discouraged

I'm feeling a bit down today on this baby business.

I kinda thought yesterday that things were starting to happen. And perhaps they were -- perhaps I was having those early contractions that eventually help set everything in motion. I was excited. I was pumped. I was ready. I was a little bummed that The Great Zucchini might be missed, but, frankly, I was mostly okay with that.

But, no. I awoke this morning, as usual -- and many times throughout the night, as usual -- and no major action had been worked up to, despite dreams of "should I call the midwives now? Should I call the birth assistant now? What's the weather like? How close are we to rush hour?"

I do realize that the due date, as sketchy a designation as that is in the first place, is tomorrow. I'm not even really DUE yet, quite. But I guess I'm ready now. And I've been on my guard for weeks -- leaving the office by informing my colleagues what will still need to be done on my behalf should I not return, etc. The up side of that is, they're always happy to see me in the morning.

But I'm to the point now where I wonder -- I really do wonder, as illogical as it is -- whether I will ever give birth. Perhaps not. Can the body re-absorb the baby? Maybe it can. Maybe this little squirmy monster in my belly will just disappear. I hope not, but ... maybe.

It seems like (s)he's ready, too. There's restlessness afoot down there. And I think the baby's moved down considerably over the past few days. No longer does my stomach feel like it's at the back of my throat, and there's a weird, empty-ish, squishy part right below my sternum.

But who decides when the baby will come? Not me, and, it would appear, not him or her. The right release of chemicals (but how do they know)? No one really knows.

I think, if the baby's not here by Friday, I'm done with work. I was going to stop after this week, but I think I'll tack on Friday, as well. Why not. I'll sit and stew at home instead of doing so at work.

I'd really like to see this baby now. I'm ready. It's official.

taking a poll

Or is it a vote, if there are only two options ... hmmm ... I'm not sure about that.

Anyhoo -- if the baby hasn't shown signs of appearing by tomorrow night: Should I play Matt one game of ping-pong? Give him the best chance he's ever going to get to beat me, in my heavily pregnant state? (sorry, dear, but you KNOW it's true.)
We get our basement back as of 7 a.m. Tuesday morning (but who's counting), and Lizzy and I are looking forward to lots and lots of Ping-Pong. I think Matt's got music studio dreams dancing through his head for that back-corner bedroom-like area.

All in all, I don't wish to be ungracious -- we wish the father in law the best in his retirement and travels and all -- but ... woo HOO! A basement once again. :)

nothin' doin' yet

In case anyone was wondering ... it's Sunday evening, and I perceive no labor-type action.

I'm also hoping that by typing this, I can tempt Fate to act in the middle of the night, since that's when these things seem to happen ...

tough crowd

On the way home from work/school a couple of nights ago, Lizzy said quietly, "I'm feeling sad."

"Why?" I asked, immediately assuming that it was because she has to sit in the back seat of our practically a/c-less car for a couple of hours a day. That would be enough to make ME sad.

"There's nothing much to look forward to," she said. Actually, I can't recall her sentence verbatim, but that's what she meant. Nothing on the horizon that seemed exciting.

"WHAT?!!" I shrieked in disbelief.
"A baby brother or sister?
"Getting our basement back (Tuesday) -- endless games of Ping-Pong?
"KITTIES?
"Your Grandma and Grandpa Williams visiting in a couple of weeks?
"Going to your friend Ethan's house a couple nights from now?" (she is always clamoring to do this when we drive past on our way up the street in the evenings.)
"First grade?
"Then Halloween?
"Your birthday?
"Then Christmas?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "I forgot about those things ... but Halloween is kind of a long time away," and her face fell a little.

Geez. What do we require around here, semi-monthly trips to Disneyland? I'm thinking the rest of this year holds plenty of excitement, even for a discerning 5-year-old.

um ...

I don't even remember what I was going to blog about today. That's pretty much how things are going. I'm hanging in there, yes. But, good land, child -- come soon, okay? Getting to work and back each day is as monumental a task as I remember it being the last time around. And this time, the commute's longer, and the evenings are a little more demanding.

