Tag Archives: Pregnancy

Baby Update and a Near Breakdown

I’ve officially made it to 34 weeks. I am officially EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS PREGNANT. And if saying that outloud doesn’t make me feel like a fat-ass, I don’t know what would.

The last week has been a total clusterfuck. (I know I said I would stop saying the f-word but the fetus can’t read, people. And I am TYPING, not SPEAKING.) I started out really excited because we were looking forward to our final ultrasound on Wednesday. I think that Baby L was even excited for us to see her because it seemed she did a constant happy dance for three days straight.

On Wednesday, MB and I had a lovely day. Baby L, however still as uncooperative as ever and not removing her tiny fingers from in front of her face so we could get a good look, looked perfect and is weighing in at 5 pounds 5 ounces, which the tech said is completely normal. MB was excited to get to be at this appointment because he has missed almost every other one because of his insane work schedule. Baby L stuck her tongue out in the middle of the ultrasound and then let out a big yawn as if to say, “YES. I am as bored of this gestation period as you are. Anyone have some cards?” MB and I spent the rest of the afternoon checking out thrift stores to see if we could find anything useful. We didn’t. But we had a pretty fun time, aside from my very slow-paced waddling and hip pain. (Which, we are told is due to the change in Baby L’s position. She is now a lot lower and putting a lot of pressure on my nether-region and pelvis. Hooray!) We ended our afternoon with some Rita’s deliciousness. (Which actually seemed to cure my heartburn!!! SWEET BABY JESUS, I may have found a cure! And a super tasty one at that!)

Yesterday, though, I woke up before 8am with the most severe hip and lower back pain that I have had yet. I decided not to get out of bed at all. And then I started to cry. Because there is nothing worse than having all of this free time and so much to get done and no energy or stamina or…you know…hips…to do all of it with. By the time MB got home, I had gotten out of bed and even managed to cook a very lazy meal for MB and venture out for a necessary shopping trip. A really quick one. But I was a zombie. I felt an overwhelming sense of something. Not dread, exactly. And not frustration, completely. And not only sadness. It was like a mix of powerlessness, hopelessness and loss all at the same time. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I know I won’t feel normal again for several weeks and I might not ever accomplish the baseboard cleaning that I am desperately yearning to do. Or maybe because I will never have a day again where not getting out of bed is an option. Or maybe just because I am a pregnant, emotional wreck with only 40-something days until she does the biggest, most important thing in the whole world and the uncertainty is starting to wear her down. Who knows?

And though I thought today would be better. And it was. For exactly three hours. And then MB said that he was thinking about going to have a drink with a friend after work today. And then I became that psychopath that I was about the unfolded laundry that one time. And I thought to myself, “Who does he think he is? Beer is not an option! We have six weeks left and I’ll be damned if that jerk gets to drink beer while I sit here and patiently wait to pop this damn kid out. Without so much as a cigarette! Are you kidding me?!” And then I got angry that he had had the audacity to suggest such a thing. And then I got depressed that he wanted to leave and hang out with his friend while I am creating LIFE in my BODY and can barely lift my fat ass from the couch! And you can probably (especially if you are or have been pregnant) see where this is going to end up…where I am hysterically sobbing and snotting all over the place wondering if this child will ever come and if I will ever feel like a normal person again. And if MB will even come home from work today because, after all, I am a complete lunatic and why would he want to be with a lunatic?  Even if this lunatic is cooking his kid! You ladies know the drill…I don’t need to go any further.

Of course, MB (having done nothing wrong AT ALL) has since apologized for suggesting such a ridiculous thing as trying to maintain a social life while I am pregnant and I have showered all the tears and ridiculousness away and am feeling better. (I have to say, I am not sure I feel better because of the apology. Or the shower. Or the fact that “Dirty Dancing” is on TV.) I am no longer hyperventilating and can recognize that I am just sick and tired of being sick and tired and am ready to get a move on. But in the meantime, I am really going to need MB to just stay chained to my side so I don’t lose it. Is that so much to ask?

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Keeping On…

During pregnancy, you can definitely start to tell when the “glow” starts to wear from your face and is replaced with that “I am 33 weeks pregnant and would stab myself in the neck if it hadn’t taken me so long to get THIS CLOSE to the end”. You can tell when this starts to happen and when people are starting to notice because people are no longer all excited and hugs and giggles when they see you. Nope. Now they smile politely and sympathetically as if to say, “You look sort of miserable/homicidal. Please don’t hurt me. I love you and promise that I will bring you chocolate next time I see you. Or…you know…I can just run to the nearest Dairy Queen right now and pick you up the largest Blizzard they have. Yeah. Let’s do that. Be right back. You like peanut butter, right?”

