Week 37 checkup

Had its share of not-great news and weirdness.

For one thing, last week, I appeared to have gained two pounds in the previous two weeks. Hooray! Insane pregnancy weight gain finally tapering off. However, this week, I gained ... five pounds in a week? Hmmm.
I just don't care any more. It makes no sense whatsoever.

A couple bits of unfortunate (not horrible, just less than optimal) news: I'm beta strep positive. An IV for me during labor. Not entirely sure what that's going to mean, but it sounds like decreased mobility. Making yet less sense for me to go to a birth center located an hour's drive from my house, as opposed to the local hospital.

Worse, the baby appears to be in a posterior position. (not the same as breech: Head's down, but facing up instead of down; more pressure from baby's skull on my pelvic bone as it moves down.) Now I'm re-running a conversation I had with my sister in law about her very long, painful back labor with (I believe) niece No. 2. She said my brother had to apply counter pressure to her back with every contraction, leaving him looking almost more exhausted and sweaty by the end than she was. Well, at least Matt will have something constructive to do this time, I suppose.

While I'm being grumpy, I might as well vent about one other aspect of this birth center business. Now that I'm certainly in the home stretch, I'm thinking about all those last-minute things -- install the baby car seat; pack the overnight bag; etc. And with a load of baby wash tonight, that will all be done. But there's one expectation by the midwife and the birth assistant that I'm really not sure how to effectively meet, and it's making me a bit resentful: I'm expected to show up to the birth center with enough food for two meals and snacks for those ladies, and of course the hubby and me. (as if I'll want to eat. I don't remember eating last time. Then again, the active part of the labor was fairly short.)

I do appreciate that these ladies have a really random, uncontrolled work schedule, and it might be a bit hard for them (not to mention potentially dangerous) to take even a few minutes to grab food en route to a birth. But doesn't that same standard apply to me? Yes, I can put some trail mix in the trunk. But other suggestions of things that would be greatly appreciated for their health and grabbability in the midst of a potentially long labor are:

Cheese/crackers
Fresh fruit
Gatorade
Bottled water
Quiche (I've heard this suggested more than once; 'also great for breakfast!')
Pasta dishes

Let's envision the scenarios, shall we? The simplest, and most probable, one is this:

I spend lots of money and time running around getting frozen casseroles, mini-quiches, trail mixes, fresh fruit, and drinks that I stash at my house. (and that perishable fresh fruit stash will be rather tricky to maintain.) I go into labor at my house. I grab all these goodies, stuff them in the trunk and zoom off to the birth center. All is taken care of.

Alternate scenario: I go into labor nowhere near my home (at work, en route to or from, at church, what have you). I then choose, depending on apparent progression of labor, among a) heading straight to birth center; better safe than sorry! b) heading home; gotta get those goodies to make sure these ladies and I can keep our strength up! or c) risking stopping somewhere to re-purchase said goodies, while in labor, on my way to birth center.

There is a Whole Foods within a few blocks of the birth center, but it's only open during the day, and who's gonna make that run over for refreshments? The father to be? Who, it looks like, might have his work cut out for him during this labor anyway? Heh. I can call him while he's standing in the produce section and tell him if it's a girl or a boy. Grrrrrr.

Am I overreacting here? Does this seem a mite ridiculous?

I'll do my best. That's all I can do. I never realized that birthing at a center involved catering as well as pushing out a kid.

in defense of my trade

My boss passed along the news yesterday that a fairly prominent newspaper in California was outsourcing its copy editing ... to India.

I still can't quite wrap my head around that.

And then, on my way home on the metro last night, I chance to read this column by a guy at the Post whom I consider rather innovative (for a columnist, that is). Check it out!

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/06/19/AR2008061902920.html

theology

Lizzy had one of those experiences at the pool last weekend that's kinda tough for a parent to watch.

But before that, we had her first swim lesson! Pretty basic stuff, though the instructors did a great job leading their pods of little kids around the (very) shallow area, getting them to have fun while they learned/practiced some basic blowing bubbles into the water, kicking, pulling themselves through the water with their arms, etc.
Much to Lizzy's disappointment, other kids awaited their lessons after hers ended, and we couldn't do any sort of open swim right away. So we went home.

Lizzy had made a little list that she put in a special little notebook holder of the things she wanted to get accomplished that day. Things like "take a walk, play with friends, get ice cream, go to petting store." (we like to go and watch the doggies who are there for doggy day care. Hey, it's free entertainment. Except for the Dairy Queen nearby.)

