Mourning the Lady Parts

There was really never any question, after I found out I was pregnant again, that Baby O would be our last child. I was never really sure I wanted to have kids until I had Baby L, so when a second was coming, I knew I was done. At my first OB/GYN appointment during this pregnancy, I was already asking about birth control for after Baby O was born. Because, you know, if you are keeping score, BOTH of my pregnancies were accidental and I was on the pill when I got pregnant this last time, so I was pretty sure the pill wasn’t going to prevent Captain Super Sperm from getting me knocked up again. But I wasn’t sold on the IUD method because I just didn’t want some weird object floating around in there. And I didn’t want something so invasive as a tubal ligation. (Mostly because I am a total wuss and, up until I had my kids, had had almost NO medical issues in my life. Seriously, I had an x-ray once.) But I wanted the permanence of a tubal ligation. You know, without the incision. Gross.

At my first OB/GYN appointment, there was a poster on the wall advertising Essure so I asked about it. Seriously? Permanent? Yes. In-Office procedure? Awesome. No incision? SOLD. So, I had decided at 14 weeks that I was getting this shit taken CARE of. With a QUICKNESS, you guys.

So, yesterday, I had my “counseling” appointment. Which basically means that I watched a video of women and doctors and some women doctors talk about their experiences with it and how awesome it is. And then I signed a consent form.  There is a waiting period of 30 days before I can have the procedure done. Because, you know, I might change my mind and decide I want another kid. (HA! If I ever say anything like that, internet, please remind me how long it has been since I have slept or eaten a meal while it was hot. Or while sitting.) So, now we wait.

What I didn’t expect was that I feel sort of like I am having to mourn the loss and/or use of my lady parts. I mean, first of all, I never really wanted to use them. And they are definitely USED at this point. And I don’t want to use them again. But it is sort of sad to think about. I never really thought about how much of a privilege it is to be ABLE to have children. Even if you don’t want them and don’t plan to have them, you have the POWER to create life. I mean, how amazing is that? I still don’t want to have another baby, you guys, it is just a crazy thought that I won’t be ABLE to.

I’m not going to change my mind. Because even if I did go absolutely batshit crazy and decide that more kids was a good idea, I wouldn’t do it. MB and I had our boy and our girl and we are absolutely elated to have completed our family and so QUICKLY! (This might have worked out for us. It seems doable. Hard, but we got this. In your FACE, universe!) Really, this is the only way to go. It is this or Captain Super Sperm over here will have to just stay away from me until I am all old and stuff. Because, I don’t even trust a vasectomy at this point. My husband is no joke.

A Revelation

A pregnant woman

A pregnant woman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today, I am 21 weeks pregnant.

The whole thing is still kind of sitting in the pit of my stomach like a brick, some days. Like, I am not sure if I am going to wake up from some really stressful dream wherein I have accidentally gotten knocked up again. AGAIN. Some days, there is a heaviness and an uncertainty that I can’t shake. Some days, I cry a lot.

Today was not one of those days. Today, I had my second OB visit. Of course, I had the appointment on my calendar for 1pm and it was actually at 10:30 am so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get to see the doctor. But, they saw me. And they didn’t even make me wait for hours. MB was able to come with me. Which only happened once throughout my entire pregnancy with Baby L because of his work schedule. We got to hear Baby O’s heartbeat again and, to my surprise, it didn’t make me want to run out of there or drive my car into the ocean. I felt calm. Serene. Ready to DO this thing. And then MB and I went to lunch. Alone. To one of my least favorite restaurants. But I had a surprisingly good sandwich and then a delicious chocolate malt. Because I am pregnant, you guys!

And then we came home and Baby L was playing contently in her playpen with her grandma standing by. She must have heard me come in, because she peered outside of her little baby pen and saw me and she got the most excited I have ever seen her get for anything or anyone. And in that moment, everything wasn’t just OK, you guys. It was beautiful. And I’m having another baby! And he will be beautiful and wonderful and hilarious and his little eyes will light up when he sees me and he will clap and giggle and I will fall in love with him every day!

You will have to forgive my little revelation, but please know that if I had blogged yesterday, you would have been swept away by the flood of tears that were flowing and FOR NO REASON…so this is a vast improvement.

Also, Hooray for babies!

Open Letter to Baby L at Four Months

Dear Lilah,

Today you are four months old. Can you believe it? (Well, considering that you currently have no idea, I’m sure, that FOUR WHOLE MONTHS is a big deal…you probably don’t really care…) I certainly can’t.