The Medical Assistant at the doctor’s office gave me that look on Friday right before she took my weight. She was brave about the whole thing, given the fact that she had no ice cream to offer. And I like her, so she is still alive.

The good news about the whole thing is that I only have seven weeks left. SEVEN. Meaning, like, less than two months. That is so awesome, I can’t even stand it! There is still so much to do and so many decisions to make with regard to when exactly we will be moving and if we will be moving in with family for a couple of months prior to the cross-country move in order to save money. I am so torn about this because, while I know it will benefit us (A LOT), I really can’t stand living with family. I haven’t done it since I was in my very early twenties and then only for a few months until I moved in with a couple of girls (one of whom being the one that I lived with for the last 200 or so year before I came to my senses and, instead of murdering her, just moved out). I really don’t love the idea of living with anyone at all. Ideally, MB and I would stay where we currently are until we can make the big move. And while I know that this would be extremely difficult with my not being employed right now and everything, I think it would be better for our new little family to get to start off alone, without interruption and without too many people all up in our faces. I just have to decide if my sanity will withstand a newborn and cohabitating with any members of the family (mine or MB’s) and then just suck it up until we get the hell out of dodge.

I guess I will just have to play this one by ear and see how it all turns out. We will just have to do what we can afford to do. And I will have to just keep in mind that, no matter where we are, it will be temporary and SOON we will be where we need to be. Uggghhh.  I just can’t wait to get things started already! I want to skip over all of this stressful nonsense and get to the good stuff.

 

 

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On Tradition

As I’ve made my way through this 32 weeks of preparation for parenthood, I’ve had to consider a lot of things. You know, like whether or not to breastfeed (I have decided to “just do it”, as Nike would advise), which diapers to use (combo of cloth, while at home and disposable when more convenient),  and whether or not to start looking for a job as soon as possible after Baby L is born (I am still sort of on the fence because I don’t want to work because I don’t want to miss anything that the baby does, like…ever…but, I also want to try and contribute financially until we make the big move). While these are all pretty big things to think about right now, they are all pretty short term. I’ve also had to consider what kind of parent I want to be.

Growing up, I had the benefit (if you would call it that) of having two parents who were absent one way or another. My father has always lived far away (supposedly for his career, though I suspect that the real reason was so that he could continue to be immature and carefree for the eleven months out of the year that he didn’t have to act like he had kids) and my mom was very young when we were growing up and spent the majority of her time much like I spent the majority of MY twenties (read: drunk). I know, this doesn’t sound like much of a benefit but it was…for two reasons:

1. I learned, early on, what kind of parent I did NOT want to be. (Don’t get me wrong, my mom eventually got her shit together and everything, but these are the types of things you remember.) And it makes me glad that this pregnancy happened when I was old enough to appreciate that I had enough fun already to be able to grow up and be a parent.

2. My grandparents lived with us for awhile when we were young and even when they didn’t, they were close by and were possibly the best people who ever walked the earth. I learned a lot about life and kindness and humility from them and feel that I will essentially be able to pass these things on to my daughter.

One of the things, though, that I have been thinking a lot about is tradition. My mom didn’t really have anything to pass down, you know, aside from the usual stuff, like decorating the Christmas tree together on the day after Thanksgiving while listening to Bing Crosby (or one of several mix tapes made by her brother who died when I was 8).  My grandparents, however, had some traditions. Many of them also revolved around holidays and religion, but some that didn’t at all. And I am racking my brain trying to remember what lullaby my grandma would use to sing me to sleep. And what quirky things she made up for random days of the year (like cornflakes and ice cream for breakfast on the Fourth of July* or waving socks at family members who were leaving on trips**). I want to remember these things and make sure that Baby L (even if these things might prove to be uber-embarrassing for her at times) will have those hilarious, quirktastic things to remember about her childhood and to pass down to her kids. Because even though my family embarrassed the bejesus out of me on MANY occasions, I love to think about those times now. Because you never get them back.