After she'd added, and crossed off, "Have lunch," we headed back to the pool. Matt stayed home this time and did manly things around the house. I was happy to sit indoors, on a bench, and glance at the library book I'd brought from time to time -- Lizzy was pretty happy to swim and play on her own, as long as Mommy was paying attention now and then.

So she scampered and paddled about happily for a little less than an hour. This pool ousts the kids for 10 minutes every hour (the explanation I heard was so that they'd be more likely to use the bathroom, and keep their "P" out of the "ool,", but it's a pain), so we decided that when the whistle blew, we'd leave. I noticed a few minutes before that, that Lizzy had appeared to make a couple of friends.

When the whistle did blow, she came up to me, looking a little mad and upset, and told me that those girls, whom I had thought were playing with her in a friendly fashion, had been calling her a "baby" and saying she must be "one year old." Interestingly, the girls didn't appear to be any older than her. Lizzy said they'd cut in line when she was at the top of the kiddie waterslide -- Lizzy likes to carefully look over the edge to make sure she's not going to slide down into anyone, and I suppose one of the girls chose that opportunity to go past her -- so Lizzy made sure they heard about it as soon as all were at the bottom. Sounds like the girls didn't much care to be told off in that way, and followed her around and made fun of her and wouldn't leave her alone until the whistle blew and everyone had to get out.

I told Lizzy that she should tell me when someone's bothering her like that. That I was sorry they had been that way, but perhaps they didn't like the way she was telling them what to do, even if, yes, they were probably in the wrong.

With Lizzy's recent (or not? maybe ongoing?) history of bossiness, I'm trying to convey that, yes, others will do silly or ill-advised things, but it's not really our job to tell others how to act.

She was really quite mad at these girls, and kept saying that she hoped their parents somehow knew how they had been acting, and they would get in trouble; that they would have a horrible day for the rest of the day; etc.

I said, "Honey, you can't control what other people do, but you CAN control how you react. There will always be mean girls around; it's not fair, but it's true. Don't let them have control over you by letting them upset you. You've got to shake this off now, so we can have a good rest of the day. And remember what this feels like, so you don't ever hurt others this way."

"Besides," I continued, "Mean people eventually get what they deserve. Do you know why? People won't want to play with them or spend time with them if they don't treat others nicely."

She stopped to consider this, then said, in a rather annoyed, resigned voice: "That sounds like something God would say."

Trying not to laugh, I said, "Well, actually, I bet God would say that we should love our neighbors, and be nice and kind even when other people are being mean to us."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I think he would say both those things."

Lord knows I need to take my own advice. This morning, I just about lunged at a self-important, dark-sunglass-and-suit-wearing guy who told me I couldn't use the crosswalk at 14th and F (making me wait FIFTY SECONDS until the light changed! Horrors!) because "someone's about to come out of the Willard." "Oh," I responded. "Well, I'm sure that's very important." "Hey, I was nice to you," he said. I sat there for about 48 seconds and fumed, then, right before shoving off (slowly -- I'm quite a tank these days) I shot back, "I think being POLITE would be KEEPING THE CROSSWALK OPEN FOR PEDESTRIANS."

Oops. Good thing Lizzy wasn't there.

(almost) all set

This weekend, we got our baby junk down from the attic and took a look at what's survived the past five years or so. It's nice to see that some lovely, fairly pricey things that our friends gave us when Lizzy was a babe appear ready for another round. Lizzy herself helpfully tested some of the things -- the bouncy seat, the infant carseat, a musical blanket play area thingie, for instance -- with her dolls to make sure they were fit for use. If I weren't so loath to walk up and down our stairs, I would've fetched my camera and gotten some cute photos of it all.

We (Matt and his brother) shoveled out the third bedroom, which has until now been a computer room/Matt's closet/dumping room for some stuff we didn't quite know what to do with, and set up some baby things there. Grandma Connie bought us a nice changing table and bassinet, and we have the toddler bed in there as well, because we don't know what else to do with it. We're going to hold off painting or anything of that level of ambition until we can see for ourselves what flavor of child we've been blessed with.

Lizzy and Matt have declared us "ready," and both of them independently said it'd be great if the baby came tomorrow (which is now today). I vote "not QUITE yet," though with each passing week, I care juuuust a little bit less about being able to work through my boss' planned vacation weeks, etc.