Your third month of life was SUPER stressful for me because you had a cold and then it went away. And then you got a worse cold after your cousin started school. I spent about 95% of my time panicking and listening to your breathing to make sure that you weren’t going to suffocate. Then I spent the other 5% of my time panicking that I might be panicking too much and wondering if I should be medicated or if this was normal for a new, first-time mom. Either way, it was pretty rough. There was a lot of snot involved. And only about half of it was yours, because I got super sick too. No fun. But nothing the two of us couldn’t handle. We’re like the dream team, you and I.

You have become super giggly, despite all the gunk in your face. You like to look at your reflection in mirrors and you are generally happy to sit in a bean bag and have brightly colored toys held in front of you so that you can grab at them and try and put them into your mouth. You do the same with my hair. But you also like to stick your entire hand into MY mouth, so I suppose we are even.Your dad and I were watching a little show called “Hell’s Kitchen” and having a discussion the other day about how people get to be so lucky as to eat in the HK restaurant and he looked at you, sitting there in the bean bag, recovering from tummy time, and asked you, “Do you have to have tickets!?” in a super high-pitched voice. And you cracked up with him for a half hour while he repeated the question over and over again. I think you both had a wonderful time with that. I should take a video of the way that he talks to you so you can see, when you’re older, what a dork your father is. But, remember, he’s OUR dork. And we love him dearly.

Tomorrow, you will have your four month vaccinations. And of course, I am a nervous wreck because I always end up crying more than you do while also sort of wanting to punch the nurse in the face for hurting you. Luckily, your Aunt Amanda will be coming with me to your appointment so that a) I might cry less if I am not holding you while they jab you with needles and b) I don’t punch anyone for hurting you. It should all be fine.

Your hair is finally starting to get a bit longer and it feels glorious on my chin when we’re cuddling. I’m so glad that you’ll still cuddle with me (not as much as when you were brand new but still enough that I get my baby fix every day) and you are actually getting better than ever at it. Now it is less because you have no choice and can’t hold your head up, but because you want your mommy. And that makes something inside me feel all warm and fuzzy and like I just might exlode.

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You make a ton of faces now. When you are displeased, you make a pouty face that, however heartbreaking, is also freaking hilarious. One day recently, you were dressed up and ready to go and visit Grandma J and you started to cry. The pouty lips were in full effect. But there I was, trying to comfort you, but you were so darn cute, I found myself laughing hysterically. (Sorry for that. I would say it won’t happen again, but I cannot promise this.)

As always, everyone loves you and wants to make you smile. But, for now at least, you save most of the smiles and giggles just for me. And you make your mommy all melty inside. You are truly one of a kind, my Lilah. One of a kind indeed.

All of my love,

Mom

Update: on this day in history, your father put you into the bathtub. In your socks.

Still No Baby. (Insert a bunch of expletives here.)

Well, internet, my due date is two days away and here I sit…STILL pregnant. I haven’t been having any more significant signs that labor is near, besides feeling generally craptastic and large. But I DID see the doctor and have my “membrane stripped” on Monday. And yes, that is exactly as much fun as it sounds like it would be. The doctor said that I am 60% effaced and about 2 centimeters dilated, which was a little uplifting, because, lets face it, progress is progress. Right?

I have been searching the internet intently, trying to find all of the natural methods of inducing labor and have tried just about everything I can to get this baby OUT OF ME (and I am sure I was quite a site over the weekend in my mom’s pool, furiously kicking my legs while swimming and muttering, “GET OUT OF ME.”) . (I did not, however, try the “mustard seed/nipple method” suggested by Southern Fried’s mom. Mainly because I would have to a) go to the store to buy mustard seed and b) locate some sort of tape that isn’t duct tape.) Later today, I plan to eat jalapenos and pineapple while doing jumping jacks. And then I plan to seduce MB. Because there is nothing more irresistable than this giant belly, let me tell you. (He actually doesn’t seem to find me any less attractive with the baby dome, however, I find myself to be a heinous, gigantic beast.) I will not be trying the castor oil method because I am not a fan of being deathly ill. (Crazy, right?)

The doctor did tell me that, after my next appointment, next Tuesday, if I still don’t have a baby instead of a baby bump, we will talk about induction. And I really don’t want to have to get to that point. I just want this to happen. Like…you know…on its own terms…and…well…NOW-ISH.

So, that’s basically all I got. Still pregnant. Still suffering heartburn, backache, insomnia and general crankiness. And yes, friends, I know you want an excuse to blow off work, but I cannot MAKE Baby L join us, she is stubborn “like her mom” as you all keep saying. Grrrr…

Welcome to my Cervix.