I want to bake cookies with her. And teach her to make (and love) lefse the way that my grandma made it. I want to have family dinners and someday build an amazing snowman (or snow-woman) complete with a tophat. I want to sing, “I love you a bushel and a peck…” in my terrible singing voice and I want her not to mind that I sound like a dying cat, but to remember the song and sing it to her kids. And then her grandkids. And I want to make new traditions too. I want for MB and I to create something that is unique to our family and I want to carry it on. It seems so important now, to not just physically make a family, but to emotionally create a FAMILY.

*Every year on July 4th, if we happened to be with my grandma, she would serve us cornflakes, topped with vanilla ice cream and fruit (usually fresh blueberries and strawberries for the red, white and blue effect). This all originated many years ago when she simply just did not have milk for cereal on one Fourth of July. And it stuck. And most of that side of the family still observes the July 4th breakfast!

**When my aunt went off to college, my grandmother was very, very upset and didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. She pleaded with someone in the family to do something to make her laugh. So my father, frantic to find something to take her mind off of crying, took off his sock and started waving it at my aunt as she got in the car. It worked, my grandma didn’t cry and everyone laughed like crazy. Now, if you are in my family and you are leaving, to go on a trip or to go home after visiting (or whatever the case might be) be prepared for the sock waving. And no, it does not matter if you are in public. And it almost always occurs outside.

 

On another note, CONGRATULATIONS to a fellow blogger over at The Waiting who probably has a new addition to her family RIGHT NOW!!!

 

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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.

Metamorphasis

Oddly, the transition from Week 31 to Week 32 was really emotional for me. I had sort of been waiting for the moment that I would start the nesting phase of this whole thing. And the point where I started attempting to rearrange furniture and start cooking ridiculous amounts of food to store for the future when I have no time/patience/energy/brain power to cook. But the whole thing had been slow-going, it seemed. I was beginning to think that I might not start to “nest” and that I would be the first woman in the history of the whole Universe who was content to take it all in stride and not feel crazy stressed by the dust on the ceiling fan. Well, internet, I would like to announce that I have arrived in the nesting phase and no speck of dust is safe. I am a dust vigilante.

I feel that, even though my journey into manic cleaning mode was a little slow, I have made significant emotional progress (Read: had plenty of mini-breakdowns) during the last 32 weeks.

I think I have been weathering the emotional shit storm pretty well, considering that I can’t have a glass bottle of wine to calm my nerves. In fact, I am surprised at the amount of composure I have maintained through some of this insanity.

The first few months of pregnancy were sort of a mourning period for me. That sounds bad, I know, but I honestly felt that my life would never be a) the same or b) as good and fun as it was before learning that I was going to be a mom. Because my attitude was, “Who the hell wants to be a mom? Like, for the rest of their life?!” Immature? Maybe. But totally how I felt and I won’t apologize.

After that, the transformation really started. I stopped wanting to punch people when they asked me questions about breastfeeding or when they had a Rum and Coke in my presence. I started feeling the baby move and that, somehow, became more important than celebrating my birthday in a crowded, smoky bar.  (Even though I was still a little bitter about having to break tradition.) I started liking the way it felt to have something moving around in my belly. It felt like my little secret and I felt special to have been chosen to keep it. And I started not to mind the constant peeing and pain in my hips.

As I have inched into the third trimester, I have noticed the biggest of changes yet.

1. At the start of this whole thing, I felt abandoned by some of the people I considered to be friends. Some of them, good friends, even. Probably because I believe that people are inherently good and that when you are good to people, they will be good to you. I’ve learned that this is not necessarily true. And I am totally okay with it. I have taken an introspective look around and taken stock of the people in my life and have realized that the ones who are worth being there, are not going anywhere. And the ones who haven’t been there? Well, they never really meant anything to me to begin with. It was a shocking realization for me. But bringing a person into the world makes a girl pretty insightful, I think. Who knew?

2. I’ve realized that I can’t change the world. I can’t change that people are horrible to each other. But I can do my damndest to make sure that I raise a child who can be proud of herself. I can teach her to love people despite of their differences. I can teach her to be kind to people and to respect people and mostly, to stand up for herself and not let anyone beat her down. I can teach her to be an honorable, kind, strong and humane person. And that might not stop all the violence that happens every day, but I think, in a small way, it definitely, most definitely, will change the world.