Lizzy told me Sunday that she'd had a dream that the baby had been born, that it was a girl, and that she had successfully held it without dropping it. When I asked if the baby had had a name in her dream, she said, "Yes -- either Lila or Penelope." Though Matt and I haven't come up with a name for certain, it's a fairly safe bet that those two are not in the running.

about four weeks to go

Supposedly, of course ...

And I'm caught nicely between "Can I HONESTLY make it through four more weeks of this?", and "there is NO WAY I am ready for that kid to come yet."

Lord, your timing, please. Because I'm not even sure what would make the most sense.
Just not quite yet ... not quite yet.

the graduate

Lizzy's great kindergarten teachers staged an elaborate graduation for their 11-kid class on Friday. The families watched from a tent while the graduates (lined up in front of us, in little mortarboards and blue gowns) sang songs, recited poems and the like.
You won't believe this, but I took a few pictures! :)

Here's their cake. What I found hilarious was how we parents carefully cut pieces around the kids until we absolutely had to break into that section. (Lizzy's on the far left in the bottom row.)


Good cake, too! Good ratio of frosting to cake, and nice and sugary. Added bonus -- it turned your mouth blue. (yes -- I'm still pregnant. I'm currently quite obsessed with frosting, and seriously considering asking Matt if we can celebrate my birthday with cake 2 1/2 months early. No presents -- just cake. Hey, maybe cake BOTH times!!!)

I love this next shot because I can see two little Lizzy expressions at once!


The teachers had written a little essay on the back of each child's paper that told what they wanted to be when they grew up. Lizzy? She wants to be "a mother of six -- three boys and three girls." I wonder if this is an only-child thing ...

This next one, obviously, is Lizzy receiving her diploma. They really went all out!

And once a kid has a diploma, well, you KNOW what he/she's gonna do with it:



Here's the three of us, right after the ceremony. I'll try to avoid mentioning the phrase "water weight" overly much:


After we had snacks there at the day care, and cake, and watched the slide show that my husband and I put together, we went to a local park and had a barbecue and swam. (if you're curious, no, I did not swim. I sat in the shade and felt self-conscious about my Wonder Bread loaf-sized ankles.)
We also could've played mini-golf, but the siren song of the water was too much for the kids to resist. God bless the dads! They played endlessly and interchangeably with the kids.
Matt told me in the midst of it at one point: (something like) "I wish sometimes I were a boy daddy." He did have a blast, throwing those boys around and being semi-strangled by them.

Here's a cutie lineup!

feedback questions

One of my little features department tasks in our weekly magazine is the collecting and positioning of the week's feedback replies. Basically, I (with help from coworkers) think of inane, but innocuous, questions to send the reporters for their humiliation -- or so they think -- forcing them out into the world to interact with (one would hope) our readers, overseas. They grab passersby and ask the questions, take down the answers, take a head shot of the person, and send these goodies back to me.

Granted, they're generally quite lame, along the lines of, "What's your favorite hobby?" or, "if you had one million dollars to give away, what worthy organization would you choose?" I know ... zzzzz. Sometimes we make it relevant for an upcoming holiday and ask something like, "What was your favorite Halloween costume as a child?"

I'm about to compile a new list of questions, so I sent out an e-plea to the bureaus to help me come up with stuff. Part of the idea is, hey, reporters! If you dislike the questions so much, help us think of better ones!

One of the reporters sent back some ideas that had me bursting with laughter this morning. I don't want to type them here, rendering them Googlable, but if you're interested, let me know and I'd be happy to pass along the list. I found it quite hilarious. Unusable, but hilarious.

spousal science

The spouse and I are in the process (still? or is this lifelong?) of learning when to listen to each other, and when not to. I mean, I'd like to think we always listen; but, well, when do we believe in the greater wisdom of the other and take the proffered advice? Or believe the offered fact?

That may not even be what's coming into play in this most recent anecdote.

What happened is this: Yesterday morning, we left the house late (even for us!) en route to kicking off another workweek. Searing hot already, at 8:30-ish. And our car's A/C has been reduced to a trickle.

Needless to say, we were all pretty out of it. I forget exactly how this conversation got started. Oh yeah -- I mentioned that if Matt had any plans to do anything for his dad, this coming weekend was Father's Day. Matt said, "What? I thought Father's Day was yesterday!" Which sent me into immediate freakout mode. At first I thought, noooo ... but I'm so losing track of days recently -- I base things on a) how many days until Matt's dad moves out of our basement (meaning no offense to him; that's simply when a lot of home rearranging takes place), and b) how many days until my due date, not what's actually stated on the calendar -- that it COULD BE POSSIBLE.