 

Uterus and uterine tubes.

Uterus and uterine tubes. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, its getting down to the wire, internet. I now have 5 weeks until my due date.  This has been the longest goddamned countdown of my life, and here it is, very near the end. And here I am, starting to freak the fuck out.

It is easy, at the start of a pregnancy (and really) all through the second trimester (if you ask me) to realize that you are pregnant and deal with that, but somehow avoid the reality of the situation wherein you will actually somehow have to expel this baby from your LOINS. That reality started to set in at my last OB appointment. The ARNP I have been seeing for the entirety of my care said, “Everything looks good. Next time, we’ll do some cultures and look at your cervix!”

At first, the statement, “look at your cervix” was mildly unsettling. You know, just because I don’t really want anyone to ever talk to me about wanting to look at it. It is private, y’all. Leave my cervix alone. Not to mention that I am feeling like a big, disgusting blimp and haven’t been able to shave my bikini line in order to appropriately display my lady parts.  (Gasp!) I am aware that my ARNP is used to looking at women’s nether regions and that she probably won’t care about my shaving habits.  And I am no stranger to the GYN and people have ventured here before. But I am also aware that this “cervix viewing” can only mean one thing. I am almost done. And one day SOON, a person is going to squeeze out of my vagina and this shit is going to HURT.

I have, thus far, managed to block out the fear of pain and discomfort and pooping. At least for the most part. Hell, I have been so anxious to get this kid out of me, that it has barely been a thought in my head. (Back pain, hip pain, breathlessness, intense heart burn and constant peeing tend to do that to a person, I guess.) But now, here in the home stretch, I am starting to think about what happens when I actually DO go into LABOR. (You know, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The moment I have been praying would happen RIGHT NOW for the past two weeks.) There is no doubt in my mind that I can do this. I am strong and capable of delivering this child, but I am terrified of the pain and the distruction of my friend, my trusty vagina.

I have read a lot of really good birth stories. I have appreciated how candid and real everyone has been with their most intimate moment, when they meet their child. But lets be real, internet, how much pain are we talking? I mean, I know that the generic answer to that question is something like, “The pain is totally worth it once you see the face of your child” and I TOTALLY GET THAT. But, be for real! Is my head going to spin around? Will I spit pea soup? Will my body split completely down the middle?

Housekeeping!

Over the weekend, MB and I attempted to remedy some of the clutter that has started accumulating due to the abundance of new things we are acquiring for Baby L. We managed to clean out the closet in our bedroom and switch some things around, making more room in the spare bedroom and some other minor things, which was pretty satisfying. I have, despite the intense urge to organize, been so exhausted, that I have been unable to do little without MB’s help. That, my friends, is super frustrating. I wonder why the “nesting” part of this process can’t happen during the time when you aren’t narcoleptic and in severe pain. Who came up with this damn schedule? I feel frustrated with the progress (or lack thereof) that I feel we are making on things, but then I realize that I still have several weeks and will just have to start working at a pace that I can handle. And make lots of honey-do lists for MB. He doesn’t seem to mind cleaning things that I can’t reach. Or lifting boxes and moving them from one place to another. And he knows that soon, he will be assembling strange devices and massaging my calves, possibly simultaneously. The housecleaning thing has made me feel slightly more prepared, either way. I have a plan. And that is better than where I was two weeks ago.

Housecleaning is sort of liberating though. There is something really freeing about getting rid of old things and finding places for things that have sort of just lingered around for the past months. My urge to clean house is spreading to other areas of my life. Namely, Facebook. I will tell you, internet, Facebook housecleaning is more difficult than cleaning toilets, if only because I fear deleting friends will hurt feelings. And, well, to my knowledge, toilets are without feelings. I am, though, as I have mentioned before, very private about things and Facebook is one of those places where privacy is pretty hard to come by (duh, the internet). I can control what I post and who sees it, but I can’t control what people say to me on my page, therefore, trying to keep my personal life personal is a little difficult. To date, I have basically been managing my privacy settings on facebook by creating groups and adding people to a “restricted” list instead of deleting them. Why? Because I am a wuss. Do I want these people all up in my bidness? Evidently not. Can I delete them without the guilt of having done it? NO. Because I am a super-wuss.  But I’m just going to go ahead and rip off the band-aid. Because I really only want the people I actually care about to get to share my new life with me. Why is it so hard to passive-agressively tell people that they suck the life out of you and you don’t want them involved in the happy new life you’re leading? You would think that would be easy!