3. I’ve begun to learn that nothing will ever be the same.  And, despite what I thought at the beginning, that’s not so scary. Of course, the prospect of bringing a child into the world is terrifying and of course I sometimes see kids walking home from the high school bus stops dressed like New Jersey prostitutes and I weep for the state of humanity. And sure, I don’t really believe that young girls have any positive role models to look up to these days. And yeah, that is all really disturbing. But I know I can do this. I know that I will, for the rest of my life, put her needs, safety and security above that of my own. And I know that this, RIGHT HERE, is the most important thing that I will ever do in my life and I know that I want, more than anything to keep her safe. And that it will be my job to show her positivity and teach her how to be a woman, not Snooki‘s.  I am totally up for that challenge. Because while I have made my share of bad decisions, that part of my life is over and I can recognize that I have made a hell of a lot of good decisions too. One of the best decisions I ever made is currently kicking me right in the bladder.

I’m still sorting through a lot at this point. I’m constantly in a tizzy, trying to rearrange things or clean out a closet. And I am, surely, driving MB to an early grave. I have been trying to explain this period of pregnancy to him in terms of what is going on in my head right now. And it is really difficult to put into words. I want a perfect environment to introduce Baby L into the world with. I want her to be happy. And I am aware that she won’t know if there are dirty dishes in the sink or if her closet isn’t strategically organized, but for some reason, I need all that stuff to be taken care of, so I can devote every solitary second to making her happy. Sure, right now she is content to do flips at night when I am trying to sleep or punch me in the ribs, but when she is here, man, things are going to be a whole lot different. And I really don’t want to have to worry about dirty dishes.  You know?

Still working on balance. And in some ways, I am ready for her to be here YESTERDAY and, in other ways, I could use a few more months to get ready. 8 weeks to go, internet! 

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This book was actually recommended to me but, sadly, I did not score a copy yet ( even though I promptly added it to my registry)! It is definitely on my reading list.

Planet Mom's avatarPlanet Mom

Don’t know what to give that special friend or relative who just found out she’s pregnant? Or the one who thinks she might be pregnant, but isn’t really sure? Or the knocked-up coworker two cubicles down with the really nice dieffenbachia plant? You know the one. The unassuming waif who is decidedly in a state of panic over the news. The one consumed by a myriad of irrational fears revolving around the hideous changes her body is currently experiencing. The one who will drive you fairly berserk in her quest to fire inane pregnancy questions at you till doomsday—which, apparently, came and went.

At any rate, you need to purchase a slightly perfect gift for the baby shower that will inevitably occur in the coming months. Let’s Panic About Babies! (a rollicking, unabashed tome about the wonderment of being with child) is, indeed, that perfect gift. That said, it…

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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?

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On Showering

Well, internet, I survived my baby shower and didn’t even have to punch anyone in the throat for molesting my “baby dome” (as MB is now calling it).

The big party was last Saturday (and pardon my absence here but there have been piles of goodies to sort through, appointments and a lot of eating. You know, because…well…eating is EATING.) I woke up Saturday morning (at 6 am), for the first time in a long time, completely sick. And when I say sick, I mean FIRST TRIMESTER sick. I felt ravenously hungry but totally nauseated and disgusting. I felt bloated and horrible and UGLY. So, as you can imagine, I was not too thrilled to have to try and make myself presentable to see all of my nearest and dearest. But, out of this disgusting funk came one of the best, most hilarious moments of my pregnancy thus far. I don’t know if I have mentioned to you, internet, that I can no longer reach my toes. In preparation, last week, for the shower, I attempted to paint my toenails. RED. (Why? I have no idea. My toenails are always done, but they are also always done in a french manicure because…I am really good without stencils and/or a huge belly.) I’m going to cut this short and just tell you that this was the longest process of my life and I believe I may have broken a rib. So, on Saturday, I asked MB (who had offered several times before) to help me to use a glorious salt scrub on my piggies so that they a) didn’t look so heinous and b) didn’t feel like sandpaper. (I know you guys are really intrigued by the state of my feet, so I will go ahead and tell you that, no, they are not yet swelling.) I am weird about feet and people touching mine (or having to touch anyone else’s) and am extremely ticklish, so I kept maintaining that I could scrub my own feet, until the broken rib happened. So I agreed to let MB help me out. OH. MY. GOD.