"I talked to my dad yesterday! And didn't say 'Happy Father's Day'!" I wailed. "Nor have I mailed off his gift! It cannot be!"

"Well, I told my dad 'Happy Father's Day,'" Matt said. "But didn't do anything else. He did seem surprised that it was Father's Day."

Then I felt horrible for not having acknowledged the day's import to Matt in any way! I am a terrible wife and mother!

I sat there for a few seconds, weighing what was more likely: That Matt was right, and I had missed Father's Day, or that I had the correct sense of schedule in my head after all. I simply wasn't certain.

Then Matt spoke the words that set us both straight: No. It cannot have been Father's Day. If it had been, Lizzy's kindergarten would most surely have acknowledged the event with some sort of fanfare for the dads.

At least the day care has its act together, even if we don't.

oh baby

I had the dreaded June 5 "July babies meeting" from 7 to 9:30, in old-town Alexandria, 30 miles from my home, last night. Which was a GIGANTIC pain, though I suppose it was fairly useful. I think the main point was, "if you feel you're going into labor, AT ALL, CALL US!!! in bold and underlined three times. Okay. Will do. With some really bizarre slide show/film/discussions thrown in there.
A touching example, not for the squeamish: If you're bleeding too much immediately after, er, birthing? passing? your placenta, and your baby isn't into the suckling thing yet, your husband can do it! Because nipple stimulation is necessary to make the uterus contract the necessary amount to stanch the blood flow! Yes, okay, I just lost 18 of 19 of you. And, no, I would never ever do this, not with other people in the room. I will bleed to death first. So, you get my point with the earthy gore. And lots and lots of episiotomy discussions. Apparently, first-time laborers are scared out of their minds to have one. When you get there, trust me -- YOU WILL NOT CARE, if it gets that kid out of you.

I was amused to note that almost all the women had their husbands in tow. I suppose that makes sense. I think that Matt's suffered through enough Bradley classes, and one real-live birth!, to be given a break. Also, someone had to put Lizzy to bed ...

So, I got home at 11:35 last night. On a weeknight. Had to wait on two late-night metros, endure a bunch of drunken Nationals baseball fans, etc., etc. I hate it when I have no evening, and get to bed quite late to boot. I've been comatose today.

I did note, as I was strolling around before the meeting, that the birth center is, in fact, a block and a half west of the bar/grill where Matt and I first met (doing karaoke). Awwwww!

I do so love old-town Alexandria. It's so lovely, in that genuine, yet kinda touristy-fake, real old-timey Virginia sort of way. Adorable buildings; brick walkways; gas lanterns; pineapples poised over entryways; etc. It's probably the one place I've consistently taken visitors. Not to the White House; not to, um, whatever else we have here in D.C. that I used to know about; but to Old Town. It's that cool to me. Lots and lots of good memories.
Here's hoping that one more is about six weeks away!

there are tornadoes outside,

and stuff, but what I have been most shocked by this afternoon is that the Five Guys in the food court downstairs claims today that their fries (well, potatoes) were grown in Moses Lake, Idaho.

Unbelievable.

what Matt's been up to

His latest project -- a shed in his mom's backyard. Where we lived until a year ago January.
Ridiculously cute, eh? It matches the townhouse. Built from scratch, as every good Maisel project is!




And he's got a nasty sunburn on his back to show for it, as well...

34 weeks

A good friend encouraged me to be loud and proud to be myself, not one of these frustratingly dainty little pregnant people who look totally like themselves, except with a volleyball under their shirts. So, in the spirit of self-acceptance, I present to you this photo of myself, taken last night by my 5-year-old daughter (which is why it's angled up considerably, perhaps heightening the effect?), looking more like someone who's gained 50 pounds over the course of the experience and was a little overweight to start with:


Yes, I have six more weeks to go (in theory). No, I'm not sure how it's possible to get MUCH bigger, but I have every confidence that a way will be found. Supposedly, the baby weighs about four pounds now. Since Lizzy was 8 pounds, 2 ounces ... oh my. Yes. A ways to go.

The good news is, from the vanity perspective: The ever-increasing belly minimizes the also ever-increasing thighs, upper arms, double chin, etc. ... There's some work to be done here after that baby arrives. We have big plans to have located and procured a Wii Fit by then.