back to bed. Some days it's fatigue. Other days it takes me an hour to decide on something to eat that will not make me sick. Seems the "wonderful" days of the second trimester--the days of energy I heard about but never really came to fruition--are coming to an end. Luckily I have very understanding family and friends who understand that when I say, "see you at 1:00!" I really mean 2:00, 2:30.
Does the pregnant lady in your life seem a little ditzy? Or (in my case) a little more ditzy than usual? That's because we lose all ability to multitask somewhere in the late second trimester. It's like I tell my husband: "I can make dinner, and be pregnant. I can walk down the stairs, and be pregnant. I can watch TV, and be pregnant." The actual act of being pregnant takes up nearly all of my brain power. If I attempt to do a third thing, it gets messy and results in situations like dirty dishes in the microwave or a chicken salad sandwich in the freezer.
And if the baby is kicking? All bets are off. I am completely distracted from whatever I am doing when I feel our little guy move. I'm a little obsessed with it. Trying to have a serious conversation with me when baby boy is bopping around is pointless. I know I get a dreamy look on my face and usually I giggle. So no, pregnant ladies aren't crazy. It's just a very distracting process when you're growing another person.
Lastly, forgive the pregnant ladies when they totally freak out. There is no rhyme or reason to hormonal surges. Although we're more sensitive and it won't take much provocation to make us cry hysterically or scream our heads off, the important thing to remember is--there doesn't have to be a reason. And it doesn't help that I can identify that I am feeling hormonal, except to warn my husband: "Honey, I'm feeling aggressive/insecure/anxious/weepy/overly excited and I don't know why". Some days, hours before he comes home from work, I'll send him a text message: "Early Warning System: Wife weepiness has been sighted in your area and is likely to get worse by mid-afternoon and evening". Some days I wake up and just want to control everything. Unfortunately, there isn't much in my life to exercise control over, so I usually end up micro-managing the cat, which never goes well for me. Kitty is immune to hormonal surges.
So take a page from my husband's book and be patient with your pregnant lady. Let her be late, let her be a little ditzy, let her be controlling. Because in few months, baby will make three, and then he'll be in charge--whether the kitty likes it or not.
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