I situated my gigantic ass on the side of the tub and braced myself, but I swear I started laughing hysterically before MB even touched me. And I laughed like that and squirmed around for an entire 10 minutes while my wonderful, amazing, fiance attempted to beautify the piggies. I told him later that I wished that I would have had the whole thing on video because it was exactly the kind of thing that I would want my daughter to see when I explain to her what kind of man she should pick. One that will attempt to scrub your feet, even if you are dangerously close to kicking him in the face. That, my friends, is a good man. But I digress…

The shower started at one, and despite all of my pleading with friends and family to properly RSVP, many more people showed up than anticipated which turned my mom into a raving lunatic. I, even though I felt like a total crap bag, was pleased that so many people showed up and were so ridiculously generous. My mom and sister (and even my step-dad, who painstakingly fashioned a beautiful banner welcoming Baby L) did a really cute job decorating and the food, I hear, was divine (thanks to my Uncle/Personal Chef) and mom and sister. I was disappointed that I didn’t even get to eat, partially because I was afraid that I might not be able to keep anything down and partially because the house was so crowded, I wasn’t really even able to get TO the food. (Except the cupcakes, because HELLO. CUPCAKES.) I have to say, it was pretty unlike any baby shower I have ever been to (for me) because a) there were men there, which made me feel better about the universe, and b) the only part of it that felt even remotely shower-y to me was the opening of the gifts. (Which took a really long time, but my sister was clever enough to distract guests with Bingo cards, so not only did people pay attention to the gifts, but they weren’t pissed off about having to sit there and do so for hours on end. I highly recommend…I felt less like I was the center of attention and more like I was working at the nursing home again, where I used to call Bingo for the Alzheimers patients. Not that I am comparing my guests to Alzheimers patients. Well…I mean, most of them are not at all like Alzheimers patients anyway. Either way, they didn’t really care about ME, they just wanted that bottle of wine. Can you blame them?) To be honest, though, the whole thing is kind of a blur. It was a really great day shared with really effing amazing people and I really appreciate all of the love we received (in the form of hugs and gifts and belly rubbing).

Now that I have mentioned the belly rubbing, I guess I should touch on that, since I was fairly certain that it would occur whether I liked it or not.

I have to say, I was actually surprised at the lack of belly rubbing. There were only a handful of people who actual dared to rub the dome. And to be totally honest, the people who did, did not offend me. My old friend TC, who I never get to hang out with and with the help of another of our friends, has now ousted me from the “No Babies for Me” Club, was the most belly-happy of the guests and, even though she probably knows and doesn’t care, (she’s a bad ass like that) that I didn’t want anyone touching it, she did it numerous times. And I didn’t even THINK about hitting her. It actually wasn’t as awkward as I thought it might be. But maybe it just depends on who does it. In fact, my mom has only attempted touching my belly ONE TIME. So, how the hell should I know how I am supposed to feel about it. After the shower was over, however, came the real belly extravaganza when my sister, Fish Head and her husband, Mr. Fish Head cornered me in the garage and while Mr. Fish Head attempted to rouse Baby L by singing Phil Collins songs or quoting Hitler (I think this was an attempt to really piss her off), my sister pressed her entire face to the other side of my belly. This, my friends, was a mite awkward. And really, if they hadn’t been Mr. and Mrs. Fish Head, I am pretty sure they would have been swimming with the fishes. Even that, though, really wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen. It was definitely less annoying than stretch marks. So…there you have it. Maybe I am not anti-belly-touching altogether. Who knew?

This used to be our spare bedroom. And then it exploded with baby items!

Anyway, I do want to thank all of the lovely people who came to celebrate our new addition. Sometimes, and I think this is common in people, I forget how many wonderful people I have in my life and not because I don’t appreciate you all, but because there might be distance, or our every day lives have made it hard to be together. You all just reminded me how truly lucky I am and how truly loved Baby L is already. THANK YOU. Each of you for all the love, and the loot!

 

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Of Things to Come

Baby Shower

Baby Shower (Photo credit: GraceFamily)

Now that I have established the much-needed prenatal care that I so deserve (in your FACE, universe!), I have stopped worrying so much about that part of pregnancy. This, as I stated before, is quite a relief. Now, however, I am starting to panic about other things. Because, you know, what else what I be doing if I weren’t completely freaking out?