Today is apparently 39 weeks. The due date's been tossed back and forth so much, I don't know what to believe, but since July 16 is the earliest (and most recent) one I've heard, let's go with that. And I had best not go late. At this point, I'm wondering just how much MORE painful Pitocin could possibly be than your garden-variety natural labor ... Hmmmm.

Lizzy has informed me that The Great Zucchini (he's a funny guy who does magic! One time he put a tissue in his mouth, and pulled out a rainbow!) will be appearing at her summer program next Tuesday, and she just has to go. She just about burst into tears when I told her I couldn't really guarantee that.
Her younger sibling -- upstaged even before birth by The Great Zucchini.
Typical.

Also, at this point: We really, truly have no idea what we will be naming the baby. Not even secretly. I thought we had sort of settled on something, but it appears, no. Which is fine. I had reservations about that choice, as I have had (and so has Matt; hence, no name picked) about everything we've come up with. Nothing hangs together as being "just right" for very long.

So, don't give us too much guff when you hear whatever it is we've come up with. It'll probably be a result of me, exhausted and sweaty, looking over at Matt and saying, "Well, what does (s)he look like?" And it'll be Petunia Forsyth, or something similiarly grotesque.

Here's to Shakespeare and his disregard for names.

nesting

I've heard that preggers folks enter a so-called "nesting phase" right at the end. Getting those last, at times really wacky and overboard, preparations done before the baby arrives. Doing things like scrubbing bathroom tile on hands and knees, rearranging the garage; often it's stuff that the baby couldn't possibly appreciate, or need, once it got here.

I don't recall doing much nesting -- mostly just freaking out, probably -- before Lizzy's arrival. I did bang out a scrapbook that I'd been working on, the weekend before she came (five days late, so if she'd been on time, I wouldn't have accomplished even that).

This time around, it feels like we're more prepared. It helps greatly to have an actual extra room for baby stuff, instead of a "junior one-bedroom apartment" like last time (for which I was properly grateful at the time, it must be said). Still, I'm setting my goals low.

That's probably due at least in part to the fact that I'm utterly paranoid the baby will come at any second. Well, let me amend that to, its imminent arrival will be heralded at any second by my water breaking; the more dramatic the setting, the better.
I had a friend who said she'd carry a pickle jar with her on the metro during her late pregnancies. If her water broke, she thought the embarrassment would be lessened if she threw down the pickle jar, so any mess would be accounted for by broken glass and pickle juice. And pickles, I assume. I'm thinking that might even make things worse, but that was her theory. I'll just let random metro strangers think, hey, that hugely pregnant gal's water broke. And hope I'm not sitting on a seat next to anyone at that time. Because, ewwwwww.

Anyway, I'm not asking much of my weekends these days. I believe my goals for last weekend were roughly as follows:

Purchase a few receiving blankets. (I thought we had some, but Lizzy had confiscated them all long ago to use as dolly blankets.)
Wash receiving blankets.
Do a bit of other laundry.
Go to Costco; buy stupid food supplies for self-catered birth.

Yep, that was about it. But I accomplished all of those tasks! Yahoo.

My husband, on the other hand, has become near-maniacal in his quest for "productivity." Not for me, thank goodness! but for himself. The man pitched in on a manly, deck-building service project for church, cleaned the kitchen very thoroughly, then fretted the next day when I dragged him around town doing other errands. It didn't feel productive ENOUGH, you see, to be driving around.
So instead of seeing Wall-E that afternoon with Lizzy and me, he stayed home and ... steam-cleaned the shower stall in the master bathroom.
He is a man obsessed.

Yesterday, he said something about having blurry vision. "Maybe it's pre-eclampsia!" I said. (that's one of the symptoms the midwives always ask me about on my weekly visits.)
He was quite confused. I guess I'll have to slow down on those "spousal sympathy pains" jokes.

My goals for this coming weekend:

Return library books, which are due on Saturday.
Do more laundry. (this one's only a must because I have so few clothes that fit!)
If I'm feeling crazily ambitious, I might just crack out the bottle purifier and breast pump and re-familiarize myself with how they work, while I'm not quite so sleep-deprived ...

Yep, that's about the entirety of my list. Matt will probably build Rome in a day, or something.

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.