In other news, I have another sonogram next week and I am super excited about it. This should be the last time we see Baby L before she actually arrives. That’s kind of bittersweet, because I am already so tired of waiting but I am glad that we will at least get to see her one more time to hold us over. The last time I had an ultrasound, the tech said that the baby was breech and that “hopefully, she’ll turn before next time”, which, of course, made my mom a nervous wreck as I, too, was breech and premature and my mom has catastophic visions of everything because she is psycho. I’m not worried at this point, though, because I was only about 29 weeks at that point and I’ve read a lot that says that the baby will usually turn around 36 weeks. So, fingers are crossed there.

I also went ahead and scheduled our tour of the maternity suites at the hospital where I will deliver. I’ve been there before and am pretty sure that I know what I am getting into, I did choose to deliver there after all, but I am excited to do this with MB because every day he seems to be hit more and more with the “Holy shit, I’m gonna be a DAD!” realization. (Which, by the way, is super adorable.)

I know I am late in doing this, but we are still not signed up for a birthing class. The hospital where I am delivering offers several “marathon classes” which are held all in one day on a weekend so we are going to try and get into one of those in the next couple of weeks. They aren’t terribly expensive and I am pretty excited about attending. If you took a birthing class, how was your experience?

I think that’s about all that’s happening with me so far this week. You know, aside from trying to stay awake for more than two consecutive hours and not inhaling entire bags of Cheetos.

Updates on Week 30

Now that you all know how I did with the shower and all the belly touching, I thought I would enlighten you on how Week 30 of pregnancy was for me. Like, without all the cuteness and gratefulness of that post-shower post.

1. I’m either ravenously hungry or so full that I could vomit. The ravenously hungry thing happens several times a day and has to be remedied within minutes or I will get the torturous “heartburn of death”. The disgustingly full thing happens, usually, after I have had three bites of something that I really, really want to eat. Like ice cream. Or a cheeseburger. It is pretty frustrating, at this point. Eating has become terribly annoying.

2. My pelvis is being pulled apart by some invisible force. I feel that someone bangs on it with a hammer while I am sleeping. Or sitting. Or after I walk for more than 20 minutes straight. I am pretty sure that this is one of the most awful things I have ever experienced.

3. There is absolutely no comfortable position to sleep in. I have tried the whole body pillow thing, which did seem to relieve some of the pressure on my pelvis but it also relieved me of the ability to sleep in the same bed with MB, which is tolerable sometimes, but sometimes makes it harder to sleep just because he isn’t there. I have tried stacking pillows in ridiculous positions all around my body, which works for a period of time, until I start hurling (from what I am told) them in all different directions so that I can *get comfortable.

*A myth for pregnant women in their third trimester.

4. I have begun to waddle. I don’t think that I need to say much about this because if you have ever SEEN a really pregnant woman, then you are familiar with this.  It makes me feel like a giant penguin.

5. I am not AS obsessed with cake as I was several weeks ago. I can’t say that my cravings for it have stopped completely, and I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t drool every time I pass this place. (OMG, tiramisu cupcakes. TO. DIE. FOR.) But, for the most part, my cravings for cupcakes have been replaced with cravings for Easy Cheese and/or grapefruit juice. 

6. The peeing has become ridiculous. I feel that I cannot go 35 seconds without peeing. Usually, this pattern starts as soon as I get comfortable in my bed (comfort in bed IS a myth, unless you will be forced to get right up, then it comes quite often) or if I have gone into a store that I am sure will have the most disgusting public restroom ever (the other day, I gagged for a full five minutes after entering a public restroom and peeing at lightning speed and running out, hands still soapy). 

I had a prenatal appointment yesterday and everything appears to be going just as it should be. Glucose test results were “wonderful”, heartbeat is “perfect”, and Baby L seems to be growing at a normal rate. I, on the other hand, am slightly anemic but was assured that I am SO slightly anemic that there is nothing to worry about right now.

So, there you have it.  Now, bring on Week 31!

***Update***

I did, however, forget #7 wherein I mention the fatigue. Oh, holy Jeebus, the fatigue. I could probably sleep for 16 hours per day if that were acceptable (or if I could do it without anyone knowing what a slack ass I would be). Even though I am almost never comfortable, I can usually sleep about 9-10 hours per night (or at least mostly sleep) and still feel like I could wake up, eat breakfast, and then promptly take a nap. I am starting to develop a desire to start this nesting thing I hear so much again, but I don’t have the energy to move off of the couch. What is a girl to do?