MB and I are having a couples shower this weekend, thrown by my mom and sister (who, by the way, have been super awesome through all of this and are super excited to meet Baby L). I wanted a couples shower for a couple of reasons:

1. I hate baby showers. It is no secret. I will go to them and I will “ooh” and “awwww” at baby outfits and the like, but I am typically bored and counting the minutes until I can leave and have a cocktail. Spending all of that time and energy watching a bunch of women get starry-eyed over tiny outfits has never been a favorite activity of mine. I hate baby shower games. I don’t want to guess which melty candy bar is in that diaper, people. That’s gross.  Not only that, but why would we waste perfectly good chocolate for the sake of fake poo? Why?! Somehow, the idea of having men at the shower calms me. It makes me feel that some of that “oohing” and “awwwing” will be counteracted with…like…belching…or something. And that makes me feel normal. At least somewhat.

2. I really can’t imagine doing anything baby-related without including MB. He did help me make this little nugget, after all. Besides that, he actually WANTS to be included. And that, my friends, is totally the best thing ever. Because he restores the sanity in me, even when I think I am a lost cause. I feel that MB will also make it easier to take some of the attention off of me. Yes, I am the one with the belly and I am sure that people will want to touch it (God, help me) but at least he can intercept when I appear to be about to lose it.

3. One of my best friends is a dude. And, even though he is not a baby person, I feel that if he wasn’t there, it wouldn’t be right.

There is a fair amount of stress about the shower just because no one ever throws parties for me and I don’t quite know how to act. Aside from the fact that I am all huge and irritable. I mean, come on. Don’t get me wrong, I am SUPER GRATEFUL that my friends and family care so much about the start of my new family to throw and/or attend this party, it just makes things so much more…REAL!

What’s more than that is what comes after the shower. MB and I will have to bring a bunch of baby stuff into our already cramped apartment and then find places for it. And, as I have mentioned before, we are not really fashioning a nursery for the time-being because we don’t plan on staying in this apartment for much longer than 2-3 months after Baby L is born. During that time, I am planning to make do with the space that we have and I fully intend to have the baby sleeping in our room for that first few months anyway.  What will we do with all of this stuff?!

Then there’s after she is born. Oh. My. God. You guys, since I have stopped worrying about healthcare, I have started to think about all the stuff that comes with actually HAVING A BABY. Like…IN MY HOUSE. The diaper thing? I think I got it.  I am going to use a combo of cloth and disposable (at least at first) to save money and, at the same time, maintain some of my sanity and time. But now I am worried about SIDS and breastfeeding and birth defects and premature labor and lack of sleep and the possibility of postpartum depression. Does it ever end, internet?

My question to you, internet, is:

What books would you mommies recommend to walk me through the first months or year of baby’s life? I have been looking into a few but I am just totally clueless as to which ones are the ones to buy. You guys are the authority. Give it to me straight!

Better Late Than Never

Today, at nearly 30 weeks, I had the anatomy scan which should have (and would have, if the system hadn’t tried to kill my baby) been done about 9-10 weeks ago. This being able to go to see doctors thing is pretty rad, I must say. Everything looks good so far, but of course, Baby L is stubborn and, just like last time, wouldn’t roll over so we could get a decent look at her face. The tech did manage to get a few decent shots, though, and I will go back in four weeks for another scan, just to check up. It feels good just to know I haven’t been abandoned.

20120307-135011.jpgThe last three months have really worn me down (and OUT). I think that this has been the most trying period of my life. I have stayed awake at night, my mind racing about what I would do if I never got some assistance. How I would pay. Where I would go. I have forgotten how to relate to people at times. I have been so consumed with worry that nothing has mattered. And the attempts at easing my mind by MB have been appreciated but have mostly failed. I had forgotten how to breathe. How to sleep. How to interact. Since my appointment last Thursday, I have gotten some of my normalcy back. I have laughed outloud. I have remembered to breathe. And mostly, I can sleep again. I can actually rest without the panic that loomed over me for so long. And I am telling you, all of that pent-up panic sure does wear a person out, I could likely sleep until the end of this pregnancy at this point. (Relief is the new Ambien, people.)

I still worry about unemployment. And I still harbor a good bit of anger about being fired after announcing my pregnancy and knowing what kind of morons and wastes of space are still employed there (but aren’t pregnant, so they get to stay) but I am working through that. And am certain that the parties involved will get what they deserve for what they did to me and my unborn baby. I try not to harp on the absolute absurdity of the whole thing and I try not to harbor any animosity and am certain that karma is a bitch, but, it is hard to take the high road when your child (whom you haven’t even met yet) could suffer from the insensitive and discriminatory actions of another person/entity. Just saying. I still worry things won’t work out. But I am faithful. And I am sure that they’ll get theirs. And I love being witness to karmic bitchslaps.

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