12 days old

Things that can happen (sometimes all at once) with otherwise completely healthy newborns:

• Gas pains that make her shriek at octaves that would make most opera singers jealous
• Hormones that make her have her first period at three days old. (And even though I actually did know that could happen, somewhere in the back of my brain, it is still NOT COOL to open up your three-day-old's diaper and see blood.)
• Dry skin that makes it look like your baby's entire skin is flaking off.
• Bleeding from the cord stump. Really, anything that involves an infant and her blood leaving her body is not fun for mommies and daddies.
• "Newborn rash" that looks like she has angry red pimples or mosquito bites all over her (thankfully this is gone now).

It is really hard to be a big mommy, as my mommy would say, and not panic at all these things—which my parents, my books and my doula all assure me are perfectly normal. Mom, I'm sorry if I ever doubted you on that point. You are absolutely right.

Almost 37 Weeks

I discovered yesterday that because of the girth of my baby belly, the only truly comfortable way to sit is with my legs spread inappropriately wide apart. I only noticed it yesterday, because I was wearing a dress.

At least in maternity jeans, no one can accuse you of not being a lady! ;)

~*~

Brandon and I went to our child birth class on Friday and Saturday of last weekend. We had picked the short version, because the idea of spending four weeks going over the information seemed excessive, but afterward, we both agreed that it was a LOT of info to cram into one evening and one day.

Some of it we knew, some of it we didn't, but we were both impressed with the tone of the class and the way it focused on having a productive labor (getting up, moving around, anatomy and positions that make it easier for baby to come out, etc.) rather than a purely clinical one. I think we had both assumed that, being put on by the hospital, the party line would be, "Get in bed and let us strap on our monitoring equipment and drug you up!" but that was not the takeaway message at all. Very reassuring since we want to labor as long as possible before even considering drugs.

They also showed us a lot of videos of different births. We were both kind of grossed out by the placenta, but it is what it is. (Also, how do people not make a bigger deal out of the fact that a woman's body basically MAKES a new disposable organ to support the baby??? That is trippy stuff.) Brandon wasn't able to watch the video of a woman getting an epidural because of the needle. (Luckily, Emily tells me they send the husband out for that bit.)

The best was the video which had not had all the sounds edited out. It was a compilation of many different women going through different stages of natural childbirth. Our instructor told us it makes a lot of people uncomfortable—more so than any of the others—because many of the sounds the women make are very similar to sounds made during sex. And she was totally right.

I've told Brandon that if I feel inhibited about making noise, he's going to have to moo like a cow with me. Or sing Bon Jovi songs with me at the top of our lungs. It's part of the contract.

So, it was a very informative class, and I'm extremely glad we went. I left feeling very confident in my choices. Of course, I had a panic attack and minor breakdown about the whole thing a couple of days later, but I'm going to choose to think that's normal. And I'm back to a mid-line of, "Mostly confident with a chance of scattered panic."

Which I think is also normal.

~*~

We go to the doctor on Friday and I believe they will do one final ultrasound to check the position of the baby and probably other things. And they will probably also check to see if I am dilated at all while they are testing for Group B strep.

Then, on Saturday, we meet with Whitney the Doula again, and she will help us write up our birth plan. I think we will meet with her one more time before baby comes to talk about breastfeeding and other things like that.

Either today or tomorrow (I'm not sure which) I will be at 37 weeks, which is officially considered "term." I can't believe how fast it has gone by. And also how slowly. And I can't believe how long—and simultaneously how short—four weeks to go seems.

34 weeks and Behind the Curve

I wrote a pregnancy checklist for the new baby magazine at work, but I've got to admit, those things stress me out.

My email from "What to Expect When You're Expecting" last week told us that we should be packed and ready to go to the hospital at any time.

Uh... Not so much.

We haven't even been to our childbirth class yet (happens the first weekend in April).

In fact, the checklist *I* wrote says that by week 34, I should have already written a birth plan, installed my car seat, bought nursing bras, and picked out birth announcements.

Excuse me. I don't have time to blog any more. I have to go catch up.

Maternity Fashions

In the time-honored tradition of hand-me-downs, I have received my first bag of hand-me-down maternity clothes.

Let's just be clear about this: I am pro hand-me-down. I am in support of using goods second hand that still have life in them to be used up. In fact, just last weekend, we went thrift store shopping and I bought a) a pair of (new) organic cotton sleep pants, b) a bunch of baby hangers and c) an All-Clad grill pan. My sister sent me a package of barely worn white onesies in sizes 0-18 months for which I am extremely grateful. Heck, a friend even gave me her (meticulously cleaned) used Diaper Genie, for which I am sure I will be extremely grateful in a few months.

But the problem with hand-me-down clothes for me is that I like to think of myself as a relatively stylish person. (Even a gigantor pregnant relatively stylish person.) When I shop for second-hand clothes, I shop at the chi-chi consignment stores. That's right, people: I might balk at paying $60 for a t-shirt at Banana Republic, but I'll gladly pay a whole $12 for it at a nice consignment shop so that I don't have to dig through 7,000 ugly shirts to find the one good one at a thrift store.

But I will not wear a shirt that I don't like, no matter how little it costs.

Even free.

So out of a large bag of clothes (A Banana Republic bag! So promising!) I found one top that I might keep.

Maybe.

Because I just can't see myself in super-faded-wash mom jeans or pilly tee shirts with questionable patterns. Even for two more months.

Even if they're free.

~*~

In other fashion-related news, I was assigned to write a story for the baby magazine about maternity fashions. The concept was that I would go to this cute little maternity boutique and their buyer would dress me up in adorable maternity outfits and then a photographer would take our picture as we showed off how cute having a bump could be.

Let's count the ways that didn't happen.

First, the adorable boutique is, in fact, super adorable, but the people I was supposed to work with over there dropped off the face of the planet. I got several very enthusiastic emails, and then... crickets. I called, I sent emails, I delivered muffin baskets (OK, not really). I could not get these people to talk with me again.

Second, I tried to move on to another adorable maternity boutique. But did you know that in the entire Front Range I could not find a single other store that specializes in maternity clothes—that wasn't a chain. Diaper stores? You becha. Stores dedicated entirely to nursing products? Absolutely. Yoga studios that cater to pre- and post-natal mommies? Sure thing. Stores that sell every green, eco-friendly baby product imaginable? But of course. But maternity clothes? No dice.

Third, early on in this process, I realized that I was procrastinating HARD on writing this story. In fact, working from home gave me the opportunity to see just how hard. When I ended up scrubbing the bathroom rather than trying to call the store again, I realized we might have a problem. It turns out, I REALLY didn't want to go get my picture taken in all my bumpitudinous glory. Like, really MASSIVELY didn't want to. Like, the thought of it pretty much gave me hives and and a compulsive need to go clean things.

So, I talked to my editor about the fact that this story was cursed, and she was totally sympathetic and understanding, and we reworked the idea a bit. And so it got written as a cheeky little do's and don'ts list for maternity fashions. Which is just as good, if you ask me, as having my photo plastered all over the pages of the magazine.

Better, even.

Yoga Pants and Cheez-Its

Today is a yoga-pants kind of day. I actually try really hard to get up and get dressed and put on makeup and do my hair every day, even if I don’t plan to go out, because I don’t want to get into bad habits.

Today is not one of those days.

Last night, after my first hip-related wake up at 1am, I went back to bed, and propped myself up into my new sitting position. I had been noticing that baby tends to be very active when I sit up in this position (or, at least, I notice her moving a lot more). But not so much last night.

And then I remembered my OB’s warning about monitoring how often the baby kicks. I thought back over the day, and decided I hadn’t felt her doing any major acrobatics all day.

So I started to get worried, of course. I remembered the doctor’s instructions for getting a kick count. I lay back down on my sore left side and started concentrating on feeling for movement or kicks.

Nada.

Twenty minutes passed and I started to freak out. I started wondering if I had done anything out of the ordinary that day that might have hurt her (Thai food? Mall walking? That single sip of wine at the food tasting for work?????). I remembered the friend of a friend who recently lost her baby at 22 weeks. I started jiggling my belly, trying to wake baby up.

And then I started praying and pleading as one only does at 1:45 in the morning when one hasn’t felt the baby kick in 45 minutes. It was dreadful. I was also in a LOT of pain in my hip by this point, but I was determined not to move from my preferred left side.

And then she kicked. Sort of. I couldn’t be sure. So I counted it as “one maybe.” Then I got to two maybes, then three. Number eight was pretty plainly a kick, so I counted it as “seven maybes and one kick.”

I made it to “nine maybes and a kick” by 2am. Then I decided to get up and have a snack—also one of the doctor’s recommendations for kick counting. I went downstairs and ate a slice of bread with peanut butter and half a glass of milk standing over the sink, shivering in the dark.

By the time I got back to bed, she had the hiccoughs. And then she rolled over. And I nearly cried, I was so happy.

So I’m giving myself the yoga pants today. And the handfuls of Cheez-Its I ate at lunch. This morning I watched my belly undulate and roll as she did a series of contortionist moves and tried to tell myself that she’s OK.

10 weeks, 1 day

I have spent the last four days in abject fear of going to the bathroom.

I have seen blood twice, thin and red and fresh, and much more than there should be.

I have been to the OBGYN office and been consoled by nurses as they injected me with Rogam.

I have been consoled and terrified in turns by my family, the internet, my friends.

Everyone has a story. Everyone has a theory. Except me.

I have only the power to wait.

I have been put on “pelvic rest:” no pushing, pulling, or lifting. No laundry, no vacuuming, no yoga. Feet elevated. Rest.

How do you rest when you’re so afraid?

I suppose this is when I realize how real it is, when I am afraid for the life a few weeks ago I wasn’t sure was really there.

I am terrified. I am trying to stay positive. I am not always succeeding.